The routledge handbook of educational linguistics 9780415531306, 9781315797748, 0415531306

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The Routledge Handbook of Educational Linguistics

The Routledge Handbook of Educational Linguistics provides a comprehensive survey of the core and current language-related issues in educational contexts. Bringing together the expertise and voices of well established, as well as emerging, scholars from around the world, the handbook offers over 30 authoritative and critical explorations of methodologies and contexts of educational linguistics, issues of instruction and assessment, and teacher education, as well as coverage of key topics such as advocacy, critical pedagogy, and ethics and politics of research in educational linguistics. Each chapter relates to key issues raised in the respective topic, providing additional historical background, critical discussion, reviews of pertinent research methods, and an assessment of what the future might hold. This volume embraces multiple, dynamic perspectives and a range of voices in order to move forward in new and productive directions, making The Routledge Handbook of Educational Linguistics an essential volume for any student and researcher interested in the issues surrounding language and education, particularly in multilingual and multicultural settings. Martha Bigelow is Associate Professor at the University of Minnesota. Her research focuses on the language learning and cultural adaptation of immigrant youth in U.S. schools. She is co-author of Literacy and Second Language Oracy, with Elaine Tarone and Kit Hansen, and author of Mogadishu on the Mississippi: Language, Racialized Identity and Education in a New Land. Johanna Ennser-Kananen is a Clinical Assistant Professor at Boston University. Her research focuses on multilingualism, linguistic legitimacy, language ideologies, and culture learning in educational settings.

Routledge Handbooks in Applied Linguistics

Routledge Handbooks in Applied Linguistics provide comprehensive overviews of the key topics in applied linguistics. All entries for the handbooks are specially commissioned and written by leading scholars in the field. Clear, accessible, and carefully edited Routledge Handbooks in Applied Linguistics are the ideal resource for both advanced undergraduates and postgraduate students. The Routledge Handbook of Educational Linguistics Edited by Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen The Routledge Handbook of Forensic Linguistics Edited by Malcolm Coulthard and Alison Johnson The Routledge Handbook of Corpus Linguistics Edited by Anne O’Keeffe and Mike McCarthy The Routledge Handbook of World Englishes Edited by Andy Kirkpatrick The Routledge Handbook of Applied Linguistics Edited by James Simpson The Routledge Handbook of Discourse Analysis Edited by James Paul Gee and Michael Handford The Routledge Handbook of Second Language Acquisition Edited by Susan Gass and Alison Mackey The Routledge Handbook of Language and Intercultural Communication Edited by Jane Jackson The Routledge Handbook of Language Testing Edited by Glenn Fulcher and Fred Davidson The Routledge Handbook of Multilingualism Edited by Marilyn Martin-Jones, Adrian Blackledge, and Angela Creese The Routledge Handbook of Translation Studies Edited by Carmen Millán-Varela and Francesca Bartrina The Routledge Handbook of Language and Health Communication Edited by Heidi E. Hamilton and Wen-ying Sylvia Chou The Routledge Handbook of Language and Professional Communication Edited by Stephen Bremner and Vijay Bhatia

The Routledge Handbook of Educational Linguistics

Edited by Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen

First published 2015 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2015 Taylor & Francis The right of Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Routledge handbook of educational linguistics / Edited by Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen, University of Minnesota. pages cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Language and education—Handbooks, manuals, etc. I. Bigelow, Martha, editor of compilation. II. Ennser-Kananen, Johanna, editor of compilation. III. Title: Handbook of educational linguistics. P40.8.R68 2015 306.44—dc23 2014000880 ISBN: 978-0-415-53130-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-79774-8 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Apex CoVantage, LLC

To Samuel and Sofia, whose births accompanied the production of this book. May you always find and give joy through your languages.

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Contents

List of illustrations List of contributors Acknowledgments Introduction: The Advocacy Turn of Educational Linguistics Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen

xi xii xxii 1

PART 1

Ways of Knowing in Educational Linguistics

7

1. Methodologies of Second Language Acquisition Susan M. Gass

9

2. Ethnography in Educational Linguistics Teresa L. McCarty

23

3. Methodologies of Language Policy Research David Cassels Johnson and Thomas Ricento

38

4. Researching Identity Through Narrative Approaches Christina Higgins and Priti Sandhu

50

PART 2

Advocacy in Educational Linguistics

63

5. Language Advocacy in Teacher Education and Schooling Christian Faltis

65

6. Educational Equity for Linguistically Marginalised Students Anthony J. Liddicoat and Kathleen Heugh

79

vii

Contents

7. Is There a Place for Home Literacies in the School Curriculum? Pedagogic Discourses and Practices in the Brazilian Educational Context Elaine Rocha-Schmid 8. Non-Native Teachers and Advocacy Enric Llurda

92

105

PART 3

Contexts of Multilingual Education 9. Established and Emerging Perspectives on Immersion Education Siv Björklund and Karita Mård-Miettinen 10. Bilingual Education Ofelia García and Heather Homonoff Woodley

117 119

132

11. The Intersections of Language Differences and Learning Disabilities: Narratives in Action Taucia Gonzalez, Adai Tefera, and Alfredo Artiles

145

12. Theory and Advocacy for Indigenous Language Revitalization in the United States Mary Hermes and Megan Bang

158

13. Visual Literacy and Foreign Language Learning Carola Hecke 14. When Language Is and Not the Issue: The Case of “AAVE” Literacy Research, Teaching, and Labov’s Prescription for Social (in)Equality Elaine Richardson

171

185

PART 4

Critical Pedagogy and Language Education 15. Reframing Freire: Situating the Principles of Humanizing Pedagogy Within an Ecological Model for the Preparation of Teachers María del Carmen Salazar 16. Heritage Language Education: Minority Language Speakers, Second Language Instruction, and Monolingual Schooling Jennifer Leeman and Kendall A. King viii

195

197

210

Contents

17. Disentangling Linguistic Imperialism in English Language Education: The Indonesian Context Setiono Sugiharto

224

18. Immigrants and Education Lesley Bartlett and Jill Koyama

237

19. Critical Pedagogy in Classroom Discourse Loukia K. Sarroub and Sabrina Quadros

252

PART 5

Language Teacher Education

261

20. Teachers’ Beliefs About Language Learning and Teaching Sun Yung Song

263

21. Chinese L2 Literacy Debates and Beginner Reading in the United States Helen H. Shen

276

22. Language Teacher Identity Jason Martel and Andie Wang

289

23. Corpus-Based Study of Language and Teacher Education Alex Boulton and Henry Tyne

301

24. Second Language Acquisition and Language Teacher Education Sachiko Yokoi Horii

313

PART 6

Language Instruction and Assessment

325

25. Primary Language Use in Foreign Language Classrooms Jennifer Dailey-O’Cain and Grit Liebscher

327

26. Language Assessment in the Educational Context Dina Tsagari and Jayanti Banerjee

339

27. Analyzing Classroom Language in CLIL Do Coyle

353

28. Heritage Language Education in the United States: The Chinese Case Yun Xiao

370

ix

Contents

29. Learner Language Sisko Brunni and Jarmo Harri Jantunen

383

PART 7

Ethics and Politics in Educational Linguistics

395

30. “Who Gets to Say?” Political and Ethical Dilemmas for Researchers in Educational Linguistics Kristen H. Perry and Christine A. Mallozzi

397

31. Education and Language Shift Leanne Hinton 32. Looking Back, Sideways, and Forward: Language and Education in Multilingual Settings María E. Torres-Guzmán and Ester J. de Jong

414

428

33. Addressing Dialect Variation in U.S. K–12 Schools Julie Sweetland and Rebecca Wheeler

446

Name Index Index

459 479

x

List of Illustrations

Figures 5.1. Language Advocacy Dimensions 23.1. Concordance Extract for however (Leeds Internet Corpus) 27.1. Pedagogical and Theoretical Influences on CLIL Classroom Language

71 302 355

Tables 11.1. Top Ten Languages Most Spoken by Emergent Bilinguals at Home, 2009–2010 15.1. Curriculum Alignment to Ecological Theory and Humanizing Pedagogy 15.2. Negative Terms Used to Describe Feelings Resulting From Submersion Experience

146 203 205

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List of Contributors

Alfredo Artiles is the Ryan C. Harris Memorial Endowed Professor of Special Education at Arizona State University. His scholarship examines the consequences of educational inequities related to the intersections of disability, race, social class, gender, and language. Jayanti Banerjee is the Research Director for CaMLA, an Ann Arbor-based testing organization

that is a not-for-profit collaboration between the University of Michigan and the University of Cambridge. She oversees research and development activities for all of CaMLA’s international testing programs. Her previous research activities include a study to document the linguistic markers of different levels of language proficiency and an investigation of differential item functioning on the Michigan English Test. She has published in the areas of language testing and English for academic purposes and is on EALTA’s membership committee. Megan Bang is an Assistant Professor of the Learning Sciences and Human Development at the University of Washington. Megan’s research is focused on understanding culture, cognition, and development broadly, with a specific focus on the complexities of navigating multiple meaning systems in creating and implementing more effective science learning environments with Indigenous students, teachers, families, and communities, both in schools and in community settings. She conducts research that encompasses early childhood education, K–5, middle school, and inter-generational programs in “informal learning environments.” Through community-based methodologies, Dr. Bang is working to build community capacity to improve and transform teaching and learning; revitalize culture, language, and well-being; ensure more Indigenous people are engaged in critical research endeavors in the educational world; and contribute to the growth and health of Indigenous communities. Lesley Bartlett is an anthropologist and Associate Professor in the Department of International and Transcultural Studies at Teachers College, Columbia University. Her research and teaching interests include multilingual literacies, im/migration, and international education. She is the author, co-author, or co-editor of several books, including: Teaching in Tension: International Pedagogies, National Policies, and Teachers’ Practices in Tanzania; Refugees, Immigrants, and Education in the Global South: Lives in Motion; Additive Schooling in Subtractive Times: Bilingual Education and Dominican Immigrant Youth in the Heights; and The Word and the World: Cultural Politics of Literacy in Brazil. Martha Bigelow is Associate Professor at the University of Minnesota. Her research focuses on the language learning and cultural adaptation of immigrant youth in U.S. schools. She is co-author of Literacy and Second Language Oracy, with Elaine Tarone and Kit Hansen, and author of Mogadishu on the Mississippi: Language, Racialized Identity and Education in a New Land. xii

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Siv Björklund is Professor in Swedish immersion at the Centre for Immersion and Multilingualism

at the University of Vaasa, Finland. She was a member of the pioneer research team evaluating the first two Swedish immersion classes in Finland in the late 1980s and has been involved in teacher preparation and professional development for immersion since the 1990s. For over 25 years, she has worked with second and multiple language acquisition and immersion teaching focused on successful integration of content and language learning. Currently, her main research interest includes sociolinguistic, psycholinguistic, and pedagogical perspectives on multiple language acquisition. She has published extensively on both national and international levels and is founding co-editor of the new Journal of Immersion and Content-Based Language Education (first issue published in spring 2013). Alex Boulton (Crapel–ATILF, CNRS & University of Lorraine) is researching uses of language corpora in teaching and learning (‘data-driven learning’), and in exploring ways to make corpora accessible in a wider range of situations for ‘ordinary’ language learners and teachers. Sisko Brunni (Lic.Phil.) works as a university teacher in the University of Oulu, Finland. She

works in the Finnish as a Second Language Programme in the Department of Finnish Language. Before coming to Oulu, she taught Finnish as a foreign language for nearly 15 years at the institutions of the European Union in Luxemburg. Her research interests focus on corpus linguistics, phraseology, and lexical priming, and she is writing a PhD dissertation on phraseology in foreign language learning and teaching. Do Coyle is Professor of Learning Innovation at the University of Aberdeen, Scotland. Specific

research interests include plurilingual learning, cross-disciplinary networks, teacher professional learning, pupils as researchers, and visual learning. Current research involves teacher–learner networks for analyzing effective CLIL practice using digital tools and the trans-European theoretical construction of a Framework for Pluriliteracies. Jennifer Dailey-O’Cain is a Professor of German Applied Linguistics with a specialization in

sociolinguistics at the University of Alberta in Edmonton, Canada. Alongside her work on code-switching in the classroom, her research includes work in language, migration and identity in both Germany and German-speaking Canada; language attitudes in post-unification Germany; and the differential use of English in online communication among German young people, on the one hand, and Dutch young people, on the other. Ester J. de Jong is Associate Professor of ESOL/Bilingual Education in the School of Teaching

and Learning at the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida. Her research interests include language policy, bilingual education, and mainstream teacher preparation for bilingual learners. Her book, Foundations of Multilingualism in Education: From Principles to Practice (Caslon Publishing), focuses on working with multilingual children in K–12 schools. Her work has been published in the Bilingual Research Journal, the International Journal of Bilingualism and Bilingual Education, Language Policy, Language and Education. Johanna Ennser-Kananen is a Clinical Assistant Professor at Boston University. Her research

focuses on multilingualism, linguistic legitimacy, language ideologies, and culture learning in educational settings. Christian J. Faltis is the Dolly and David Fiddyment Chair in Teacher Education, Director of Teacher Education, and Professor of Language, Literacy, and Culture in the School of Education xiii

List of Contributors

at University of California, Davis. He has also been Professor of Education at Arizona State University. He received his PhD in Bilingual Cross-Cultural Education from Stanford University. A long-time advocate for bilingualism in society, his research interests are bilingual learning in academic contexts, immigrant education, and critical arts-based learning. His recent books are Arts and Emergent Bilingual Youth (Chappell & Faltis, 2013), Implementing Language Policy in Arizona (Arias and Faltis, 2012), and Education, Immigrant Students, Refugee Students, and English Learners (Faltis & Valdés, 2011). He also published “Art and Living Inquiry into Anti-Immigration Discourse,” in the International Journal of Multicultural Education, 2012. He is an oil painter whose work focuses on issues of Mexican immigrants, education, and the border. Ofelia García is Professor in the PhD Programs in Urban Education and Hispanic and Luso-

Brazilian Literatures and Languages at The Graduate Center, CUNY. She has also been Professor at Columbia University’s Teachers College and Dean of the School of Education at Long Island University. García is the author of numerous books and articles on bilingual education, bilingualism, and sociology of language. She is the Associate General Editor of the International Journal of the Sociology of Language. Susan M. Gass is University Distinguished Professor at Michigan State University, where she serves as Director of the English Language Center, Director of the Second Language Studies PhD program, Co-Director of the Center for Language Education and Research, and Co-Director of the Center for Language Teaching Advancement. She has published widely in the field of second language acquisition (more than 30 books and more than 100 articles, with works translated into Russian, Korean, and Chinese) and is the co-author (with Jennifer Behney and Luke Plonsky) of Second Language Acquisition: An Introductory Course (Routledge) and Second Language Research: Methodology and Design with Alison Mackey (Routledge). She is the winner of many awards, including the AAAL Distinguished Scholarship and Service Award and the ACTFL-MLJ Paul Pimsleur Award for Research in Foreign Language Education (1996 and 2012). She has served as the president of AAAL and of AILA. Taucia Gonzalez is a doctoral student in Arizona State University’s Mary Lou Fulton Teachers

College with an emphasis in Special Education Leadership for School-Wide Equity and Access. Her research focuses on how language ideologies mediate the intersections of culture, language, and ability differences. Carola Hecke teaches English and Spanish at St. Ursula-Schule, Hanover. Her dissertation is on

visual literacy in the foreign language classroom (2012). From 2006 to 2011, she worked in the area of English Teaching Methodologies at the University of Goettingen. She is the author of various articles. Mary Hermes (Waabishkimiigwan) “Fong” has worked for about 17 years in Indigenous language

revitalization. She is a mixed heritage native person, and a long-time resident near the Lac Courte Oreilles Reservation in Northern Wisconsin. She was a co-founder of the Waadookodaading Ojibwe Immersion School there. Currently, she is an Associate Professor in Second Languages and Cultures and the Culture and Teaching Program within the Department of Curriculum and Instruction at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. Kathleen Heugh is a socio-applied linguist whose research has focused on language policy and

planning and multilingual education in sub-Saharan Africa, particularly South Africa. More recently, she has engaged in collaborative research in India and among migrant communities in xiv

List of Contributors

Australia. She has led several large-scale studies of literacy, mother-tongue and multilingual education, and large-scale assessment of students in multilingual settings. She teaches English to international students at the University of South Australia, using pedagogical practices informed by research and theories of multilingualism and multilinguality emerging from Africa and South Asia. Christina Higgins is an Associate Professor in the Department of Second Language Studies at the University of Hawai‘i at Manoa. Her research explores the relationship between language and identity with reference to local and global forces, resources, and affiliations. She has made use of narrative analysis to study the identities of language learners in Tanzania and South Korea. She is the author of English as a Local Language: Post-Colonial Identities and Multilingual Practices (Multilingual Matters, 2009), co-editor (with Bonny Norton) of Language and HIV/AIDS (Multilingual Matters, 2010), and editor of Identity Formation in Globalizing Contexts: Language Learning in the New Millennium (Mouton de Gruyter, 2011). Leanne Hinton is active in training, consultation, and writing about language revitalization of endangered languages. She is a professor emerita of the linguistics department at the University of California at Berkeley and a founding member of the board of the Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival. She has written numerous books and articles on language revitalization. Her books on the topic include Flutes of Fire: Essays on California Indian Languages (Heyday, 1994), The Green Book of Language Revitalization in Practice (Academic Press, 2001; now distributed by Brill Press), How to Keep Your Language Alive (Heyday, 2002), and Bringing Our Languages Home: Language Revitalization for Families (Heyday, 2013). Sachiko Yokoi Horii is Assistant Professor of the School of Language and Culture at Osaka

University, Japan. Her research interests include language education policy, language teacher education, and second language acquisition. Jarmo Harri Jantunen is a Professor in the Department of Languages with a specialization in

Finnish Language at the University of Jyväskylä, Finland. He received an MA (1996) and a PhD (2004) in Finnish Language from the University of Joensuu, Finland. He is interested in corpus linguistics, corpus methodology, and language learning. More specifically, his work examines phraseology in language variants, especially multiword items in translations and learner language. At the moment, he leads the International Corpus of Learner Finnish (ICLFI) project. Professor Jantunen is the author of over 40 publications on the empirical and methodological issues in the field of translation studies and language learning. He has organized several symposia and conferences—most recently, the Learner Language, Learner Corpora Conference held in Oulu, Finland, in 2012. David Cassels Johnson is Assistant Professor of education at the University of Iowa in Iowa City,

IA. He investigates, teaches, and consults on the interaction between language policy and educational opportunity for minority language users from a sociolinguistic perspective. Recent journal publications appear in TESOL Quarterly, Applied Linguistics, and Language Policy (among others) and he is the author of Language Policy (2013), published by Palgrave Macmillan. Kendall A. King (PhD, University of Pennsylvania) is Professor of Second Languages and Cultures Education at the University of Minnesota, where she teaches and does research in the areas of applied linguistics, sociolinguistics, and language policy. Her work appears in journals such as xv

List of Contributors

Journal of Child Language, Applied Linguistics, and Journal of Language, Identity and Education. Dr. King is also editor of the international journal Language Policy (Springer). Jill Koyama is an anthropologist and Assistant Professor of Educational Policy Studies and Practice in the College of Education at the University of Arizona. Her research centers on three integrated strands of inquiry: the productive social assemblage of policy; the controversies of globalizing educational policy; and the politics of language policy and immigrant and refugee education. Her book, Making Failure Pay: High-Stakes Testing, For-Profit Tutoring, and Public Schools, was published in 2010 by The University of Chicago Press. Her work also appears in several journals, including Journal of Educational Policy, Educational Researcher, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, British Journal of Sociology of Education, Urban Review, and International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism. Jennifer Leeman is Associate Professor of Spanish at George Mason University and Research

Sociolinguist at the U.S. Census Bureau. Her research interests include discourses of language, race, ethnicity, and nation in the United States; language policy; and critical approaches to Spanish heritage language education. She has published in journals such as Heritage Language Journal, Modern Language Journal, Journal of Sociolinguistics, and the Journal of Language and Politics, as well as in numerous edited volumes. Recent publications have analyzed the racialization of Spanish in the U.S. Census, accent discrimination in Arizona, language ideologies in Spanish heritage language instruction, the commodification of language minorities in the Standards for Foreign Language teaching, and the nature of evidence in U.S. language policy. Anthony J. Liddicoat is Professor in Applied Linguistics at the Research Centre for Languages

and Cultures at the University of South Australia. His research interests include language and intercultural issues in education, conversation analysis, and language policy and planning. In recent years, his research has focused on issues relating to the teaching and learning of culture through language study. His publications include Language-in-education Policies: The Discursive Construction of Intercultural Relations (2013); Intercultural Language Teaching and Learning (2013, with Angela Scarino); Linguistics and Intercultural Education in Foreign Language Teaching and Learning (2013, with Fred Dervin); Introduction to Conversation Analysis (2011); Languages in Australian Education: Problems, Prospects and Future Directions (2010, with Angela Scarino); Language Planning in Local Contexts (2008, with Richard Baldauf); Discourse Genre and Rhetoric (2008); and Language Planning and Literacy (2006). Grit Liebscher is an Associate Professor of German at the University of Waterloo in Canada, and she is a sociolinguist with a focus on interactional sociolinguistics and conversation analysis. Her research interests include language use among German-Canadians and language and migration in post-unification Germany. She has also co-edited (with a team of scholars from the University of Waterloo) a book on Germans in the North American diaspora. Enric Llurda is a lecturer at Universitat de Lleida (Catalonia, Spain). He teaches courses on

English, applied linguistics, and intercultural communication, both at graduate and undergraduate levels. His areas of interest are bilingualism, language attitudes, internationalization of higher education, language awareness and language teaching, with a strong emphasis on non-native teachers in TESOL. In 2005, he edited Non-Native Language Teachers: Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession (Springer, 2005), which was translated into Arabic in 2012 (King Saud University). Enric Llurda has co-authored two books in Spanish: La conciencia lingüística en xvi

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la enseñanza de lenguas (Graó, 2007) on the promotion of language awareness in language education; and Plurilingüismo e interculturalidad en la escuela: Reflexiones y propuestas didácticas (Horsori, 2010) on the development of multilingual and intercultural competence in secondary education. He has also published around 60 articles in edited volumes or specialized journals, and his work has drawn invitations to participate as plenary speaker in national and international conferences. Christine A. Mallozzi is an Assistant Professor of literacy education in the Curriculum and

Instruction Department at the University of Kentucky, USA. She was awarded the 2009 Carol J. Fisher Award for excellence in research from the University of Georgia and the 2007 Outstanding Student Research Paper from the Georgia Educational Research Association. Dr. Mallozzi’s research interests include gender and teacher education, middle grades reading education, feminist theories, and discourse analysis. Her work involves studies of women teachers’ bodies and gender issues among teachers. Karita Mård-Miettinen is Associate Professor in Swedish immersion at the Centre for Immer-

sion and Multilingualism at the University of Vaasa, Finland. She has been involved in research, teacher preparation, and professional development for immersion since the early 1990s, focusing especially on immersion education in the early years. Currently, her main research interests include sociolinguistic, psycholinguistic, and pedagogical perspectives on multiple language acquisition and bilingual pedagogy. She has cooperated and published extensively on both national and international levels. She is a member of the editorial board for the new Journal of Immersion and Content-Based Language Education. Jason Martel is an Assistant Professor of Language Teaching at the Monterey Institute of Inter-

national Studies. His research interests include language teacher identity construction and content and language integration. Teresa L. McCarty is the George F. Kneller Chair in Education and Anthropology at the University of California, Los Angeles. Her research, teaching, and outreach focus on educational language policy, Indigenous/multilingual education, youth language, critical literacy studies, and ethnographic studies of education. Her books include A Place to Be Navajo – Rough Rock and the Struggle for Self-Determination in Indigenous Schooling (Erlbaum, 2002), Language, Literacy, and Power in Schooling (Erlbaum, 2005), “To Remain an Indian”: Lessons in Democracy from a Century of Native American Education (with K. T. Lomawaima, Teachers College Press, 2006), Ethnography and Language Policy (Routledge, 2011), and Language Planning and Policy in Native America – History, Theory, Praxis (Multilingual Matters, 2013). Kristen H. Perry is an Associate Professor at the University of Kentucky and director of the Cultural Practices of Literacy Study. Her work focuses primarily on literacy and culture in diverse communities, investigating everyday home/family and community literacy practices, particularly among African immigrant and refugee communities. She also researches educational opportunities with respect to ESL, literacy, and higher education for adult refugees. Perry is the 2012 recipient of the Literacy Research Association’s Early Career Achievement award and their 2007 J. Michael Parker Award for research in adult literacy. Her university teaching experience includes undergraduate and Master’s-level teacher education courses in literacy, doctoral-level seminars, and student teacher supervision; her other teaching experience includes teaching in multi-grade classrooms in Colorado, teaching in Africa through the U.S. Peace Corps, and teaching adult refugees in the U.S. xvii

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Sabrina Quadros is a graduate of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and currently serves as

program coordinator for education in the Karen state of Myanmar/Burma. Her research interests include literacy practices, ESL/EFL teaching, and critical and cultural studies in education. Thomas Ricento is Professor at the University of Calgary, Canada, where he holds the first

North American Research Chair in English as an Additional Language. His PhD is in Applied Linguistics from UCLA. He was a Fulbright Scholar in Colombia (1989) and Costa Rica (2000), and has held visiting professorships at universities in Spain, Switzerland, and Chile. He has received research funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Russell Sage Foundation (USA) and from the Confucius Institute in Edmonton (Canada), among other funders. He has published widely in the field of language policy in journal articles, books, and book chapters, and his 2006 edited volume, An Introduction to Language Policy: Theory and Method (Wiley Blackwell), has recently been translated and published in China. His forthcoming book, Political Economy and Language Policy: English in a Global Context, will be published by Oxford University Press. Elaine Richardson is a native of Cleveland, Ohio, having earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in English Studies from Cleveland State University (1987–1993) and her PhD from Michigan State University (1996) in English and Applied Linguistics. She has held posts at The University of Minnesota and Pennsylvania State University before accepting her current post as Professor of Literacy Studies in the College of Education at The Ohio State University. Elaine Rocha-Schmid is a freelance writer and an adult education tutor in London. Her main

research interests are in the areas of language and literacy, especially the relations of power struggle through language between dominant and minority language groups and across social classes. María del Carmen Salazar is an Associate Professor in Curriculum Studies and Teaching and the Director of Teacher Education at the University of Denver Morgridge College of Education. Her doctorate is in bilingual and multicultural foundations of education. Dr. Salazar’s research and scholarship center on transformational teacher preparation for diverse learners. Her research and teaching fields include teacher education, linguistically diverse education, and college readiness for Latina/o students. Dr. Salazar has authored numerous U.S. and international academic journal articles and book chapters, and given over 100 scholarly presentations on her research areas. In addition, she is the lead author of a widely circulated policy document titled, The State of Latinos 2008: Defining an Agenda for the Future. This document was presented to members of the U.S. Congress in Washington, DC, and distributed to all members of the U.S. Congress. Dr. Salazar served for three years on the Colorado Quality Teachers Commission to design a teacher identifier system for the state of Colorado. She has also served on the Interstate Teacher Assessment and Support Consortium (InTASC) and has revised model content standards and designed learning progressions for teacher licensing, assessment, and development. Priti Sandhu is an Assistant Professor in the TESOL Program of the English Department of

the University of Washington. She received her PhD in Second Language Acquisition from the University of Hawai’i at Manoa. Her doctoral research analyzed the interactional narratives of Indian women as they related the impact of medium of education on their lives. She works with oral narratives using conversation analysis and membership categorization

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analysis. Her research interests include gendered identities of women in patriarchal societies, medium of education in postcolonial contexts, the accomplishment or destabilization of classbased hierarchies in interactional data, the creation of empowered identities in narratives of sex workers, the narration of English and its salience in the lives of language learners and instructors, and TESOL. Her articles have appeared in Applied Linguistics and the Journal of Language, Identity, and Education. She is currently developing her doctoral dissertation into a book manuscript. Loukia K. Sarroub is an associate professor of education at the University of Nebraska-

Lincoln, and her work is at the nexus of literacy studies, linguistic anthropology, and cross-cultural and youth studies in and out of schools. She is the author of All American Yemeni Girls: Being Muslim in a Public School and has published her research in journals such as Harvard Educational Review, Reading Research Quarterly, Ethnography and Education, and Theory into Practice. Helen H. Shen is a Professor of Chinese in the Department of Asian and Slavic Languages and Literature, The University of Iowa. Shen’s primary research areas are Chinese as a second language acquisition and teacher training with a focus on literacy development and reading education. She has conducted a series of empirical studies in the areas of orthographic knowledge development, Chinese L2 instructional methodology and strategy, and learning and reading strategies, and has published extensively. Her research is rooted in the problems and questions that she has encountered during her undergraduate and graduate teaching practice. She is the lead author of the teacher training book, Teaching Chinese as a Second Language:Vocabulary Acquisition and Instruction, and three undergraduate Chinese language textbooks. She has also co-edited Research among Learners of Chinese as a Foreign Language. Sun Yung Song is a doctoral candidate in Foreign and Second Language Education at the Ohio State University. She has worked for a federally funded teacher education program called “ESL-Content Teachers Collaborative (ECTC),” which focuses on teacher collaboration to better serve English language learners enrolled in K–12 public schools. She has also taught college-level second language (L2) students in an intensive English program and tutored college students at a writing center. Her research interests include pre-service and in-service teacher education, online education for teachers’ professional development, professional development for non-native English speaking teachers, and L2 academic literacy development. She has published papers in international journals, such as Language Awareness. Setiono Sugiharto is an Associate Professor in the English Department at the Faculty of Education at Atma Jaya Catholic University, Jakarta, Indonesia. He has published in ASIA TEFL Journal, TEFLIN Journal, and PERTANIKA Journal. He has also written hundreds of Ed-Opinion in The Jakarta Post (Indonesia’s English leading newspaper), several of which have been reprinted in The New Straits Times, The Pakistan Observer, and The Malaysian Insider. Julie Sweetland is Director of Learning at the FrameWorks Institute, where she leads the trans-

lation of communications research findings into learning experiences for nonprofit leaders. Previously, she served as the Director of Teaching and Learning at Center for Inspired Teaching and launched a graduate teacher preparation program for the University of the District of Columbia. Her past research has focused on the intersection of language and race, on the role of language variation and language attitudes on student learning, and on effective professional learning for

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List of Contributors

teachers. Julie completed her undergraduate work at Georgetown University, and her MA and PhD in Linguistics at Stanford University. Adai Tefera is a postdoctoral scholar at the Equity Alliance at Arizona State University’s Mary Lou Fulton Teachers College. Her research focuses on the politics of educational policy, with a particular focus on high stakes education policies and students of color with disabilities. María E. Torres-Guzmán, Professor Emeritus of Bilingual/Bicultural Education at Teachers College, Columbia University, holds a PhD from Stanford University. She has been a Visiting Professor at the University of Helsinki, University of Waikato, Universidad del Pais Vasco (San Sebastian/Donosti), Universidad de Puerto Rico (Rio Piedras), Universidad Complutense and Universidad Autonoma (Madrid), and Michigan State University. Her work with teachers and parents has been extensive, nationally and internationally. She has published 5 books, over 65 journal articles and book chapters, and edited 3 special topic journals. Her latest book is Freedom at Work: Language, Professional and Intellectual Development. Dina Tsagari is Lecturer in Applied Linguistics/TEFL at the Department of English Studies,

University of Cyprus. Her main interests are EFL/ESL testing and assessment, teaching/learning, teacher education, materials design and evaluation, and adult education. She has conducted research in Hong Kong, Cyprus, Greece, and other European countries and is the author of several articles, book chapters, and edited volumes. She has given papers and plenary presentations in several countries and is the coordinator of the Classroom-based Language Assessment SIG, affiliated to EALTA. Henry Tyne (University of Perpignan and VECT research group) is researching variation in second language acquisition. He is interested in the use of corpus data to describe L2 (in particular, variation) and in the teaching of L2 French.

Andie Wang is a PhD candidate in Second Languages and Cultures in Curriculum and Instruction, University of Minnesota. Her research interests include international students’ learning-to-teach experiences in teacher education, teaching Chinese as a second language, and second language acquisition of Chinese. Rebecca Wheeler, Professor of English Language and Literacy at Christopher Newport Uni-

versity in Newport News, VA, specializes in teaching Standard English in dialectally diverse classrooms. Wheeler, a literacy consultant and spokesperson for the National Council of Teachers of English, has consulted for public schools K–14 from New York to New Orleans, and from Chicago and Baltimore to Arkansas. Recent publications include Code-Switching Lessons: Grammar Strategies for Linguistically Diverse Writers (Heinemann, 2010), “Fostering Linguistic Habits of Mind: Engaging Teachers’ Knowledge and Attitudes toward African American Vernacular English” (Language and Linguistics Compass, 2010) and “Factoring AAVE into Reading Assessment and Instruction” (Reading Teacher, March 2012). Heather Homonoff Woodley is a PhD candidate in Urban Education at The Graduate Center, CUNY. She is Adjunct Instructor in Bilingual Education and TESOL at The City College of New York, CUNY, and Research Assistant with the CUNY-New York State Initiative on Emergent Bilinguals.

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List of Contributors

Yun Xiao is Professor of Chinese and Chair of the Department of Modern Languages at Bryant University. Her research interests are second language acquisition and pedagogy, heritage language learning, and Chinese syntax and discourse. She has published more than 20 journal articles and book chapters. She also co-authored/abridged a four-volume Readings in Chinese Literature Series (2008–2010) and co-edited/authored three research volumes: Chinese as a Heritage Language: Fostering Rooted World Citizenry (2008), Teaching Chinese as a Foreign Language: Theories and Applications (2008, 2011), and Current Issues in Chinese Linguistics (2011).

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Acknowledgments

It was only when one of our contributors called it a “Herculean task” that we realized that editing a handbook is exactly that. In contrast to Hercules, however, we were fortunate to be able to count on the support of a large number of people. First and foremost, we could not be more grateful to our contributors for all the well researched, beautifully written chapters we received. Not only did they lighten our workload as editors, but reading these contributions also reminded us why we work in this field and for an advocacy turn within it. Thank you! Of course, this handbook would not exist without the initiative and support of Routledge and its always helpful and eternally patient staff. Thank you for creating an opportunity for us to share and promote our view on educational linguistics through an advocacy lens. Thank you for supporting the process of compiling the book with your advice and answers to the gazillion questions that we as beginning editors had. And thank you for your patience when the deadlines came faster than we had hoped. A couple of friends lent their time generously to help us copyedit and format the manuscript for this handbook. For this, we thank Yichen Li, Nicole Pettitt, Abigail Yoder, and Marko Kananen.

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Introduction The Advocacy Turn of Educational Linguistics Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen

The papers in this volume collectively show the many ways in which education and linguistics intersect. The naming and definition of educational linguistics as a field is credited largely to Bernard Spolsky in the 1970s (Spolsky 1974, 1978) out of recognition of the significance of language-related issues in education and out of dissatisfaction with efforts to define applied linguistics. Hult (2010) traces the roots of the field back further: as far as 1948, in a journal entitled Language Learning: A Quarterly Journal of Applied Linguistics. Since then, many scholars identify educational linguistics as their disciplinary home, and there are programs in educational linguistics at major universities in the United States (e.g., Stanford University, University of Pennsylvania, University of New Mexico, Monterey Institute of International Studies). Scholars from the University of Pennsylvania, such as Dell Hymes, Nessa Wolfson, Teresa Pica, and Nancy Hornberger, have been crucial to shaping and championing educational linguistics as a field in its own right, while negotiating spaces for educational linguistics in journals and professional associations that identify with the broader field of applied linguistics. Spolsky noted that the term educational linguistics is necessarily ambiguous. He says, “it includes those parts of linguistics relevant to educational matters as well as those parts of education concerned with language” (Spolsky 2010, 2). As seen in Spolsky’s work, across many decades, his rationale for distinguishing educational linguistics from the broader field of applied linguistics has always been to draw attention to critical and often politically charged issues of language in educational contexts. Spolsky has also held firmly to the position that educational linguistics should take a problem- and practice-oriented approach that is solidly grounded in “principles and practices derived from the relevant theoretical and empirical disciplines” (Spolsky 1978, 175). Nancy Hornberger, in her historical account of the field and of the program at the University of Pennsylvania, concludes that there have been continual emphases in educational linguistics “on the integration of linguistics and education, close relationships among research, theory, policy and practice, and a focus on language learning and teaching” (2001, 5). Later, in 2011, Hult and King explain that the field is problem-centered as it was formed—and continues to be shaped by—pressing real-world questions, many of which concern how best to provide equitable access to language and education for all students, and for linguistic and cultural minority students in 1

Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen

particular. The field is global in the sense that it takes an international, often comparative approach to these problems, but also one that is locally grounded and culturally informed. (2011, 5) Educational linguistics, and the field of educational linguistics, has been and continues to be activist, practical, and outwardly engaged, by definition. The breadth of topics included in the field of educational linguistics can be seen in previously published books, articles, chapters and edited volumes that claim educational linguistics as their base (Alatis 1994; Brumfit 1997; Freeman 1994; Hornberger 2004; Hult and King 2011; Spolsky 2010; Stubbs 1986; van Lier 1994). However, it is notable that many scholars (including us) are doing the work of educational linguistics, as defined by Spolsky, Hornberger, Hult, and King, but doing so without claiming the label or in the absence of a formalized program named as such. In other words, there are scholars doing the work of educational linguistics who identify with and draw from a wide range of theories and disciplines. Educational linguistics has a tradition of producing knowledge that contributes to public debates, that translates research for many different stakeholders, and engages in dialogue with stakeholders in order to be action oriented. The present volume seeks to continue in this tradition and aims to contribute to the field of educational linguistics in two ways: (1) by expanding the community of scholars thought to do educational linguistics to include more international voices and to include the voices of emerging scholars together with those who are well established, and (2) by explicitly focusing on advocacy. We believe that the field of educational linguistics is still in the process of discovering how to leverage scholarship for advocacy aims, and this handbook offers many interesting and useful examples of advocacy. One need not look far to find a crisis in education that is linked to language learning, language loss, or educational policy. It seems almost impossible for educational institutions to keep pace with the need to sustain and produce multilingualism, as well as educate students of many different dialect backgrounds. Education plays an essential role in global societies. On the one hand, schools are sites of production and reproduction of culture (Bourdieu and Passeron 1977); on the other hand, research in educational contexts that adopts a critical lens, and a goal for social justice, can result in institutional and individual permeability and consciousness raising (Freire 1985). Many of the chapters in this volume show that research in educational linguistics can produce knowledge that can give agency to educators, students, and families, and thus create streams of resistance and action that can effect change in arenas where education and language intersect. For this reason, the role of advocacy in language-related scholarship that works within the contexts of education is critical. This volume aims to take stock of the field of educational linguistics almost five years after Spolsky and Hult’s comprehensive Handbook of Educational Linguistics, which was published in 2010. Contributors to the present volume were carefully chosen based on their expertise, but also because they represent diverse methodological approaches, geographic regions of the world, and inter- or trans-disciplinarity in their approach to inquiry in educational linguistics. Our intent is to welcome new voices, perspectives, and topics into dialogues that center on addressing critical issues in education, through the dynamics of language use, choice, policy, learning, and teaching. Each chapter offers an overview of an issue that should serve as a valuable entry point for someone new to the field, as well as a useful compass for a colleague who is familiar with the topic. The first part of this book includes chapters focusing on research methodologies in educational linguistics. This section represents various epistemological roots of educational linguistics, including cognitive second language acquisition (Gass), anthropology (McCarty), and language policy (Johnson and Ricento). Higgins and Sandhu’s chapter takes readers into two areas not necessarily associated with educational linguistics: identity and narrative analysis. One might 2

Introduction

argue that neither identifier has an obvious connection to education, yet this chapter outlines many new and fruitful directions for researchers. Together, these four chapters underline the importance of maintaining methodological rigor through established methodologies, as well as encouraging the use of new methodologies, both of which are needed for the research to contribute to changes in educational contexts. Part Two asked authors to explore the issue of advocacy in their respective areas of expertise: teacher education and schooling (Faltis), linguistically marginalized students (Liddicoat and Heugh), home and school literacy (Rocha-Schmid), and non-native teachers (Llurda). The chapters in this part make a powerful argument that an advocacy turn in educational linguistics is needed to move away from deficit-oriented perceptions of L2 learning and teaching once and for all, and to firmly root the field in sociocultural and sociopolitical aspirations that take a clear stance toward equitable multilingual education. The purpose of Part Three of the book is to assure the inclusion of various educational contexts. Immersion education (Björklund and Mård-Miettinen), bilingual education (García and Woodley), foreign language learning (Hecke), and indigenous language revitalization (Hermes and Bang) are represented, as well as advocacy for minoritized learners in mainstream settings (Gonzalez, Tefera, and Artiles, and Richardson). As the authors of these chapters outline the specific needs and assets of emergent multilingual students, they also emphasize that change towards a normalization of “heteroglossic language practices” (García and Woodley) must and can occur in classroom contexts as well as on systemic levels, and in practice as well as theory. Part Four extends the discussion by focusing on a variety of issues through the lens of critical pedagogy. This section begins with a refresher on Freire that is applied to teacher education (Salazar). Leeman and King explore the definitions, ideologies, and politics and practices of heritage language education. English language education in Indonesia (Sugiharto) illuminates the powerful ways educational policy can result in linguistic imperialism. Bartlett and Koyama’s chapter highlights the utility of interdisciplinarity to address urgent issues in language education of (im)migrants that have the potential to promote multilingualism. Sarroub and Quadros return to Freire to discuss theoretical and practical issues of critical pedagogy in classroom discourse. In all, this part intends to reactivate and reconfigure a critical pedagogy approach for the purpose of promoting multilingualism in education. Part Five offers a section entirely devoted to language teacher education, an area of educational linguistics that has been neglected. This section explores teachers’ beliefs (Song) and identities (Martel and Wang), as well as more specific topics, such as the dilemmas Chinese teachers face as they develop their students’ literacy (Shen), how corpora can be used in teacher education (Boulton and Tyne), and how teachers learn to analyze learner language (Horii). As these authors work rigorously to contribute to the field of educational linguistics, many of them also note a dearth of research in their areas of expertise. Our hope is that their contributions will inspire more research that is needed in the area of language teacher education for the promotion of multilingualism and linguistic equity. Part Six addresses language instruction across different educational settings: foreign language classrooms (Dailey-O’Cain and Liebscher), settings where students experience content and language integrated learning (CLIL; Coyle), and Chinese heritage language education (Xiao). Tsagari and Banerjee explore language assessment and education broadly and Brunni and Jantunen offer a useful overview of learner language that draws on multiple traditions and research programs in second language acquisition. With their analyses of critical issues in language instruction and assessment, the authors of this section give concrete examples of the challenges and successes of multilingual education and, based on these, offer future paths for the field of educational linguistics to take. 3

Martha Bigelow and Johanna Ennser-Kananen

Part Seven concludes this collection with chapters focusing on ethics and politics in educational linguistics. Perry and Mallozzi’s chapter speaks specifically to researchers who are doing work in educational linguistics. Hinton’s chapter on language shift explores the frequent tensions between educational institutions and language maintenance/revitalization. Torres-Guzmán and de Jong’s chapter analyzes issues of language and education in multilingual settings and, finally, Sweetland and Wheeler’s chapter explores ethical and political issues related to dialect variation in U.S. schools. By dedicating a whole section to these important ethical topics, we aim to underline the importance of dealing with ethical questions when doing research in educational linguistics. Only if we remain self-critical and committed to high ethical standards can we truly claim to be advocates for multilingualism and equity in education. To further orient readers, we would like to point out that each chapter in this volume conforms roughly to the following structure: Historical Perspectives—This section locates the chapter in the field through a historical lens and indicates how the topic may have arisen from other disciplines or through interdisciplinary inquiry. Core Issues and Key Findings—This section names assumptions related to the research on the topic and offers a review of the most important contributions to the current state of the discussion. Research Approaches—This section outlines the traditional epistemologies employed on their topic. New Debates—The most important current dilemmas of the topic are presented. Implications for Education—In this section, authors link their chapters to issues in education and offer their views about future directions for research in educational linguistics. Further Reading—In this section, authors list the most important historical and recent books and articles on their topic.

We hope that readers will find it interesting and important to note how different researchers balance or situate their work within and between contexts of education, language/linguistics, and social change. It is a continual challenge to remain relevant to education and educators while continuing to create new, theoretically-grounded, disciplinary knowledge that is difficult (or irresponsible) to apply immediately. It is our hope that this volume will inspire thinking, theorizing, and action among new and established researchers.

References Alatis, J. E. (Ed.) 1994. Educational linguistics, crosscultural communication, and global interdependence. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Bourdieu, P., and Passeron, J. C. 1977. Reproduction in education, society, culture. Beverly Hills: Sage. Brumfit, C. 1997. The teacher as educational linguist. In L. van Lier and D. Corson (Eds.), Knowledge about langauge (Vol. 6, pp. 163–172). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Freeman, D. 1994. Educational linguistics and the knowledge base of language teaching. In J. E. Alatis (Ed.), Georgetown University round table on languages and linguistics 1994 (pp. 180–196). Washington DC: Georgetown University Press. Freire, P. 1985. The politics of education: Culture, power and liberation. Translated by Donaldo Macedo. MA: Bergin and Garvey Publishers. Hornberger, N. H. 2001. Educational linguistics as a field: A view from Penn’s program on the occasion of its 25th anniversary. Working Papers in Educational Linguistics, 17(1, 2), 1–26. Hornberger, N. H. 2004. The continua of biliteracy and the bilingual educator: Educational linguistics in practice. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 7(2–3), 155–171. Hult, F. M. 2010. The history and development of educational linguistics. In B. Spolsky and F. M. Hult (Eds.), The handbook of educational linguistics (pp. 10–24). New York: Wiley-Blackwell. 4

Introduction

Hult, F. M., and King, K. (Eds.) 2011. Educational linguistics in practice: Applying the local globally and the global locally. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Spolsky, B. 1974. The Navajo reading study: An illustration of the scope and nature of educational linguistics. In J. Quistgaard, H. Schwarz, and H. Spong-Hanssen (Eds.), Applied linguistics: Problems and solutions: Proceedings of the Third Congress on Applied Linguistics, Copenhagen, 1972 (Vol. 3, pp. 553–565). Heidelberg: Julius Gros Verlag. Spolsky, B. 1978. Educational linguistics: An introduction. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Spolsky, B. 2010. Introduction: What is educational linguistics? In B. Spolsky, and F. M. Hult (Eds.), The handbook of educational linguistics (pp. 1–9). New York: Wiley-Blackwell. Stubbs, M. 1986. Educational linguistics. New York: Blackwell Publishers. van Lier, L. 1994. Educational linguistics: Field and project. In J. E. Alatis (Ed.), Georgetown University round table on languages and linguistics 1994 (pp. 197–209). Washington DC: Georgetown University Press.

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Part 1

Ways of Knowing in Educational Linguistics

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1 Methodologies of Second Language Acquisition Susan M. Gass

Historical Perspectives One can only examine historical perspectives if one has a sense of when “history” begins. For the purposes of this chapter, I take the 1960s as the beginning of the field of second language acquisition (see Thomas 1998; Gass, Fleck, Leder, and Svetics 1998 for a debate on the field’s appropriate early date). At that time and even slightly prior to that time, most work in the field was based on a need to find a pedagogical means to help people learn a language beyond their first. Hence, the “methodology” in the early part of the 20th century was a pedagogical methodology, not a research methodology, the latter being the focus of this chapter. This chapter is further restricted primarily to quantitative methodology, given space limitations, although differences in quantitative/qualitative approaches are discussed at the end of the chapter. In order to place research methodology in context, I looked at articles that were published in the early days of the field. To do that, I considered research published in one journal, Language Learning. This journal was selected because it was the only journal that existed during the timeframe of interest that was specifically devoted to the discipline of language learning, as is made clear in the journal title. I looked at the issues from 1967 through 1979 to get an idea of trends in research, coding the articles into five specific categories: pedagogy, descriptive, data analysis, testing, and position papers, with an additional category (other) for articles that were not easily classifiable into one of the five main categories. The category most relevant to this chapter is “data analysis” because that is the category for which data were collected and analyzed, the sine qua non of empirical research. It is important to note that prior to this time, there was little elicited data used in SLA research; many publications focused on teaching and did not present data based on learning. Further, early research in SLA was based on research from either linguistics or from child language acquisition, in terms of theoretical questions posed and research tools used. What I found was that in this 17-year period, of the 237 articles considered, most fell into two categories: pedagogy (55) and data analysis (57). A closer look reveals a major shift in emphasis in the early 1970s. In particular, 1972 appears to be a watershed year for data analysis. In that year, five articles contained original data with analysis (compared to four in the other dominant category of pedagogy), whereas in the previous two years combined (1970 and 1971) there had been 16 in the pedagogy category and only one in the data analysis category. To further this point, in 9

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1972, the five data analysis articles were nearly as many as had appeared in the prior five years combined (which was six). Additional evidence for the importance of this period in the use of original data and original analyses is the fact that in the subsequent six-year period (1973–1979), there were 46 articles in that category. In other words, in the early 1970s, and even more precisely, around 1972, the field appears to have taken an important shift in emphasis. Because data analysis was limited during the time leading up to the 1970s, research methods were not a focus of attention and one is hard-pressed to find discussions on the topic. Gass and Polio (2014) posed the question as to why this shift in focus occurred. We suggested that the issue of types of data for analysis was problematized in the 1972 Interlanguage article by Selinker. In that article, he made numerous claims that relate to what data are allowable; the most well-known of these is presented below: . . . observable data to which we can relate theoretical predictions: the utterances which are produced when the learner attempts to say sentences of a TL . . . (Selinker 1972, 213–214) According to this claim, only utterances produced in meaningful performance situations are of use in understanding how languages are learned. In particular, research is limited to three types of data: a. b. c.

utterances in the learner’s native language produced by the learner, interlanguage utterances produced by the learner, and target language utterances produced by native speakers of that target language.

Important to this discussion is that theoretical predictions in a relevant psychology of second language learning must be the surface structures of interlanguage sentences. As part of this, Selinker explicitly highlights two data types that are unacceptable: grammatical judgment data and nonce data. The former are not relevant because researchers “will gain information about another system, the one the learner is struggling with, i.e., the TL” (213). And the latter are not relevant because “behavior which occurs in experiments using nonsense syllables” does not produce meaningful performance (210), where meaningful performance is defined as “the situation where an ‘adult’ attempts to express meanings, which he may already have, in a language which he is in the process of learning” (210). In sum, “. . . data resulting from these latter behavioral situations [including nonsense syllables] are of doubtful relevancy to meaningful performance situations, and thus to a theory of second-language learning” (210). These statements provide an important foundation for discussions of research methodology in second language acquisition by making explicit claims of what data are possible and which are not. During the 1960s and 1970s there were few discussions relating particularly to research methodology. The few notable exceptions centered on issues of grammaticality/acceptability judgments (Schachter, Tyson, and Diffley 1976; Corder 1973; Hyltenstam 1977), all of which took the position, contra to Selinker’s claims, that their use was crucial in that certain questions about second language knowledge (as opposed to use) could only be answered through forced data elicitation, such as intuitional data. Within empirical studies, judgment data were typically collected through a forced binary choice (grammatical versus ungrammatical) of a set of sentences, and learners were often asked to modify the ungrammatical sentences to make them grammatical. The tide began to turn as research methodology came into focus in the 1980s with the publication of a book specifically designed to address issues in research methodology and designed for an applied linguistics audience (Hatch and Farhady 1982). In the mid-1980s, other books and 10

Methodologies of Second Language Acquisition

treatises became more prevalent, with discussions focusing on a wide range of topics related to research methods (Cook 1986, on experimental methods; Henning 1986, on quality in quantitative research; Chaudron 1986, on the need for quantitative and qualitative research). This was followed by general textbooks on research in second language learning (Brown 1988; Chaudron 1988; Seliger and Shohamy 1989; Hatch and Lazaraton 1991; Johnson 1992; Nunan 1992). At about the same time as the appearance of general textbooks, there came a number of journal articles and books dealing with specific topics (e.g., t-tests, Brown 1990, Siegel 1990; power and effect size, Lazaraton 1991, Crookes 1991; Varbrul, Young and Bayley 1996; analysis of frequency data, Saito 1999, Young and Yandell 1999; classroom research, Nunan 1991; structural equation modeling, Matsumura 2003). These are early (and current) signs of the field’s attempt to create cogent arguments about issues of methods and analysis, with a focus on quality, to which I turn below. Throughout the history of research methods, there was an awareness of the lack of familiarity by researchers and consumers of research with methods of research, the value of experimental research, and techniques for data analysis (Ingram 1978; Cook 1986; Lazaraton, Riggenbach, and Ediger 1987; Brown 1991; 1992; Lambert 1991). Becoming aware of shortcomings is a sign of the field’s initial attempts to create standards relating to methods and analysis. A final indication of the role of methods comes from statements from leading journals in the field. In 1992, TESOL Quarterly, as part of their general guidelines for article submission, introduced a section with the title “Statistical Guidelines” (see also Chapelle and Duff 2003, where qualitative methods are included). They did this to ensure “high statistical standards” (794) for publication in the journal. Among the topics considered important were issues of reporting (see also Polio and Gass 1997), including an appropriate layout of results, along with a discussion of assumptions underlying the use of particular statistical tests. In the following year, Valdman (1993) included an editorial comment in Studies in Second Language Acquisition in which he brought to the attention of the journal readership the importance of replication (related to the issue of reporting mentioned earlier; see also Ellis 1999, editor’s statement). Valdman took the issue a step further by introducing a replication section in the journal. Language Learning was also an early leader with regard to rigor. In 1993, a new directive for contributors to the journal appeared (“Instructions for Contributors,” 151): “Manuscripts considered for publication will be reviewed for their presentation and analysis of new empirical data, expert use of appropriate research methods . . .” (emphasis added). That same journal became even more stringent with issues of reporting and stated in 2000 that all submissions to the journal were required to include effect sizes for all major statistical comparisons. Other journals in the field have recently followed suit (e.g., Language Learning and Technology, The Modern Language Journal, Language Teaching, and TESOL Quarterly). With regard to standards and reporting, the emphasis has been on quantitative methods, but qualitative guidelines have also received attention (e.g., Chapelle and Duff 2003, as well as treatments in various research methods books; Dörnyei 2007; Gass and Mackey 2007; Mackey and Gass 2005; 2012). When considering guidelines for research, a slightly different set must be acknowledged, as well—that for ethical research, an early statement of which came in 1980 from a TESOL Research Committee (Tarone 1980). All of these guidelines (see also Loewen and Gass 2009) form an important part of the development of the field. A major step forward in the field of SLA was the establishment in 1997 of a series of books titled Monographs on Research Methodology by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates under the editorship of Susan Gass and Jacquelyn Schachter. This series continues to this day (under the editorship of Susan Gass and Alison Mackey) with books on communication tasks (Yule 1997), stimulated recall (Gass and Mackey 2000), conversation analysis (Markee 2000), case study research (Duff 2007), priming methods (McDonough and Trofimovich 2009), questionnaires (Dörnyei with Taguchi 2009), think-alouds (Bowles 2010), and reaction time research (Jiang 2011). 11

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Core Issues and Key Findings/Research Approaches Research methods in the field of SLA have continued to evolve with greater statistical and elicitation sophistication as a result. Norris and Ortega (2003), in an article related to measuring acquisition, asked the basic question of what counts as acquisition. They argued that SLA is not a monolithic phenomenon and a definition of acquisition must be understood in the context of the theoretical perspective being investigated. Not only does the basic question of a definition of acquisition depend on one’s theoretical orientation, but data types and research methodologies also differ depending on the questions asked and the theoretical perspective taken. For example, those who have focused on the acquisition of morphosyntax have often relied on intuitional judgments (either binary, as in grammatical or ungrammatical, or fine-tuned comparisons, as in magnitude estimation, Bard, Robertson, and Sorace 1996). Those who have taken a sociolinguistic perspective rely on natural data or, at times, survey data (e.g., interviews and/or questionnaires, cf. Dörnyei with Taguchi 2009). Those involved with the role of interaction and corrective feedback make use of tasks to elicit appropriate data. Phonologists use acoustic measurements, relying on instrumentation to assess perception and production, psycholinguists use a wide range of techniques to better understand processing, and those concerned with on-line thought processes have utilized a range of verbal report data. In sum, many tools are available to second language researchers as they seek to better and more deeply understand how learning takes place. As noted above, early research drew its elicitation tools primarily from linguistics and, to a lesser extent, from child language acquisition. Linguistic-based research has become less prevalent, with current research methods relying to some extent on methods from other fields, such as psychology/psycholinguistics, social psychology, and education (e.g., action research), and with other methods developing out of second language questions themselves—for example, the line of research known as input/interaction (see Gass and Mackey 2007 for a detailed discussion of ways of conducting research in second language acquisition, along with assumptions underlying research types). What stands out is the increased scrutiny of design and analysis, an area that I deal with in the following section.

New Emphases and New Debates This section reviews newer emphases in the field. There are two parts to this section: 1) new techniques and 2) current emphases related to study quality. With regard to the first part, I focus on issues related to eye-tracking and brain measures, namely Event-Related Potentials (ERP) and functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI). These are both newer technologies at least with regard to research in second language acquisition. In the second part, I deal with broader issues, such as dichotomies established by a quantitative/qualitative split, verbal reporting, and study quality. In the latter, I discuss 1) replication and reporting, 2) meta-analysis, and 3) power and effect size.

New Techniques With increased interest in how second language learners put their evolving L2 knowledge to use in real-time processing has come a concomitant emphasis on eye-movement research as a way of making that determination (see Dussias 2010; Roberts 2012; Godfroid, Winke, and Gass 2013; Roberts and Siyanova-Chanturia 2013, for overviews). This is done using an eye tracker, a machine designed to measure and record one’s eye movements as an individual sees something (text/pictures) on a screen. Included in these measurements are fixations (i.e., where and how long an individual looks on the screen) and eye movements from one part of the screen to 12

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another. Godfroid, Boers, and Housen (2013) argue for the significance of eye-movement research in that knowing where someone looks and the movements of the eye reflect what is happening in the mind (see Reichle, Pollatsek, and Rayner 2006, on the “eye-mind” link). Eye-movement research provides the researcher with a glimpse of what learners are doing/thinking about as they encounter language. Eye-movement research has been used to investigate numerous research areas—for example, lexical access and representation in bilinguals (e.g., Blumenfeld and Marian 2011; Duyck, Van Assche, Drieghe, and Hartsuiker 2007; Felser, Sato, and Bertenshaw 2009; Flecken 2011; Van Assche, Duyck, Hartsuiker, and Diependaele 2009; Van Assche, Drieghe, Duyck, Welvaert, and Hartsuiker 2011); syntactic ambiguity resolution (e.g., Dussias and Sagarra 2007; Frenck-Mestre and Pynte 1997; Roberts, Gullberg, and Indefrey 2008; see also reviews by Dussias 2010 and Frenck-Mestre 2005); attention (Godfroid, Boers, and Housen 2013); and cognitive processes during specific tasks, such as L2 testing (Bax and Weir 2012) and video-based L2 listening (Winke, Gass, and Sydorenko 2010). One common method is the visual-world paradigm in which eye movements are tracked as participants respond to auditory input. Within this paradigm, researchers have investigated grammatical gender (Dussias, Valdés Kroff, Guzzardo Tamargo, and Gerfen 2013; see Dussias 2010; and Huettig, Rommers, and Meyer 2011, for reviews) and ambiguity in subject pronouns (e.g., Ellert 2011; Ellert, Järvikivi, and Roberts in press; Wilson 2009). Participants see pictures on the screen, and researchers are interested in which pictures are fixated on when hearing a particular input stream. For example, when studying gender, if learners hear in Italian the sound la (feminine article), are they more likely to focus on a feminine noun in a set of pictures that includes masculine nouns, known as the competitors? In other words, the question is: What triggers lexical activation? The second common use of eye trackers is to understand processes involved in reading where the concern is with processing difficulties (e.g., ambiguous sentence resolution). Processing difficulties are compounded by factors related to not only the L2, but also when considering L1-L2 differences (Dussias et al. 2013; Godfroid and Uggen 2013; Sagarra and Ellis 2013, Van Assche, Duyck, and Brysbaert 2013). As with all new methodologies and adaptations of methodologies to a new field, procedures for data elicitation need to be carefully thought out in response to new questions being posed (see Spinner, Gass, and Behney 2013). The second area to consider in this section is brain activity while using language. Neurocognitive questions relate to processing and require research methodologies that go beyond behavioral data, the latter of which have been prevalent to date in second language research. Because questions have turned to understanding what underlies second language learning and second language use and because brain-based research has matured to the point where there are reliable measures, researchers have turned to these newer measures to complement extant behavioral data and address theoretical questions. For example, Morgan-Short and Ullman (2012) present four models of SLA and illustrate how two brain-related measures (both non-invasive), event-related potentials (ERP) and functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), can be used to distinguish among them. ERPs represent electrophysiological responses to some stimulus (e.g., a word, a picture). Participants wear a cap with electrodes that measure electrophysiological activity. As Morgan-Short and Ullman (2012) point out, there is a significant body of L1 literature using ERPs, making L1-L2 comparisons practical. fMRIs enable researchers to understand the location of neuronal activity; one can see the brain’s actual structure and can detect changes in blood oxygenation that reflect changes in cognitive processing. In other words, blood oxygenation is a reflection of neuronal activity, which in turn 13

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reflects cognitive processes. Given its emphasis on research methods, this chapter is not the place for a discussion of findings. However, some of the areas of investigation are lexical, morphosyntactic, and semantic processing—in some instances, as a function of proficiency, and in other studies, addressing issues of implicit versus explicit learning (e.g., Morgan-Short, Sanz, Steinhauer, and Ullman 2010; Morgan-Short, Steinhauer, Sanz and Ullman 2012). Because of the possibility of pinpointing actual brain activity and because of the importance of understanding processing and its relation to location of brain activity, brain-based studies may proliferate in the near future. They do have two disadvantages, however. The first and the most obvious is the cost of the equipment needed to conduct such research. The second, at least for fMRIs, is that participants must be willing to put themselves through a session in which they must lie still and not move their heads.

Ongoing Issues Quantitative Versus Qualitative Research The current chapter has focused on quantitative methodology because that is where the greatest amount of debate has occurred over the past 40–50 years. This is not to say that qualitative methods have been ignored, for it has long been recognized that both quantitative and qualitative methods add to a richer picture of learning (e.g., Chaudron 1986; Lazaraton, Riggenbach, and Ediger 1987; Brown 2004). However, a major split in the field of SLA is between those who conduct quantitative and those who conduct qualitative research. The debate began years ago and continues today (see Hulstijn, Young, and Ortega in press), although it is becoming common in today’s research climate to include both research types in a single study, which is then referred to as a mixed methods study. It is important to point out that both of these research types are broad and varied, and these monikers belie the complexity in each. In general and broad terms, quantitative research relies on “counting” and statistically analyzing data stemming from a research design that usually includes some or all of the following: pre-test, treatment, post-test(s). It stems from what has been known as the scientific method, in which questions are addressed objectively—that is, without a researcher’s bias. Quantitative studies in second language research have dominated over the years with growing sophistication (see above and below) in the tools used for collection and analysis of data. Typical in quantitative research is the use of numbers and statistics, a large number of participants/surveys/questionnaires (necessary for statistical analysis), data categorized as variables, and the importance of generalizability, the extent to which results are valid in other contexts and/or participants (see Chalhoub-Deville, Chapelle, and Duff 2006; Gass 2006). With regard to qualitative research, Friedman (2012, 181) points out, “[a]lthough we speak of qualitative methods, what distinguishes qualitative inquiry from quantitative or experimental research goes beyond procedures used to collect or analyze data. Qualitative research is a distinct approach to scholarly inquiry that may also entail a different set of beliefs regarding the nature of reality (ontology) and ways of knowing (epistemology).” Qualitative research, in general, emphasizes learning as a social process and, consequently, focuses inter alia on the context of learning. Within the overall umbrella of qualitative research are studies conducted within the framework of sociocultural theory (Lantolf 2012), community of practice, language socialization, and even language identity (see Friedman 2012). These studies are conducted using tools of ethnography and conversation analysis (see Gass 2004). Friedman suggests eight characteristics: 1) open inquiry, 2) inductive, 3) naturalistic, 4) descriptive/ interpretive, 5) multiple perspectives, 6) cyclical, 7) attention to context, and 8) focus on the particular. In contrast to the scientific method that underlies quantitative research, qualitative research involves researchers who interpret, describe, and have open minds about what they will find. 14

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Mixed methods research usefully combines these seemingly disparate approaches (Creswell 2003; Dörnyei 2007). There are numerous ways of considering this combination (although to date, mixed methods do not dominate second language research); I mention three obvious ones here. One could begin with a quantitative analysis and then realize that questions remain that are best answered with further qualitative probing; alternatively, one could take a qualitative study as exploratory and then gather quantitative data to support what one initially found. Or, as is perhaps more common, one could combine the two in one study even though they may be reported separately (see Winke, Gass, and Sydorenko 2010 and in press; Winke, Gass, and Myford 2013; Winke and Gass in press). Triangulation of data (namely, using multiple data sources/types to better understand a particular phenomenon) is becoming more common and more accepted in second language research.

Verbal Reporting Verbal reports consist of a number of different methodologies, including retrospective and concurrent (see Bowles, 2010). Common to all of them is the elicitation of thought processes while conducting a particular task. This type of methodology has become more common in the past 10–15 years. In fact, an LLBA search for verbal reports and second language and verbal reports and foreign language yielded nearly 70% in the period since 1998 (with some overlap in the two categories). An even stronger result came from a search for stimulated recall, a subset of verbal reports; 98% of all such studies have appeared in the years since 2000. Verbal reports can be either concurrent (often known as think-alouds) or retrospective (as in afterthe-fact reporting). The latter type is often used with some sort of stimulus (see Gass and Mackey 2000). In this mode, participants complete a task, and some stimulus from that task is used as a way of prompting the participant’s memory as to the thought processes during the task. Stimuli can be in the form of an audio/visual recording of the event or a written text resulting from the event. There are controversies related to both. An overriding concern is the extent to which what is being verbalized accurately reflects the thought processes one is trying to capture (veridicality). With retrospective data, such as stimulated recall, an important issue is the time that elapses between the event and the collection of retrospective thoughts. The longer the difference, the less accurate the recall. For concurrent protocols, the issue of veridicality is less significant; what is more important is reactivity. Does the mere fact of doing a task while at the same time talking about what one is thinking about affect the results? The issue of reactivity is not settled; a number of studies point in different directions (Bowles 2010). Bowles’ book is particularly useful in this regard because she gives criteria for selecting tasks that are more or less amenable to appropriate use of verbal reporting. She notes that issues of reactivity are complex and are dependent on numerous variables (e.g., type of reporting, proficiency level, type of instruction provided).

Study Quality The preceding issues have dealt with newer methodologies; the remaining three have to do with overall issues of quality. A recent concern in the field is the issue of study quality. What precisely is intended by study quality varies from researcher to researcher; Plonsky (2013) notes that “as many as 300 measures” (657) have been proposed to cover this concept, including measures that are easily remediable, such as reporting standard deviations along with means, and some that are less remediable, such as including (delayed) post-tests or pre-tests. One of the early publications to investigate this issue is that of Plonsky and Gass (2011) (see also Plonsky 2011 and Plonsky 2013). The ultimate claim is that research quality represents the 15

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underlying value of the field. Broadly, one can conceive of issues of design, implementation, and reporting of studies. In order to understand how L2 learning takes place, one obviously must rely on studies (quantitative and qualitative) that report on the phenomenon, but if these studies lack in rigor, our foundation collapses, and our research findings have little validity. More serious is the fact that readers do not always know that a particular study lacks in validity. Both Plonsky and Gass (2011) and Plonsky (2011) review the L2 literature on input and interaction over time and note positive changes as well as weaknesses. For example, they note a large number of delayed post-tests, which are an important feature if we are to understand long-term treatment effects, and more reporting of instrument reliability. Weaknesses include the lack of pre-testing, nonrandom assignment to conditions, and incomplete reporting. This last element is crucial when considering replication, the topic I return to next.

Replication and Reporting As noted in the American Psychological Association’s Publication Manual, “the essence of the scientific method involves observations that can be repeated and verified by others” (2010, 12). In research with a quantitative base, replication is important for the issue of generalizability; in second language research, this is even more significant in that there is more variation than there is with monolingual research. For example, are findings from one study portable to a population not directly investigated? In particular, with second language research, there are issues related to proficiency, L1-L2 relationships, and age that might yield different results. Furthermore, there are often a smaller number of participants than in other social science research. With small numbers of participants, how can one generalize to the broader population (or should we even generalize at all)? Polio and Gass (1997) have argued for the importance of replication while at the same time acknowledging that “exact replication” is impossible given that a replication study will deal with different individuals. Replication is a crucial part of developing a discipline in which research results are not static, but rather part of a continuing process of refining and sharpening research results and future research questions. In other words, replication is one way in which a field extends itself and verifies itself. Replication continues to be of significant concern in current research, with emphasis placed on increased robustness of results and generalizability (see Polio 2012 for an historical overview). An indication of the future of replication studies can be seen in 1) the creation by journals of separate sections for reporting replications (e.g., Studies in Second Language Acquisition in1993 and Language Teaching in 2007), and 2) books focused on issues of replication (Porte 2012) and generalizability (Chaloub-Deville, Chapelle, and Duff 2006).

Synthesis of Research Results: Meta Analyses Replication is one way of verifying findings, but it is not the only way. In recent years, meta-analyses (see Norris and Ortega 2000) have become common in the field, with more than 30 appearing in recent years. Topics that have been addressed are feedback (e.g. Li 2010), motivation (Masgoret and Gardner 2003), strategy instruction (e.g., Plonsky 2011), and interaction (e.g., Mackey and Goo 2007). Through meta-analysis, one can compare studies that address common questions. It is a “systematic procedure for quantitatively synthesizing findings across studies” (Gass with Plonsky and Behney 2013, 64). As they further point out, “this technique also involves combining a sample of data points. However, in meta-analysis, the participants are not individual people, but rather individual studies and their data points are averages or effect sizes (e.g., Cohen’s d, correlation coefficients). Thus, a meta-analysis is, in its most basic form, an average of averages” (64). 16

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Because meta-analysis is relatively new to SLA and meta-analyses are still rare, one cannot predict the long-term impact on the field. However, we can take as an indication of the future significance of meta-analyses the fact that since Norris and Ortega’s seminal article on meta-analysis and the effects of instruction, nearly 30 such studies have been carried out (Plonsky 2013), nearly all of which have appeared since 2006. Thus, it is likely that as the field continues to develop and increase its emphasis on research quality, future meta-analyses will be greater in number and in scope. In relation to meta-analyses, the issue of reporting becomes paramount. Without detailed reporting of all aspects of one’s research study, including details of participants and methodology, one cannot replicate and one cannot conduct meta-analyses. And, if these latter two do not occur, we are left with an inability to generalize (see Plonsky 2012).

Statistical Power and Effect Sizes These topics were first brought to light by Lazaraton (1991), who argued for the importance of considering power, “the ability of a statistical test to detect a false null hypothesis” (760), and one aspect of power: namely, the reporting of effect size. Despite Lazaraton’s plea to pay significant attention to power and despite the mandate by some journals that effect sizes be included in publications, the field still struggles with these concepts. Clearly, one aspect of power has to do with sample size (Plonsky [2013] reports that the median group/sample size in studies he examined is 19), which is a perennial problem in the field for reasons that go well beyond the scope of this chapter. This issue is less solvable than others are. The reporting of effect sizes is one that can be addressed. Plonsky noted that only approximately 25% of the studies he sampled (606 studies in a thirty-year period from 1990 to 2010) did not report effect sizes, although some of those were reported only for significant, and not for nonsignificant, results. These issues remain with us, and our ability to pay attention to them is an indication of the future vitality of the field.

Recommendations for Practice It is always a bit uncomfortable to take theoretical research and move it into a classroom context. This is especially the case with some of the newer machine-based methodologies, particularly because we do not have experience in this regard. For example, just because we know about neuronal activity, does that mean that we can take those results and translate them into any meaningful classroom practice? Despite these misgivings, I take findings from both eye-tracking research and brain-based research as a possible suggestion of how we might move forward in the future. Winke (2013), in an input enhancement study, finds that, as would be expected, learners do indeed spend more time fixating on enhanced as opposed to unenhanced forms. However, fixation did not result in significantly more learning of forms (in this study, passivization in English), nor did it significantly detract from comprehension. According to Winke, even though visual enhancement may implicitly increase learner attention, it is also most beneficial when used in combination with explicit instruction. Another pedagogical use of eye-tracking research, combined with qualitative post viewing interview data, can be found in a study by Winke, Gass, and Sydorenko (in press). Their study investigated the use of captions by English-speaking foreign language learners (Arabic, Chinese, Russian, Spanish). Using eye tracking, they considered the differential time spent on captions by language and the interacting factor of content familiarity. They proposed that the use of captions must be more nuanced than previously considered and cannot be applied wholesale to a classroom context without considering L1-L2 relationships (including writing systems) and the content of the video material being presented (see also Ghia 2012). 17

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Morgan-Short and Ullman (2012) summarize brain-based research as the findings might impact classroom instruction. They cautiously point out that learning under implicit contexts (e.g., immersion) tends to result in higher levels of proficiency than explicit grammar-focused lessons (Morgan-Short et al. 2012); furthermore, learning in contexts outside of the classroom can lead to native-like neurocognition (Gillon Dowens, Vergara, Barber, and Carreiras et al. 2009; Hahne, Mueller, and Clahsen 2006; Rossi, Gugler, Friederici, and Hahne 2006; Steinhauer, White, and Drury 2009). This, of course, should not be taken to mean that immersion is the best way to learn, for many other variables are at play. It does, however, help us understand the role that brain-based studies may play in our further understanding of how learning takes place and what the potential might be for understanding instructional contexts. When thinking about research methods, before we consider how findings about language learning might relate to educational contexts, it is crucial that we are confident in our results, and this is where issues of study quality come into play. The field must take principles of study quality seriously if we are to have confidence in interpreting results of empirical studies.

Conclusion: Where Do We Go From Here? Issues related to research methodology will undoubtedly be with us for years and decades to come. As Mackey and Gass (2012, 1) point out, “. . . research methods are not determined or decided upon devoid of context; research methods are dependent on the theories they are designed to investigate. Thus, research questions are intimately tied to the methods used for determining an appropriate dataset.” In other words, there is an intimacy between the questions we ask and the way we go about answering those questions. As Plonsky (2013) states, “methodological infirmity not only hinders progress in the development of theory, but may also negatively affect the reputation and legitimacy of SLA as a discipline and limit its potential to contribute to parent fields . . .” (656). Thus, minding the “methodology store” is crucial as the field moves forward and we hope to provide insight into other disciplines.

Further Reading Porte, G. 2002. Appraising research in second language learning: A practical approach to critical analysis of quantitative research. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishers. Mackey, A. and Gass, S. 2005. Second language research: Methodology and design. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Chalhoub-Deville, M., Chapelle, C. and Duff, P. A. eds. 2006. Inference and generalizability in applied linguistics: Multiple perspectives. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishers. Dörnyei, Z. 2007. Research methods in applied linguistics. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Mackey, A. and Gass, S. eds., 2012. Research methods in second language acquisition. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Porte, G. 2012. Replication Research in Applied Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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2 Ethnography in Educational Linguistics Teresa L. McCarty

[E]thnography finds its orienting and overarching purpose in an underlying concern with cultural interpretation. (Wolcott 2008, 72) Because of my conception of ethnography, I see in this prospect a gain for a democratic way of life. (Hymes 1980, 89)

Introduction The ethnographer of education Harry F. Wolcott (2008) described ethnography as a “way of seeing” human behavior through a cultural lens, and a “way of looking” based on long-term, situated fieldwork. The ethnographer of communication Dell Hymes (1980) argued that ethnography also contains within it a moral stance toward social inquiry that is humanizing, democratizing, and anti-hegemonic—what I will call a “way of being” a researcher. In this chapter, I explore these three complementary facets of the ethnographic enterprise—seeing, looking, and being—as ethnography has addressed issues in the field of educational linguistics. I focus on ethnography as a particular form of qualitative inquiry because of its long and intimate association with studies of language in education. As we will see, because of its genesis and development within the discipline of anthropology, ethnography entails “both more and less than” a general program of qualitative research (LeCompte and Schensul 2010, 4–5).

Historical Perspectives A “Way of Seeing”: Epistemic Foundations With its roots in anthropology, ethnography is both a social science and part of the humanities. As Blommaert and Jie (2010, 6) point out, this means that “the basic architecture of ethnography . . . already contains ontologies, methodologies and epistemologies” integral to the anthropological tradition. 23

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That tradition can be characterized, first, by a focus on culture. An admittedly slippery construct, culture as originally conceived by anthropologists was something fixed, unitary, and bounded—a set of shared traits organized along a racialized evolutionary hierarchy. Franz Boas, a German Jewish immigrant who established the American school of anthropology at Columbia University in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, challenged the racist science underlying early definitions of culture, arguing for culture as learned rather than biologically inherited, and for cultural relativism, the notion that diverse cultural practices are understandable when viewed through their own social ecologies. Boas’s student, Margaret Mead, popularized this principle in what can be considered the first ethnography of education, a study of girlhood in American Samoa (Mead 1961 [1928]). Boas and his students applied the principle of relativity to languages as well, insisting on analyzing each in terms of its internal categories. Since these early developments, contemporary anthropologists have put culture “in motion” (Rosaldo 1989), recognizing, as Heath and Street (2008) note, that “culture never just ‘is,’ but instead ‘does’” (7). This has meant finding new language with which to talk about culture—as processes, discourses, ideologies, and practices rather than as racialized groups or traits. This view of culture expands “our vision . . . to include issues of power and legitimation, as well as the language practices that constitute these” (González 1999, 434). This dynamic, power-linked notion of culture carries with it ontological, epistemological, and methodological entailments with particular relevance for studies of language in education. The first is that, like culture, language is an open, dynamic system, inextricable from human social life itself. Thus, the “study of language . . . is inseparable from a study of social life” (Hymes 1980, 70). It follows that ethnographic studies of language in education must be deeply contextualized, conducted in situ over extended periods of time (an orientation traceable to Franz Boas in the U.S. and Bronislaw Malinowski in the EU). A further entailment is a focus on the participants’ point of view and the meanings they make of communicative events. Ethnographic accounts “are built around and told in the words, views, explanations, and interpretations of the participants in the study,” LeCompte and Schensul stress (2010, 16). This is often called an “emic” perspective, a reference to an analogy proposed by the linguist Kenneth Pike (1967), which contrasted phonemics—the tacit knowledge of a sound system possessed by native speakers—with phonetics—the study of sound systems. The terms emic and etic are commonly understood to refer, respectively, to insider and outsider knowledge. Two additional qualities characterize ethnography as a “way of seeing.” The first is that ethnographic knowledge is constructed inductively, “working from empirical evidence towards theory, not the other way around” (Blommaert and Jie 2010, 12). This, too, is a hallmark of Boasian anthropology. The goal for ethnographic studies in educational linguistics is to arrive at “grounded theories about language as it is practiced in local contexts” (Canagarajah 2006, 153). Secondly, while inductive theory building depends on the ethnographer’s ability to produce what the anthropologist Clifford Geertz (1983) called “thick description” of a particular case, ethnographic theory also relies on cross-case and cross-cultural comparisons. As Hymes (1980, 90) emphasized, the validity and transferability of ethnographic accounts are greatly enhanced by “contrastive insight” built cumulatively across time and space.

The Educational-Linguistic Anthropology Connection These ontological and epistemological understandings undergird the linked subdisciplines of educational and linguistic anthropology, both of which converge in the field of educational linguistics. Just as anthropological understandings of language and culture must be contextualized, 24

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understanding this part of the disciplinary genealogy must be situated within the intellectual and sociopolitical context of the time. On May 17, 1954, the U.S. Supreme Court handed down its historic ruling in Brown v. Topeka, Kansas Board of Education, overturning legally sanctioned racial segregation in U.S. schools. While actual desegregation would not come for many years, within a decade Congress passed the most massive piece of federal education legislation in U.S. history— the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA)—intended to redress the inequalities laid bare by Brown. The ESEA was central to the Johnson administration’s metaphoric War on Poverty, in which the twin notions of “cultural deprivation” and “culture of poverty” were guiding tropes (Stein 2004). Scholarship in educational and linguistic anthropology, particularly in the U.S., was united in this discursive environment. The next decades of educational-linguistic research represent a relentless empirical refutation of prevailing deficit views, with cultural analysis as an anchoring construct and ethnography as the “factual core” (Spindler 2000, 57). From educational anthropology came a view of education as “the process of transmitting . . . the culture of the human being—where culture is used as a verb” (Spindler 2000, 56). From linguistic anthropology came the ethnography of communication pioneered by John Gumperz and Dell Hymes (1972). With the goal of illuminating diverse “ways of speaking” (Hymes 1980, 20), the ethnography of communication reflected a “socially realistic linguistics” in which education became “a prime arena for sociolinguistic research” (Hornberger 2003, 245–246). Out of this paradigm emerged the seminal ethnographic treatments of language use in practice: Cazden, John, and Hymes’s (1972) Functions of Language in the Classroom; Heath’s (1983) Ways with Words; Philips’s (1993 [1983]) The Invisible Culture; Green and Wallat’s (1981) Ethnography and Language in Educational Settings; and Gilmore and Glatthorn’s (1982) Children In and Out of School. These and other sociolinguistically oriented studies (discussed in the next section) demonstrated the culturally specific ways in which talk is organized, foregrounding the “subrosa literacies” and “language prowess” of minoritized students that are often invisibilized in school (Schieffelin and Gilmore 1986). Moreover, this emerging socioeducational linguistic tradition was committed to “social justice and . . . the people for whom and with whom the ethnographic work was done” (Gilmore, cited in Hornberger 2002, para 4). A related line of ethnographic inquiry centered on bilingual education. In 1968, the U.S. Congress passed the Bilingual Education Act (BEA) as a Title VII amendment to the ESEA. Although the BEA opened up new possibilities for innovative programs that used children’s first language as the medium of instruction, like the ESEA itself, the BEA was compensatory in nature. Six years after its passage, the Supreme Court heard a class action suit brought against the San Francisco School District alleging that 1,800 Chinese American students were being denied an equal education because the district was not providing adequate second language support. The Court’s ruling in Lau v. Nichols extended Brown, arguing that school integration does not ensure equality of opportunity if students lack access to the medium of instruction. Subsequently, the U.S. Department of Education issued the “Lau Remedies,” which included (but did not require) bilingual-bicultural education programs. In the post-Lau BEA era, educational and linguistic anthropologists joined in many fruitful ethnographic endeavors that illuminated the possibilities for such education programs. Prime examples include Trueba, Guthrie, and Au’s (1981) Culture and the Bilingual Classroom, the California State Department of Education’s (1986) Beyond Language: Social and Cultural Factors in Schooling Language Minority Students, Cazden and Leggett’s (1978) Culturally Responsive Education: A Discussion of Lau Remedies II, and a 1977 theme issue of Anthropology and Education Quarterly exploring the relationship between qualitative and quantitative research methodologies in education, including a section on language assessment (see Cazden et al. 1977; Hymes 25

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1977; Shuy 1977). This work demonstrated the fallacy of measuring the effectiveness of bilingual education by looking narrowly at students’ English-language performance without taking into account the culture of the classroom and community. As Foley (2005, 355) writes, these ethnographic accounts highlighted “cognitive and sociolinguistic notions of culture and . . . advocate[d] a sociolinguistic version of educational ethnography as innovative and useful.” In brief, this was the intellectual, political, and pedagogical firmament in which ethnographic studies of language in education were seeded. Together, these braided strands of educational and linguistic anthropology underpin what Hornberger (2001, 13) calls an “inclusive, sociocultural view of language in education,” laying a theoretical and methodological foundation for educational linguistics as a comprehensive field of studies.

Core Issues and Key Findings When Bernard Spolsky introduced educational linguistics in 1978, he cited the “language barrier” as a core issue for the emerging field. Drawing on his work with the Navajo Reading Study at the University of New Mexico, Spolsky wrote that, “A major portion of any child’s education is concerned with modifying [his/her] language, enriching, adding, or suppressing a variety” (1978, 7). Working in Philadelphia’s urban public schools, Dell Hymes and his colleagues at the University of Pennsylvania framed the issues in a slightly different, but complementary, way. “A latent function of the educational system is to instill linguistic insecurity, to discriminate linguistically, to channel children in ways that have an integral linguistic component, while appearing open and fair to all” (Hymes (1996 [1975], 84). These statements foreground a major artery of ethnographic research: investigating how linguistic diversity is constructed as a resource or a problem in schools and society. For discussion purposes, I organize this section into “micro” and “macro” frames of reference, recognizing, as Philips (1993 [1983], xv) points out, that macroanalysis and microethnography “are commonly carried out together.” Microethnographic research has addressed “the ways in which dominant-subordinant relationships are formed in face-to-face interaction” (Philips 1993 [1983], xvi). Macroethnographic research has focused on sociolinguistic processes at the level of groups, institutions, and polities. As we will see, both approaches are co-dependent, and both situate “the exercise of power in practice” (Philips 1993 [1983], xvi). Heath’s (1983) Ways with Words—extending Hymes’s notion of ways of speaking—was among the first book-length ethnographic accounts to address these issues. Prior to Heath’s fieldwork, research had begun to point out differences between the structures of “Black English Vernacular” (BEV) and so-called “standard” English. Based on long-term fieldwork with African American and working and middle class White families in the Piedmont Carolinas, Heath argued that the disjunction between the socialization processes in which BEV is acquired and the communicative practices within the culture of the school simultaneously blind teachers to their African American students’ language competencies and leave those students unprepared for the communicative practices they encounter in school. Heath (1986) subsequently examined language socialization among Chinese American families and recent immigrants from Mexico. Among Chinese American parents, the question-asking routines (factual questions and control of topics) and other cultural expectations reinforced those their children encountered in schools. Among families from Mexico, adults tended not to give sequential orders or ask “children to verbalize what they are doing as they work” (Heath 1986, 161)—practices privileged in school-based pedagogies. Heath glossed these practices as genre—larger discursive units into which smaller units such as conversations and directives are 26

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subsumed. The challenge Heath posed for language educators was to critically examine how closely the genres of the home approximate those of the school. Philips (1993 [1983]) reached similar conclusions about Warm Springs Indian students in Oregon, using long-term, in-depth participant observation and interviewing to document childadult interaction patterns, which she called participant structures, inside and outside of school. Warm Springs children, Philips maintained, are socialized in culturally distinctive ways that emphasize listening and observing over talking and speaking up, sharing control versus hierarchical structures, and voluntary versus involuntary participation in group activities. These “invisible” cultural differences in the regulation of talk, as well as dialect differences, caused teachers to misunderstand their Indian pupils, or to define what they heard as unacceptable (Philips 1993 [1983], 127). Erickson and Mohatt (1988) tested Philips’ hypothesis, using direct observation, videotaping, and interviews of a Native and White teacher on a Northern Ontario reserve. These researchers found significant differences in the pacing of classroom activities, time allocated to teacher- versus student-directed activity, and the timing and pitch of communication, and tied these patterns to differential “interactional etiquette” in the Native community and the school. More than “formal, explicit patterning,” Erickson and Mohatt argued, culture involves the tacit rules and “ways of acting in everyday life” (1988, 167). Researchers from the Kamehameha Early Education Program (KEEP) took this work a step further, using ethnographic data on Native Hawaiian child language socialization to design an English language arts program modeled after an Indigenous Hawaiian oral narrative style called “talk story,” which emphasizes cooperative participation structures and co-narration (Vogt, Jordan, and Tharp 1993). These pedagogical changes led to dramatic improvements in Native Hawaiian students’ English language learning and academic achievement, despite the fact that the language of the classroom did not match the Hawaiian Creole spoken at home. KEEP researchers subsequently implemented the same approach with Navajo students at Rough Rock, Arizona, where they found that KEEP strategies required significant modification to accommodate Navajo children’s discursive styles. The inference from these studies is that educational interventions based on ethnographic knowledge must be context specific, and that such “specific cultural compatibility contributes to [a program’s] educational effectiveness” (Vogt et al. 1993, 63). In Tucson, Arizona, the Funds of Knowledge for Teaching project illustrated the power of teachers’ ethnographic research to transform education practice. The project began in the late 1980s as a collaboration between university-based anthropologists and school-based educators to study literacy practices within Mexican American households. Conducting interviews with parents and participating in the everyday life of households, the research team elicited household knowledge essential for household functioning. In after-school study groups, teachers engaged in critical reflection on their research, applying these insights to develop curricula that incorporated the linguistic and cultural capital their students brought to school. The research process itself also established more trusting relationships between households and schools, as parental knowledge and skills became the foundation for teaching innovations (González, Moll, and Amanti 2005). These are just a few examples of the influential microethnographic studies that have addressed the ways in which power relations are constructed through linguistic practice in and out of school. A complementary body of macroethnographic scholarship has focused on how explicit and implicit language education policies reflect and reproduce those power relationships. In 1988, Hornberger published a case study of bilingual education policy and practice in Puno, Peru. Focusing on the relationship between official policy and local language practices, she 27

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explored whether schools can be effective agents for language maintenance. At the center of the analysis were local language uses and ideologies that positioned Quechua as the extra-school or home-community language, and Spanish as the language of schooling. At the same time, the decreasing isolation and low social status of Quechua speakers mitigated against the ayllu or community-level language transmission nexus, while problems of local implementation and government instability undermined macro-level policies for Quechua maintenance. This study was among the first to demonstrate that while official, macro-level policies can open up what Hornberger (2006) later termed “ideological and implementational spaces” for bi/multilingual education, those policies are not unproblematically adopted by local social actors and may fail without local-level support. Building on Hornberger’s work, King (2001) used ethnography to examine revitalization prospects for Quichua in Ecuador. Adopting an ethnography of communication approach, King compared two Quichua communities, one (urban) in which a shift to Spanish was advanced, and another (rural) that was rapidly moving from Quichua to Spanish. Despite Ecuador’s official policy of bilingual-intercultural education, for members of both communities, “Quichua remain[ed] on the periphery of their daily lives” (King 2001, 185). The school affords “an important foothold” for Quichua maintenance, King concluded, but is insufficient to overcome the extreme economic and social pressures favoring Spanish. Based on ethnographic research conducted over a 20-year period in the Navajo community of Rough Rock (discussed above), my own research analyzed the interaction of federal Indian policy with bilingual-bicultural program implementation in the first American Indian community-controlled school (McCarty 2002). Through a fortuitous (and fleeting) alignment of top-down government legislation and grassroots Indigenous political activism, Rough Rock emerged as the first Native American community to take charge of the local school and to embrace the Indigenous language and culture as both a right and a resource for children’s learning. Highlighting the realities of the Indigenous self-determination movement as it confronts a powerful neocolonial federal bureaucracy, this work has shown that bilingual-bicultural schooling can be a critical resource in local communities’ fight for educational, linguistic, and cultural self-determination. Over the past two decades, numerous other studies have taken an ethnographic approach to the study of language and literacy policy: Davis (1994) conducted an ethnography of communication in multilingual Luxembourg; May (1994) researched Māori educational reform at Richmond Road School in Aotearoa/New Zealand; Freeman (1998) undertook a discourse-analytic study of the successful Oyster Bilingual School in Washington, DC; Aikman (1999) explored intercultural education and mother tongue literacy among the Arakmbut in the Peruvian Amazon; Heller (1999) presented a sociolinguistic ethnography of French-speaking adolescents in English-speaking Canada; Jaffe (1999) examined language politics in Corsica; Patrick (2003) investigated Indigenous-language persistence in a quadrilingual Inuktitut-Cree-French-English community in Arctic Québec; Ramanathan (2005) undertook a critical ethnography of vernacular-medium education in Gujarat, India; Meek (2010) conducted an ethnography of language revitalization in a Canadian Northern Athapaskan community; and Wyman (2012) analyzed Yup’ik youth culture and language endangerment in Alaska. Multiple edited volumes using ethnographic approaches have provided what Hymes called “contrastive insight” to these individual case studies: Hornberger (1996) examined “bottom-up” language planning in the Americas; Henze and Davis (1999) explored language planning and identity in the Pacific Rim; and Cangarajah (2006), Heller and Martin-Jones (2001), Street (1995), and García, Skutnabb-Kangas, and Torres-Guzmán (2006) offered comparative studies of language planning and policy (LPP) in multilingual settings around the world. 28

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Research Approaches A “Way of Looking”: Ethnographic Methods The English word ethnography derives from the Greek ethos (people) and grapho (to write). Ethnography is “writing about people.” As the previous sections have stressed, however, ethnography is more than “mere description”; it is “description in specific, methodologically and epistemologically grounded ways” (Blommaert and Jie 2010, 6). Wolcott (2008) refers to this as a “way of looking.” A central expectation is that the researcher is the primary research instrument, not in the sense of an antiseptic tool, but by being there in person, over an extended period of time, as a learner and an interpreter of situated human activity. As a way of looking, ethnographic methods can be described as experiencing (participant observation), enquiring (interviewing), and examining (analyzing documents and artifacts) (Wolcott 2008, 48–50). Participant observation—“learning through . . . involvement in the day-to-day . . . activities of participants in the research setting”—is the starting point of ethnographic research (Schensul and LeCompte 2013, 83). Participant observation involves engaging appropriately in the social situation; observing the activities, people, and physical aspects of the situation; and recording those observations in a systematic way, typically in field notes supplemented by audio and video recordings (Spradley 1980). Hymes (1974) proposed this SPEAKING mnemonic for recording observations of communicative interaction: • • • • • • • •

the physical and psychological Setting or Scene, the Participants the Ends or goals of the communicative act, the Act sequence or order, the Key or tone, the Instrumentalities or forms and styles of speech, the Norms governing communicative interaction, and the Genre or category of communication (e.g., oration, lecture, joking, etc.).

Ethnographers typically have multiple participant observer roles, as illustrated in Meek’s (2010) study of language revitalization in a Yukon Kaska community. Working as an educator and child development specialist in the local Aboriginal Head Start program, a teaching assistant in Kaska language workshops, and a student of the Kaska language, her research “emerged from these multiple positions, in dialogue with bureaucrats, language professionals, local individuals, and families” (Meek 2010, xviii). Ethnographers may also participate as cultural insiders, as exemplified by Ramanathan’s (2005) study of classed and gendered language pedagogies in three colleges within Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India; Nicholas’s (2014) study of language ideologies and practices among Hopi youth in Arizona; and Lee’s (2014) study of “critical language awareness” among Navajo and Pueblo young adults in New Mexico. Such roles evolve over months and even years, as illustrated by Heath’s involvement with the Carolina Piedmont families she began following in 1969. As she wrote in a follow-up study published more than four decades later, this long-term involvement means that ethnographic accounts differ “with each passing moment, new purpose, and favored vantage point” (Heath 2012, 7). Hence, there is never a “finished” ethnographic story or single “true account” (Toohey 2008, 182); all ethnographic accounts are situated, perspectival, and partial. Whereas participant observation attends “to the flow of natural activity” (Wolcott 2008, 49), interviewing is a more direct data collection strategy. Ethnographic interviews often include 29

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casual conversations recorded in the course of participant observation; they may also be framed as structured or semi-structured protocols carried out one-on-one with key individuals or in small groups. Ethnographic interviews are typically open-ended, allowing for flexibility, dialogue, and the possibility of unexpected findings. Interview data are recorded in field notes and by audiotaping and/or videotaping, and are transcribed in written form. The third “way of looking”—examining—involves the collection of document or archival data. In a recent study of Indigenous youth language practices and ideologies, for example, my co-researchers and I collected school mission statements, teachers’ lesson plans, school curriculum documents, student writing samples, and school-community demographic records (McCarty Romero-Little, Warhol, and Zepeda 2013). Experiencing, enquiring, and examining may be further supplemented by surveys or questionnaires, censusing, social mapping, quantitative measures such as student achievement data, and elicitation techniques. In a study of Welsh vocational college students’ biliteracy practices, for instance, Martin-Jones (2011) asked the students to compile diaries of their literacy practices and to take photographs of literacy events in the college and in their workplaces. Using these artifacts as prompts, participants were then interviewed about their reading and writing practices in the different settings. Finding through these methods a “mismatch between college and workplace literacies,” Martin-Jones worked with the students’ tutors “to harness . . . the characteristics of the young people’s out-of-college literacies” in the tutors’ teaching practice (2011, 249). In another study of language use among teens attending a large multilingual-multiethnic high school in London, Rampton employed an omni-directional microphone to record lessons, later replaying the recordings in interviews with students “to elicit retrospective commentary . . . on what had been happening, said and done” (2006, 32). He also asked four students to wear radio microphones for several hours each day over 11 days. This data “trawling” enabled Rampton to engage in “extensive listening” and generated an abundance of “contrastive insights” into the official classroom talk and students’ more informal discursive practices (2006, 32–33). Ethnographic analysis begins the moment the ethnographer enters the field and continues through the writing of the final report (LeCompte and Schensul 2013). Regardless of the analysis strategy employed—narrative analysis, thematic analysis, within-case or cross-case analysis, discourse analysis, or other approaches—the goal is to situate linguistic and educational processes within the larger sociocultural context of which they are part. In their examination of bilingual education policy and practice in officially English-only California, Stritikus and Weise (2006) refer to this as “deep dish analysis,” a positioning that enables the ethnographer to move beyond top-down policies to the level of teachers’ practice where policy actually takes shape. Similarly, in a seminal collection of articles on LPP for English language-teaching professionals, Ricento and Hornberger (1996) use an onion metaphor to describe these multilayered processes: The outer layers of the onion represent broader policy processes, and the inner layers represent local policy accommodations, resistances, and transformations as they occur in everyday practice. By “slicing the onion ethnographically” (Hornberger and Johnson 2007), researchers can attend to the fine-grained detail of each layer and its position within an organic whole.

New Debates Two simultaneous and seemingly paradoxical 21st-century forces shape current ethnographic work in educational linguistics. On the one hand is intensified (trans)migration resulting from massive global flows of people, information, capital, and technology. These processes create what 30

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scholars have called “super-diversity” (Blommaert 2011)—globalized urban neighborhoods and virtual spaces characterized by multilayered and crisscrossing cultural, linguistic, religious, national, and racial/ethnic identifications. On the other hand is the mounting worldwide endangerment of human linguistic and cultural diversity, as the same globalizing forces serve to standardize and homogenize, even as they stratify and marginalize. Language endangerment is particularly grave for Indigenous peoples, who, although they constitute 4% of the world’s population, speak 75% of the world’s languages. These processes call for rethinking anthropological notions of culture in ways that recognize that “multiple cultures can exist in one space and . . . one culture can be produced in different spaces,” and for reconceptualizing language as mobile sociolinguistic resources and repertoires (Blommaert 2011, 63). This in turn has implications for our understandings of what constitutes speakerhood, language fluency, and speech communities. As Moore (2012, 59) describes the issues, the existence of both super-diversity and language endangerment “complicate inherited notions of the unitary, fully fluent . . . native speaker as . . . the normal starting point for description and analysis.” The simultaneity of super-diversity and language endangerment also complicates the micromacro analytical distinctions discussed in previous sections and related conceptions of the local and the global. In a recent theme issue of Anthropology and Education Quarterly, Wortham suggests that micro and macro have outlived their utility as explanatory tools and argues for pushing beyond these heuristics to engage more directly with “complex multiscale realities” (2012, 135). In an example of this, Warriner (2012), in the same theme issue, presents a study of the language ideologies of refugee women in a U.S. English-as-a-second-language program. Her fine-grained analysis of the women’s life narratives shows how these micro-level speech acts interrupt oppressive macro-level ideological, historical, and institutional constraints on their language practices and life opportunities. A related stream of ethnographic work has investigated the ways in which globalizing forces are taken up and reconfigured in local language practices and ideologies—what Hornberger and McCarty (2012) call “globalization from the bottom up.” In an ethnographic analysis of bilingual education in Mozambique, for example, Chimbutane and Benson (2012) show how local appropriations of top-down curricular reforms open up new spaces for the promotion of Indigenous languages and cultures. Working in a South African undergraduate language program, Joseph and Ramani (2012) show, similarly, how a focus on additive multilingualism in teacher preparation can unseat the hegemony of English within the “new globalism.” In these and other ethnographic cases, relatively small-scale education reformulations create new options through which marginalized languages historically constructed as “traditional” (and hence not useful in the global economy) can be resignified as “modern” (Joseph and Ramani 2012, 32). Recent youth language research further illuminates these “complex multiscale realities” (Wortham 2012) and their implications for education. Recognizing that youth, like adults, act as agents, this research examines youth’s “emic views, language ideologies, and identities [to] provide insights into how social and political processes are lived and constructed through language use” (Wyman, McCarty, and Nicholas 2014, 4). Paris (2011), for example, looked at youth language practices in a multiethnic high school in the western United States. Building on Rampton’s (1995) classic ethnographic study of youth linguistic “crossing” (see also Rampton 2006, discussed above), Paris explored language sharing—“momentary and sustained uses of . . . the language traditionally ‘belonging’ to another group [and] ratified as appropriate by its traditional speakers” (Paris 2011, 14). Understanding such processes, Paris maintains, helps us see the sociocultural, sociopolitical, and sociolinguistic forces that alternately reinforce or cut across 31

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ethnic divisions “toward spaces of interethnic unity” (2011, 16)—a requirement, he argues, for a pluralistic society. This research also foregrounds the ways in which youth “translanguage,” a term used by García to explain the heteroglossic language practices she observed in urban bilingual classrooms. Translanguaging goes beyond code switching and involves the “multiple discursive practices in which bilinguals engage in order to make sense of their bilingual worlds” (García 2009, 44). Although García’s use of the term is situated in “super-diverse” urban spaces, ethnographic research with Indigenous youth in semi-urban and reservation and village settings shows the salience of this construct, and related notions of linguistic hybridity and heteroglossia, for understanding dynamic processes of language shift and endangerment. In the large-scale study of Indigenous youth language ideologies and practices discussed above, for instance, my co-researchers and I found that, contrary to educators’ perceptions of youth as disinterested in their heritage language and of Indigenous languages as largely absent from their daily lives, Native youth were growing up in highly complex sociolinguistic environments that included multiple languages and language varieties to which they had differential exposure and in which they had differential receptive and productive abilities— sociolinguistic resources that might be marshalled for Indigenous-language reclamation, but which, for the most part, went undetected or were stigmatized in school (McCarty et al. 2013). Studies by Nicholas (2014) with Hopi youth, Lee (2014) with Navajo and Pueblo youth and young adults, Messing (2014) with Mexicano (Nahuatl) young adults, and Wyman (2012) with Yup’ik youth in Alaska, shows how young people translanguage and negotiate “mixed messages” about the value of their heritage language in sociolinguistic environments undergoing rapid language shift. These studies problematize yet another set of binaries: “speaker” versus “non-speaker,” “fluent” versus “non-fluent,” and “extinct” versus “living” with reference to languages (Leonard, 2011; McCarty et al. 2013, 173). The studies also provide nuanced ethnographic portraits of the often “closeted” multilingual repertoires of Indigenous and minoritized youth. As Wyman et al. write, these studies demonstrate the fallacy of deficit assumptions of youth linguistic practices, highlighting “the sociolinguistic strengths of heritage language learners in settings of language endangerment” (2014, xx). Three additional lines of ethnographic inquiry are important here. The first concerns the lingering debate on the role of schools in structuring diversity in complex sociolinguistic ecologies, and specifically whether schools can serve as resources for the reclamation and maintenance of endangered mother tongues. Since Hornberger’s groundbreaking (1988) ethnographic study of these issues for Quechua in Peru, a great deal of ethnographic effort has been poured into answering this question (for a treatment across four continents, see Hornberger 2008; for an analysis of the U.S. and Canada, see McCarty and Nicholas 2014). It seems clear from this research that, while schools cannot substitute for intergenerational language transmission in the family, when aligned with other social institutions, schools can reinforce, in significant ways, family- and community-based efforts. Moreover, when we look around the world, we find few examples of successful language revitalization in which schools have not played a prominent role. A recent strand of research growing out of this work asks whether schools can promote the dual goals of language revitalization and enhanced academic achievement among Indigenous/ minoritized students. As Hill and May (2011) observe with reference to Māori-medium schooling, “[T]here remains a dearth of information on the factors that contribute to the educational effectiveness of such programs” (162). Drawing on ethnographic research at the Rakaumangamanga School in Aotearoa/New Zealand, Hill and May show the efficacy of “high” levels of Māori-language immersion (i.e., instruction through the Indigenous language for 80–100% of the school day) alongside careful planning of English-language instruction in achieving the goal of full Māori-English bilingualism and biliteracy. Programs such as this also show the value 32

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of building on Indigenous/minoritized students’ linguistic hybridity as a resource rather than treating hybridity as a liability for learning in school. A final line of inquiry concerns the role of education practitioners in the LPP process. A decade after Ricento and Hornberger (1996) placed English language teaching professionals at the center of the LPP “onion,” Ramanathan and Morgan (2007, 447) offered a reconsideration of the “everyday contexts in which [language] policies are interpreted and negotiated.” Emphasizing practitioner agency and a view of policy texts as “multifaceted signs . . . whose interpretations and enactments rest in our hands,” these comparative case studies afford “glimpses into complex interplays between policies, pedagogic practices, instructional constraints, and migrations” (Ramanathan and Morgan 2007, 451, 459). A growing body of ethnographic research positions educators “at the epicenter” of the LPP process, as researchers move “beyond top-down, bottom-up, or even side-by-side divisions to a conceptualization of language policy as a far more dynamic, interactive, and real-life process” (Menken and García 2010, 4). All of these studies contribute to the New Language Policy Studies, a paradigmatic shift away from conventional treatments of policy as disembodied text to a view of policy as a situated sociocultural process: “the complex of practices, ideologies, attitudes, and formal and informal mechanisms that influence people’s language choices in profound and pervasive everyday ways” (McCarty, Collins, and Hopson 2012, 335). Influenced by Hymes’s (1980) emphasis on “ethnographic monitoring” and on language-in-use, this theoretical perspective helps us understand the diffuse bases of linguistic inequalities in education. Perhaps even more importantly, this critical sociocultural, processual view of language policy guides us to new possibilities for transforming those inequalities (McCarty 2011)—a topic I turn to next.

Implications for Education A “Way of Being”: Ethnography as a Form of Praxis From Mead’s early contributions to the anthropology of education, to the ethnography of communication, to recent work addressing the “complex multiscale realities” (Wortham 2012) and “chronicles of complexity” (Blommaert 2013) of super-diversity, language endangerment, and practitioners’ roles in the LPP “onion,” ethnography has afforded rich, multilayered insights into the ways in which linguistic diversity is constructed as a problem or a resource in schools and society. Those insights stem from a distinctive “way of seeing” through a holistic cultural lens and a “way of looking” firsthand, up-close, and over extended periods of time. By “casting an ethnographic eye on language . . . at the individual, classroom, school, community, regional, national, and global levels,” Hornberger and Johnson (2007, 24) observe, researchers can “uncover the indistinct voices, covert motivations, embedded ideologies, invisible instances, or unintended consequences” of language policies and pedagogies as they are manifest in particular sociocultural and educational contexts. In an era of growing global diversity, we are witness to language education policies designed to curb and control diversity through reductive literacy practices and, especially in the United States, the banning of languages other than English in schools. In this political and educational climate, ethnography and qualitative approaches in general have been marginalized in official policy discourse, which privileges English-only standardized tests and large-scale random clinical trials. Yet ethnography—and ethnographers—have a crucial role to play in this policy environment. As a form of knowledge production, ethnography is intrinsically democratizing, as its primary goal—to “learn the meanings, norms, and patterns of a way of life” (Hymes 1980, 98)—is precisely what people do everyday. Ethnography, therefore, has the potential to break down 33

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hierarchies between the “knower” and the “known,” and to bring local stakeholders—education practitioners and community members, including youth—directly into the research process. Doing this requires exercising what Wyman et al. (2014, 18) call triple vision: an ethnographic stance that forwards academic, youth, and broader community concerns. This commitment to praxis represents the third pillar in the contributions of ethnography to education—a clear values position that puts ethnography to practical use. In this “way of being,” researchers intentionally dislodge allegedly value-free methodologies, replacing them with grounded forms of collaborative critical inquiry. Taking such a research stance requires that ethnographers work in partnership with local stakeholders, using the unique tools of our discipline to illuminate not only the injustices in language education, but the concrete possibilities for positive change.

References Aikman, S. 1999. Intercultural Education and Literacy: An Ethnographic Study of Indigenous Knowledge and Learning in the Peruvian Amazon. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Blommaert, J. 2011. The Sociolinguistics of Globalization. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Blommaert, J. 2013. Ethnography, Superdiversity and Linguistic Landscapes: Chronicles of Complexity. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Blommaert, J., and Jie, D. 2010. Ethnographic Fieldwork: A Beginner’s Guide. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. California State Department of Education. 1986. Beyond Language: Social and Cultural Factors in Schooling Language Minority Students. Sacramento: California State Department of Education, Bilingual Education Office. Canagarajah, S. 2006. ‘Ethnographic Methods in Language Policy’, in T. Ricento (Ed.), An Introduction to Language Policy: Theory and Method (pp. 153–169). Malden, MA: Blackwell. Cazden, C. B., Bond, J. T., Epstein, A. S., Matz, R. D., and Savignon, S. J. 1977. Language Assessment: Where, What and How, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 8(2), 83–91. Cazden, C. B., John, V. P., and Hymes, D. (Eds.) 1972. Functions of Language in the Classroom. New York: Teachers College Press. Cazden, C. B., and Leggett, E. L. 1978. Culturally Responsive Education: A Discussion of Lau Remedies II. Los Angeles, CA: National Dissemination and Assessment Center. Chimbutane, F., and Benson, C. 2012. ‘Expanded Spaces for Mozambican Languages in Primary Education: Where Bottom-Up Meets Top-Down’, International Multilingual Research Journal, 6(1), 8–21. Davis, K. A. 1994. Language Planning in Multilingual Contexts. Amersterdam: John Benjamins. Erickson, F., and Mohatt, G. 1988. ‘Cultural Organization of Participation Structures in Two Classrooms of Indian Students’, in G. Spindler (Ed.), Doing the Ethnography of Schooling (pp. 132–174). Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press. Foley, D. 2005. ‘Enrique Trueba: A Latino Critical Ethnographer for the Ages’, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 36(1), 354–366. Freeman, R. 1998. Bilingual Education and Social Change. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. García, O. 2009. Bilingual Education in the 21st Century: A Global Perspective. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. García, O., Skutnabb-Kangas, T., and Torres-Guzmán, M. (Eds.) 2006. Imagining Multilingual Schools: Languages in Education and Glocalization. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Geertz, C. 1983. Local Knowledge. New York: Basic Books. Gilmore, P., and Glatthorn, A. A. (Eds.) 1982. Children In and Out of School: Ethnography and Education. Washington, DC: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and Center for Applied Linguistics. González, N. 1999. ‘What Will We Do When Culture Does Not Exist Anymore?’, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 30(4), 431–435. González, N., Moll, L. C., and Amanti, C. (Eds.) 2005. Funds of Knowledge: Theorizing Practices in Households, Communities, and Classrooms. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Green, J., and Wallat, C. (Eds.) 1981. Ethnography and Language in Educational Settings. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Gumperz, J., and Hymes, D. (Eds.) 1972. Directions in Sociolinguistics: The Ethnography of Communication. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

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3 Methodologies of Language Policy Research David Cassels Johnson and Thomas Ricento

Historical Perspectives The field of language planning and policy (LPP hereafter) started as something that linguists did, rather than something that was studied. In the 1960s, language scholars were recruited to help solve the language problems of new, developing, and postcolonial nations. These linguists helped develop grammars, writing systems, and dictionaries for Indigenous languages; out of this, an interest in how best to develop the form of a language—i.e. corpus planning—grew. Einar Haugen introduced the term language planning in 1959, defining it as “the activity of preparing a normative orthography, grammar, and dictionary for the guidance of writers and speakers in a non-homogeneous speech community” (Haugen 1959, 8). What Haugen describes is now referred to as corpus planning, which includes activities related to the manipulation of the forms of a language. Another focus is how a society can best allocate functions and/or uses for particular languages, known as status planning, a distinction introduced by Kloss (1969). To this distinction in the field, Cooper (1989) added acquisition planning, a term meant to capture language teaching and other educational activities designed to increase the users or uses of a language. One of the challenges for the field has been the relationship between language policy and the term that preceded it, language planning. Most would agree that language policy and language planning are closely related, but different, activities. Some argue that language planning subsumes language policy (Kaplan and Baldauf, 1997) while others argue that language policy subsumes language planning (Schiffman 1996). Our focus here is language policy because, within accepted definitions of language planning, there is an assumption that some intentional language planning takes place; however, there are many examples of language policy that are not intentional and/or not planned. Still, we use LPP both out of respect for the tradition of research that gave rise to the field (language planning) and because the two fields have, for all intents and purposes, coalesced into one (Hornberger 2006). While the field of LPP evolved primarily within applied and sociolinguistics, educational language policy research also draws from critical theory, education studies, sociology, and anthropology, creating a notable interdisciplinarity, although one of its primary homes is certainly educational linguistics. Spolsky (1978, 2) defined the field of educational linguistics as one that “start[s] with a specific problem and then looks to linguistics and other relevant disciplines for 38

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their contribution to its solution.” Hornberger (2001, 19) further articulated the aims of the field, in which “the starting point is always the practice of education and the focus is squarely on (the role of) language (in) learning and teaching.” We might expand upon Hornberger’s definition, to include an emphasis on the role of language policy in learning and teaching. Indeed, the interaction between language policies and educational practices, particularly for minority and Indigenous language users, is a vibrant area of research within educational linguistics. More recently, Spolsky (2010, 2) has argued that educational linguistics “provides the essential instruments for designing language education policy and for implementing language education management.” Not only has LPP research, and more specifically educational language policy research, been located within the field of educational linguistics, but, Spolsky suggests, the field provides guidance for those who design and implement language policies and plans; thus, not only is LPP research grounded in educational linguistics, but so is LPP practice. The field of LPP is not lacking in theoretical robustness, but the connections between all of the various theories and frameworks are not always clear. Ricento (2006, 17) argues that this theoretical fragmentation means that there is not, as yet, “some grand theory which explains patterns of language behavior . . . or can predict the effects of specific language policies on language behavior.” While there is perhaps no grand theory, there are traditions of research that proffer important concepts, frameworks, methods, and theoretical developments. As mentioned, early language planning scholarship focused on developing frameworks for status and corpus planning. Much of this early research purported to divorce the supposedly objective science of language planning from the ideological and sociopolitical reality of language use. For example, Tauli (1974) avers that languages can be categorized objectively according to usefulness or efficiency and “ethnic languages” are not good candidates for language planning. Similarly, if less forcefully, Kloss argues that certain languages are more suitable for national development (Kloss 1968). While Tauli’s ideas were the subject of criticism (Jernudd and Das Gupta 1971), there was still at that time a reluctance to consider the role of ideology in language planning; for example, Cobarrubias (1983, 6) argues that “language-status decisions are affected by ideological considerations of powerful groups and counteracting forces. However, we should not saddle the theory with ideological considerations.” Ricento (2000) argues that early language planning research helped facilitate the continued dominance of European colonial languages because they were the languages that were invariably more suitable for high status domains like education and technology. He divides the intellectual history of the field into three stages: (1) classic language planning, as explained above, (2) critical language policy (explained below), and (3) an intermediary stage, lasting from the early 1970s to the late 1980s. During this time, interests expanded beyond the corpus/status distinction, and many language planning scholars, including those who were active in the first era, began to question the viability of earlier models of language planning. Many scholars within the field began to look more closely at language planning and policy as ideological processes. For example, an influential proposal comes from Ruiz (1984) in his article entitled “Orientations in Language Planning,” in which he lays out a tripartite set of goals, or ‘orientations,’ as he calls them, of language planning in education, which he argues can take a language-as-problem, language-as-right, or language-as-resource orientation toward minority languages. Ruiz (1984, 2) characterizes ‘orientations’ as “basic to language planning in that they delimit the ways we talk about language and language issues . . . they help to delimit the range of acceptable attitudes toward language, and to make certain attitudes legitimate. In short orientations determine what is thinkable about language in society.” The idea that language policies can hegemonically normalize particular ways of thinking, being, and/or educating, while concomitantly delimiting others, would become a feature of critical language policy and continues to be an important consideration within the field. 39

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While noting the importance of Ruiz’ contribution to the LPP literature with his orientations to language policy approach, Ricento (2005, 361) enumerates some of the limitations of the ‘language as resource’ orientation. He analyzes texts produced by organizations that advocate the teaching and learning of heritage languages in the United States, and finds that in these texts “language-as-resource is connected to particular dominant sociopolitical agendas, namely national security, trade, and law enforcement” rather than the interests, needs, and aspirations of the communities of speakers of heritage languages. Languages are reduced to commodities with very particular instrumental value, and in the case of the United States, federal support is provided for the teaching and learning of languages important to U.S. global military and economic interests. Ricento concludes that advocacy groups, in their discourse at least, may be complicit with unstated agendas that help maintain social arrangements and values that support policies not particularly favorable to linguistic diversity as intrinsically good or as a national resource, where ‘national’ tends to exclude non-English languages and cultures (364). Tollefson (1991) distinguishes between what he calls the neo-classical approach—which he characterizes as claiming to be scientifically neutral and dominated by an interest in the individual— and the historical-structural approach, which instead focuses on the social and historical influences that give rise to language policies. Language policy is expressly political and ideological in Tollefson’s (1991) conceptualization: “[L]anguage policy is viewed as one mechanism by which the interests of dominant sociopolitical groups are maintained and the seeds of transformation are developed” (Tollefson 1991, 32). Tollefson later (2006) reformulated this as Critical Language Policy (CLP). Much language policy scholarship is concerned with the relationship between discourses, ideologies, power and language policies, whether it is called “Critical Language Policy” or not, and the notion that language policies create social inequality among dominant and minority language users is a central tenet in the field (e.g., Phillipson 2003; Shohamy 2006). CLP scholarship has helped reveal connections between language policy and power and has reshaped the field, but it has also been criticized for being too deterministic (see Ricento and Hornberger 1996) and for not capturing LPP processes (see Davis 1999). Within the last two decades, especially, there has been a growing interest in ethnographic and discourse analytic research methods that capture language policy processes across multiple layers of activity and within diverse contexts (macro, meso, and micro). For example, Hornberger and Johnson (2007, 2011) argue for the relevance of ethnography of language policy as an LPP research method and theory for examining the agents, contexts, and processes across the multiple layers of language policy creation, interpretation, and appropriation. Other volumes by McCarty (2011) and Menken and García (2010) feature research that is grounded in ethnographic, discourse analytic, and other ‘on the ground approaches’ and focuses on the agency of teachers as well as the power of policy. This work has contributed greatly to the field of educational linguistics because it examines how language policies relate to educational practice and how micro-level language policies emerge within a community or school.

Core Issues and Key Findings Johnson (2013a) offers a series of findings, which we synthesize and summarize here: Language policy agents have power. Critical scholarship has shown that educational institutions enforce hegemonic language policies that marginalize minority languages and their users (e.g., Tollefson 2012a). However, other research focuses on how educators resist topdown language policy or interpret and appropriate it in unexpected and creative ways. For example, in her study of educational language policy in Lao People’s Democratic Republic (PDR),

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Cincotta-Segi (2009, 2011) shows how Lao educational policy positions the Lao language and culture as crucial to political and moral unity and ignores non-Lao cultures and languages. Furthermore, ministry of education officials assume that official Lao-dominated discourses will be reproduced by teachers, especially given the lack of materials and curricula in anything but Lao language. However, Cincotta-Segi (2009) finds that the teachers often still incorporate nonLao languages to benefit their students: “This research has demonstrated for the first time in the Lao context that while teachers do reproduce the official discourses through particular classroom language practices, this reproduction is never total and in some cases is eclipsed by strong adaptations and contestations” (321). Language policy power is differentially allocated among arbiters and implementers. Menken (2008) uses the term “arbiter” to characterize the power of teachers as the ultimate decision-makers in how a policy is implemented. E. Johnson (2012) and D. Johnson (2013c) expand on this notion and describe all individuals with potentially powerful influence on the language policy process as language policy arbiters. While LPP is a multi-layered process, and teachers may be the ultimate arbiters in classroom implementation of policy, language policy power is differentially allocated across, and within, educational institutions, contexts, and layers of language policy activity. For example, Johnson (2010) reveals how a change in one U.S. school district leadership position led to a drastic change in language policy for the entire district, transitioning from a focus on the value of bilingualism to an emphasis on acquisition of English. The power of the language policy arbiter is such that they have a singular impact on educational activities within the institutions and contexts they have contact with. National language policies restrict access to languages and language education. National language policies can and do restrict particular languages and marginalize their users within, and outside of, educational contexts. Many historical examples can be cited, including the subjugation of American Indian languages in Indian Boarding Schools in the United States (McCarty 2002), suppression of Māori in New Zealand (May 2005), and the historical marginalization and suppression of Aboriginal languages in Canada (Ricento and Cervatiuc 2010). It is also the case that official recognition of a language, or languages, at the federal level can have negative consequences on the teaching and use of other ‘non official’ languages, even when non official languages are not proscribed and their speakers are free to use their languages in various domains. For example, Ricento (2013) shows how the establishment of Official Bilingualism (English and French) in Canada ‘unofficially’ marginalized languages that had been spoken by generations of Canadians and that had equal claims for official recognition at the time the Official Languages Act was passed in 1969. Official Bilingualism has had consequences on perceptions and policies with regard to the teaching and transmission of nonofficial languages and their communities of speakers in a number of ways. Eve Haque (2012, 18) notes that “membership in the Canadian nation is achieved through designation into one of four groups: English, French, Aboriginal, and ‘Multicultural,’” the latter a generic term for cultures and languages other than English and French. Canadian linguistic duality, with English as the dominant hegemonic language, is at odds with the popular metaphor of Canada as ‘a mosaic of languages and cultures’; thus, the national imaginary is at odds with the policy of Official Bilingualism, which does little to recognize or support the linguistic and cultural diversity that actually exists today in Canada. National multilingual language policies can and do open spaces for multilingual education and minority languages. Hornberger has long argued (and shown) that national language policies that value multilingualism as a resource can create openings for bilingual education which, in turn, promote indigenous and minority language use (Hornberger 2006, 2009).

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She has documented two such policies in South America: The Puno bilingual education project (PEEB) in Peru and Bolivia’s National Education Reform of 1994, both of which incorporate Indigenous language education into official policy text and discourse. Local multilingual language policies can and do open spaces for multilingual education and minority languages. Rebecca Freeman’s (1998, 2000, 2004) ethnographic and action-oriented research on bilingual education and language policy in Philadelphia and Washington, DC, has revealed how local language planning and policy can help sustain multilingual education in schools. Corson (1999) is a good guide in this respect. Meso-level educational language policies matter. We have observed this in the United States where language policy at the state level determines how a federal policy ends up being enacted in schools. For example, while Title III of NCLB (No Child Left Behind) appeared to diminish the opportunities for schools and school districts to expand bilingual education programs (see Wiley and Wright 2004), states have appropriated Title III in different ways. For example, while there is a great deal of research to suggest that bilingual programs have been sacrificed or weakened in many schools and school districts (see Menken and Shohamy 2008), there has been a steady increase in the number of bilingual education programs in Washington State.

Research Approaches Early language planning approaches have been criticized for being technocratic (e.g., Wiley 1999, 18) and positivist (e.g., Ricento 2000, 208) because they sought to divorce the objectivist “science” of language planning from its sociopolitical and ideological implications. Research in educational language policy, in particular—as well as research that directly contributes to educational language policy—has been epistemologically diverse, existing on a continuum between objectivist scientific studies of the relative effectiveness of language education programs (Thomas and Collier 2001) and neo-Marxist approaches that examine power in language policy processes (Tollefson 1991). Driving the objectivist strand is perhaps a pragmatism about how research can support language policies that promote multilingualism in schools; on the other hand, critical approaches take a more pessimistic view of how much agency is really granted to those who seek more egalitarian policies that promote multilingualism. LPP research methods are diverse and borrow from, among others, political and legal theory (May 2001; Schmid 2001), communication and media studies (Rickford 1999), linguistic anthropology (Mortimer 2013), economics (Grin 2003), and interpretive policy analysis (Yanow 2000). Therefore, the data of interest include a wide variety of language policy texts, discourses, and practices. There is a particular interest in finding connections between macro-level language policy texts and discourses and micro-level language behavior and educational practices—what Hult (2010) refers to as the perennial challenge for the field. This interest in the field has generated an expanding body of ‘on-the-ground’ research, with a focus on local educational and policy activities, and has primarily been supported by ethnographic and discourse analytic research methods. Hornberger and Johnson (2007) present the ethnography of language policy as a method that can illuminate and inform multiple types of language planning (status, corpus, and acquisition), illuminate and inform language policy processes (creation, interpretation, and appropriation), marry a critical approach with a focus on educator agency, and examine the connections across the various layers and levels of LPP activity, from the macro to the micro. Recent volumes that feature this type of work include McCarty (2011), Menken and García (2010), and Johnson (2013b). 42

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Johnson (2013a) presents a heuristic for the scope of data collection in ethnography of language policy: (1) agents—include both the creators of the policy and those responsible for policy interpretation and appropriation. (2) goals—refers to the intentions of the policy as stated in the policy text (3) processes—creation, interpretation, and appropriation of policy text and discourse (4) discourses that engender and perpetuate the policy—the discourses within and without the policy; i.e. the discourses (whether explicit or implicit) within the language policy texts, intertextual and interdiscursive connections to other policy texts and discourses, and the discursive power of a particular policy. (5) the dynamic social and historical contexts in which the policy exists—an ethnography of language policy is interested in the dynamic social, historical, and physical contexts in which language policies are created, interpreted, and appropriated. A great deal of language policy analysis is, essentially, discourse analysis since it involves looking at various policy texts (both spoken and written) and analyzing policy discourses that are instantiated within or engendered by the policy texts. Therefore, the increasing prevalence of discourse analytic studies in LPP is not surprising and includes, among others, conversation analysis (Bonacina 2010), Critical Discourse Analysis (Cincotta-Segi 2009; Johnson 2011; Ricento 2005), linguistic anthropology (Mortimer 2013), and Nexus Analysis (Hult 2010).

New Debates Structure vs. agency in schools. As mentioned, current work on language policy can be characterized by a tension between structure and agency, between critical theoretical work that focuses on the power invested in language policy to disenfranchise linguistic minorities (e.g., Tollefson 2012a; Yitzhaki 2010) and ethnographic and action-oriented research that emphasizes the powerful role that educators play in language policy processes (e.g., Menken and García 2010; Cincotta-Segi 2009). Critical scholarship has shown that educational institutions can facilitate the marginalization of minority languages and their users through implementation of hegemonic language policy; Shohamy (2006), for example, argues that top-down language policies are mechanisms that implement the hegemonic intentions of those in authority, a process that is facilitated by educators. However, other research focuses on how educators resist top-down language policy or interpret and appropriate it in unexpected and creative ways. As Mohanty, Panda, and Pal (2010, 228) argue: Teachers are not uncritical bystanders passively acquiescent of the state practice; in their own ways, they resist and contest the state policy or rather, in the Indian context, its absence and injustice by default. It is quite clear that the agency of the teachers in the classrooms makes them the final arbiter of the language education policy and its implementation. This tension is the subject of discussion in both Tollefson (2012b) and Johnson (2011), who agree that the difference between what Tollefson (2012b) calls the “historical-structural paradigm” and the “creative public sphere paradigm” is not theoretical but a matter of emphasis, and critical approaches are very much compatible with other approaches that do focus on grassroots movements and language policy agency—like ethnography of language policy—because both are committed to an agenda of social justice that resists dominant policy discourses that subjugate 43

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minority languages and their users. When combined, they offer an important balance between structure and agency—between a critical focus on the power of language policies and an ethnographic understanding of the agency of language policy actors. Research methods in educational language policy will need to wrestle with this tension, and especially useful are frameworks like those in Ball (1993), who offers two conceptualizations of policy—policy as text and policy as discourse—which articulate both the power of language policy agents to creatively interpret and re-interpret documents (policy as text) and the power of language policy as a discursive instrument of power (policy as discourse). A policy as text orientation rejects the quest for understanding authorial intentions in policy and instead emphasizes the variety of ways a particular policy text is interpreted and put into action. On the other hand, Ball’s policy as discourse orientation re-emphasizes the potential power of educational policies to set boundaries on what is educationally feasible. While a plurality of readings and interpretations is possible, “we need to appreciate the way in which policy ensembles . . . exercise power through the production of truth and knowledge as discourses” (Ball 1993, 23). Ball describes the two as opposing conceptualizations of educational policy; however, they are not necessarily in conflict. While it is important to respect the power of language policy agents, it is equally important to respect the power of discourses that language policies can engender, instantiate, and perpetuate. Researcher positionality. Researchers are increasingly considering their own positionality in the research context (Lin in press), which is especially a concern when non-minority scholars conduct research in minority contexts (Hill and May 2013), particularly given the benefits of ‘insiders’ conducting research in contexts that they are already familiar with (see discussion in Chimbutane 2011). Rampton (2007) questions whether a foreigner researching some previously unknown cultural group can ever really develop much more than “a description of conventional systems” (Rampton 2007, 591) and suggests that ethnographers should do research in institutions of which they are already a member (from the inside-out instead of the outside-in). The problem of researcher positionality is especially acute for ethnographers who tend to choose between more objectivist “fly on the wall” ethnographic observation, in which the researcher attempts to be an unobtrusive observer, and more subjectivist immersion, which can lead to voyeurism and uncritical valorization of the research subjects’ experiences (see discussion in Roman 1993). However, at least one more option is available, that of critical ethnography, which is defined by Madison (2012, 5–6): Critical ethnography begins with an ethical responsibility to address processes of unfairness or injustice . . . [T]he researcher feels an ethical obligation to make a contribution toward changing those conditions toward greater freedom and equity. The critical ethnographer also takes us beneath surface appearances, disrupts the status quo, and unsettles both neutrality and takenfor-granted assumptions by bringing to light underlying and obscure operations of power and control . . . [and] contributes to emancipatory knowledge and discourses of social justice. Utilizing critical ethnography as a research method may help to resolve some of the tension between the “historical-structural paradigm” and the “creative public sphere paradigm.” As well, researchers will need to continue to interrogate their own positionality in the research context, especially when much of the research involves marginalized and subjugated groups.

Implications for Education Phillipson’s (1992) theory of linguistic imperialism describes the process whereby the spread of colonial languages (especially English) results in linguistic hierarchisation. One of the institutions most responsible for the subjugation of minority and Indigenous languages is school. 44

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Skutnabb-Kangas (2000) refers to minority and Indigenous language education as a linguistic human right and describes educational programs that do not incorporate the students’ home languages as engaging in linguistic genocide. The culprits, as Shohamy (2006) sees it, are teachers and principals, who internalize and implement policy ideology. Others have focused on the ability of schools to promote minority languages. Examples from Hornberger (2006, 2009) have already been mentioned; another example is the Māori Language Act of 1987 in New Zealand, which declared Māori as one of New Zealand’s official languages and has supported the Māori-medium education movement (see May and Hill 2005). These national multilingual language policies open what Hornberger (2002) refers to as ideological space for multilingual education, which educators can use to create implementational space for bilingual educational programs that incorporate minority and Indigenous languages as resources. Based on their ethnographic research, Johnson and Freeman (2010) argue that educators who are committed to fostering linguistic diversity and bilingual education can create local spaces for preserving the linguistic diversity within a school district, and these efforts can be supported by district-wide language policy. They propose that teams of educators and researchers who understand the local context, federal and state policy, and the body of language education research, can develop educational language policy and programs that promote multilingualism; this can even be done within the confines of a national language policy that does not actively support multilingualism or bilingual education. Still, national language policies that promote multilingualism and linguistic pluralism might not be able to overcome either dominant societal discourses or local beliefs and practices that favor particular (especially colonial) languages, monolingual education, or prescriptive and outdated language instruction (Bekerman 2005; de los Heros 2009). As Hornberger has demonstrated in her ongoing work in South America, multilingual national language policies do not necessarily translate into multilingual classroom practices for many reasons, including the gap between policy creation and implementation, the ephemeral and ever-changing nature of policy, and, especially, the language attitudes of the communities themselves (Hornberger 1988). In addition, local multilingual language policies are not necessarily sufficient in and of themselves to overcome these obstacles. Evidence for this finding is found in Bekerman’s (2005) ethnographic research on an Arabic-Hebrew Bilingual school in Israel. Despite a local commitment to bilingual education, some societal language ideologies were too much for one school to overcome. One potential future opportunity may involve researchers and educators working together on advocacy and action research projects, characterized by Johnson (2013a) as educational language policy engagement and action research. This involves groups of teachers, students, administrators, and university researchers investigating processes throughout the language policy cycle—creation, interpretation, appropriation, and instantiation—and it informs and improves these processes. The focus is on: (1) how macro-level language policies are interpreted and put into practice; (2) how micro-level language policies are created, interpreted, and put into practice; (3) multilingual education and the educational opportunities of minority language users. This process ideally involves teachers and administrators from multiple levels of institutional authority and includes input from students, parents, and university scholars. Language policy action research provides the research team with an opportunity to interrogate how they are creating, interpreting, and appropriating language policy, and ways of changing it if that should 45

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prove necessary. It also provides the opportunity for the research team to challenge inequalities in schools that emerge from the subordination of minority languages; thus, there is an inherent agenda of social justice. Following Kemmis and McTaggart (1988 [1981]), Johnson (2013a) proposes that members of the language policy action research team plan action together, act and observe individually and collectively, reflect together, and reformulate more critically informed educational language plans and policies. In addition, a list of research features is offered: (1) Collaborative and participatory. Language policy action research involves a diverse group of individuals from multiple levels of institutional authority who collaboratively develop research questions; collect and analyze data; and reformulate language plans, policies, and practices based on critical examination. (2) Acceptance of different types of data as evidence. Quantitative studies might include the relative effectiveness of different education programs, the implementation of language policies (as reported in surveys), and the attitudes about various language policies and language attitudes. Qualitative studies focus on language policy and educational processes: How are language policies and programs created, interpreted, and put into practice? How do attitudes about language policies impact classroom instruction? Findings help inform future language plans and policies. (3) Research team members develop an understanding of the macro-level language policies influencing their educational practices and critically examine the language of these policies. While the focus is local, an understanding of macro-level language policies is crucial. A critical examination of the language policy language in macro-level policies may reveal implementational and ideological spaces (Hornberger 2002) that the research team can utilize to implement the educational programs they believe in. (4) Includes research on past language policy successes and failures and current language policy processes in other parts of the country/world. Every context is unique but there may be similarities in language policy processes across contexts and educators can learn from each other. Such comparisons are vital for developing a fuller understanding of how language policy works and for developing better theories of language policy activity. (5) Informed by research in applied linguistics, sociolinguistics, and educational practices. This includes research on the relative effectiveness of different language educational programs (e.g., Rolstad, Mahoney, and Glass 2005), the impact of testing on language policy and practice (e.g., Menken 2008), successful strategies for developing local language policies (Corson 1999), first and second language acquisition (e.g., Lightbown and Spada 2006), language learning processes and language teaching methods (e.g., Richards and Rodgers 2006), and sociolinguistics and language teaching (e.g., Hornberger and McKay 2011).

Further Reading Cooper, R.L. 1989. Language planning and social change. New York: Cambridge University Press. Corson, D. 1999. Language policy in schools: A resource for teachers and administrators. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Johnson, D.C. 2013. Language policy. London: Palgrave Macmillan. McCarty, T.L. 2011. Ethnography and language policy. London: Routledge. Ricento, T. (Ed.) 2006. An introduction to language policy: Theory and method. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Tollefson, J.W. 1991. Planning language, planning inequality: Language policy in the community. London: Longman.

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References Ball, S.J. 1993. What is policy? Texts, trajectories and toolboxes. Discourse, 13(2), 10–17. Bekerman, Z. 2005. Complex contexts and ideologies: Bilingual education in conflict-ridden areas. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 4(1), 1–20. Bonacina, F. 2010. A conversation analytic approach to practiced language policies: The example of an induction classroom for newly-arrived immigrant children in France. PhD dissertation, The University of Edinburgh. Chimbutane, F. 2011. Rethinking bilingual education in postcolonial contexts. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Cincotta-Segi, A. 2009. ‘The big ones swallow the small ones.’ Or do they? The language policy and practice of ethnic minority education in the Lao PDR: A case study from Nalae. PhD dissertation, The Australian National University, Canberra. Cincotta-Segi, A. 2011. Talking in, talking around and talking about the L2: Three literacy teaching responses to L2 medium of instruction in the Lao PDR. Compare, 41(2), 195–209. Cobarrubias, J. 1983. Ethical issues in status planning. In J. Cobarrubias and J.A. Fishman (Eds.), Progress in language planning: International Perspectives. Berlin: Mouton Publishers. Cooper, R.L. 1989. Language planning and social change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Corson, D. 1999. Language policy in schools: A resource for teachers and administrators. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Davis, K.A. 1999. Dynamics of indigenous language maintenance. In T. Huebner and K.A. Davis, (Eds.), Sociopolitical perspectives on language policy and planning in the USA. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 67–98. de los Heros, S. 2009. Linguistic pluralism or prescriptivism? A CDA of language ideologies in Talento, Peru’s official textbook for the first-year of high school. Linguistics and Education, 20, 172–199. Freeman, R. 1998. Bilingual education and social change. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Freeman, R. 2000. Contextual challenges to dual-language education: A case study of a developing middle school program. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 21(2), 202–229. Freeman, R. 2004. Building on community bilingualism. Philadelphia, PA: Caslon. Grin, F. 2003. Language planning and economics. Current Issues in Language Planning, 4(1), 1–66. Haque, E. 2012. Multiculturalism within a bilingual framework: Language, race, and belonging in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Haugen, E. 1959. Planning for a standard language in Norway. Anthropological Linguistics, 1(3), 8–21. Hill, R., and May, S. 2013. Non-indigenous researchers in indigenous language education: Ethical implications. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 219, 47–65. Hornberger, N.H. 1988. Bilingual education and language maintenance. Dordrecht, Holland: Foris Publications. Hornberger, N.H. 2001. Educational linguistics as a field: A view from Penn’s program on the occasion of its 25th anniversary. Working Papers in Educational Linguistics, 17(1–2), 1–26. Hornberger, N.H. 2002. Multilingual language policies and the continua of biliteracy: An ecological approach. Language Policy, 1(1), 27–51. Hornberger, N.H. 2006. Voice and biliteracy in indigenous language revitalization: Contentious educational practices in Quechua, Guarani, and Māori contexts. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 5(4), 277–292. Hornberger, N.H., 2009. Multilingual education policy and practice: Ten certainties (grounded in Indigenous experience). Language Teaching, 42(2), 197–211. Hornberger, N.H., and Johnson, D.C. 2007. Slicing the onion ethnographically: Layers and spaces in multilingual language education policy and practice. TESOL Quarterly, 41(3), 509–532. Hornberger, N.H, and Johnson, D.C. 2011. The ethnography of language policy. In T.L. McCarty (Ed.), Ethnography and language policy. London: Routledge, 273–289. Hornberger, N.H., and McKay, S.L. (Eds.) 2011. Sociolinguistics and language education. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Hult, F.M. 2010. Analysis of language policy discourses across the scales of space and time. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 202, 7–24. Jernudd, B., and Das Gupta, J. 1971. Towards a theory of language planning. In J. Rubin and B. Jernudd (Eds.), Can language be planned? Sociolinguistic theory and practice for developing nations. Hawaii: The University Press of Hawaii, 195–215. Johnson, D.C. 2010. Implementational and ideological spaces in bilingual education language policy. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 13(1), 61–79.

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Johnson, D.C. 2011. Critical discourse analysis and the ethnography of language policy. Critical Discourse Studies, 8(4), 267–279. Johnson, D.C. 2013a. Language policy. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Johnson, D.C. (Ed.) 2013b. Thematic issue: ‘Ethnography of language policy: Theory, method, and practice.’ International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 219, 1–160. Johnson, D.C. 2013c. Positioning the language policy arbiter: Governmentality and footing in the School District of Philadelphia. In J.W. Tollefson (Ed.), Language policies in education: Critical issues (2nd ed.). London and New York: Routledge, 116–136. Johnson, D.C., and Freeman, R., 2010. Appropriating language policy on the local level: Working the spaces for bilingual education. In K. Menken and O. Garcia (eds.), Negotiating language policies in schools: Educators as policymakers. New York: Routledge, 13–31. Johnson, E.J. 2012. Arbitrating repression: Language policy and education in Arizona. Language and Education, 26(1), 53–76. Kaplan, R.B., and Baldauf, R.B. 1997. Language planning: From practice to theory. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Kemmis, S., and McTaggart, R., 1988 [1981]. The action research planner. Geelong: Deakin University Press. Kloss, H. 1968. Notes concerning a language-nation typology. In J. Fishman, C. Ferguson, and J. Das Gupta (Eds.), Language problems of developing nations. New York: John Wiley and Sons, 69–85. Kloss, H. 1969. Research possibilities on group bilingualism: A report. Quebec: International Center for Research on Bilingualism. Lightbown, M., and Spada, N. 2006. How languages are learned. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lin, A. In press. Researcher positionality. In F.M. Hult and D.C. Johnson (Eds.), Research methods in language policy and planning: A practical guide. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Madison, D.S. 2012. Critical ethnography: Method, ethics, and performance (2nd ed.). Los Angeles: Sage Publications. May, S. 2001. Language and minority rights: Ethnicity, nationalism, and the politics of language. Harlow/London: Longman. May, S. (Ed.) 2005. Thematic issue: ‘Bilingual/immersion education in Aotearoa/New Zeland.’ The International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 8(5), 365–503. May, S., and Hill, R. 2005. Māori-medium education: Current issues and challenges. International Journal of Bilingual Education, 8(5), 377–403. McCarty, T.L. 2002. A place to be Navajo: Rough Rock and the struggle for self-determination in indigenous schooling. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. McCarty, T.L. (Ed.) 2011. Ethnography and language policy. London: Routledge. Menken, K. 2008. English learners left behind: Standardized testing as language policy. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Menken, K., and García, O. (Eds.) 2010. Negotiating language policies in schools: Educators as policymakers. New York: Routledge. Menken, K. & Shohamy, E. (Eds.) 2008, September. No Child Left Behind and U.S. language education policy. Language Policy 7(3). Mohanty, A., Panda, M., and Pal, R. 2010. Language policy in education and classroom practices in India: Is the teacher a cog in the policy wheel? In K. Menken and O. Garcia (Eds.), Negotiating language policies in schools: Educators as policymakers. New York: Routledge. Mortimer, K. 2013. Communicative event chains in an ethnography of Paraguayan language policy. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 219, 67–99. Phillipson, R. 1992. Linguistic imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Phillipson, R. 2003. English-only Europe? Challenging language policy. London and New York: Routledge. Rampton, B. 2007. Neo-Hymesian linguistic ethnography in the United Kingdom. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 11(5), 584–607. Ricento, T. 2000. Historical and theoretical perspectives in language policy and planning. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 4(2), 196–213. Ricento, T. 2005. Problems with the ‘language-as-resource’ discourse in the promotion of heritage languages in the U.S.A. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 9(3), 348–368. Ricento, T. 2006. Language policy: Theory and practice—an introduction. In T. Ricento (Ed.), An introduction to language policy: Theory and method. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 10–23. Ricento, T. 2013. The consequences of official bilingualism on the status and perception of non-official languages in Canada. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 34(5), 475–489. 48

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Ricento, T., and Cervatiuc, A., 2010. Language minority rights and educational policy in Canada. In J. Petrovic (Ed.), International perspectives on bilingual education: Policy, Practice, and Controversy. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, 21–42. Ricento, T., and Hornberger, N.H. 1996. Unpeeling the onion: Language planning and policy and the ELT professional. TESOL Quarterly, 30(3), 401–427. Richards, J.C., and Rodgers, T.S. 2006. Approaches and methods in language teaching (2nd ed.). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Rickford, J.R., 1999. The Ebonics controversy in my backyard: A sociolinguist’s experiences and reflections. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 3(2), 267–275. Rolstad, K., Mahoney, K., and Glass, G.V. 2005. The big picture: A meta-analysis of program effectiveness research on English language learners. Educational Policy, 19(4), 572–594. Roman, L.G. 1993. Double exposure: The politics of feminist materialist ethnography. Educational Theory, 43(3), 279–308. Ruiz, R. 1984. Orientations in language planning. NABE Journal 8(2), 15–34. Schiffman, H.F. 1996. Linguistic culture and language policy. London: Routledge. Schmid, C.L. 2001. The politics of language: Conflict identity, and cultural pluralism in comparative perspective. New York: Oxford University Press. Shohamy, E. 2006. Language policy: Hidden agendas and new approaches. London and New York: Routledge. Skutnabb-Kangas, T. 2000. Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human rights? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers. Spolsky, B. 1978. Educational linguistics: An introduction. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Spolsky, B. 2010. Introduction: What is educational linguistics? In B. Spolsky and F.M. Hult (Eds.), The handbook of educational linguistics. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 1–9. Tauli, V. 1974. The theory of language planning. In J. Fishman (Ed.), Advances in Language Planning. The Hague: Mouton, 69–78. Thomas, W.P., and Collier, V.P. 2001. A national study of school effectiveness for language minority students’ longterm academic achievement. Berkeley, CA: CREDE. Tollefson, J.W. 1991. Planning language, planning inequality: Language policy in the community. London: Longman. Tollefson, J.W. 2006. Critical theory in language policy. In T. Ricento (Ed.), An introduction to language policy: Theory and method. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 42–59. Tollefson, J.W. (Ed.) 2012a. Language policies in education: Critical issues (2nd ed.). London and New York: Routledge. Tollefson, J.W. 2012b. Language policy in a time of crisis and transformation. In J.W. Tollefson (Ed.), Language policies in education: Critical issues (2nd ed.). London and New York: Routledge, 11–32. Wiley, T.G. 1999. Comparative historical analysis of U.S. language policy and language planning: Extending the foundations. In T. Huebner and K.A. Davis (Eds.), Sociopolitical perspectives on language policy and planning in the USA. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 17–37. Wiley, T.G., and Wright, W.E. 2004. Against the undertow: Language-minority education policy and politics in the “age of accountability”. Educational Policy, 18(2), 142–168. Yanow, D. 2000. Conducting interpretive policy analysis. Thousand Oaks, California: Sage Publications. Yitzhaki, D. 2010. The discourse of Arabic language policies in Israel: Insights from focus groups. Language Policy, 9, 335–356.

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4 Researching Identity Through Narrative Approaches Christina Higgins and Priti Sandhu

This chapter discusses the development of narrative approaches in the study of identity formation and change in educational linguistics. Narrative approaches are promising for examining identity because they allow researchers to study how people position themselves in relation to larger societal structures and macrolevel discourses. Narratives can be analyzed to study identities as they relate to ideological topics such as beliefs and attitudes, and they are especially well suited for identifying the discursive positions that individuals take up in the stories they tell when making sense of their own and others’ lives. In educational linguistics, narratives have become increasingly used to understand how people negotiate their identities in classrooms and in their everyday life. The analysis of narrative encompasses both life history autobiographic narratives as well as more interactionally contextualized narratives that take place in educational contexts. Those who are interested in developing an understanding of how people view their own and others’ experiences will find narrative analysis a worthwhile undertaking. Researchers who want to investigate the role of narratives in co-constructing experience through collaborative storytelling will also find narrative analysis to be a very useful approach.

Historical Perspectives From sociology to psychology to education, narratives are now treated as primary data in an increasing number of fields in which positivist traditions have long held sway. This may be due in part to what has been called a “biographical turn” in the social sciences (Chamberlayne, Bornat, and Wengraf 2000), or an interest in methods that can uncover the personal and social meanings that are considered to be the basis of people’s actions, rather than identifying structural or macrolevel factors as the starting point for analysis. In the social sciences, this has amounted to a paradigm shift that now emphasizes the individual as the primary sensemaking agent in the construction of her or his own identity, rather than the end product of larger forces. Of course, how much agency individuals have in shaping their own narratives is itself a topic of inquiry, and many researchers situate their narrative work with a critical eye to the role of social class, race, and gender in interpreting their findings. In addition, researchers have begun paying more attention to their own positionality in the process of collecting 50

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the data and interpreting it (Bamberg 2003; Lee and Simon-Maeda 2006). In recent years, narratives have become more prominent in the field of educational linguistics due to increasing interest in the important role that identity has in learning, teaching, and using language in society. Many researchers who have taken ethnographic and case study approaches to their research now find narratives a central part of their analytic toolkit, and the body of research that sets out detailed methods for collecting and analyzing narrative data has grown tremendously in the past decade. Most accounts of narrative analysis in educational linguistics begin by acknowledging the importance of William Labov’s contributions, which involved the analysis of narrative structure in stories that he elicited in interviews with young African American males. Though primarily a variationist who works on sociophonetic data, Labov explored the interviews to counter claims in educational linguistics that African Americans have a “restricted code” (Bernstein 1971), which was argued to lead to the production of less complex narratives compared to those produced by Anglo American English speakers. As an outcome of this work, Labov and Waletzky (1967) proposed a structural model for analyzing narrative chronology, consisting of a basic structure: abstract, orientation, narrative clauses (i.e., complicating action), and coda. Abstract and coda provide a link with the conversational frame, while the orientation section introduces characters and setting. Labov and Waletzky also laid the foundation for the concept of “tellability,” which refers to the need for narratives to be newsworthy and about something remarkable rather than mundane. This concept was further elaborated on by Ochs and Capps (2001), who demonstrated that storytelling is a highly interactional process in which narrators and audiences negotiate details and evaluative stances at all stages of the tale. Current approaches that analyze the discourse units that comprise narratives and their relationship to overall story structure tend to build on these scholars’ work. From a rather different angle, many narrative studies produced in the past two decades are driven by post-structuralist viewpoints. The impetus of much of this work is the development of positioning theory, an approach developed by Bronwyn Davies and Rom Harré (1990) that examines the types of subject positions, or subjectivities, that people assume in telling stories. They explain that “a subject position incorporates both a conceptual repertoire and a location for persons within the structure of rights for those who use that repertoire. Once having taken up a particular position as one’s own, a person inevitably sees the world from the vantage point of that position and in terms of the images, metaphors, and storylines that are relevant within that particular discursive practice” (46). Though it might be said that this type of narrative analysis has led to a greater amount of scholarship in educational linguistics, it is clear that many of the scholars working in this tradition borrow tools from more interactional approaches. For example, Higgins (2011a) used Goffman’s (1981) framework of footing in combination with positioning theory to analyze how Swahili language learners moved from their role as storytellers to evaluators of actions in stories. An analysis of the learners’ discursive moves acted as windows into the learners’ positionings and made visible how they aligned with what they narrated as ‘Swahili’ language and culture. Perhaps due to the influence of post-structuralist work, narrative analysis has often been subsumed under discourse studies. Hence, deconstruction, the identification of macrolevel discourses and ideologies, and the role of power in language and society are all significant topics for narrative analysts. More recently, the co-construction of identity has taken center stage, and frameworks allowing for the microanalysis of identity, such as conversation analysis and interactional sociolinguistics, have become highly relevant to the analysis of narratives embedded in conversations and interviews. 51

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Core Issues and Key Findings Narrative research has long been used by scholars interested in studying identity from a variety of perspectives, in large part because of the ontological understandings that have come to underpin this approach (Riessman 1993). Of special appeal to identity scholars is the assumption that narratives are meaning-making devices enabling people to lend coherence to their lived experiences (Bruner 2002). Narrators are understood to wield their voices and hence enact their agency and, in so doing, adopt evaluative stances about people, expectations, and worldly conditions. Narratives are also acknowledged to be located within their social, cultural, and historical contexts and, as such, are viewed as being impacted upon by macrolevel or conventional storylines (Pavlenko 1998). These intricate associations make their evaluative function even more salient as narrators are able to construct particular relationships between themselves and their social orders, often by reproducing or critiquing existing relationships of power and knowledge (Peterson and Langellier 2006). Narratives are thus sites wherein nuanced, highly contextualized, multiple, and often conflicted identities are constructed. A substantial body of early narrative-based work within educational settings in the United States was concerned with the interconnections between ethnic and sociocultural identities of students and their narrative styles, with attention to educational implications. Jim Gee’s early work (e.g., 1985, 1986, 1989) analyzed oral narratives of African American and Caucasian students using ethnopoetics to highlight the close interconnections between features of their stories and their sociocultural backgrounds. Concerned that mainstream educators would disregard African American children’s narrative styles, Gee focused on identifying the narrative structures of the African American children’s narratives vis-à-vis Caucasian children’s narratives. Similarly, Sarah Michaels (1981) and Courtney Cazden (1988) contributed to understandings of minority schoolchildren’s interactional styles through their analyses of oral narratives taking place during routine classrooms such as ‘sharing time.’ These researchers aimed not only to document the different narrative structures, but also to draw attention to the ways that the minority students’ narratives were potentially less valued among Anglo teachers, with the implication that the students would suffer academically. While later studies complicated and expanded their findings, this research has led to the dilemma of whether minority children must be asked to abandon their own narrative styles and to acquire an ‘essayist,’ mainstream narrative style in order to succeed in school. As Gee (1989, 109) points out, this may be difficult, if not unethical, as narrative style is part of one’s identity, and is “connected with a culture’s mode of expression, presentation of self, and way of making sense” of the world. Adding a more positive perspective, Poveda’s (2002) more recent study of a Romani child set in Spain showed that the student’s ‘different’ narrative style encouraged the teacher to engage more with the student and led the other students to participate more as well. This work on oral narratives has emphasized the need for educators to be knowledgeable of the close connections between verbal styles and social identities and the challenges students face when asked to emulate mainstream discourse styles both at the personal and pedagogical levels. Beyond interactional styles in classrooms, narratives have also provided insights into the ways that school-aged students identify with different groups and networks. Here, researchers have combined the analysis of narratives with understandings of students’ sociocultural and interactional contexts to understand how students produce and reproduce social identities in their schools and in larger society. To illustrate, Moore (2006) analyzed narratives of British students to examine how hierarchies of ‘townies’ and ‘populars’ functioned within girls’ social networks, paying attention to how certain girls were named and took up the rights to tell stories in multiparty research interviews. Similarly, in a study exploring racial ideologies in California, Bucholtz 52

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(2011) analyzed Caucasian youths’ stories about racial fear, reverse discrimination, and fight stories, which reproduced Black/White racial binaries. In addition to comparing the stories with her own ethnographic observations, which did not find evidence of racialized violence or intimidation, Bucholtz critically examined her own role in the construction of racial categories in the interviews she carried out. Narrative-based research within education has encompassed teacher identities as well (see also Martel and Wang, this volume). One strand of such work has examined the identity construction of in-service teachers in classroom interactions. Juzwik and Ives (2010) adopted a multi-layered short story dialogic approach to analyze teacher identity as it was constructed in a short story the teacher narrated within a classroom activity. Theorizing the dynamic, emergent, and interactional nature of teacher identity, the study showed how the “teacher’s identifying narrative performance as well as teacher-student interactions and relationships come to be mediated by a variety of small-scale contextual and interactional factors” (58). Moving beyond classroom interactions, other approaches have highlighted the importance of providing spaces for teachers to narrate their professional experiences and identities. For example, McKinney and Giorgis (2009) analyzed the autobiographies of literacy specialists working in schools to examine how their identities as writers and as teachers of writing were negotiated and performed. An offshoot of teacher identity research has examined the narratives for pre-service teacher education. One illustration of this work is Alvine (2001), which used reflective literacy autobiographies of trainee teachers to examine the interconnections between their personal knowledge and the theoretical knowledge of their teacher education courses; the trainees then drew from their autobiographies to formulate compellingly integrated and grounded beliefs about teaching and learning. Identity research in the teaching and learning of languages has also become a focus in recent years. Because language teacher identity has been addressed extensively (Martel and Wang this volume), we limit our comments here mostly to language learners. Seminal research in this area began only about two decades ago, and it began with a focus on adult immigrant English language learners. In this research, the learning of a second language has often been treated as going through the stages of deconstruction and de-centering of the self, followed by the reconstruction of one’s identity in the L2 (Norton Peirce 1995; Pavlenko 1998; Pavlenko and Lantolf 2000). Much of this work has adopted a post-structuralist perspective on identity as being unstable, fluid, and dynamic, yet simultaneously grounded in various discourses of gender, age, class, ethnicity, and nationality. Norton (2000) presents a comprehensive, book-length study of this type, utilizing participant narratives to investigate the limited options that immigrant women from Peru, Poland, and Vietnam faced in Canada as they struggled to engage in second language learning opportunities. Norton analyzed narratives from diaries the women kept as part of a critical ethnography of the women’s lives, and she found that the women’s language learning experiences were affected both by being silenced in a patriarchal society and also by their gendered, raced, and classed experiences. Adding another and more empowered perspective to narrative accounts of immigrants and identity construction, Vitanova (2005) examined how East European immigrants to the US, both men and women, were able to author themselves, using Bakhtinian terminology, in their second language—English, thereby resisting the negative positionings assigned to them because of their second language learner and foreigner status. Narratives have proven fruitful for better understanding how identities relate to language learning in the late modern era of transnational affiliations and hybrid identity options, as learners have an ever-widening array of ways of thinking about the languages and cultures that they study. Rather than seeing languages as tied to monolithic ‘target’ cultures, studies are showing that learners often connect their language learning with a range of real, virtual, and imagined communities—only 53

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some of which are mother tongue users (Duff 2007; Higgins 2011b). Learners often make stronger friendships with others online, in forms such as fan fiction, where they construct new narratives for each other to read (Black 2009), and through sharing the positionality of ‘language learner’ in study abroad programs (Kinginger 2008). Additionally, migrants and relocated individuals may form their own communities comprised of newcomers, rather than striving to gain access to a community of native speakers. Higgins and Stoker (2011) examined narratives to show how Korean adoptee-returnees in Korea with relatively limited contact with Koreans positioned themselves as rightful speakers of their heritage language. The learners narrated stories where their Koreanness was contested by Korean nationals, and in response, they constructed a third space in which their status as ‘overseas Koreans’ was legitimated, and where their Korean language competence was identified as valid. As research on language learning and teaching has become more reflective on many levels, narrative research within applied linguistics has grown as researchers both reflect on diverse aspects of using narrative methodologies and use narrative accounts to focus on emergent topics within the field. Lee and Simon-Maeda (2006) interrogated the role that racial identities play in the research practices of two researchers—Asian and White—through their personal narratives. While the latter researcher grappled with issues of positioning, reflexivity, and the tensions inherent in representations of ‘others,’ the former tackled the complexities facing a researcher of color attempting to represent ‘her own kind.’ Scholars have also begun to explore how narrative research can reveal the ways in which researchers working within language education negotiate their researcher identities, reduce power differentials between themselves and participants, and encourage teacher collaboration in research projects (Norton and Early 2011). Adding a muchneeded international perspective to this growing body of work, Canagarajah (2012) recounted how he successfully “negotiated the differing teaching practices and professional cultures of the periphery and the center in an effort to develop a strategic professional identity” (258). In a globalized world where English has acquired multi-faceted local identities, he highlighted the need for closer communication between these diverse communities and the need to critically use multiple identities to become part of the larger professional discourses and practices of the field.

Research Approaches In an important article on narratives in applied linguistics, Aneta Pavlenko (2007) writes that in studies on autobiographic narratives, “it is not uncommon to see a summary of participants’ observations, richly interspersed with quotes, presented as analysis” (163). To remedy the lack of analysis present in much of this research, a comprehensive treatment of narrative data needs to involve attention to the content (what is said, i.e., themes), the context (the microcontext of the interview and the macrocontext of the sociopolitical events surrounding the telling), and the form (how the narratives are told discursively). Relatively new ways of looking at narratives not only as stories that convey ‘what happened,’ but also as interactional data in which speakers artfully position themselves and others in discourse have thus emerged. Within the field of orally recounted narratives, what Pavlenko refers to as form was analyzed early on by Labov and Waletzky (1967) in their seminal functional analytical model. Over the past several decades, scholars working from more discourse analytic perspectives, such as Bamberg (1997), Wortham (2001), and Georgakopoulou (2007), have asserted the need to take account of interactional surroundings in order to recognize the collaborative nature of talk and the particular social actions the narrative carries out in a specific interaction. Much narrative data is collected through interviews with a researcher, with the goal of establishing participants’ accounts of their life histories, in which they present big picture perspectives of 54

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their past experiences. Such data collection allows researchers to gain a holistic understanding of an individual’s experiences, which can shed light on particular research questions. In life-history research, analysis usually focuses on the content and context of the telling, and analysts treat narratives as sense-making devices wherein individuals use stories to craft coherent visions of their past and present. A useful illustration of life-history narrative research is Menard-Warwick’s (2005) study, in which she interviewed two Latina immigrants living in California six times. Her analysis of the narratives was set in the context of her larger ethnography and involved her participant-observation over a period of many months in the women’s community school ESL classrooms. After an initial coding of themes, she discovered the important concept of intergenerational trajectories, which in turn provided her with a deeper understanding of the connections between the women’s engagement with English and Spanish literacies vis-à-vis their own childhood experiences, and as parents of school-aged children. Life history narratives are also used to examine how narrators might evoke collective remembering (Wertsch 2002)—that is, culturally shared narratives that have been socially constructed across time and reified through frequent retellings. The narration of collective remembering is closely bound to identity construction and can be seen as an example of speakers engaging in microlevel and macrolevel discourses to position themselves with regard to nation-states, ethnic group memberships, and gender identities. Using narratives taken from interviews and language learner diaries, Kinginger (2008) provides clear examples of how larger discourses and shared storylines impact language learners’ experiences while studying abroad. Focusing on Americans studying abroad in France, Kinginger (2011) examined the different degrees to which four college-aged women adhered to nationalist storylines of American-French relations, and how much this affected their experiences in a cultural context that was explicitly critical of the United States’ military actions in the Middle East. Not surprisingly, such collective remembering often occurs in classroom interaction as well. A stellar example is Juzwik (2009), which explored how students become socialized toward narratives about the Holocaust that follow nationally sanctioned storylines. A relatively recent but influential contribution to the field of narrative studies is in the form of the distinction between ‘big’ and ‘small’ stories. ‘Big stories’ such as those collected in life history narratives, autobiographies, or stories about life-altering events are mostly elicited by researchers in interviews, as opposed to ‘small stories,’ which are recounted in everyday interactions (Bamberg and Georgakopoulou 2008; Georgakopoulou 2007). The well-established tradition of collecting big stories normally imposes a list of criteria that determine what can actually be considered a story. For instance, there is a requirement for a chronological series of events about past experiences, a plot that has a beginning, middle and end, and takes on a particular perspective or voice. In contrast, small stories are interactional tellings of ongoing events, future or hypothetical events, and shared events. They can be very brief, as they also capture allusions to previous tellings, deferrals of tellings, and refusals to tell. Small stories have been conceptualized as talk-in-interaction, embedded in their discourse environment, collaboratively produced by speakers and listeners (Georgakopoulou 2007). Such an orientation foregrounds the concept of narrative from the interactants’ perspectives, and takes a strongly emic perspective of what might be considered a narrative. While Georgakopoulou (2007) draws upon conversation analysis as a useful analytical tool for analysis, she also emphasizes the external contexts that shape the telling of small stories. Because small stories tend to be threaded through interactions and reemerge over the course of time, the concept of inter-narrativity is also important, as the life history of a narrative allows researchers to examine how a narrative is moved in time and space, recycled and reshaped so that it fits each new context of its telling. The analytical orientation of what is accomplished through the tellings of these small stories is that 55

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people use them “in their interactive engagements to construct a sense of who they are, while big story research analyzes the stories as representations of world and identities” (Bamberg and Georgakopoulou, 2008, 382). Small story proponents do not posit a substitution of research on big stories with small ones; rather, they argue that the field of narrative research would be enriched through the inclusion of small stories while their conceptualization and analytical styles could make useful contributions to big story research. Bamberg and Georgakopoulou’s attention to the role of stories, whether big or small, have great importance in discourse-oriented narrative analysis. They highlight the importance of looking beyond the referential aspects of narrative to the interactional elements of the narrative telling, especially the accomplishment of interactive positionings by the narrators and their narrating audiences (Bamberg 1997; Wortham 2001). Narrators may evaluate the contributions of their interlocutors (in the case of interviews), and interviewers themselves can also supply evaluative positioning in the act of co-constructing the interview (Wortham and Gadsden 2006). In short, stories told in oral interviews need to be analyzed as products of the interaction between the teller and the interviewer (Mishler 1986). Therefore, assumptions holding the narrator to be the sole creator of a narrative are debunked because the interviewer’s style of questioning, prompts, acknowledgments, encouragements, facilitations, challenges, interruptions, and silences all are viewed as decisively impacting the story that eventually gets told. Narratives can simultaneously perform a multitude of functions, and narrators can communicate propositional information and display evaluations of this information (and of the interaction itself ), while also constructing a socially recognizable identity (Koven 2007). Some researchers have augmented the analysis of narratives, whether big or small, with ethnographic knowledge of their participants’ experiences, drawing on observations, document collection, and interviews over an extended period. This can help establish the macrocontext in which the narratives are told (Pavlenko 2007), and it can offer the researcher a deeper understanding of the discourses that shape the narrative tellings. If the goal is to make explanatory links between narratives and specific social phenomenon, such contextual information is crucial to avoid privileging narrative accounts and to instead treat them as social phenomena that need to be further examined (Atkinson and Delamont 2006). The purpose of doing so is not to determine the truth value of narratives, but rather to understand how the stories that people tell are embedded in larger ideological, economic, and political contexts, and hence, are shaped by those forces.

Debates We will address four points of debate in this section: 1) the distinctions between narrative inquiry and narrative analysis; 2) the relevance of reflection in narratives; 3) the nature and role of context; and 4) researcher reflexivity. Some scholars have found it important to distinguish between narrative analysis and narrative inquiry in their work, which points to a larger debate over what comprises a thorough analysis of narrative data. Within this debate, narrative inquiry is usually described as an approach that focuses more on big stories, asking questions of who, what and why, rather than considering the question of how stories are told. In other words, narrative inquiry values stories for what they can tell us about the teller’s self, while narrative analysis is also interested in examining how tellers construct their stories within the context of the here-and-now of the storytelling event and interlocutors. This distinction is generally borne out in research approaches, as ethnographic and case study work in educational linguistics tends to use narrative inquiry, whereas researchers following discourse analytic traditions tend to favor narrative analysis. The two different approaches also have consequences for the presentation of data and the style 56

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of research reporting. Many narrative inquiry studies present the voices of the participants in third person synthesis of findings, sometimes inserting illustrative excerpts into the writing. On the other hand, narrative analysis studies include extensive, detailed transcripts and close analysis of the actual voices of the narrators (e.g., Wortham 2001; Sandhu 2014a, 2014b). Despite these apparent differences, there is much to be gained from a synergy between the two approaches, since focusing on how people engage in telling stories sheds light on the various selves that are articulated, and seeing how such stories change in particular interactional contexts allows us to understand more about who and what than may have previously been imagined (Georgakopoulou 2006). As already discussed, a three-pronged approach that takes into account the content, context, and form of narratives has been recommended (Pavlenko 2007). Nevertheless, the debates continue because research that addresses questions of how often neglects thematic topics, and narrative work that investigates what and why questions often avoids examining the intricacies of narrative discourse. While there may be cases where a delicate balance between the two is the goal, it is clear from the literature that some research questions are better served with a focus on what questions, while others are best suited for how questions. While discussing the distinctions between ‘big’ and ‘small’ stories previously, we explained the varying understandings of narratives that these two perspectives have adopted. These continue to be a topic of much debate within the field, especially in the way in which they conceptualize reflection and its importance for identity construction. ‘Big’ stories are valuable because they are removed from the here and now of ongoing social action and thus allow narrators the temporal distance from life events, enabling them to reflect on them and thus assign meaning to lived experience. The self or subjectivity that this process of reflection produces is a larger, more stable and continuous one than that which emerges in everyday experiences. While acknowledging that this larger self is not a “fixed, grandiose, narcissistic, hyper-masculine vision of the Individual,” Freeman (2006) argues that “our lives—the movement of our lives, across significant swaths of time—continues to have meaning for many” (135). On the other hand, it can be argued that reflection is present in varying degrees in small stories as well (Bamberg 2006). The question is not the presence or absence or even the quantity or quality of such reflection, but instead, how interpretations are accomplished in and through interaction. In summary, the debate over reflection is whether narratives are based on “internal psychological constructs” or if they are dialogic and discursive artifacts. Another point of debate that has emerged in narrative work is the role of context in narrative approaches. Narrative scholars have repeatedly emphasized the importance of the context within which narratives are situated, maintaining that narratives are never recounted in a vacuum but are inextricably embedded in and thus are products of their local environments. Analysis of various levels of positioning in narratives addresses the importance of taking into account the multiple levels of context, including the level of positioning between the researcher and the participants, as well as the level of positioning amongst discourses (Bamberg 1997). However, the extent to which narrative analysts incorporate the ‘world’ of the narratives into their analysis differs significantly (Riessman 2008). Some scholars adopt Mishler’s (1986) understanding of interviews as interactional sites where interactants collaboratively negotiate for and construct meaning. Others include within their analytical lens the shared (or dissimilar) characteristics of the interactants and examine how the racial, linguistic, gendered subjectivities of the interactants impact the narratives that are recounted. Still others adopt an even wider perspective and examine how personal stories of participants are connected to larger social worlds, or Bamberg’s (1997) third level of positioning amongst discourses. There is emerging work that attempts to bridge some of these distinctions. An example is Sandhu (2014a), which examines the collaborative production of a narrative told within a research interview and simultaneously attends to 57

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the construction and resistence of hegemonic societal discourses regarding the value of Hindi or English medium education. A fourth area of debate is the nature and extent of researcher reflexivity that narrative scholars bring to their work. It has been argued that narrative-based research will be richer if it takes into account the historical and social location, not only of the narrators, but also of the researchers, since both influence the research relationship (Riessman 2002, 37). However, in most narrative studies that examine identity construction, the researcher’s positionality vis-à-vis the participants or in relation to the topic under examination remains absent. This could be because the researchers’ own life experiences are very different from the participants, and because such examinations are not yet commonplace in the literature, and hence, are often underappreciated when undergoing peer review. A compelling explanation is posited by Nelson (2005, 315) who says, “texts in which the researcher’s subjectivity is foregrounded can be perceived as irrelevant, self-indulgent or insufficiently critical.” However, narrative scholars are increasingly becoming cognizant of the added insights that engaging in researcher reflexivity brings to their analysis and are looking at how their racial, professional, linguistic, gendered identities impact diverse elements of the research process, such as the co-construction of narratives, the relationships between them and their participants, and the narrative analysis and interpretations that are made. We would suggest that as more outlets for publication value research that treats the researcher’s positionality as a central feature of analysis, more attention to this last debate will lead to new insights. This is already being done in interview research, where the role of the interviewer is treated as central to the narratives being told (e.g., Miller 2011; Sandhu 2014a).

Implications for Education Narratives can provide a basis for concrete pedagogical materials and activities in classrooms of all kinds. English language classrooms for adult immigrants, for example, can be designed so that students’ narratives act as a bridge in connecting their classroom learning to their lives beyond the classroom walls and in providing a space for student voices to be heard. Writing autobiographic narratives “can be empowering, especially for those to whom the act of naming and framing lived experience in an education context is not necessarily familiar, comfortable, or historically valued” (Nelson 2011, 467). As Menard-Warwick (2006) found in her research with adult learners of English, when learners were given the chance to write in English about their personal histories and their families, their enthusiasm for learning grew exponentially. Similarly, sharing diary entries gave the learners the opportunity to develop their oral skills and to learn new vocabulary as well (Norton 2000). Future research is needed that examines how narratives can be used as a pedagogical resource for teachers working with migrant and minority populations for which culturally relevant materials are lacking. Narratives have a great deal of potential for practical purposes in the field of teacher education (Barkhuizen and Wette 2008; Johnson 2009). They can offer aspiring or in-service teachers the opportunity to critically reflect on their beliefs and teaching philosophies, and they can be used to assess changes and growth as they experience teacher training. From a sociocultural perspective, narratives can be utilized as the core of professional development activities for teachers as a way of re-envisioning teaching as dialogic mediation. Narratives can help teachers in teacher education programs to ‘externalize’ their understandings of teaching theory and practices and to ‘verbalize’ their thought processes so that they “not only name the theoretical constructs they are exposed to . . . but, through the activity of narrating, . . . begin to use those concepts to make sense of their teaching experiences and to regulate both their thinking and teaching practices” (Johnson and Golombek 2011, 493). Finally, interactional narratives that take place in classrooms 58

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can be analyzed as part of self-reflective teaching and learning. Rex and Juzwik (2011) provide a guide that addresses a range of very practical issues, including how to encourage student participation in discussions of difficult topics and how to draw upon cultural differences as resources for all to learn from. Future research that examines the relationship between interactional, classroom-based narratives and their impact on student participation and engagement with learning would be a very exciting direction for future narrative work in education.

Further Reading Bamberg, M. 2007. Narrative—State of the art. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. [Originally published as 2006 Special Issue of Narrative Inquiry, 16(1).] Barkhuizen, G. (Ed.) 2011. Narrative research in TESOL. Special issue of TESOL Quarterly, 391–590. Pavlenko, A. 2007. Autobiographic narratives as data in applied linguistics. Applied Linguistics, 28(2), 163–188. Riessman, C. 2008. Narrative methods for the human sciences. London: Sage. Wortham, S. 2001. Narratives in action. New York: Teachers College Press.

References Alvine, L. 2001. Shaping the teaching self through autobiographical narrative and subjectivity. The High School Journal, 84(3), 5–12. Atkinson, P. and Delamont, S. 2006. Rescuing narratives from qualitative research. Narrative Inquiry, 16(1), 164–172. Bamberg, M. 1997. Positioning between structure and performance. Journal of Narrative and Life History, 7(1–4), 335–342. Bamberg, M. 2003. Positioning with Davie Hogan—Stories, tellings, and identities. In C. Daiute and C. Lightfoot (Eds.), Narrative analysis: Studying the development of individuals in society (pp. 135–157). London: Sage. Bamberg, M. 2006. Introductory remarks. Narrative Inquiry, 16(1), 1–2. Bamberg, M., and Georgakopoulou, A. 2008. Small stories as a new perspective in narrative and identity analysis. Text and Talk, 28(3), 377–396. Barkhuizen, G., and Wette, R. 2008. Narrative frames for investigating the experiences of language teachers. System, 36(3), 372–387. Bauman, R. 2004. A world of others’ words. Cross-cultural perspectives on intertextuality. Oxford: Blackwell. Bernstein, B. 1971. Class, codes and control. London: Paladin. Black, R. 2009. Online fan fiction, global identities, and imagination. Research in the Teaching of English, 43, 397–425 Bruner, J. 2002. Making stories. New York: Farr, Straus and Giroux. Brutt-Griffler, J., and Samimy, K. K. 1999. Revisiting the colonial in the postcolonial: Critical praxis for nonnative-English-speaking teachers in a TESOL Program. TESOL Quarterly, 33(3), 413–431. Bucholtz, M. 2011. California youth “It’s different for guys”: Gendered narratives of racial conflict among white. Discourse Society, 22(4) 385–402. Canagarajah, S. A. 2012. Teacher development in a global profession: An autoethnography. TESOL Quarterly, 46(2), 258–279. Cazden, C. B. 1988. Classroom discourse: The language of teaching and learning. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Chamberlayne, P., Bornat, J., and Wengraf, T. 2000. Introduction: The biographical turn. In P. Chamberlayne, J. Bornat, and T. Wengraf (Eds.), The turn to biographical methods in social science: Comparative issues and examples (pp. 1–30). London: Routledge. Davies, B., and Harré, R. 1990. Positioning: The discursive production of selves. Journal for the Theory of Social Behavior, 20(1), 43–63. Duff, P. 2007. Second language socialization as sociocultural theory: Insights and issues. Language Teaching, 40, 309–319. Freeman, M. 2006. Life “on holiday”? In defense of big stories. Narrative Inquiry 16(6), 131–138. Gee, J. 1985. The narrativization of experience in the oral style. Journal of Education, 167, 9–35. Gee, J. 1986. Units in the production of narrative discourse. Discourse Processes, 9, 391–422. 59

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Gee, J. 1989. Two styles of narrative construction and their linguistic and educational implications. Discourse Processes, 12, 287–307. Georgakopoulou, A. 2006. Thinking big with small stories in narrative and identity analysis. Narrative Inquiry, 16(1), 122–130. Georgakopoulou, A. 2007. Small stories, interaction, and identities. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Goffman, E. 1981. Forms of talk. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Golombek, P. 1998. A study of language teachers’ personal practical knowledge. TESOL Quarterly, 32(3), 447–464. Higgins, C. 2011a. “You’re a real Swahili!”: Western women’s resistance to identity slippage in Tanzania. In C. Higgins (Ed.), Identity formation in globalizing contexts: Language learning in the new millennium (pp. 147–168). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Higgins, C. (Ed.) 2011b. Identity formation in globalizing contexts: Language learning in the new millennium. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Higgins, C., and Stoker, K. 2011. Language learning as a site for belonging: A narrative analysis of Korean adoptee-returnees. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 14(4), 399–412. Inquiry, 16(1), 173–180. Johnson, K. 2009. Second language teacher education: A sociocultural perspective. New York: Routledge. Johnson, K., and Golombek, P. 2011. The transformative power of narrative in second language teacher education. TESOL Quarterly, 45(3), 486–509. Juzwik, M. 2009. The rhetoric of teaching: Understanding the dynamics of Holocaust narratives in an English classroom. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press. Juzwik, M., and Ives, D. 2010. Small stories as resources for performing teacher identity: Identity-in-interaction in an urban language arts classroom. Narrative Inquiry, 20(1), 37–61. Kinginger, C. 2008. Language learning in study abroad: Case studies of Americans in France. Special monograph issue of The Modern Language Journal 92 (supplement), 1–124. Kinginger, C. 2011. National identity and language learning abroad: American students in the post-9/11 era. In C. Higgins (Ed.), Identity formation in globalizing contexts: Language learning in the new millennium (pp. 147—166). Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton. Koven, M. 2007. Selves in two languages: Bilingual verbal enactments of identity in French and Portuguese. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Labov, W. 1997. Some further steps in narrative analysis. Journal of Narrative and Life History, 7 (1–4), 395–415. Labov, W., and Waletzky, J. 1967. Narrative analysis: Oral versions of personal experience. J. Helm (Ed.), Essays on the verbal and visual arts (pp. 12–44). Seattle: University of Washington Press. Lee, E., and Simon-Maeda, A. 2006. Racialized Research Identities in ESL/EFL Research. TESOL Quarterly, 4(3), 573–594. McKinney, M., and Giorgis, C. 2009. Narrating and performing identity: Literacy specialists’ writing identities. Journal of Literacy Research, 41, 104–149. Menard-Warwick, J. 2005. Intergenerational trajectories and sociopolitical context: Latina immigrants in adult ESL. TESOL Quarterly, 39, 165–185. Menard-Warwick, J. 2006. The words become one’s own: Immigrant women’s perspectives on family literacy activities. CATESOL Journal, 18(1), 96–108. Menard-Warwick, J. 2011. A methodological reflection on the process of narrative analysis: Alienation and identity in the life histories of English language teachers. TESOL Quarterly, 45(3), 564–574. Michaels, S. 1981. “Sharing Time”: Children’s Narrative Styles and Differential Access to Literacy. Language in Society, 10(3), 423–442. Miller, E. R. 2011. Indeterminacy and interview research: Co-constructing ambiguity and clarity in interviews with an adult immigrant learner of English. Applied Linguistics, 32(1), 43–59. Mishler, E. G. 1986. Research interviewing: Context and narrative. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Moore, E. 2006. “You tell all the stories”: Using narrative to explore hierarchy within a Community of Practice. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 10(5), 611–640. Nelson, C. 2005. Crafting researcher subjectivity in ways that enact theory. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 4(4), 315–319. Nelson, C. 2011. Narratives of classroom life: Changing conceptions of knowledge. TESOL Quarterly, 45, 463–485. Norton, B. 2000. Identity and language learning: Gender, ethnicity and educational change. Essex, England: Longman. 60

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Norton, B., and Early, M. 2011. Researcher identity, narrative inquiry, and language teaching research. TESOL Quarterly, 45(3), 415–439. Norton Peirce, B. 1995. Social identity, investment, and language learning. TESOL Quarterly, 29(1), 9–31. Ochs, E. 1997. Narrative. In T. A. van Dijk (Ed.), Discourse as structure and process, (pp. 185–207). London: Sage. Ochs, E., and Capps, L. 2001. Beyond face value (Chapter 6). In Living narratives: Creating lives in everyday storytelling. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pavlenko, A. 1998. Second language learning by adults: Testimonies of bilingual writers. Issues in Applied Linguistics, 9(1), 3–19. Pavlenko, A. 2003. “I never knew I was bilingual”: Reimagining teacher identities in TESOL. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 2(4), 251–268. Pavlenko, A. 2004. “The making of an American”: Negotiation of identities at the turn of the twentieth century. In Pavlenko and A. Blackledge (Eds.), Negotiation of identities in multilingual contexts (pp. 34–67). Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Pavlenko, A. 2007. Autobiographic narratives as data in applied linguistics. Applied Linguistics 28(2), 163–188. Pavlenko, A., and Lantolf, J. 2000. Second language learning as participation and the (re)construction of selves. In J. Lantolf (Ed.), Sociocultural theory and second language learning (pp. 155–177). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Peterson, E. E., and Langellier, K. M. 2006. The performance turn in narrative studies. Narrative Inquiry, 16(1), 173–180. Poveda, D. 2002. Quico’s story: An ethnopoetic analysis of a Gypsy boy’s narratives at school. Text, 22 (2), 269–300. Rex, L., and Juzwik, M. (Eds.) 2011. Narrative discourse analysis for teacher educators: Managing cultural differences in classrooms. New York: Hampton Press. Riessman, C. K. 1993. Narrative analysis. Newbury Park: Sage Publications. Riessman, C. K. 2002. Analysis of personal narratives. In J. F. Gubrium and J. A. Holstein (Eds.), Handbook of interview research (pp. 695–710). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Riessman, C. K. 2008. Narrative methods for the human sciences. Los Angeles and London: Sage Publications. Sandhu, P. 2014a. Constructing normative and resistant societal discourses about Hindi and English in an interactional narrative. Applied Linguistics, 35(1), 29–47. Sandhu, P. 2014b. “Who does she think she is?” Vernacular medium and failed romance. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 13(1),16–33. Silverstein, M., and Urban, G. 1996. The natural history of discourse. In M. Silverstein and G. Urban (Eds.), Natural histories of discourse (pp. 1–17). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Tsui, A. B. M. 2007. Complexities of identity formation: A narrative inquiry of an EFL teacher. TESOL Quarterly, 41(4), 657–680. Vitanova, G. 2005. Authoring the self in a non-native language: A dialogic approach to agency and subjectivity. In J. K. Hall, G. Vitanova, and L. Marchenkova (eds.) Dialogue with Bakhtin on second and foreign language learning (pp. 149–169). Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Wertsch, J. 2002. Voices of collective remembering. New York: Cambridge University Press. Wortham, S. 2001. Narratives in action. New York: Teachers College Press. Wortham, S., and Gadsden, V. 2006. Urban fathers positioning themselves through narrative: An approach to narrative self-construction. In A. DeFina, D. Schiffrin, and M. Bamberg (Eds.), Discourse and identity (pp. 315–341). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

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Part 2

Advocacy in Educational Linguistics

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5 Language Advocacy in Teacher Education and Schooling Christian Faltis

Introduction The focus of this chapter is on language advocacy, defined here as the promotion of an array of socially, culturally, and politically constructed language practices, derived from language policies and orientations, particularly within educational contexts of teacher education programs and K–12 classrooms. Language advocacy represents positions taken about language in society through explicit and implicit promotion of educational and societal reasons for using and learning language in schooling. In educational contexts, language advocacy practices are politically mediated human activity organized from shared understandings of language as constructed by teacher educators, teachers, and educational linguists about how language practices should be enacted within local schooling contexts. As human activity, language practices advocated by and for teacher educators and teachers are bundled activities that represent larger ideologies concerning the nature of language, and how it should be used and practiced. This chapter examines language advocacy as orientations to language by teachers who interact with children and youth in primary and secondary grades, and teacher educators who prepare teachers within formal teacher education programs that lead to state-endorsed teacher credentials. The orientation teachers and teacher educators use to enact and challenge their own and others’ orientations toward language advocacy, especially in their local schooling contexts, matters for the kinds of language practices that are promoted and tolerated in classrooms and elsewhere in schools. The chapter begins with a brief historical accounting of the relation between societal events and language orientations that have affected teacher educators and teachers since the advent of American public schools. Following this section is a discussion of the dimensions of language advocacy in the current contexts of teacher education and teachers. Next comes a section on recommendations for teacher education and teachers, followed by a concluding discussion of future directions.

Historical Perspectives on Language Advocacy Orientations Since the creation of public schools in the later half of the 19th century, following the American Civil War, the majority of teacher educators and teachers in the United States have been members of the dominant group. The first public schools taught young children literacy and math 65

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skills, almost exclusively in one language—English—up to the 6th grade. As public schooling expanded westward and into secondary levels over the ensuing decades, educators and politicians alike debated whether public schools should be open to all students or whether African American, Mexican American, and Native American students should be schooled separately from White students. The segregationists prevailed and influenced the official American schooling policy of separate schools for different ethnic groups, a policy that lasted well into the mid-20th century. By the end of World War I, the United States experienced a spike in immigration from eastern and southern Europe, sparking widespread fear that America was becoming too linguistically diverse and overly populated by darker-skinned immigrants. This fear stoked the flames of Americanization efforts in schools, viewing local efforts by new immigrants to retain their cultural traditions and language practices while residing in America as un-American. As the linguistic and cultural landscape of the United States underwent rapid change, a small group of prominent White scientists, anthropologists, and educators, with roots in eugenics, began espousing racist views that new immigrants (especially those of color), post-Civil War Blacks, and Native Americans were genetically and culturally inferior to the original Anglo Saxon colonial immigrants, particularly in the area of language (Edwards 2010). The eugenic argument had a direct bearing on language advocacy practices at that time. Eugenicists argued that because the language abilities and practices of immigrant children led to low intelligence, teaching them would always be a challenge. Moreover, they contended that it would be useless to teach immigrant children to think in languages other than English, as the use of these languages contributed to the low scores on the intelligence tests used to measure intelligence. For an entire generation between 1910 and 1940, the dominant message conveyed to teacher educators and teachers about immigrants and children of color was that language, race, and ethnicity had an adverse effect on the ability to learn. Language advocacy stemming from this deficit view solidly promoted the use of dominant, majority language for education. By the end of World War II, the genetic arguments about language deficits waned to some extent, owing in part the re-designation of eastern and southern European immigrants as White (Muhammed 2010) and the focus on rebuilding of the nation through the promotion of unity among diverse language communities. Instruction in a common language, it was argued, contributed to national unity. Through the next decade and into the 1960s, members of Black, Mexican, and Native American groups began to question the common language-national unity ideology, making the case that their language and cultural traditions, practices, and histories needed to be part of the nation building from that point forward.

Language in the Era of Civil Rights Language advocacy shifted from an emphasis on collective and national unity to a demand for specific instructional programs, such as bilingual education, and the teaching of Mexican American, African American, and Indigenous American history and culture in schools. Chicano activists and Mexican American students, for example, engaged in sit-ins and other forms of civil disobedience to bring attention to racist policies and their language education needs (San Miguel 2001). Teacher educators and teachers developed ethnic and language curricula to reflect changes in language demographics. The 1960 census data indicated that the Spanish-surnamed population in the United States had increased by more than 50%—from 2.3 million in 1950 to nearly 3.5 million in 1960. These data also indicated that Spanish-speaking children and youth were faring poorly in school and that the language of education used in schooling was a primary concern with Latino communities (Faltis and Coulter 2008). 66

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In 1968, Congress passed the Bilingual Education Act (Title VII of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act), the first federal recognition of the role of languages other than English, as a means to meet the educational needs of “children who are educationally disadvantaged because of their inability to speak English” (Congress, U.S. PL 90–247, Sec. 702, 1968). While the Bilingual Education Act did not specifically mandate or define the kinds of programs that schools should use, grants were awarded primarily to teacher education programs and schools with high numbers of emergent bilingual children that (1) developed and operated bilingual programs, (2) prepared bilingual teachers, and (3) established communication between the home and school (Faltis and Coulter 2008). Emergent bilingual students are defined in this chapter as immigrants, children of immigrants, and indigenous children who are adding varieties of the majority language while their bilingual practices are emerging over time (García 2011). The federal bilingual education period lasted from 1968 to 2001, with the passage of the No Child Left Behind Act, which changed the focus of federal support for non-dominant language learners from bilingual to English-only policies. Throughout this period, educational linguists and activists chipped away at the earlier eugenic, racist discourse, taking on the low-intelligence, low-language development premise. In 1969, for example, sociolinguist William Labov published The Logic of Non-Standard English, in which he refuted the contention that the language varieties used in Black urban communities were less logical than White peers’. Labov (1969) wrote pointedly: “Unfortunately, these notions are based on the work of educational psychologists who know very little about language and even less about Negro children” (179). He went on to show through meticulous analyses that these children “possess the same capacity for conceptual learning, and use the same logic as any one else who learns to speak and understand English” (179).

Questions About the Nature of Language Following Labov’s seminal work in sociolinguistics, a number of minority educational linguists started working on the traditional conceptualizations of bilingualism and non-standard dialects, posing questions about the nature of language mixing that occurs in bilingual communities within and across language varieties. Language advocates in the field of bilingualism during the bilingual education period were heavily influenced by Fishman’s (1967) paradigm of individual and societal bilingualism. Fishman’s model posited that in order for minority languages to survive in contexts along with a dominant, majority language, they had to be used separately within specific domains of use. Two languages that enjoyed separate, functional distributions among use were said to represent diglossia, a concept he borrowed from Ferguson (1959). In bilingual education, the idea of diglossia meant that the two languages of instruction should be presented separately. When teachers and students mixed the two languages, it was likely that the minority language would suffer. The reason, according to Fishman, was that when a dominant language was used for a purpose that was once served by the minority language, the dominant language takes over that purpose due to its power and prestige. Accordingly, for individual emergent bilinguals to develop high proficiency in their two languages, they will need to have ample opportunities to hear and use their two languages separately over time. In 1980, Pedro Pedraza and colleagues in New York published the results of a multi-year study in which they challenged Fishman’s rule about diglossia (Pedraza, Attinasi, and Hoffman 1980). They found that children and adults who were raised bilingually not only mixed their two languages for communicative purposes, but that the children’s proficiency in the two language repertoires increased as they grew older. Likewise, in the late 1970s, a young educational linguist named Guadalupe Valdés (Valdés-Fallis 1976; 1978) began examining the nature of code-switching in classroom contexts. Valdés defined code-switching used by bilingual students as the alternation 67

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between two or more languages during bilingual discourse. She was among the first educational linguists to embrace code-switching as a sophisticated means of bilingual language use among children and youth. In the popular discourse, code-switching (mixing of two languages within an utterance—in linguistics, referred to as intra-sentential code-switching) was and continues to be maligned as lazy speech, and evidence of one’s inability to use the two languages separately, in ways that reflect common notions of educated speech (see Chappell and Faltis 2007).

Language Advocacy Around Human Rights By the 1990s, there was a shift in the discussion around language advocacy, in response to the scaling up of English instruction worldwide with espousals for teaching standard variety, coupled with the decrease in uses of languages other than English for instruction and other public uses. Early on, some language advocates in the United States and other countries with large multilingual populations looked to the work of Skutnabb-Kangas and Phillipson (1994), who proposed that people have a linguistic human right to identify with and use their minority language practices. According to these scholars, a human rights language advocacy position espouses the view that at the individual level: . . . everyone can identify positively with their mother tongue, and have that identification respected by others, irrespective of whether their mother tongue is a minority or a majority language. It means the right to learn the mother tongue, including at least basic education through the medium of the mother tongue, and the right to use it in many of the (official) contexts . . . (Phillipson, Rannut, and Skutnabb-Kangas 1994, 2) At the collective level, advocacy for language from a human rights perspective means “the right of minority groups to exist . . . to enjoy and develop their language and the right for minorities to establish and maintain schools” (Phillipson, Rannut, and Skutnabb-Kangas, 1994, 2). An example of language advocacy that focuses on language rights can be seen in McCarty’s (2003) proclamation about teaching indigenous languages in the United States: “Indigenous language revitalisation confronts not only a colonial legacy of linguicide, genocide, and cultural displacement, but mounting pressures for standardisation. Those pressures are manifest in externally imposed ‘accountability’ regimes—high-stakes testing, reductionist reading programmes, and English-only policies” (159). Viewed against the earlier efforts to sanction minority language use in transitional bilingual programs, a human rights language advocacy approach extends the promotion of minority languages as a human right, while simultaneously challenging efforts to decrease the use of minority languages and dialects in school and society as racist and leading toward linguistic genocide.

Anti-Immigrant Discourse and Re-Emergence of Deficit Thinking In the early 2000s, within the rising anti-immigration discourse levied mainly against the growing population of Mexican immigrants who entered the United States from the 1980s and 1990s were renewed efforts to associate deficit thinking with the language practices in Mexican families (Valencia 2010). Mexican immigrant children and youth were targeted by unitary language advocates as resisting efforts to learn the national, majority languages. In the meantime, deficit thinking proponents insisted that deprived cultural practices used in Mexican families and other minority groups contributed to their lack of progress in learning the majority language. Research 68

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by Portes and Rumbaut (2001) however, found that Spanish-speaking immigrants emerge as predominantly English speakers by the third generation. Bilingual language advocates, as well, related a different narrative about the funds of knowledge Mexican families use to navigate their daily lives (González, Moll, and Amanti 2005), rejecting deficit views based on constructions of deprived home environments.

Disinventing Monolingual Views About Language Diversity The bulk of theoretical and practical work developed in the field of educational linguistics in the name of minority language advocacy since the 1960s reflects a position committed to both the promotion of language diversity in modern nation-states, and the support for the expansion of minority language rights. More recently, educational linguists within this orientation have sought to disinvent and reconstitute language (Makoni and Pennycook 2007) in ways that place hybridity and circumstantial bilingualism, where language users perform language acts using both languages, as the basis for understanding language as a local practice (Pennycook 2011). Makoni and Pennycook (2007) draw on the scholarship about the invention of colonial Africa and the deconstruction of language as a separate, autonomous system to argue that hybrid language practices (Bhabba 1994) more accurately represent the realities of bilinguals than concepts based on monolingual norms in post-modern times. Much of this newer research questions the conceptualization of language as a separate, autonomous system that language advocates in minority language rights camps have deployed in their efforts to espouse their views (see Canagarajah 2005; García, Flores, and Woodley 2012).

The Unitary Empire Strikes Back Despite efforts toward language advocacy to promote language diversity using monolingual norms or as local language practices “governed by stylistic and strategic deployment of numerous styles and a range of language” (García 2007, xiv), powerful unitary forces have continued to work feverishly toward the establishment in schools and society of a common, majority language. These efforts, coupled with the teaching of monolingual standards-based approaches to language in academic contexts have been particularly successful at the state level. For instance, in 1998, voters in California passed Proposition 227, which restricted the use of languages other than English for instructional purposes, in order to develop “English for the Children”; in 2002, voters in Massachusetts passed Question 2, which outlawed bilingual instruction; and in 2003, voters in Arizona passed Proposition 203, an even more restrictive language policy that banned bilingual instruction and mandated English-only instruction focused on the teaching of prescribed language forms. Similar restrictions against bilingual instruction in the name of “unitary language” (Grant 1997) have also passed in Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, and Alabama. Proponents who advocate for unitary language policies point to the negative juxtaposition of local minority affiliation and national identity, arguing that affiliation to language and non-standard varieties of language serves as an obstacle to national unity and dooms users to low socioeconomic status.

Language Advocacy in the New Era Undaunted by these unitary efforts, bilingual language advocates, spearheaded most prominently by Ofelia García (2009) and colleagues in both the United States and other multilingual locations (García and Kleifgen 2010; García, Flores, and Woodley 2012; Menken and García, 2010), continue to push back, using alternative understandings of the nature of language and how it is 69

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approached in schooling. In the contemporary era of minority language advocacy, language advocates see their goal as twofold: (1) to confront the unitary language perspective espoused by dominant majority language advocates, and (2) to disinvent separate, autonomous views of language and bilingualism, with an eye toward proposing for teacher educators and teachers new ways of understanding and advocating for language diversity in the students they teach. In summary, an essential feature of language advocacy throughout recent U.S. history is that it seeks to promote a particular understanding of language, and in doing so takes a stance that not only favors, but also challenges, certain shared practical understandings of language, language use, and language users. In the section below, language advocacy is summarized in terms of orientations toward unitary or diversity that range from weak to strong positions. As this brief historical account hopes to make clear, language advocacy cannot be separated from larger issues around language and language users that exist in contemporary society and have histories based on the extent and nature of contact between peoples of diverse origins.

Language Advocacy as a Critical Issue in Teacher Education and Teaching In educational contexts, a contemporary critical issue with respect to language advocacy centers on the awareness of orientations toward language advocacy within local contexts that teacher educators and teachers hold and use to guide their day-to-day practices. Lucas and Ginberg (2008) argue that all teachers and teacher educators need to clearly understand the dimensions of language advocacy in order to respond critically to the realities of language diversity in contemporary classrooms.

Realities of Language and Diversity in Schooling No fewer than 85% of 3.5 million practicing teachers and nearly all teacher educators in the 1,400 college and university teacher preparation programs across the United States are members of the dominant group (Feistritzer 2011); fewer than 1% of either group are bilingual and biliterate in languages representative of the bilingual communities in which they teach. Students entering the teaching profession in years to come are likely to continue this pattern. As language advocates, teachers and teacher educators have a more significant impact on language practices of children and youth from ages 4 to 18 than any other adult, barring parents. Teachers engage with their students through language, holding sway over the kinds of language practices that are enacted inside the classroom, including what language practices count, what language practices are enabled, and for what purposes. Millions of children and youth enrolled in school, by contrast, are emergent bilinguals and members of minority groups who may use language practices that are devalued in school. About 10% of elementary schools and 5% of secondary schools across the United States enroll nearly 70% of all immigrant children and youth; about half of all elementary schools nationwide have substantial numbers of emergent bilingual students, classified and often labeled as English language learners, and nearly a quarter of all secondary schools enroll bilingual students who are continuing from elementary school or are first time enrollees (Cosentino de Cohen and Clewell 2007).

Dimensions of Language Advocacy To help understand the dimensions of that which teacher educators and teachers are presently facing in developing language advocacy practices in their local settings, let us refer to Figure 5.1. 70

Language Advocacy Strong Promote a common language in

Promote local language and

school and society for collective

circumstantial bilingualism; espouse

identity and national unity; reify

transnational literacy and hybrid

standard language; disparage non-

language practices; challenge deficit

standard as flawed

language models

Unitary

Diversity Tolerate foreign languages (standard

Tolerate elective, transitional

dialect); support foreign language

bilingualism and biliteracy in schools;

development as an economic

privilege monolingual bilinguals; reify

resource

academic language Weak

Figure 5.1

Language Advocacy Dimensions

On this grid, the vertical axis represents the strength of support, from strong to weak, for certain language practices, depending on the orientation of language advocacy. The second dimension, represented by the horizontal axis, is the orientation of language advocacy, ranging from unitary to diversity. Representative positions are listed for each quadrant, and each of these is explained in more detail below, proceeding from the top leftmost quadrant, in a counterclockwise direction. It is most instructive to consider these axes as continua, rather than fixed positions. Moreover, it is quite possible for individuals to advocate more than one position on the grid, at any one point in or across time, and the orientations originate, for the most part, from good intentions. Historically, K–12 teachers and teacher educators have operated philosophically within the top left quadrant, especially prior to 1960, followed by the bottom left quadrant. Throughout history, particularly during times of heightened civil rights awareness (1960–1980s), schools and teacher education programs have been situated somewhere between lower and upper right quadrant. Notably, advocates of bilingual education and English language learners during recent periods of bilinguaphobia (Faltis and Coulter 2005) and anti-immigrant discourse have been especially vigilant about affirming language diversity. The least common and least widespread orientation among teachers and teacher educators is the upper right quadrant, which strongly advocates for hybridity and diversity in language and literacy practices and actively challenges deficit approaches to language and language learning. This strong diversity orientation objects to many of the core theoretical constructions of language espoused by traditional bilingual education and standard language advocates as well as the basic tenets of uniformity language advocates.

Strong, Unitary Language Advocacy Orientation The strong, unitary position in the top left quadrant promotes a common language in school and society as essential for developing and sustaining national unity through collective identity— namely, one language for one nation. The connection between language and nation developed during the colonization of India, Africa, and the Americas (Dorian 1998). A key tenet of colonization was to de-language indigenous children and youth through schooling in the language 71

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of the colonizer (Stroud 2007). Once a nation had completed its colonization, use of indigenous and immigrant languages served only to fragment society and encourage the development of language affiliations detrimental to a common nation state. Language advocates from a strong, unitary orientation subscribe to the belief that each nation should have only one language to unify the nation; one language liberates citizens from the tyranny of narrow communities to guarantee them personal autonomy, equality, and common citizenship (Parekh 1995). As May (2012) explains it: The ‘triumph’ of universalism with respect to language is evidenced by the replacement over time of a wide variety of language varieties spoken within the nation-state’s borders with one ‘common’ language . . . This process usually involves legitimation and institutionalization of the chosen national language. Legitimation is understood to mean here the formal recognition accorded to the language by the nation-state—usually, via ‘official’ language status. Institutionalization, perhaps the more important dimension, refers to the process by which the language becomes accepted, or ‘taken for granted’ in a wide range of social, cultural and linguistic domains or contexts, both formal and informal. Both elements, in combination, achieve the central requirement of nation-states: cultural and linguistic homogeneity in the civic realm or public domain. (6) Schlesinger (1992), an advocate of this position in recent decades, makes a similar argument: A common language is a necessary bond of national cohesion in so heterogeneous a nation as America . . . institutionalized bilingualism remains another source of the fragmentation of America, another threat to the dream of ‘one people’ . . . (109–110) Language advocates who support a common national language have made several attempts to legally recognize English as the official language. One of the main goals of advocating for English as the official language is to force immigrant children and youth who enroll in schools to be instructed in language and academic content only in English, throughout their schooling experiences. Under the English-only banner, teacher education programs are expected to orient teachers to this particular goal, as evidenced by adherence to state accreditation standards, which give lip service to English learners, and federal standards for English language arts within the common core framework. Within this orientation, new immigrants and emergent bilingual children and youth are required at worst, and expected at best, to stop using their home language (considered to be and depicted as an autonomous foreign language) and learn the national language in the public realm of schools, in order to be successful in schools and to eventually participate as educated adults in government, the military, and in commerce.

Weak, Unitary Orientation At the lower end of unitary, a weak orientation maintains its affiliation with the value of a common national language, but appeals to liberal democratic visions of the language-as-a-resource (Ruíz 1984), for economic development in which languages other than the dominant one are tolerated in the public sphere and supported only in the private sphere (Barry 2001). This orientation tends to romanticize minority languages as long as they remain in the private domain, 72

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providing little recognition to their aesthetic, historical, or affiliative value (Ricento 2005). Preference is given to teaching standard varieties and literatures of foreign languages, which are tolerated at the secondary level of education, well after students have acquired language and literacy in the dominant language. Minority language use among students is tolerated outside of class, but is often looked upon with suspicion (Valenzuela 1999). One of the consequences of advocating for language from a public-private sphere perspective is to weaken the value of non-dominant languages, a point Parekh (2000) makes: The public realm in every society generally enjoys far greater dignity and prestige than the private realm. The culture it institutionalizes enjoys state patronage, power, access to valuable resources, and political respectability, and sets the tone of the rest of society. Although cultures are free to flourish in the private realm, they exist in its overpowering shadow, and are largely seen as marginal and worth practising only in the relative privacy of the family and communal associations. Subjected to the relentless assimilationist pressure of the dominant culture, their members, especially youth, internalize their inferior status and opt for uncritical assimilation, lead confused lives or retreat into their communal ghettos. (204) Hence, while private language use of non-dominant language by minority language speakers has been tolerated over time, the end result is that the dominant language achieves its unitary power. At the secondary level, foreign languages and English as a second language are tolerated for the economic purchase they offer students, particularly for the purpose of global competitiveness. However, as Reagan (2005) points out, foreign language teacher educators and teachers continue to have complete authority over how languages are presented for learning. In most cases, this means teaching students through a grammatical syllabus that privileges standard language varieties, and disparages non-standard usage.

Weak, Diversity Orientation Bilingual education as practiced in the United States and many countries in the world (Heller 2007; Petrovic 2010) is a weak form of advocacy for language diversity. In most cases, bilingual education has been oriented toward a social construction of diversity that encourages elective, learned bilingualism and biliteracy and privileges monolingual bilinguals, often in the name of language human rights (Skutnabb-Kangas and Phillipson 1994). Monolingual bilingualism is an invention (Pennycook 2007) that can be traced to a number of foundational ideas used in the development of bilingual education, beginning in recent history with the Bilingual Education Act of 1968. Minority language use by teachers and students in bilingual programs is tolerated only to the extent necessary that it allows children to progress effectively through the educational system in the dominant language (Petrovic 2010). At the heart of the weak, diversity orientation to language advocacy is that individual “languages” (Spanish, English, Korean, Chinese) are presented as individual, countable constructs, each with its own separate grammar and name, based on a “monolingual norm of speakerhood” (Hill 2002, 128). Viewing languages as separate entities, bilingual educators in this weak orientation for diversity advocate for diverse languages in general, and specifically for the local languages used in their schools and communities. A weak, diversity orientation tolerates minority language development for children and youth who have already learned the common, majority language. This can be seen in the widespread 73

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promotion of dual-language immersion programs. Modeled after the French-Canadian immersion programs, dual immersion programs are organized to provide separate instruction each of the two languages. A strict separation of the two languages reflects the dominant culture preference for language as a separate entity, a form of diglossia, where the bilingual’s two autonomous languages are used individually with certain people for particular purposes (see Valdés 1997). From this perspective, the bilingualism resulting from dual language immersion programs supports a traditional view of bilinguals normed on the language uses of educated monolinguals, which Heller (1999, 271) refers to as parallel monolingualism. Moreover, as Valdés (1997), points out, dual language immersion programs benefit dominant group students more than minority group students, in effect because the power relation between language and nation continues to be held by the dominant group. Heritage language education courses, with the goal of expanding oral and written language abilities through the acquisition of standard varieties of the heritage language, are also a form of weak, diversity language advocacy. Heritage language advocates range from those who wish to extirpate borrowings, non-standard usage, and code-mixing from the students’ language, to those who view their mission as teaching minority students standard, academic language practices. In either case, the heritage language is considered to be the problem, and academic, monolingual uses of the language the solution. The argument, from a weak, diversity orientation, is that learning the standard variety of a language purchases higher social status than the low status of the private, local variety of language. Support for a weak, diversity orientation to language advocacy is traceable in part to early psychological-based research conducted in Canada, which resulted in concepts such as subtractive and additive bilingualism (Lambert 1975) and dimensions of language use needed for successful schooling (Cummins 1979; 2003; 2008). Weak, diversity advocates are against subtractive forms of bilingualism and English-only instruction for emergent bilinguals, and for additive bilingualism. Language advocates in this orientation support the linguistic rights of individuals and groups to use and expand their home language, which, in home and school settings, is portrayed as a separate, measurable object. Adding a second language to the minority language is desirable, to the extent that the end result of bilingual development is a solid form of diglossia. Weak, diversity language advocates recast language diversity in terms of conversational and academic language, based originally on a distinction put forth by Jim Cummins (1979) between basic interpersonal communicative skills (BICS) and cognitive academic language proficiency (CALP). Cummins’ theoretical distinction continues to dominate teacher education and teacher-based approaches to academic language, despite numerous critiques.

Strong, Diversity Orientation Unlike those who tolerate elective and transitional bilingualism and privilege monolingual bilingualism and academic language, language advocates with a strong, diversity orientation look to what people actually do with language to question the ways that schools and teacher education programs conceptualize and language diversity. This orientation in language advocacy seeks to normalize bilingualism without diglossic separation, to place mixed languages, creoles, and multilingual language practices at the center of what language diversity means and how it is enacted through local practices. Strong, diversity language advocates confront deficit perspective about minority language users as well as monolingual language models that inaccurately portray the language practices of minority children and youth. Local language practices and circumstantial bilingualism are viewed as normal ways of becoming bilingual. In the strong, diversity orientation transnational literacy practices are encouraged 74

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as a way to build sites for children and youth to creatively use multiple language varieties “to take up, resist, and negotiate academic and identity positionings” (Hornberger and Link 2012, 272). From a strong, diversity orientation, bilingual users are frequent “border crossers” (Anzaldúa 1987), whose languaging (García 2009) and translanguaging (Williams 1994) practices necessarily transcend social borders of separate language domains in the pursuit of meaningful interaction. Translanguaging in schooling contexts refers to the process by which bilingual students make sense of and enact language bilingually, in ways that question fixed identities and meanings in the pursue of new meanings. For strong, diversity advocates, therefore, language is action-based, rather than being a thing to be counted, reified, or tolerated. Language, or more accurately, languaging diversity in this orientation is based on the promotion of an integrated bilingual norm, where language users employ their full language abilities from two languages at any given time, adjusted to the needs and possibilities of the interaction. As an integrated bilingual norm, language practices are inherently dynamic and ever changing as users interact, interpret, and perform across time and space. Strong, diversity language advocates have no truck with narratives that conceptualize language as a separate autonomous system (aka the “Language Myth,” Harris 1981); that summarily prohibit the use of language other than the dominant varieties in school, work, government, military, and the economy (official English stance); that portray language development as an economic resource (foreign and heritage language development); that support minority language practices in schools only as a temporary transition to the dominant language (transitional bilingual education); that de-value hybrid bilingual practices (view translanguaging as flawed and undesirable); and that frame translanguaging from a linguistically deficit lens (low level thinkers due to lack of academic language use). In summary, language advocacy can tilt toward a unitary or diversity orientation and range from strong to weak support of either. The grid represents indicators of each orientation, with the understanding that individual teacher educators and teachers can cut around two continua, depending of the views they hold toward the language of their students and language users in their professional lives. The grid serves as a heuristic, and does not include all of the perspectives and practices that can be linked to the main orientations.

Recommendations for Teacher Educators and Classroom Teachers First and foremost, language advocacy is multi-dimensional, and in educational contexts, variation across the two continua among educators is expected. Nonetheless, if teacher educators and teachers wish to commit to a particular orientation in language advocacy, they need to recognize and be aware of their own and their colleagues’ stances toward language and language users. Building and sustaining a community of language advocates in teacher education programs and schools requires program-wide infusion and buy-in of language advocacy practices (Athanases and de Oliveira 2011). For teacher education, this means that teacher education faculty, including field supervisors, mentor teachers, and faculty in other departments who work with beginning and practicing teachers, need to be clear about the orientation they hold about language advocacy, and the strength of their convictions about the orientation. Likewise, classroom teachers in constant contact with children and youth need opportunities to discuss school wide policies and practices in terms of the orientation toward language advocacy held by administrators, teachers, and support staff. Language advocacy can be discussed in professional development workshops, and through informal teacher study groups. For example, teachers can use the grid in Figure 5.1 above to determine the strength and direction of language advocacy orientations at the school and district level. In secondary level schools, teachers within 75

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various disciplinary departments can identify where they stand on the grid, and where steps they would need to take to move them in a direction agreed upon through discussion across academic disciplines. Accordingly, it is recommended that teacher educators and teachers engage in discussions in which they: • • • •

Seek to locate themselves on the grid of dimensions of language advocacy. Question their understandings of language, including common views of language as “good vs. bad,” “proper vs. improper,” “standard vs. non-standard,” and “monolingual vs. bilingual.” Study more deeply the unitary and diversity orientations of language advocacy. Develop a mission statement for their program or school setting that includes a declaration of language advocacy agreed upon by majority decision.

Further Reading For helpful readings on unitary language advocacy, the following sources are recommended: Barry, B. 2001. Culture and equity: An egalitarian critique of multiculturalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Porter, J. 1975. Ethnic pluralism in Canadian perspective. In N. Glazer and D. Moynihan (Eds.), Ethnicity: Theory and experience (pp. 267–304). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Schlesinger, A. 1992. The disuniting of America: Reflections on a multicultural society. New York: W.W. Norton and Company. For helpful readings on diversity language advocacy, the following sources are recommended: Edwards, J. 2010. Language diversity in the classroom. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Makoni, S., and Pennycook, A. (Eds.) 2007. Disinventing and reconstituting languages. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Demas, E., and Saavadra, C. 2004. (Re)conceptualizing language advocacy: Weaving a postmodern mestizaje image of language. In K. Mutua and B. B. Swaderner (Eds.), Decolonizing research in cross-cultural contexts (pp. 215–234). Albany: State University of New York Press. Pennycook, A. 2010. Language as a local practice. London: Routledge. Informative readings on translanguaging as a contemporary alternative to monolingual bilingualism include: Canagarajah, S. 2011. Translanguaging in the classroom: Emerging issues for research and pedagogy. Applied Linguistics Review, 2, 1–28. Creese, A., and Blackledge, A. 2010, Spring. Translanguaging in the bilingual classroom: A pedagogy for learning and teaching? The Modern Language Journal, 94(1), 103–115. Hornberger, N., and Link, H. 2012, May. Translanguaging and transnational literacies in multilingual classrooms: A biliteracy lens. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 15(3), 261–278. Jørgensen, J. 2008. Poly-lingual languaging around and among children and adolescents. International Journal of Multilingualism, 5(3), 161–176.

References Anzaldúa, G. 1987. Borderlands/La frontera: The new mestiza. San Francisco: Auntie Lute Books. Athanases, S. Z., and de Oliveira, L. C. 2011. Toward program-wide coherence in preparing teachers to teach and advocate for English language learners. In T. Lucas (Ed.), Teacher preparation for linguistically diverse classrooms: A resource for teacher educators (pp. 195–215). New York: Routledge. Barry, B. 2001. Culture and equity: An egalitarian critique of multiculturalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bhabba, H. 1994. The location of culture. London: Routledge.

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Canagarajah, S. 2005. Reclaiming the local in language policy and practice. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Chappell, S., and Faltis, C. 2007. Bilingualism, Spanglish, culture and identity in Latino children’s literature. Children’s Literature in Education, 38(4). 253–262. Congress, U. S. 1968. Congressional Record (Section 702 of Public Law 90-247, Bilingual Education Act). Washington, DC: Author. Cosentino de Cohen, C., and Clewell, B. 2007. Putting English language learners on the educational map. Washington, DC: The Urban Institute. Cummins, J. 1979. Linguistic interdependence and the educational development of bilingual children. Review of Educational Research, 49, 221–251. Cummins, J. 2003. BICS and CALP: Origins and rationale for the distinction. In C. B. Paulston and G. R. Tucker (Eds.), Sociolinguistics: The essential readings (pp. 322–328). London: Blackwell. Cummins, J. 2008. BICS and CALP: Empirical and theoretical status of the distinction. In B. Street and N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of language and education: Vol. 2 Literacy (2nd ed., pp. 71–83). New York: Springer. Dorian, N. 1998. Western language ideologies and small-language prospects. In L. Grenoble and L. Whaley (Eds.), Endangered languages: Language loss and community response (pp. 3–21). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Edwards, J. 2010. Language diversity in the classroom. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Faltis, C., and Coulter, C. 2008. Teaching English learners and immigrant students in secondary school settings. New York: Merrill/Prentice Hall. Faltis, C., and Coulter, C. 2005. Bilinguaphobia in the new millennium. In L. Poyner and P. Wolfe (Eds.) Marketing fear in America’s public schools (pp. 151–164). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Feistritzer, C. E. 2011. Profile of teachers in the US, 2011. Washington, DC: National Center for Education Information. Ferguson, C. 1959. Diglossia. Word, 15(2), 325–340. Fishman, J. A. 1967. Bilingualism with and without diglossia; diglossia with and without bilingualism. Journal of Social Issues, 23(2), 29–38. García, O. 2007. Forward. In S. Makoni and A. Pennycook (Eds.), Disinventing and reconstituting languages (pp. xi–xv). Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. García, O. 2009. Emergent bilinguals and TESOL: What’s in a name?. Tesol Quarterly, 43(2), 322–326. García, O. 2011. Bilingual education in the 21st century: A global perspective. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. García, O., Flores, N., and Woodley, H. H. 2012. Transgressing monolingualism and bilingual dualities: Translanguaging pedagogies. In A. Uiakoumetti (Ed.), Harnessing linguistic variation for better education (pp. 45–75). Bern: Peter Lang. García, O., and Kleifgen, J. 2010. Educating emergent bilinguals. Policies, programs and practices for English language learners. New York: Teachers College Press. González, N., Moll, L., and Amanti, C. 2005. Funds of knowledge. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Grant, N. 1997. Democracy and cultural pluralism: Towards the 21st century. In R. Watts and J. Smoltcz (Eds.), Cultural democracy and ethnic pluralism: Multucultural and multilingual policies in education (pp. 93–112). Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Harris, R. 1981. The language myth. London: Duckworth. Heller, M. 1999. Linguistic minorities and modernity: A sociolinguistic ethnography. London: Longman. Heller, M. 2007. Bilingualism: A social approach. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hill, J. 2002. Expert rhetorics in advocacy for endangered languages: What is listening, and what do they hear? Journal of Linguistic Anthropology, 12(2), 119–133. Hornberger, N., and Link, H. 2012, May. Translanguaging and transnational literacies in multilingual classrooms: A biliteracy lens. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 15(3), 261–278. Labov, W. 1969. The logic of non-standard English. Georgetown Monograph Series on Languages and Linguistics, Monograph No. 22. Lambert, W. E. 1975. Culture and language as factors in learning and education. In A. Wolfgang (Ed.), Education of immigrant children (pp.55–83). Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. Lucas, T., and Grinberg, J. 2008. Responding to the linguistic reality of mainstream classrooms: Preparing all teachers to teach English language learners. Handbook of research on teacher education: Enduring questions in changing contexts, 3, 606–636. Makoni, S., & Pennycook, A.(Eds.) 2007. Disinventing and reconstituting languages. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. 77

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May, S. 2012. Languge and minority rights: Ethnicity, nationals and the politics of language (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. McCarty, T. L. 2003. Revitalising indigenous languages in homogenising times. Comparative education, 39(2), 147–163. Menken, K., and García, O. 2010. Negotiating language policies in schools: Educators as policymakers. London: Taylor and Francis. Muhammad, K. G. 2010. The condemnation of Blackness: Race, crime, and the making of modern urban America. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Parekh, B. 1995. The concept of national identity. New Community, 21(3), 255–268. Parekh, B. 2000. Rethinking multiculturalism: Cultural identity and political theory. London: Macmillan. Pedraza, P., Attinasi, J., and Hoffman, G. 1980. Rethinking diglossia. In R. Padilla (Ed.), Ethnoperspectives in bilingual education,Volume 2: Theory in bilingual education (pp. 75–97). Ypsilanti: Eastern Michigan University Press. Pennycook, A. 2007. Global Englishes: Rip slime and performativity. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 7, 513–533. Pennycook, A. 2011. Language as a local practice. New York: Routledge. Petrovic, J. E. (Ed.) 2010. International perspectives on bilingual education. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Phillipson, R., Rannut, M., and Skutnabb-Kangas, T. 1994. Introduction. In T. Skutnabb-Kangas, and R. Phillipson (Eds.), Linguistic human rights: Overcoming linguistic discrimination (pp. 1–24). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Portes, A., and Rumbaut, R. G. 2001. Legacies: The story of the immigrant second generation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Reagan, T. G. 2005. Critical questions, critical perspectives: Language and the second language educator. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Ricento, T. 2005. Problems with the “language as resource” discourse in the promotion of heritage languages in the USA. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 9(3), 348–368. Ruíz, R. 1984. Orientations in language planning. NABE Journal, 8(2), 15–34. San Miguel, G. 2001. Contested policy: The rise and fall of federal bilingual education in the United States, 1960–2001. Dallas, TX: University of North Texas Press. Schlesinger, A. 1992. The disuniting of America: What we all stand to lose if multicultural education takes the wrong approach. American Educator, 15(1), 14–33. Skutnabb-Kangas, T., and Phillipson, R. 1994. Linguistic human rights, past and present. In T. Skutnabb-Kangas and R. Phillipson (Eds.), Linguistic human rights: Overcoming linguistic discrimination (pp. 71–110). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Stroud, C. 2007. Bilingualism: Colonialism and postcolonialism. In M. Heller (Ed.), Bilingualism: A social approach (pp. 25–49). London: Palgrave. Valdés, G. 1997. Dual language immersion programs: A cautionary note concerning the education of language minority students. Harvard Educational Review, 67(3), 391–429. Valdés-Fallis, G. 1976. Social interaction and code switching patterns: A case study of Spanish/English alternation. Ypsilanti, MI: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. Valdés-Fallis, G. 1978. Code switching and the classroom teacher. Language in Education: Theory and Practice, No. 4. Arlington, VA: Center for Applied Linguistics. Valencia, R. 2010. Contemporary deficit thinking: Educational thought and practice. New York: Routledge. Valenzuela, A. 1999. Subtractive schooling: U.S.-Mexican youth and politics of caring. New York: State University of New York Press. Williams, C. 1994. Arfarniad o ddulliau dysgu ac addysgu yng nghyd-destun addysg uwchradd ddwyieithog [Evaluation of teaching and learning methods in the context of bilingual secondary education]. Bangor, Wales: University of Wales.

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6 Educational Equity for Linguistically Marginalised Students Anthony J. Liddicoat and Kathleen Heugh

Introduction Language issues have come to be seen as significant for achieving equitable education and linguistic marginalisation is an important element in educational inequality. Linguistic marginalisation occurs when a language is excluded from the public life of a society in such a way that its speakers have less access to social, economic, and political resources. It is a typical correlate of the selection of a national language that serves all linguistic functions to the exclusion of other languages. The term “linguistic marginalisation” is an attempt to move the focus away from the idea that educational inequity is only an issue for linguistic minorities. In many nations, linguistic marginalisation is experienced primarily by numerical minorities who are expected to adjust to the linguistic practices of the numerical majority. In many other nations, especially those that came into being at the end of European colonialism, the dominant language is typically the language of a numerical minority, while the languages of the numerical majority are excluded from much of public life, including education. Regardless of the nature of linguistic marginalisation, marginalised groups share similar educational needs and problems and we aim to bring into relationship some of the themes common to both.

Historical Perspectives Linguistic marginalisation is a consequence in part of the emergence of the one nation–one language ideology that developed with the rise of the nation-state. The idea that a nation-state should have a single official language is an innovation of the European post-Enlightenment period, although historically linguistic uniformity was not considered as fundamental for the operation of a polity. While this ideology can be traced to earlier periods, notably the Reformation, the one nation–one language ideology emerged most strongly during the French Revolution. The rationalist nation-building agenda of the Revolution argued for a single language for the French state in two ways (Geeraerts 2003). The first was a pragmatic rationale: A common language allows effective communication and access to state institutions and political functions. The second was symbolic: A single language creates and represents a single, unified identity. In

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effect, it is this second perspective that is most significant for the development of linguistic marginalisation. The first requires dissemination of a common language, but not inherently at the expense of other languages. The second sees linguistic diversity as inimical to the development of unified nation-states and therefore constitutes language diversity as a problem to be managed by states. The rise of the nation-state with its monolingual ideology led to the formation of a dominant linguistic habitus, that is, a dominant sense of what constitutes linguistic normality. This dominant habitus was a monolingual habitus (Gogolin 1994) that conflated the one nation–one language ideology with perceived linguistic norms for individuals. Thus, in the emergence of nation-states, “a basic and deep-seated belief was created that monolingualism is the universal norm of an individual and a society” (Gogolin 2009, 536). From the perspective of the monolingual habitus, the plurilingual individual is a deviation from the norm and this deviation is understood within the framework of other ideologies, notably those that equate language with national affiliation. The monolingual habitus thus effects linguistic marginalisation of those who do not speak the official language of their nation as an ideological production. This ideology held sway most importantly at the beginning of mass education. Schooling was closely identified with the nation-building project and where nations emphasised monolingualism for unifying and identity functions, schooling became synonymous with assimilation into the dominant language and hence into the national identity. Non-dominant languages and cultures were excluded from schools and from officially accepted understandings of the nature and purpose of education and of what constituted the educated person (Paquette 1989). Schools therefore became essentially monolingual environments in which the dominant language was seen as both the goal and the instrument of education and other languages were marginalised if not completely excluded. Other languages were frequently considered as barriers to effective learning of the dominant language and so as an educational problem to be solved, ideally through language shift and assimilation to the monolingual norm. School laws of the 19th century did not typically prescribe or proscribe languages for use in education and few contained a specific mention of media of instruction or the languages through which literacy or other education goals would be developed. The silence on questions of language represents the success of the one nation–one language ideology and the monolingual habitus. The lacunae about language in such laws were filled by the pervading language ideologies of the time. For example, the French Third Republic’s laws on compulsory education of 1880 make no reference to French; however, French was the only language used in French schools. The use of French in this case is embedded within a republican ideology of linguistic diversity as divisive, anti-democratic, and anti-republican. In other cases, schooling laws explicitly addressed language issues, as in the case of the 1907 Dialect Control Ordinance, which banned the use of Ryukyuan languages in Okinawan schools and punished children who spoke them (Liddicoat 2013). Punishment of the use of languages other than the national language in school contexts was found even in contexts where no specification of language was made in law, with punishments ranging from ridicule to corporal punishment. Monolingual education was poorly adapted to the needs of speakers of marginalised languages and frequently took the form of ‘submersion’ (Cohen and Swain 1976) of learners in a second language context for which they were little prepared. Moreover, teachers were typically monolingual in the official language, meaning that little real communication could be achieved between teachers and students. As Valenzuela (1999) argues, schools function less to develop capabilities and more to remove their linguistic, cultural, and community identities, marginalising languages and their speakers and, through this marginalisation, contributing to the educational, social, and economic marginalisation of their speakers. 80

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The practices and ideologies of language education that emerged in the 19th century were not only features of education in nation-states but were exported to colonial contexts. In these contexts, the languages of the local people were marginalised in favour of the languages of the colonial powers, with the colonial language being the normal language of monolingual education. The introduction of monolingual, colonial educational models often overlaid older, multilingual education practices, such as those developed through religious education in Islamic West Africa (Heugh 2006). Such practices were typically ignored by colonial regimes and excluded from understandings of education and the educated person. The association of education with national languages was not universal. In some cases, local languages were included in education in order to maintain colonial dominance (Pennycook 2000). In other cases, alternative approaches to the education of marginalised linguistic groups existed outside government controlled education. Protestant missionary schools of the 19th century often emphasised the acquisition of literacy in local languages as a means of evangelisation and of accessing religious texts (Liddicoat 2012). For such schools, a religiously oriented set of goals held precedence over goals of nation building and was guided by a different logic in constructing education. However, in colonial contexts, there were also many cases in which evangelisation and the extension of colonial control went hand in hand; in such contexts, monolingual education in the colonists’ language was the norm. The advent of compulsory state education, often accompanied by a utilitarian discourse, often led to the progressive abandonment of such models in favour of monolingual education in the colonial language. The first half of the 20th century is characterised by studies that claimed to identify a “language handicap” in bilingual children (e.g., Jones 1952). When compared to monolingual children, bilingual children appeared to be less capable in a wide range of language abilities, including poorer vocabulary, lower standards in written composition and greater incidence of grammatical errors (e.g., Saer 1923). Such findings contributed to a discourse of deficit in educational and other contexts that equated bilingualism with negative effects on children’s intelligence. The language handicap was understood as a form of linguistic confusion that had a negative impact on children’s intellectual development and academic performance (e.g., Saer 1923). Most of these early studies of bilingualism were characterised by serious methodological shortcomings. A particular problem was that children were usually assessed only in the dominant language—that is, monolinguals were assessed in their first language and bilinguals in their second. This variable had significant impact on tests of language knowledge and performance and on performance in language-based tests of intelligence. Moreover, studies did not usually control for variables other than language, especially socioeconomic status, and so confounded the variable of language with other variables that impact on education. This is particularly problematic as speakers of marginalised languages are typically marginalised in other ways, and the fact of their social, economic, and political marginalisation was ignored in understanding their educational performance. Some early critics (e.g., Fukuda 1925) recognised the methodological problems, but such studies did not lead to a questioning of the validity of the forms of psychometric testing being used to measure educational and linguistic success. Research that addressed such problems has typically found a positive rather than a negative impact of bilingualism. Studies from South Africa in the 1930s and 1940s (e.g., Malherbe 1946) found that students who received bilingual education, even from relatively poor socioeconomic contexts, achieved more highly in secondary school assessments than did students who received monolingual education. In these studies, assessment was conducted using bilingual instruments and students could read both language versions, and sometimes answer questions in the language of their choice. The failure to control for the full range of variables in assessing bilingual students led to a reification of language as an explanatory factor in educational attainment, with bilingualism 81

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being referred to as a social plague (Epstein 1905) and “a hardship devoid of apparent advantage” (Yoshioka 1929, 476). Essentially, such thinking reflects an underlying monolingual habitus in educational and policy practice. This monolingual habitus had multiple and complex impacts on the educational experience of speakers of marginalised languages that reinforced their marginalisation. In particular, the idea that education was equated with the use of the dominant language led to a belief that other languages should be excluded from education. The monolingual habitus did not mean that multilingualism was absent in schools but such multilingualism was largely constrained to elite education, which typically included sustained learning of additional languages. The range of languages admitted in such educational programs was small—typically classical languages and a small number of prestigious modern languages, such as French, German, or English. The choice of languages reflects local ideologies of prestige and/or usefulness, and a high level of achievement in these languages was seen as fundamental to the concept of an educated person. There is thus an internal paradox in approaches to language in education that stigmatises the bilingualism of some and rewards the bilingualism of others. This paradox can be understood in terms of Skutnabb-Kangas’ (1981) distinction between elite and folk bilingualism. Elite bilinguals are typically speakers of the dominant national language who have acquired a valued additional language through formal education as a form of intellectual training. Success in the acquisition of the additional language is taken to demonstrate intelligence and application. Folk bilinguals are those who acquire a non-dominant language through first language socialisation and also have knowledge of the national language. In this case, acquisition of the dominant language, as perceived through the monolingual habitus, is natural and unremarkable. This means that errors in speaking or writing are perceived in terms of deficiencies in knowledge and use of the normal language of communication rather than as achievement in the use of an additional language. Acquisition of the non-dominant language brings with it none of the social accolade associated with academic achievement and intellectual development; instead the non-dominant language is seen as the reason for deficiency in the national language. In this way, not only are some languages marginalised, but so are some types of bilingualism.

Core Issues and Key Findings The core issue in the education of linguistically marginalised students is the degree to which they have access to and receive quality education that is comparable to and equitable with that provided to students from dominant language backgrounds. For much of the 20th century, research conducted in the global north has dominated the literature on linguistically marginalised students, and this research indicates that bilingual education is necessary, especially for students from low income indigenous or migrant communities. However, this has been based on the assumption that the language of dominance is also the language of the numerical majority of the mainstream society in which the marginalised community lives. While the core issue of access to quality education remains the same, the situation in southern contexts has complexities of scale that differ from those in the north. The first of these has to do with the scale of marginalisation. Whereas in the north, marginalisation affects minority communities, in the south it affects majority populations. The second has to do with the degree of linguistic diversity, since more than two thirds of the world’s languages occur in the south (mostly in Africa and in South and Southeast Asia). The third is that in these settings, there are layers of linguistic marginalisation amongst indigenous communities, superimposed by one of the major international or former colonial languages. As in northern contexts, monolingual education in a dominant international or regional language is highly problematic. However, bilingual education may be equally problematic if this is in an international language and a dominant national or 82

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regional language. This type of bilingual education may approximate an elite bilingualism that serves to restrict multilingual practices, entrench class division, and further advantage dominant communities with closer proximity to urban centres of power. Geopolitical and geolinguistic marginalisation occurs on a sliding scale, so that it increases or decreases according to distance from the structures and language(s) of the centre. Students further from the centre are likely to be more marginalised and less likely to have access to equitable education (e.g., Mohanty 2012). In northern contexts, education authorities have tended to offer limited, short-term, or ‘weak’ bilingual programs that restrict opportunities for productive engagement in mainstream education. Education systems can do this for several reasons. Marginalised communities are either numerically small and/or socioeconomically disempowered, they have been effectively ‘invisibilised’ (Skutnabb-Kangas 2000), and education authorities misuse education assessment data. Weak programs include submersion or subtractive bilingual education (i.e., the child is prevented from being able to use the first language for learning at school) and early-exit bilingual education (limited use of the home language for one or two years of primary education). None of these facilitate the further intellectual development of a marginalised student in the school system, and the linguistic building blocks required for learning new knowledge are removed or prematurely terminated. Thus, students perform poorly on standardised and system-wide tests and typical responses from educational authorities have been to terminate whatever limited provision has been available, as was the case through Proposition 227 in California (c.f. Krashen 1996) and, more recently, in relation to Indigenous Australian education by the government of the Northern Territory in 2008 (Simpson, Caffery, and McConvell 2009). There are no reliable studies that demonstrate that low income students who are linguistically marginalised succeed in submersion or early-exit programs (Heugh 2011b). Such decisions reinforce low self-esteem, exacerbate marginalisation, and frequently result in what Mohanty (2012) calls ‘push-out.’ Students simply absent themselves from an education system that lacks meaning or relevance. Educational linguists have understood equitable provision to be dependent upon strong, well resourced bilingual education in which the goal is biliteracy development in both the home language and the dominant language of the nation-state (e.g., García and Baker 2007). Most research in bilingual education of marginalised students indicates that it is essential that both languages be used as mediums of instruction for a minimum of five to seven years. This is in order that students are able to progress, uninterrupted, in relation to the curriculum and also to learn enough of the dominant language to be able to use this language productively for learning in subjects across the curriculum after this point (e.g., Cummins 1981; Thomas and Collier 1997; 2002). Examples of successful or strong bilingual programs, such as heritage or dual language programs, have been described for Europe (e.g., Extra and Gorter 2001) and the United States (e.g., García 2009; McCarty 2013). The numbers of students engaged in strong bilingual programs in northern contexts are relatively small, therefore the data sets from longitudinal studies of student achievement in such programs are often criticised (García and Baker 2007; Howard, Sugarman, and Christian 2003). Nevertheless, there are two longitudinal studies that together have gathered comprehensive data of more than 900,000 minority students (Thomas and Collier 1997; 2002). In these studies the researchers tracked students’ achievement in L2 (English) reading proficiency from Grade 1 to Grade 11 across several different language models. These include weak (e.g., English-only, early-exit, late-exit) and strong (dual language) programs. The majority of students were in weak programs, while relatively fewer were in strong programs. The students in the dual language programs had higher achievement than those in the weak programs. However, because the number of students in such programs is relatively small in comparison with those in the weak programs, the findings have elicited some criticism (Howard et al. 2003). Nevertheless, the patterns of achievement in 83

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these studies, including the differences found between weak and strong forms of bilingual education, show remarkable similarity to patterns of student achievement found in various studies in Africa (e.g., Ouane and Glanz 2011). As discussed above, marginalisation in the global south has characteristics that differ from those in the north. Whereas in the north, most children were enrolled in formal education throughout the 20th century, this has not been the case in southern contexts. Prior to 1990, the majority of marginalised students in the south were either not enrolled in primary education or they fell out of the schooling system before completing primary school (Bamgbose 2000). Thus the degree of systemic marginalisation from the schooling system has been extreme. UNESCO’s Education for All framework and the Millennium Development Goals, including universal primary education and gender parity for girls, have changed the dynamics. Most children are now enrolled in primary school, but this does not mean that they stay. Where marginalised students are in school in southern contexts, bilingual education is seldom provided, and where it is, it is inadequate and insufficient. In most southern countries, the contemporary language ecology includes minority, regional, and national languages, as well one or more former colonial language(s). The former colonial language is used as the language of economic, political and educational dominance, and is also the language of access to the international community. As an instrument of power, this language serves to marginalise speakers of endogenous languages in post-colonial states. For example, in India, although speakers of the national language, Hindi, are relatively privileged, they aspire to high level bilingualism in Hindi and English in order to enjoy full citizenship and to participate in the global sphere. Speakers of regional (state languages), such as Oriya in Orissa, are one step removed from participation at the national level, and two steps removed from access to international possibilities, but, since their aspirations are no less, they would need trilingual education in Oriya, Hindi, and English in order to have comparable access. Speakers of Tribal languages in Orissa are the most marginalised, and they would need to have education in the Tribal language, Oriya, Hindi, and English if they are to participate fully (Mohanty 2012). In Ethiopia, pastoralists in the Afar Region know that they need Afar for trade and survival at the local level, Amharic in order to engage in regional and national affairs, and they want very much that their children should develop a high level of proficiency in English. There is a chasm between what students need and what they receive, particularly in southern contexts. The greater the linguistic diversity in such settings, the less likely it is that the most marginalised students will receive equitable educational opportunities. Education systems, for the most part, have offered students a monolingual education in the international or former colonial language, as in most Francophone and Lusophone countries of Africa. At best, these students are offered limited access to early-exit mother-tongue education. The educational outcomes for students in these programs are less positive than those for marginalised students in similar programs in the global north (Bamgbose 2000; Ouane and Glanz 2011). In former British colonies, systems usually offer early-exit programs (mother tongue medium education [MTE] for three years followed by transition to English medium), and the outcomes, as evident in system-wide multi-country assessments of literacy, are usually dismal (Heugh 2011b). Elsewhere, Coleman (2011) demonstrates that access to the international language, English, in countries like Bangladesh and Pakistan is limited to students from middle class homes in private schools. Although lower income families and students do all in their power to facilitate access to English, there are sociopolitical constraints and ill-fitting educational programs that result in the further marginalisation of students who do not have efficient access to English education. Research on linguistic diversity, marginalisation and education has been a regular feature of education in Africa from the early 20th century, with numerous commissions of enquiry directed 84

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towards identifying effective language education models for African children. Based on these studies, UNESCO has recommended mother-tongue education for the first few years of primary (i.e. early-exit programs) since the 1950s, but there have been no legal instruments to put this into effect. Post-colonial governments have mostly reduced the number of years of MTE (in former British colonies) or introduced weak early-exit bilingual education (e.g., in Burkina Faso, Mali, and Mozambique). Some countries have elected to use the dominant regional or national African language for part or all of primary, followed by a switch to English medium (early-exit in Swaziland, Botswana, Malawi, Kenya; late-exit in Tanzania and Somalia). Speakers of less dominant African languages in these settings, invisibilised in the education system, have been most seriously marginalised. Achievement for speakers of the dominant African language has been disappointing, and even more so for more marginalised students (Bamgbose 2000; Ouane and Glanz 2011). In South Africa, while English and Afrikaans speakers have been required to have bilingual education since 1910, speakers of African languages were required to have trilingual education until 1997. During the first 20 years of apartheid education, 1955–1976, African students received eight years of MTE plus the teaching of English and Afrikaans as subjects. Secondary education involved a switch to English and Afrikaans dual medium education, with the African language retained as a subject. Government, African communities, and educational linguists had no idea at the time that, quite by accident, the apartheid language education model, even if poorly resourced, offered the best opportunities for African students to succeed in primary school and to remain to the end of secondary. African students at school during this period had the highest level of achievement in the secondary school-exit examinations in the country’s history. Student resistance to eight years of MTE in 1976, however, resulted in a reduction to four years of MTE until 1994. Despite a constitutional commitment to multilingual education, three iterations of post-apartheid educational transformation have resulted in the further reduction of MTE for African students to three years (i.e., early-exit bilingual education). Achievement of African students declined from 1978 to 1994, and it has declined even further in the 20 years of post-apartheid education (Heugh 2011b). In another example, system-wide data from Ethiopia offer some of the most recent and most significant evidence of the potential of multilingual education to reduce inequity and to increase opportunities for participatory citizenship. Since 1994, Ethiopia has implemented a bilingual and trilingual education system across the 11 administrative regions of the country, and in 32 languages. This resulted in a dramatic increase in primary school enrolment and retention to the end of primary. Assessment data for Grade 8 students between 2000 and 2008 show that students who have eight years of MTE in the local or regional language, with the national language Amharic and English as subjects, achieve more highly than students with fewer years of MTE, and are more likely to complete secondary school (Heugh 2013). Even though Ethiopia is one of the poorest countries of the world, the government initiated and implemented a multilingual system across the country with a minimal education budget between 1994 and 2004, and the evidence shows increasing student enrolment, retention, and achievement. The increase in student achievement is similar to that found in South Africa with a similar policy of eight years of MTE between 1955 and 1976. However, the Ethiopian government decided to reprioritise English in the system from 2005 onwards, and diverted 44% of the teacher education budget to invest additional resources in English, reducing MTE. Just as student achievement declined once the provision of MTE was reduced in South Africa, so too has this occurred in Ethiopia. In each case, the systems have attempted to introduce early-exit models and invested heavily in these, with no evidence of a positive return on investment. Argument that multilingual education is too costly does not hold true in Africa. Rather, monolingual or early-exit education offers limited or poor returns on investment (Heugh 2011a). 85

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Sociopolitical and economic changes on a global scale from the 1990s have altered the world order in ways that affect the scale and complexity of linguistic marginalisation in northern contexts. Whereas in the last decades of the 20th century, a strong bilingual program may have offered marginalised students adequate access to equitable education, this may no longer be the case. Significantly altered language ecologies increasingly mean that speakers of dominant languages, previously satisfied with monolingual education, may now require at least two languages for purposes of international communication. If marginalised communities in countries of the global north previously required two languages, they now require three. Just as degrees of marginalisation are evident in the south, these are becoming increasingly recognised in the north. For example, Saami communities in Northern Scandinavia might have similar linguistic requirements in school education to those of Tribal children in India (see a related discussion of Basque and Frisian education in Gorter and Cenoz 2012). Increasing mobility of both indigenous and migrant communities brings about changes in language ecologies of highly urbanised/metropolitan centres. The scale and complexity of linguistic diversity and marginalisation of the north is therefore moving closer to that of the south. These global changes in no way reduce the needs of linguistically marginalised students in education systems. Rather, they sharpen the focus on increased opportunities for inequity and social stratification, unless education systems find ways to mainstream multilingual education. In summary, there are several core issues and findings regarding linguistically marginalised students and (in)equitable opportunities for successful education in both contexts. Firstly, if education systems are to attempt to ensure equal access to meaningful education, there is evidence that linguistically marginalised students require a minimum of six or seven years of multilingual education in well resourced contexts of the global north. In less well-resourced contexts, as in the global south, students require at least eight years of strong multilingual education. Detailed and longitudinal studies of bilingual education in the north and system-wide assessment data of multilingual education systems in the south offer compelling evidence. This evidence shows gaps of achievement between marginalised students in submersion and early-exit programs compared with students learning through their home language. The evidence also shows improved achievement of students in strong bilingual/multilingual programs. The core issue remains, however, that large proportions of students remain marginalised in the schooling system in both the north and south. The difference is that in the south, marginalisation and inequity apply to most students.

Research Approaches The study of the education of linguistically marginalised groups is characterised by methodological diversity. Broadly, both quantitative and qualitative methods have been used. Quantitative methods have usually taken the form of assessments, typically involving testing of elements of language proficiency, literacy, and numeracy. Such testing can measure a range of different forms of educational achievement, but in measurements of literacy, often dominant language literacy is included, and in some cases it may be the only measure. This is especially the case where data are obtained from standardised testing of national populations that includes both speakers of the dominant and marginalised languages. Quantitative research approaches are strongly supported by policy makers and development agencies, and the results from such methods are highly valued in education policy and program design. This is because quantitative data are considered useful for benchmarking and, thus, for identifying issues of success and failure in education. While quantitative research does have a place in understanding the education of linguistically marginalised students, research using testing has been particularly problematic in this area; it has 86

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frequently been flawed because of the monolingual habitus underlying the research approach. This point was made above in relation to early studies of bilingualism, but persists in many modern studies. One significant problem has been that such research data has usually been collected in the dominant language. This means that linguistically marginalised students are tested in their non-dominant language, usually without recognition of the consequences for the validity and reliability of the data. This problem is compounded when achievement is compared with that of dominant language students, who are tested in their first, sometimes only, language. In addition, most quantitative studies of the education of linguistically marginalised children have been one-off, synchronic assessments of educational performance at a particular time. This is actually highly problematic for assessing education in multilingual settings as longitudinal studies (e.g., Ouane and Glanz 2011; Thomas and Collier 1997) have demonstrated that it is not possible to evaluate the impact of any second language (majority language) program in fewer than four years, and that accurate interpretations are only likely over a minimum of five to six years. Quantitative benchmarking, when used in unsophisticated ways to inform policy, may lack validity and reliability. For example, the benchmarked results of large-scale national literacy and numeracy testing in Australia in 2008 were used as a rationale to close bilingual education programs for indigenous Australians who spoke English as an additional language (Simpson et al. 2009). The argument used was that such students performed consistently below the national average for literacy and numeracy. The problem here was the nature of the comparisons: Second language capabilities for indigenous students were measured against those of first language speakers of English, rather than benchmarking against similar students. In reality, the testing showed that students in bilingual programs performed better than other indigenous students acquiring English as a second language who were not in bilingual programs. This situation points to the sort of problems that can result from a lack of nuance in the collection, interpretation, and use of quantitative research, and points to questions of the ethical conduct and use of such research with linguistically marginalised populations. Since the 1980s, research on the education of linguistically marginalised children has increasingly used qualitative methods, especially ethnography, sometimes in conjunction with quantitative methods. Qualitative research allows for the possibility of more nuanced accounts that locate children’s school performance to their context to develop a rich description of their education. Such research investigates not only the process and outcomes of educational programs but also issues such as attitudes to educational programs and perceptions of their value, engagement and participation in education, and sociopolitical issues relating to the provision of education. This research has sought to understand recurring processes in the education of linguistically marginalised children that can explain educational problems in context. The results of this research have produced a more nuanced picture of educational success for the children of marginalised linguistic communities. Research approaches to the investigation of linguistically marginalised students are often hampered by a monolingual habitus in research design and implementation that privileges the language of the researcher over the language of the research participant (Liddicoat 2011), and this can have significant implications for the effectiveness of such research. Most recently, research in this area has taken a critical stance towards the education of marginalised groups and has focused on how power and ideology shape educational possibilities. In particular, language education policies can be seen as ideological frames that shape understandings of the nature and purpose of education (Liddicoat 2013). Within such contexts, schools and teachers can contest these possibilities by opening new spaces for students’ languages in teaching and learning (Ramanathan 2005). However, societal forces can also exert pressures that restrict possibilities for innovative action (Bekerman 2005). Education for minoritised students is thus subject to complex interactions of context that need to constitute elements of research approaches. 87

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New Debates Debates about the languages and education of marginalised communities have been polarised along at least two fault lines. The first is the tension between the theory and research within educational linguistics (which includes key areas within applied, socio-, and cognitive linguistics) vis à vis the short-to-medium term interests of educational authorities (in political systems based on three-to-five-year terms of office). The second, our focus here, is a set of competing positions within the various sub-fields of linguistics. The first of these involves terminology and either contested understandings of key terms or theoretical slippage in their use. The term ‘mother tongue’ or ‘mother language’ has recently been used pejoratively to stigmatise language maintenance, heritage, and bilingual programs as ahistorical, essentialist, and outdated. The pejorative discourse associated with this term is often linked to efforts to deny access to bilingual programs. Strategic terminological slippage, in which subtractive or early-exit bilingual programs are passed off as if they were late-exit or additive in design, has been used by government agencies, merchants of early-exit programs, and some development agencies (Ouane and Glanz 2011). Multilingual education is variously (mis)represented as: a (monolingual) education system that includes linguistically diverse student communities; various forms of linguistic accommodation within a monolingual mainstream system; multiple iterations of bilingual programs, hence multilingual education across the system; and multiple alternatives to mainstream or non-formal bilingual and trilingual programs. Red herring debates or terminological slippage are often used as smokescreens to avoid implementing linguistically equitable education. While there are persuasive sociolinguistic arguments regarding reframing terminology, these require conceptual clarity in order to avoid opportunistic misappropriation (see also Krashen 1996). It needs to be clear that when interested parties refer to bilingual education, that theoretical consistency would require that it is understood as the use of two languages for purposes of learning and teaching across the curriculum. Where the goal is to use more than two languages for learning and teaching across the curriculum, this is multilingual education. However, both bilingual and multilingual education extends beyond the notion of multiple languages in parallel. New debates point towards key pedagogical practices within bilingual and multilingual education. Until recently, bilingual education has been understood to mean parallel, separated language systems in schools. Reanimated debates within socio- and cognitive linguistics suggest that language might be better understood as a process, or as a verb, and that bilingual and multilingual people use their linguistic repertoires to make meaning. Thus, a re-take on code-switching as ‘translanguaging’ (García 2009; see also García & Woodley, this volume), or what Agnihotri (2007) refers to as ‘multilinguality,’ suggests the need for reconceptualising how we deliver bilingual and multilingual education. Translation and interpreting appear to be significant language skills that have been ignored in the last four decades of post-grammar-translation pedagogy. Such considerations have implications for curriculum design, assessment, and teacher education. Inequality in assessment has had serious implications for marginalised students everywhere. Limited forms of ‘language accommodation’ (e.g., permitting the use of dictionaries, additional time to write high stakes assessment instruments, etc.) are insubstantial and do not rectify imbalances in the validity and reliability of such testing regimes. There are, however, recently developed instruments that foreground linguistic diversity and equity (e.g., Shohamy 2011) and these have opened up further debates. The challenges remain in how teachers and education authorities will accommodate the linguistic repertoires of students in ways that make use of their language skills and build on these so 88

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that students may engage as productive citizens of the contemporary world. There are useful examples of curriculum design, assessment practices, learning resources, and teacher education in Africa and India, and there are useful examples of multilingual accommodations in urban settings in Europe and North America. However, the continued scale of linguistic marginalisation of students in high income countries and the majority of students in low income countries suggests that the debates are in their infancy.

Implications for Education The main implication of research in the education of linguistically marginalised children is that there needs to be a radical reconsideration of the role and nature of multilingual education. In particular, it means that multilingual education needs to be seen as the usual practice for educating such children and not as an exceptional or transitional arrangement. From this reconsideration, there flow a number of further implications. Multilingual education involves teacher education and preparation costs. As linguistically marginalised groups tend to have had fewer educational opportunities, there may be significant issues in teacher recruitment. As a result, specific educational programs may need to be established to develop such teachers. These teachers also require specific preparation for teaching in multilingual contexts. In particular, they need preparation to assist them in teaching both dominant and marginalised languages in ways that are linguistically and culturally additive and embrace diversity. However, Heugh (2011a) has argued that this cost is less than is claimed by opponents of multilingual education. The cost is, moreover, offset by the benefits of improved educational outcomes for marginalised groups. There are also implications for how linguistically marginalised children are assessed. Assessment needs to become sensitive to the fundamentally linguistic nature of any assessment task and to the ways that this plays out in various contexts of assessment. In order to do this, we will need innovative approaches to assessment that are more equitable in contexts of linguistic marginalisation. In particular, standardised testing is particularly problematic, as standardisation in itself may preclude the very possibility of linguistic and cultural diversity in assessment forms. There are also implications for the development of educational materials ranging from curricula to textbooks. If education is to be sensitive to and respectful of linguistic and cultural diversity, materials need to be developed in a way that reflects this. This often involves more than the translation of curricula or textbooks. It also involves the development of new materials that incorporate the linguistic and cultural traditions and knowledge of marginalised groups into school education programs. One consequence of the lack of commercial interest in marginalised languages has been that educational materials are often of poorer quality and have lower production standards than materials in the dominant language, a discrepancy that reproduces the marginalisation of the languages involved, at least in educational contexts.

Further Reading Coleman, H. 2011. Dreams and Realities: Developing Countries and the English Language. London: British Council. Hornberger, N. H. (Ed.) 2003. Continua of Biliteracy: An Ecological Framework for Educational Policy, Research, and Practice in Multilingual Settings. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Martin-Jones, M., and Jones, K. (Eds.) 2000. Multilingual Literacies: Reading and Writing Different Worlds. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Singleton, D., Fishman, J. A., Aronin, L., and ÓLaoire, M. (Eds.) 2013. Current Multilingualism. A New Lingusitic Dispensation. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.

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Skutnabb-Kangas, T., and Cummins, J. (Eds.) 1988. Minority Education: From Shame to Struggle. Clevendon: Multilingual Matters. Skutnabb-Kangas, T., and Heugh, K. (Eds.) 2012. Multilingual Education and Sustainable Development Work. From Periphery to Center. New York and London: Routledge.

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7 Is There a Place for Home Literacies in the School Curriculum? Pedagogic Discourses and Practices in the Brazilian Educational Context Elaine Rocha-Schmid

Introduction In the last decades, a number of theorists have consistently identified schools as a place of cultural and linguistic conflicts (Aronowitz and Giroux 1993; Gee 1996; Heath 1983; Street 1984). In schools, lower income and minority language individuals have been more likely to have their culture and language dismissed and their voices unheard than those of their mainstream counterparts. This has been argued to be a result of schools’ tendency to reproduce societal unequal power relations by taking the dominant culture and language as a model for reproduction. As traditional notions of the ‘oral and written’ and ‘literate and illiterate’ paradigms started being contested in the 1980s, schools were urged to replace their monocultural take on literacy for an approach that draws on non-mainstream literacy and language for curriculum intervention. In this chapter, I discuss the discourses of language and literacy that have dictated the status of Brazilian low income students’ home literacies and language in the school curriculum. I draw on studies in linguistics and literacy from a sociocultural tradition that argue for the reconceptualisation of home and school literacies and, therefore, of what goes in the school curriculum in order to break the pattern that has ensured that the majority of the country’s lower social class individuals consistently fail at school literacies (see Bagno 2004a and Kleiman 1995a).

Historical Perspectives In the 1960s and early 70s, two different discourses in education coming from two different parts of the world tackled the relationship between non-mainstream individuals’ home cultures and school literacies. In the USA, at a time when many economically disadvantaged children were perceived to fail to acquire the knowledge valued at school, a number of studies in the field of education suggested a link between poverty and cultural and linguistic deficiencies (see Edwards 92

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1979 for a review of these studies). The notions behind the deficit hypothesis have undergirded many adult education and family literacy programmes with a compensatory ethos. In the context of education in Brazil, these views seem to still influence researchers’ and educators’ expectations of their impoverished pupils’ competence to acquire school literacies. From a different theoretical perspective, in the 1970s, Paulo Freire’s seminal work Pedagogy of the Oppressed set the stage for the re-appraisal of marginalised groups’ own cultures and voices within the classroom. Freire (1970) suggested a model for participatory pedagogy that would influence and inform work by a number of theorists around the world (see Giroux 1983; Delgado-Gaitan 1990; Schugurensky 1998). At the centre of his ideas for critical pedagogy is a teacher-student dialogical process on three levels: the identification of a context for analysis related to learners’ own cultures and lifeworlds, a critical analysis and problematisation of this context (e.g., the power relations of those involved in this context), and the understanding of why and how (in political and societal terms) such context came to be (Freire 1985). Freire’s work has received criticism on issues such as the directiveness of the pedagogical process, which critics find may result in authoritative teacher-student relations (see Schugurensky 1998; Rocha-Schmid 2010), and his failure to refer to gender and race issues, ‘as if oppression were only about class’ (Schugurensky 1998, 22). Freire’s notions of empowerment have, however, informed educational theorists and researchers with family literacy programmes and worked as antidote to deficit views (see, for instance, Borg and Mayo 2001). In Brazil, Freire’s notions of critical pedagogy have mostly been linked with the education of adults and adult literacy programmes. In fact, programmes of adult education in Brazil are mostly focused on the teaching of reading and writing and do not extend the links between home and school literacies, as can be the case in adult literacy programmes in other parts of the world (see Delgado-Gaitan 2005).

The New World Order: Changes in Discourse Since the 1980s, there have been a number of transformations in the debate of every sphere of the educational system. As in other parts of the world, the epistemological changes in Brazil that have been placed under the auspice of post-modernity (Bauman 1992) can be seen in the new discourses and policies of democratisation, pluralism, and neoliberalism. Schooling has become a reality for a greater number of impoverished Brazilian children, partly due to the end of dictatorship in the 1970s, and partly to a series of projects and policies implemented from the 1990s. Concomitantly, the discourse of pluralism—which within the social sciences in other parts of the world has been translated into an urge for multiculturalism and multilingualism initiatives (see Rampton 2006)—in Brazil reignites the debate of power relations through language and literacy that had, in the 1970s, been initiated by Paulo Freire. Mortatti (2010) explains that although constructivism passes in the 1980s to be the ‘official’ theoretical model by which the educational system (pedagogically and in terms of governance) is modelled upon, the debate of literacy and language amongst academics and policymakers is also informed by two other theoretical models: interactional sociolinguistics and literacy studies (332). These are respectively influenced by Labov’s work with dialects in New York City (1966; 1972) and Gee (1996) and Street’s (1984) notions for the New Literacy Studies. Consequently, there has been a surge in the number of studies that locate the Brazilian debate within the debate of literacy and linguistics from a sociolinguistics and sociocultural perspective (Kleiman 1995a; Soares 1998; Bagno 2004a). I will review some of the most influential publications at the centre of the current debate of literacy and linguistics in Brazil to what relates to home and school literacy connections. 93

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Core Issues and Key Findings The (Re)Conceptualisation of Literacy and Language in the School Curriculum The first influential publication is Kleiman’s (1995a) ‘Os significados do letramento: uma nova perspectiva sobre a pratica social da escrita’ (‘The meanings of literacy: a new perspective on the social practices of writing’). This is a collection of articles that together provide a sound instance of the issues that are at the centre of the debate of how lower income individuals’ language and literacy are conceptualised and dealt with in Brazilian schools and society at large. The different theoretical approaches that each author takes (often originating in conflicting theoretical discourses) provide the reader with a taste for the complexity and heterogeneity of the debate on literacy in Brazil (see Mortatti 2010 for a historical perspective and critique of these discourses). Here I refer to three chapters that most closely draw on old and new conceptualisations of the relations between orality and writing and have, respectively, been put in practice in the classroom in a way that either intensifies a rupture between home and school literacies and cultures, or attempts to bring students’ vernacular into the classroom to forge a bridge for the acquisition of school literacies. The reference to relations of orality and writing is relevant here, as these have been associated with the paradigms of illiteracy and literacy. In societies with a strong history of popular oral cultures, in which literacy has recently been introduced to the masses, as is the case in Brazil, these dichotomies become strong representatives of home and school literacies and of how home cultures are conceptualised and valued in society at large. In other words, as schools place their focus on academic literacy—mostly represented by official documents, literary classics, and grammatical books, lower social class individuals’ home cultures go mostly unacknowledged in the curriculum or are dismissed as inappropriate. This dynamic has been argued to alienate these individuals and be responsible for their failure with school literacies (Heath, 1983). Also of literacy theorists’ concern is the fact that these individuals’ homes have mostly been assumed to be stripped of literacy practices altogether, which in modern societies can hardly be the case, as I further elaborate in this chapter. In the first chapter of Kleiman’s book, ‘Literacy models and literacy [alfabetizacao] practices at school’, which draws on ethnographical studies in adult literacy programmes, Kleiman identifies three situations of conflict that arise as outcomes of adult literacy programmes that conceptualise literacy as an autonomous model, as suggested by Brian Street (1984), and which, as a consequence, have a compensatory ethos. An autonomous perspective on literacy presupposes that literacy is a ‘neutral technology that can be detached from specific social contexts’ (Street 1984, 1). Street (1984) explains that an alternative approach to literacy “stresses the significance of the socialisation process in the construction of the meaning of literacy for participants” (2). The next three sections delve into Kleiman’s three situations of conflict further.

1. Conflicting Discourse Practices: The Construction of Functions That Do Not Complement One Another In the first instance, the author explains that by taking writing events (e.g., the writing of a recipe) from an ‘autonomous perspective’ as neutral and factual to replace certain activities that students culturally engage in through orality (e.g., the oral exchange of recipes and collaborative cooking present in many families), the adult educator tries to create a function for the written language which in fact has been perfectly fulfilled in students’ lifeworlds by verbal interactions. In other words, the students do not have difficulties in relation to the process involved in following a 94

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recipe; the problem arises regarding the formal characteristics of a written recipe (Kleiman 1995b, 50). In a different instance, the adult educator and the students engage in a practical production of soap, cakes, and playdough, following patterns of oral interaction with which the students are more familiar. The written text is given a follow-up, supportive role: ‘So that we don’t forget the recipe’. In this way, a need for the written text is constructed, instead of the previous ‘replacement’ mode. The author concludes that in the first instance it is presupposed that writing is a neutral facilitator to mnemonic and mental processes. She contends, however, that, as Heath (1983) suggests, not every literate group verbalises or uses the written language to analyse a sequence of steps involved in the realisation of a task (activity), and certainly, groups with an oral tradition have other strategies to assist them with memorisation (Kleiman 1995b, 51).

2. Identities in Conflict: The (Re)Construction of the ‘Illiterate’ as a Less Valuable Being The second instance of conflict refers to the discourse of literacy as related to cognitive gains and, as a consequence, the ‘illiterate’ individual as seen as devoid of intelligence to conduct social interactions (e.g., in trading and business) (see also Graff 1987). Kleiman ponders that occurrences that undermine these individuals’ ability to function in society are not unusual in the Brazilian media, in the voice of politicians, and in adult literacy programme classrooms. She suggests that there is a need to foster a critical debate on the ‘literacy results’ to analyse the unequal social power relations that are omitted by these discourses. In this way, the autonomous model of literacy would be seen as just a model that needs to be problematised. This, along with the awareness of other types of literacy practices and their contexts, would help to demystify the discourses of literacy; it would be a first step towards bringing the education system closer to students’ realities, beyond asking students to assimilate to it.

3. Conflicting Values: Students’ Resistance to the Literate Culture In the third instance, Kleiman describes how the reading of a medication description ends up causing friction between the adult educator and her students, with the latter aligning themselves against the educators’ authoritative voice that tries to ‘impose’ on them the discourse of the pharmaceutical industry without promoting a debate that reassesses its agenda and addresses students’ own cultures and beliefs and their status and place in the wider society. (See also Gee 1996 for the complexities of the relations between ideological discourses and reading and writing.) Kleiman suggests that situations of conflict between the adult educator, who more often than not reproduces the voices of mainstream groups, and students, who have their values and language dismissed, very often result in students dropping out of these courses before being able to achieve their goal of reading and writing. In the chapter entitled ‘Orality and the construction of reading by children from illiterate families’, Sylvia Bueno Terzi (in Kleiman, 1995a) discusses the finding of her ethnographic study with school-aged children from an impoverished community in Brazil. Drawing on Heath’s (1983) work on home and school literacy links and on her own findings, the author posits that in literate families the development of oral and written language occurs concomitantly: “As a child learns to talk, she starts to learn the functions and uses of writing, being able to become a reader and text producer even before she can decode the written language (be alfabetizada)” (Terzi, 1995, 91). This, she argues, is not the case with children from what she refers to as ‘illiterate’ or ‘little literate’ backgrounds, who arrive at school without being exposed to interactions around school models of literacy. 95

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The author explains that once at school, these children’s acquisition of reading does not go beyond the process of word recognition to the more ideal recognition of the written text as another way of communicating meaning. This is the case because schools fail to take account of students’ pre-school experiences, assuming school literacy as a universal skill; they approach reading and writing as purely coding and decoding. As a consequence, the interactions teachers engage students in bear no familiarity to the nature of interactions students experience outside school. In this way, the link between orality (as students from low income families know it) and writing is lost; the possibility (argued by the author) of the latter being developed through the means of the former is missed. Through ethnographic action-research, the author embarks on a nine-month project that aims at re-establishing the link between oral and written language for her low income participants in school. In more practical terms, her approach involves constructing a dialogue around the written text whereby both the interaction patterns and the context of the situation are designed to resemble the oral interactions students are more familiar with and to allow them to infer meaning from topics from their home oral experience. The author concludes that by the end of the study, participants had acquired the notion that literacy and orality were two means to the same goal (that of meaning making) and were able to draw on their funds of knowledge, allegedly mostly acquired from orality, to build their comprehension of school written texts. Terzi’s article provides a sound account of how reading and writing are conceptualised and consequently dealt with in the school researched, which can arguably be taken as using the institutionalised, traditional ways of approaching literacy common in other schools in the country. Its relevance to the discussion of home and school links for children from a low economic background is obvious—firstly, in its description of the ruptures of language and literacy they face when arriving at school and, subsequently, in the attempts the author/researcher engages in to overcome these constraints. By acknowledging and departing from children’s home interactions, levels of comprehension, and own strategies around texts, the author suggests an approach that falls into the perspectives of multiple literacies (see Auerbach 1997), which place the responsibility for bridging the home-school gap on schools rather than transferring it to parents, which can be the case with family literacy programmes (Gadsden 2008). In other respects, however, the use of concepts such as ‘illiterate’ or ‘little literate’ to refer to the families in the study contradicts the very notions the author draws her theoretical inference from. While the study reinforces the notions that individuals use both written and spoken modes to ‘supplement and reinforce’ each other (Heath 1983), it seems to miss the point that this socialisation around reading (and of reading in association with other modes—see Kress 2003 for issues of multimodality) also happens in low income communities, which are part of a literate society and therefore exposed to the written artefacts that are subsumed by it (Street 1984). If taken the way they are described in the article, the participants of Terzi’s study seem to live in a community devoid of literacy where their only claim to ‘cultural models’ is their oral interactions. It takes us back to a description of impoverished children’s background as that which departs from middle class literacies and interactions, which are taken as the standard model for analysis. In this way, a focus on a ‘lack or a deficit’ (Schultz and Hull 2002, 27) remains. An approach with a stronger sociocultural ethos would take into account how these children engage with the literacy material they do have at home (e.g., labels from products, siblings’ school books, religious books, bills etc.) and the literacy events they witness at home (e.g., their siblings doing their homework; role play around school interactions that may take place amongst school children and young siblings; their parents paying bills and going about other mailing). Proponents of multiple literacies have argued for a ‘culturally responsive approach’ (Bloome 2008, 255) that uses family literacies as curriculum intervention (Gonzalez, Moll, and Amanti 2005). Drawing on these views, Bloome (2008) explains 96

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that “part of the dynamic addressed by culturally responsive pedagogy involves eschewing a priori constructions of students as having deficit cultural and linguistic backgrounds that make difficult students’ effective participation in classroom literacy practices” (255). He adds that The concept of funds of knowledge has been used to emphasize that the homes and communities of cultural and linguistic minority students are not deficit in social, linguistic and cultural capital, but rather that teachers need to design curriculum and instruction in ways that provide opportunities for students to bring to their participation in classroom literacy events the funds of knowledge available in their households and communities (Gonzales, Moll, & Amanti 2005; Moll, Amanti, Neff, and Gonzalez 1992). (Bloome 2008, 255) These issues also suggest the intertextuality of discourses, whereby old and new concepts of literacy are still conflicting. The last study I refer to in Kleiman (1995a) approaches the issue of home-school links from a sociolinguistics perspective. Stella Maris Bortoni analyses and discusses data of teacher-student classroom interactions collected in a small rural community in Central Brazil. With a larger aim to address the question of whether schooling enables students to acquire ‘formal registers’ of their first language, the author analyses teachers’ patterns of code switching between standard Portuguese and the local rural variant in terms of whether these are related to teachers’ views of what constitutes a literacy event. Drawing on Hymes’ (1974) ethnography of communication and notions of speech events and Philip’s (1972) ‘structures of participation’ (see Erickson and Schultz 1977, 6, cited in Bortoni 1995), Bortoni identifies four different types of speech events throughout the lessons observed: 1) 2) 3) 4)

Short interactions (speech acts [Hymes 1974]): jokes, disciplining students, short explanations. Long explanations or comments about a task that is being carried out (e.g., feedback about a mathematical problem-solving task). Feedback on the reading aloud. IRE (Introduction, Response, and Evaluation) speech event (Sinclair and Coulthard 1975).

Bortoni’s analysis takes into consideration phonological and grammatical aspects to distinguish between the rural Portuguese variant spoken by the participants and standard Portuguese. The author concludes that the two teachers in the study code switch according to the type of interactions being carried out. Interactions of Type 1 above were mostly carried out in the rural variant, while Types 3 and 4 (which are more closely associated with school practices) were predominantly carried out in standard Portuguese. The author suggests that the level of standardisation of the teachers’ speech was directly related to the conceptualisation they hold of distinctions between oral events and literate ones. The teachers in the study were also found not to focus on correcting students’ uses of their vernacular (a practice considered usual in Brazil at the time of the study). The author comments that a culturally sensitive approach (Erickson 1987; see also Ladson-Billings 1994) would acknowledge and raise students’ awareness of the differences between the standard variant and other marginalised variants. Bortoni concludes that the interactional patterns observed in the classroom contributed to shift the perspective from the dichotomy of ‘good Portuguese and bad Portuguese’ to ‘the Portuguese we use to read and the Portuguese we use to talk’ (Bortoni 1995, 140). In addition, she posits that working on a more positive platform seems to have fostered an environment of respect and friendship between teachers and students in the classroom. She 97

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suggests that this approach may result in students’ acquiring features of standard Portuguese, which are valued in more formal events of communication, without dismissing students’ own vernaculars. Bortoni’s study alludes to issues of language discrimination that are symptomatic of social inequality in Brazilian society. Questions about issues of acceptance of students’ vernacular within schools are relevant in a context that has been characterised by a strong focus on prescriptive teaching of the standard language, in which the written text has been taken as a model for oral communication. The article is on par with the sociolinguistic perspective that has been taken by a number of linguists and educational theorists on the approach to issues of standardisation, the status ascribed to other variants, and the subsequent ‘teaching’ of the first language in Brazil in the last decades. I discuss below some of the issues that arise from this debate.

Vernacular Language and the School Curriculum A number of studies in the last three decades have drawn on the work of sociolinguists in other parts of the world, mostly on Hymes’ (1964) ethnography of communication, Labov’s (1966; 1972) notions of interactional sociolinguistics, and Halliday’s (1978) systemic linguistics to support the claim for a re-conceptualisation of language and its study. I briefly draw here on Marcos Bagno’s (2004a) book Linguistica da Norma (The Linguistics of the Norm) to summarise the issues of language discrimination and language inculcation that have been at the centre of this debate and that have relations to the discussion being pursued herein. The understanding of these issues has been argued as crucial for the understanding of the process of sociocultural inequality reflected upon and achieved through language discrimination in society and, in a micro dimension, for the factors that lead to teachers’ conceptualisations of literacy and the battle they engage in with their students for the acquisition of the standard variant (see Faraco 2004; Luchesi 2004; and Bagno 2004b). Bagno (2004b), Faraco (2004) and Luchesi (2004) draw on historical facts to explain these issues. They contend that on par with the Eurocentric agenda of the Brazilian elites in regards to culture and language, which has been in place since colonial times and detrimental to the culture and language of the great majority of Brazilians, the set of linguistic features that came to be seen as the norm to which all should aspire, and which still adorns the pages of the many normative grammar books available in the country, was based on a European Portuguese variant registered in literary classics of the 19th century. In spite of being closer to the variant spoken by the elite than to any other variant spoken in Brazil, mostly due to the fact that those grammarians, policymakers, and the print media who declare themselves guardians of the standard language are themselves members of this elite, the artificial nature of this standard and the rather predictable gap—in syntactic, semantic, and phonological terms—between this and other variants spoken in Brazil have been argued as some of the factors contributing to the intensive prescriptive approach to language in Brazilian schools and, in turn, the marginalisation of different vernaculars. As a consequence, two main equivoques are encountered in the way language has been approached in schools. First, there is the notion that the written text should be taken as a model for the oral mode, and, second, there is a focus placed on the prescriptive teaching of grammar, both in schools and in the media. The latter is evidenced in the shape of television and radio programmes, newspaper and magazine columns, and so on, (Bagno 2003) which have the aim to teach native speakers of Brazilian Portuguese to speak their own language ‘correctly’. This involves pointing out perceived ‘errors’ that are found in the speech of a great part of the population. 98

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Castilho (in Bagno 2004a, but written in 1978) explains that despite the democratisation of schooling in the 60s and 70s, every element present in state schools conforms to the dominant class language and culture. He posits that attempting to replace a social group’s linguistic variant with another reinforces the ‘complex of linguistic incompetence’ already existent in the lower social classes (Castilho 2004, 33). Silva (2004, 261) also ponders that the act of taking the written text as the model for oral language creates a conflict between the school standard and the ‘friendship group’s’ standard. Given the nature of the standard valued at school, she argues, however, that the process of erasing one vernacular in favour of the written variant and the consequent feeling of lack of linguistic competence Castilho refers to is not only a reality for lower income social groups, but also for students from a middle class background. In this way, the gap between students’ language and the language aimed at school has been fossilised not only by the literacy practices that the latter values and tries to pass on as universal to different sociocultural groups, but also by the language it imposes on these groups as a model for reproduction.

Research Approaches Schultz and Hull (2002) suggest that studies on the nature of school and home literacy continuities and discontinuities have been mostly conducted through the theoretical lenses of (1) the ethnography of communication (Hymes 1964; Heath 1983); (2) cultural historical activity theory built on Vygotsky’s work (see Scribner and Cole 1981), and (3) the New Literacy Studies (see Street 1984; Gee 1996). Marsh (2010) refers to the sociocultural, cultural, and sociological theories as the three broader fields of study that have informed work with a focus on home-school literacy links. She explains that under these three fields of study there are a number of concepts generated in relation to literacy studies. It is not possible to provide here a comprehensive account of the methods used by theorists working in all of these theoretical traditions. It is possible to point out, however, that the great amount of work in sociocultural studies, and particularly in New Literacy Studies, has followed an ethnographic tradition of data collection within homes and learning institutions (see Barton and Hamilton 1998; Bartlett 2007; and Grenfell, Bloome, Hardy, Pahl, Rowsell, and Street 2012a). The classroom domain has been used as a field of ethnographic studies more traditionally by ethnographers of communication (Hymes 1974) and more recently by theorists drawing on Bhabha’s (1994) notions of the classroom as a third space (see Gutierrez 2008). In Brazil, recent work in this area has significantly been conducted within the theoretical perspective of the New Literacy Studies, interactional sociolinguistics, and cultural studies following Vygostky’s (1962) work on cognitive development. These studies have predominantly been conducted within schools (see, for instance, Colello 2007; Cruz 2007). These new perspectives on literacy have also motivated work from an ethnographic approach that looks into literacy within other domains (see Souza’s 2011 work with black youth artists; Franchetto 2008 on the conflicts between oral and writing practices in indigenous communities; and Tavares and Ferreira 2009 on home literacy practices and the networks of lower income families).

New Debates and Implications for Education Literacy The theorisation of literacy through the lens of the New Literacy Studies has in the last decades encouraged a number of researchers to document the out-of-school literacy practices of individuals around the world. Many studies have also pointed out how marginalised groups 99

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have successfully been involved in literacy practices in different domains while failing at school literacies. More recently, however, literacy theorists have drawn attention in retrospect to the tendency encountered in this line of studies to overemphasise a ‘school-home literacy divide’ and, in turn, to romanticise out-of-school literacies while villainizing school practices (Brandt and Clinton 2002; Hull and Schultz 2002; Street 2012a). While the discontinuities between home and school literacies seem to be a fact to many non-mainstream children, Schultz and Hull (2002, 12) posit that “We may fail to see the presence of school-like practice at home (. . .) or non-school-like activities in the formal classroom. Such contexts are not sealed tight or boarded off; rather, one should expect to find, and one should look to account for, the movement from one context to the other” (12). The authors add that the account that is made of schools, teachers, and academic literacies are often too harsh at a time when teachers are increasingly confronted with the mere implementation of policies, rather than being involved in consultation and discussion. Taking the criticism of aspects of New Literacy Studies into account, Street (2012a, 45) ponders that it is now time for theorists to move beyond these theoretical critiques and to develop positive proposals for interventions in teaching, curriculum, measurement criteria, and teacher education in both the formal and informal sectors, based upon these principles. He contends that it will be at this stage that the theoretical perspectives brought together in NLS will face their sternest test: that of their practical applications to mainstream education. Street and colleagues (see Grenfell et al. 2012) build on the concepts of the NLS, in conjunction with Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of practice, in search of a sociocultural approach that fulfils Street’s suggestion above. An aspect of their debate is the role ethnography can have in empowering both educators and their students in the search to promote awareness of and familiarisation with community practices. Street’s (2012b) project Learning for Empowerment Through Training in Ethnographic-style Research (LETTER) has trained adult literacy practitioners in India and Ethiopia on how to conduct ethnographic-style research to investigate into their students’ community practices. These practitioners have been able to go from a passive position as spectators in a teacher training program to one of active ethnographers in control of how to best incorporate their findings onto their classroom practices. The expectation is that an ethnographic approach to investigate students’ community literacy practices may function as an antidote to the many preconceptions of different groups’ languages and literacies that still persist. At the same time, it may give teachers some sense of autonomy amidst increasing accountability.

Digital Literacies Looking into students’ practices from an ethnographic approach could also provide educators with a more informed awareness of their students’ uses of digital literacies. Erstad (2011, 105) ponders that rather than describing youth’s digital use homogeneously, ‘[we] need to specify variations and digital divides among young people at different age levels, and in different cultural contexts, and also to specify different aspects of digital media, from gaming to social media, texting, and so forth’ (p. 105). A closer investigation of students’ uses of digital literacies could help us to ‘[identify] what impact such technologies have on specific social practices in which people are involved’ (Erstad 2011, 105). Moreover, it would also contribute to a more learnercentred pedagogy in which students’ funds of knowledge would not only be acknowledged, but would also be taken as valid aspects towards course syllabi.

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Parental Involvement There is a need for research that assesses the place of parents and students’ voices within schools. There are the questions of 1) whether there would be a place for family literacy programmes in the educational system in contexts like the one discussed herein; and 2) whether these would even be desirable given the compensatory nature that these programmes have been argued to assume (see Rocha-Schmid, 2010). On this matter, Gadsden (2008, 172) suggests that the field should engage in ‘a more in-depth focus on and analysis of culture’ that goes beyond the narrow categorisation of ethnicity and race. In a context of harsh social inequity, descriptions of cultural differences tend to be debated at the level of social classes without much further attention to individuals’ other identities, such as participation in religious, sports, or political groups, which are prone to inform and widen their literacy practices.

Language Language theorists in Brazil warn of the need of a reconceptualisation of language and its study. This, they argue, ought to include the problematisation of the relations between the standard language and the sociocultural and economic factors that have historically contributed to language as a means of social inequity representation and reproduction (Bagno 2004a). This should lead to: 1)

2) 3)

the awareness that the written form should not and cannot be taken as a model for oral communication (a practice that has resulted in the discrimination of any production that does not comply with its rules of correctness); the recognition and acceptance (not only tolerance) of other variants; and the prevalence, at school, of those grammars that incorporate a descriptive (rather than prescriptive) account of written and oral uses of different linguistic variants.

Faraco (2004) posits, however, that this should be a debate that goes beyond school gates and into the public and political societal domains. This chapter has reviewed some of the main debates being carried out in the area of educational linguistics and literacy studies in Brazil. It has been suggested that the issues of language discrimination and traditional conceptualisations of a rigid literacy and orality paradigm have played a very strong role in schools’ failure to serve the country’s lower social class individuals. On a more positive note, political and epistemological changes observed in the last decades have brought about a discourse that calls upon schools to transform themselves to better serve these individuals’ children. The expected result is that home cultures and languages will stop being objects of shame (see Barlett 2007) and be instead supported and drawn upon in children’s acquisition of the academic literacies that are so valued in official domains.

Further Reading Bartlett, L. 2010. The Word and the World: The Cultural Politics of Literacy in Brazil. Cresskill: Hampton Press. Pahl, K., and Rowsell, J. (Eds.) 2006. Travel Notes from the New Literacy Studies: Instances of Practice. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Ribeiro, V. M. 2003. Letramento no Brasil. Sao Paulo: Global Editora. Soares, M. 2003. Alfabetizacao e letramento. Sao Paulo: Contexto.

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References Aronowitz, S., and Giroux, H. A. 1993. Postmodern Education: Politics, Culture, and Social Criticism. Minneapolis/ London: University of Minnesota Press. Auerbach, E. 1997. Family Literacy. In V. Edwards and D. Corson (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education (Vol. 2: Literacy). London: Springer Press, 153–161. Bagno, M. 2003. A Norma Oculta: Lingua e Poder na Sociedade Brasileira. Sao Paulo: Parabola. Bagno, M. (Ed.) 2004a. Linguistica da Norma. Sao Paulo: Edicoes Loyola. Bagno, M. 2004b. Lingua, Historia and Sociedade. In M. Bagno (Ed.), Linguistica da Norma. Sao Paulo: Edicoes Loyola, 179–198. Bartlett, L. 2007. Human capital or human connections? The cultural meanings of education in Brazil. Teachers College Record, 109(7), 1613–1636. Barton, D., and Hamilton, M. 1998. Local Literacies. New York: Routledge. Bauman, Z. 1992. Intimations of Post-Modernity. London: Routledge. Bhabha, H. K. 1994. The Location of Culture. New York: Routledge. Bloome, D. 2008. Literacies in the classroom. In B. V. Street and N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopaedia of Language and Education (2nd ed., Vol. 2: Literacy). New York: Springer, 251–262. Borg, C., and Mayo, P. 2001. From ‘adjuncts’ to ‘subjects’: Parental involvement in a working-class community. British Journal of sociology of Education, 22(2): 245–266. Bortoni, S. M. 1995. Variacao Linguistica e Atividade de Letramento em Sala de Aula. In A. B. Kleiman (Ed.), Os Significados do Letramento. Campinas, SP: Mercado de Letras, 119–143. Brandt, D., and Clinton, K. 2002. Limits of the local: expanding perspectives on literacy as a social practice. Journal of Literacy Research, 34(3), 337–356. Castilho, A. T. 2004. Variacao Dialetal e Ensino Institucionalizado da Lingua Portuguesa. In Bagno, M. (Ed.), Linguistica da Norma. Sao Paulo: Edicoes Loyola, 27–36. Colello, S. M. G. 2007. A Escola que (Nao) Ensina A Escrever. Sao Paulo: Paz e Terra. Cruz, M. E. A. 2007. O letramento academico como pratica social: Novas abordagens. Gestão e Conhecimento, July/August 4(1), 3–13. Delgado-Gaitan, C. 1990. Literacy for Empowerment: The Role of Parents in Children’s Education. New York: Falmer. Delgado-Gaitan, C. 2005. Reflections from the field family narratives. In multiple literacies. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 36(3), 265–272. Edwards, J. R. 1979. Language and Disadvantage: Studies in Language Disability and Remediation. London: Arnold. Erickson, F. 1987. Transformation and school success: the politics and culture of educational achievement. In Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 18(4), 335–356. Erickson, F., and Schultz, J. 1977. When is a context? Some issues and methods in the analysis of social competence. The Quarterly Newsletter of the Institute of Comparative Human Development, 1(2), 5–10. Erstad, O. 2011. Citizens Navigating in Literate Worlds: The Case of Digital Literacy. In M. Thomas (Ed.), Deconstructing Digital Natives: Young People, Technology and the New Literacies. New York/London: Routledge, 99–118. Faraco, C. A. 2004. Norma-Padrao Brasileira: Desembaracando Alguns Nos. In M. Bagno (Ed.), Linguistica da Norma. Sao Paulo: Edicoes Loyola, 37–61. Franchetto, B. 2008. A guerra dos alfabetos: Os Povos Indígenas na fronteira entre o oral e o escrito. Mana April 14(1), 31–59. Freire, P. 1970. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum. Freire, P. 1985. The Politics of Education: Culture, Power, and Liberation. South Hadley, MA: Bergin and Garvey. Gadsden, V. 2008. Family Literacy. In B. V. Street and N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education (2nd ed., Vol. 2: Literacy). New York: Springer, 163–177. Gee, J. P. 1996. Social Linguistics and Literacies: Ideology in Discourses. London: Routledge Falmer. Giroux, H. A. 1983. Theory and Resistance in Education: A Pedagogy for the Opposition. South Hadley, MA: Bergin and Garvey. Gonzales, N., Moll, L., and Amanti, C. (Eds.) 2005. Funds of Knowledge: Theorizing Practices in Households, Communities, and Practices. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Graff, H. J. 1987. The Legacies of Literacy: Continuities and Contradictions in Western Culture and Society. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

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Grenfell, M., Bloome, D., Hardy, C., Pahl, K., Rowsell, J., and Street, B. 2012. Language, Ethnography, and Education: Bridging New Literacy Studies and Bourdieu. New York: Routledge. Gutierrez, K. 2008. Developing a sociocritical literacy in the third space. Reading Research Quarterly, 43(2), 148–64. Halliday, M. A. K. 1978. Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning. London: Edward Arnold. Heath, S. B. 1983. Ways With Words: Language, Life, and Work in Communities and Classrooms. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hull, G., and Schultz, K. 2002. Introduction: Negotiating the boundaries between school and non-school literacies. In G. Hull and K. Schultz (Eds) School’s Out: Bridging Out-of- School Literacies with Classroom Practice. New York: Teachers College Press 1-8. Hymes, D. 1964. Introduction: Towards ethnographies of communication. In J. J. Gumperz and D. Hymes (Eds.), The Ethnography of Communication, Washington, DC: American Anthropology Association, 1–34. Hymes, D. 1974. Foundations of Sociolinguistics: An Ethnographic Approach. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Kleiman, A. B. 1995a (Ed.). Os Significados do Letramento. Campinas, SP: Mercado de Letras. Kleiman, A. B. 1995b. Modelos de Letramento e as Praticas de Alfabetizacao na Escola. In A. B. Kleiman (Ed.), Os Significados do Letramento. Campinas, SP: Mercado de Letras 15–61. Kress, G. 2003. Literacy in the New Media Age. London: Routledge. Labov, W. 1966. The Social Stratification of English in New York City. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics. Labov, W. 1972. Sociolinguistics Patterns. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Ladson-Billings, G. 1994. Dreamkeepers: Successful Teachers of African-American Children. New York: Josey-Bass. Luchesi, D. 2004. Norma Linguistica e Realidade Social. In M. Bagno (Ed.), Linguistica da Norma. Sao Paulo: Edicoes Loyola, 63–92. Marsh, J. 2010. The Relationship Between Home and School Literacy Practices. In D.Wyse, R. Andrews, and J. Hoffman (Eds.), The Routledge International Handbook of English, Language and Literacy Teaching. London: Routledge, 305–316. Moll, L. C., Amanti, C., Neff, D., and Gonzalez, N. 1992. Funds of knowledge for teaching: Using a qualitative approach to connect homes and classrooms. Theory into Practice, 31(2), 132–141. Mortatti, M. R. L. 2010. Alfabetização no Brasil: conjecturas sobre asrelações entre políticas públicas e seus sujeitos privados. In Revista Brasileira de Educação May/August, 15(44), 329–410. Philips, S. U. 1972. Participant Structure and Communicative Competence: Warm Springs Children in Community and Classroom. In C. Cazden, V. John, and D. Hymes (Eds.), Functions of Language in the Classroom. New York: Teachers College Press, 370–394. Rampton, B. 2006. Language in Late Modernity: Interaction in an Urban School. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rocha-Schmid, E. 2010. Participatory pedagogy for empowerment: A critical discourse analysis of teacher-parents’ interactions in a family literacy course in London. International Journal of Lifelong Education, May-June 29(3), 343–358. Schugurensky, D. 1998. The legacy of Paulo Freire: A critical review of his contributions. Convergence— International Journal of Adult Education, 31(1 and 2), 17–29. Schultz, K. and Hull, G. 2002. Locating literacy theory in out-of-school contexts. In G. Hull and K. Schultz (Eds) School’s Out: Bridging Out-of-School Literacies with Classroom Practice. New York: Teachers College Press, 11–31. Scribner, S., and Cole, M. 1981. The Psychology of Literacy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Silva, R. V. M. 2004. Variacao linguistica e ensino. In Bagno, M. (Ed.), Linguistica da Norma. Sao Paulo: Edicoes Loyola, 291–316. Sinclair, J., and Coulthard, M. 1975. Towards an Analysis of Discourse. London: Oxford University Press. Soares, M. 1998. Letramento: Um Tema em Tres Generos. Belo Horizonte/Sao Paulo: Autentica. Souza, A. L. S. 2011. Letramentos de Reexistencia: Poesia, Grafite, Musica, Danca, Hip-hop. Sao Paulo: Parabola. Street, B. V. 1984. Literacy in Theory and Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Street, B. V. 2012a. New Literacy Studies. In M. Grenfell et al. (Eds.), Language, Ethnography, and Education: Bridging New Literacy Studies and Bourdieu. New York: Routledge, 27–49. 103

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Street, B. V. 2012b. LETTER: Learning for empowerment through training in ethnographic-style research. In M. Grenfell et al. (Eds.), Language, Ethnography, and Education: Bridging New Literacy Studies and Bourdieu. New York: Routledge, 73–88. Tavares, A. C. R., and Ferreira, A. T. B. 2009. Praticas e eventos de letramento em meios populares: Uma analise das redes sociais de criancas de uma comunicades da periferia da cidades do recife. Revista Brasileira da Educacao, 14(41), 258–267. Terzi, S. B. 1995. A Oralidade e a Construcao da Leitura por Criancas de Meios Iletrados. In A. B. Kleiman (Ed.), Os Significados do Letramento. Campinas, SP: Mercado de Letras, 91–117. Vygotsky, L. S. 1962. Thought and Language. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

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8 Non-Native Teachers and Advocacy Enric Llurda

Historical Perspectives Non-native language teachers have historically remained invisible in mainstream applied and educational linguistics, their contribution disregarded or looked down on. The dominant vision in the language teaching profession has entrenched the native speaker as the ideal teacher, and therefore only native speakers have been endowed with the knowledge and authority to pass on the language to learners, much like a religious guru can implement certain sacred rituals that are forbidden to non-members of the group. Only when native speakers have not been available have non-natives been tolerated as teachers of the language, although they could never aspire to the same level of authority and legitimacy of ‘real’ native speakers. They have been accepted as surrogate teachers, but have had no right to claim a legitimate role in the language teaching task, and so their voice has hardly—if ever—been heard. The literature on language teaching and language acquisition has, therefore, been historically dominated by a native speaker bias, which has affected the way second language acquisition has been conceptualized as well as the guiding principles of second language teaching. For instance, if we look into the different methods and approaches that appeared in the second half of the 20th century, we can find several discrepancies regarding the teaching of grammar, the type of materials used in class, and the use of spontaneous language vs. planned structures (Richards and Rodgers 2001). What we cannot find is any discrepancy in the teacher model that underlies all those proposals and ideas for classroom intervention. In all cases, the native speaker has remained the default teacher, the one who spoke ‘with no errors’ and could therefore guide the student into the realm of the new language. In short, the unchallenged assumption was that you cannot invite somebody to a place unless it is ‘your’ place; you cannot teach a language unless it is ‘your’ language, and you can only claim the language to be ‘yours’ if you are a native speaker. The invisibility of non-native teachers has had its manifestation in how methods of language teaching were designed, packaged, and promoted, but also in research of classroom-based interaction, in which the issue was not even mentioned or discussed, and more especially in the whole field of teacher training, completely ignorant of the specificity and the needs of this particular group of teachers. What were non-native teachers expected to do? They were supposed to pay close attention to native speakers’ performance and to work hard to imitate them in all aspects. Yet, they could 105

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never escape a sense of inadequacy, a feeling of being ‘impostors’ pretending to be what they surely were not (Bernat 2008). This view has, fortunately, changed a great deal in the last twenty years. Contemporary educational linguistics has incorporated the notion of the non-native teacher and the need to challenge the authority of the native speaker as fundamental elements of the discipline, which has managed to critically deal with previously established notions and foundations. The leading force questioning the native speaker as the default teacher has been in the area of English teaching, but there is some evidence that the movement is spreading out onto the teaching of other languages (Callahan 2006). The reason English teaching has been the leader in the advocacy of non-native teachers must be traced back to the leading role of English as the most widely learned second language, as well as the increasing presence of non-native speakers of English in influential academic positions at the international level. Kachru’s influential notion of ‘World Englishes’ and the nativization of English in ‘outer circle countries’ (Kachru 1986; 1992) is fundamental to understanding this move. The direction initiated by Kachru was later completed by the formulation of English as a Lingua Franca (Seidlhofer 2011) with its challenge to native speaker ownership of English (Widdowson 1994; 2012). Kachru opened the door to new varieties of English and engaged the linguistic community in a description of the English(es) used by multilingual speakers of English in countries other than the traditionally considered English-speaking countries. His work was key in promoting the acceptance of diversity among English speakers. The global presence of English and the increasing use of English among non-native speakers is one of the reasons why so many people now consider it totally unnecessary to aim at speaking English like native speakers. The fact that the world has more non-native speakers of English than native speakers, and the great number of English interactions in which participants’ first language is not English, gives non-natives the right to claim the language their own, and consider themselves—as never before in history—co-protagonists in the English language teaching (ELT) profession. In this context, we need to situate the first studies that brought non-native language teachers to the fore in academic publications. Medgyes published his first piece on this topic around thirty years ago (Medgyes 1983). In that paper, he used the term ‘schizophrenic’ to describe the state of mind of non-native teachers who (openly or secretly) wish to become native-like. Thus, he openly discussed for the first time the struggle of non-native teachers wishing to be recognized in the profession while at the same time feeling somehow inadequate for the job. The first research-based piece focusing on non-native teachers, however, did not appear until ten years later, with the publication of the results of an international survey comparing the characteristics of native and non-native teachers of English (Medgyes 1994; Reves and Medgyes 1994). Medgyes’s survey pictured non-native English teachers (NNESTs) as having a bright side and a dark side as compared to native teachers (NESTs). The bright side was based on the advantages derived from the shared learning experience with their students, such as the prediction of difficulties or the use of strategies. The dark side was tied to a ‘language deficit’ and an ‘inferiority complex’. Medgyes concluded that both NESTs and NNESTs needed to be aware of their own strengths and weaknesses and he argued that a combination of both would be ideal in any educational environment. This approach was empowering, although it did certainly simplify and somehow overgeneralize the picture. Yet, Medgyes’ pioneering work shook the profession and became the basis upon which a great deal of future research was built, as can be observed by looking at the wide range of studies that have been inspired by or have even directly used Medgyes’ questionnaire. Medgyes also emphasized the language deficit of NNESTs, an approach that was criticized by Samimy (1997), because “the overemphasis on the linguistic deficit could perpetuate a sense of marginalization among nonnative professionals rather than promote a sense of empowerment” (Samimy 1997, 817). However, Medgyes further insisted on the idea of the 106

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importance of language proficiency development by NNESTs (Medgyes 1999), and his arguments were supported by other researchers (Derwing and Munro 2005; Lim 2011; Llurda 2005b) who, in addition to acknowledging the unfairness of a situation in which NNESTs are constantly suspected for lack of (NS) proficiency, emphasized the need to be competent users of the language in order to adequately display their teaching skills. This point of departure in research on non-native teachers has undoubtedly determined the direction of subsequent studies. The need to undermine existing discriminatory practices generally favouring NESTS over NNESTs, and the commitment to advocate for NNESTs’ rights and conditions has strongly determined research on NNESTs, placing the emphasis on the assets of NNESTs, rather than on their potential weaknesses. This may have been misinterpreted in certain contexts, up to the point that some NSs have felt the need to claim their own status after they may have experienced some discriminatory practices, especially in countries with regulations preventing foreigners to access permanent teaching jobs in the state school system. Such a view has been more prominent in contexts were foreigners may have been othered and isolated from the local community (e.g., Japan), creating also a sense of distrust and potential discrimination (Houghton and Rivers 2013). The dominant thread of NNEST research, however, has aimed at developing awareness of NNESTs as a tool to increase self-confidence and overcome marginalization. Thus, in-depth qualitative studies have flowered in the last few years, focusing their attention on NNESTs’ lives and ideological construction of reality (Hayes 2010; Ilieva 2010; Reis 2011; De Oliveira and Lan 2012).

Core Issues and Key Findings Non-native teachers’ identities have been strongly determined by what Phillipson (1992) labelled “the native-speaker phallacy” or, in a more elaborate form, what Holliday (2005) named “native speakerism”: a particular way of “othering” or marginalising NNSs, and consequently one of the many manifestations of racism (Holliday 2005). Race is, in fact, a key element in the discussion of native and non-native teachers, as discriminatory practices are often associated with practices of segregation of “the other”, the foreigner, the stranger who does not belong to the inner circle or the native community, and such discriminatory practices are conveniently disguised as common sense. The effects on teacher identities of racialized categories associated to the native/non-native distinction are explored and discussed in the works of Amin (1997), Chacon (2006), Kubota and Lin (2006), and Motha (2006). Native speakerism has contributed to the impression that native teachers are better suited to teach a language and additionally that students prefer them over non-native teachers. Such a claim was widely held until some researchers did actually ask students on their views towards native and non-native teachers and found that students were much more aware of the virtues of a language teacher than expected, and could appreciate non-native teachers by their true value rather than applying preconceived stereotypes (Benke and Medgyes 2005; Lasagabaster and Sierra 2005; Mahboob 2004; Pacek 2005; Watson Todd and Pojanapunya 2009). However, using a matched-guise technique, Butler (2007) found that Korean primary students’ attitude toward the American-accented English guise was superior to the Korean one, and they preferred the former as a prospective teacher. In short, when students’ opinions are taken into account, we find some bias towards NESTs (Moussu 2010), which is rather compensated by a high appreciation of NNESTs’ value and qualities by students who have experienced both native and non-native teachers (Benke and Medgyes 2005; Cheung and Braine 2007; Lipovsky and Mahboob 2010; Moussu 2010; Mullock 2010; Pacek 2005). Moreover, Moussu (2010) focused on students’ first language, expected grades, teachers’ countries of origin, and class subject (grammar, reading, 107

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etc.) in order to establish a connection between these variables and the attitudinal responses given by students on native and non-native teachers. For instance, Asian students held less positive attitudes towards all teachers, and particularly towards NNESTs, than students from the Mediterranean area. Teachers’ first language was a relevant variable, but as shown in previous studies (Inbar-Lourie 2005; Liu 1999), students did not always guess the native or non-native identity of their teachers. Interestingly, students’ attitudes at the end of the semester were better than at the beginning, but this improvement was more visible in the case of non-native teachers. These results confirm that preconceived ideas favouring native teachers over non-native ones are well extended, although everyday experience has the power to transform those stereotypes into awareness of actual teaching skills by any given teacher, be it native or non-native. Yet, non-native teachers have been repeatedly found to have some relative strengths over natives, and particularly over those native teachers who are monolingual and monocultural, lack the experience of having learned a foreign language, and ignore the language and culture of their students. Research has found that bilingual and bicultural non-native teachers can greatly contribute to the language teaching profession (Llurda 2005a). Some recurrently found advantages of non-native teachers are their higher level of language awareness (Llurda 2005b; Medgyes 1994), their higher empathy and role model function (Faez 2012; Nemtchinova 2005), and their capacity to predict the actual difficulties students will encounter in the process of learning (McNeill 2005). Non-native teachers often have to face many instances of overt job discrimination. Mahboob, Uhrig, Newman, and Hartford (2004) and Clark and Paran (2007) respectively found that a majority of U.S. and U.K. employers in the ELT sector considered nativeness an important factor in hiring English teachers. Other factors were also taken into account in the recruiting process, but certainly being a native speaker appeared to be an asset and, other things being equal, the native speaker would be preferred over the non-native. In a similar vein, Selvi (2010) analysed job advertisements posted electronically in two leading English language teaching recruitment resources, to find that a majority of advertisements specified nativeness or made some reference to the native condition as part of the job requirements. In spite of evident cases of job discrimination and some biased perceptions held by social agents, there is a rather well-established consensus that the difficulties experienced by non-natives in being recognized and establishing their professional status are due to their own lack of self-confidence and low professional self-esteem (Moussu 2006; Nemtchinova 2005). Some evidence suggests that NNESTs themselves suffer a specific type of self-hatred that has been metaphorically labelled ‘impostor syndrome’ (Bernat 2008) or Stockholm syndrome (Llurda 2009a), consisting of secretly admiring the native speaker and denying themselves the legitimacy of being considered rightful language users and teachers. Some research has been conducted on establishing ways and procedures to improve the level of self-confidence and professional self-esteem, especially during teacher education (Barratt 2010; Golombek and Jordan 2005; Lee 2004; Llurda, Brady, Dogancay-Aktuna, Inbar-Lourie, and de Oliveira 2006). This is often connected to an emphasis on language development. Thus, Lim (2011) connects language proficiency to student teachers’ career decision-making, and Shin (2008) provides practical suggestions for improving non-native teachers’ conditions, with a strong emphasis on developing language skills and incorporating the discourses of local communities. Ilieva (2010) claims that students often end up parroting discourses on issues such as equity or multicompetence, but at the same time acknowledges the influence of such discourses on offering new identity options and empowerment linked to the development of agency. Reis (2011) also offers a socioculturally based narrative of the process of empowerment experienced by a Russian non-native speaker of English in the context of a graduate program in applied linguistics in the United States. The study is based on the idea that “through critical reflection and collaborative inquiry, NNESTs can challenge disempowering discourses and conceive of legitimizing 108

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professional identities” (Reis 2011, 34) and recounts the process by which a non-native graduate student engages in a dialogical questioning of the native speaker myth. One of the conclusions of this study is that “it is critical for teacher educators to create mediational spaces that allow NNESTs to collaboratively challenge disempowering discourses and conceive of legitimizing professional identities” (Reis 2011, 48). Attitudes of non-native teachers towards their own competence in teaching a language that is not their native one are strongly influenced by concepts such as ownership or legitimate use of a language. Young and Walsh (2010) argue that many NNESTs in their study show confusion regarding target language varieties, and yet they do participate in a standard language ideology, which was defined by Lippi-Green (1997) as “a bias toward an abstracted, idealized, homogeneous spoken language which is imposed and maintained by dominant bloc institutions and which names as its model the written language, but which is drawn primarily from the spoken language of the upper middle class” (Lippi-Green 1997, 64). Jenkins (2007) contended that non-native teachers have “ambivalent attitudes towards their own English accents” (211) with almost all participants expressing “a strong desire for an NS English accent” (212), due to a generally assumed accent hierarchy, in which some native accents are clearly on top. It is reasonable to assume that users who hold very strong favourable attitudes towards the preservation of native varieties of the language will tend to deny legitimacy to non-native speakers of the language. On the contrary, teachers who embrace the idea of English as an international language or English as a Lingua Franca will legitimize their role as language educators (Llurda 2004; 2009a). Interestingly, native-supremacy attitudes are more strongly held by NNESTs who have had very little contact with communities of speakers of English. Conversely, NNESTs who have spent a prolonged period in an English-speaking country display more critical positions towards the alleged superiority of native varieties and show a stronger appreciation of the legitimacy of non-native uses of the language (Llurda 2008). Asking teachers about the strengths and weaknesses of native and non-native teachers has been one of the most frequently used sources of data related to this topic. Non-native teachers have been asked in different contexts and moments to reflect on their own condition and the specific contribution NNESTs could make to their language students. Reves and Medgyes (1994), Llurda and Huguet (2003), and Ma (2012) are three studies conducted in three different decades and geographical contexts. Reves and Medgyes (1994) conducted an international questionnaire involving teachers connected to the British Council international network, whereas Llurda and Huguet (2003) restricted their study to teachers working in the primary and secondary education sector in the city of Lleida, in Catalonia, with an emphasis on comparing responses given by teachers in the two educational stages (primary vs. secondary). Ma (2012) specifically attempted to look at strengths and weaknesses of native and non-native teachers in Hong Kong. In all three studies, the perceptions of the high and low points of non-native teachers were rather similar, with a perceived advantage of NNESTs over natives on communication and empathy with students, understanding of local education system, and increased language awareness, which also implied more clarity in grammar explanations. Conversely, non-natives were consistently found at a loss in language skills and target culture knowledge, together with a lack of spontaneity and an excessive reliance on textbooks. These results need to be placed in perspective given the strong evidence showing that NNESTs are not a homogenous group, neatly separated from natives, but rather constitute a very diverse group, placed alongside a continuum with so-called native speakers (Brutt-Griffler and Samimy 2001; Davies 2003; Faez 2011; Liu 1999; and Moussu and Llurda 2008). Thus, non-natives teaching in different settings (e.g., US and Japan) are likely to experience very different challenges, and therefore construct different identities. Additionally, the educational levels at which teachers 109

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are appointed, or the type of training received, and whether part of that training took place in an English-speaking country may also contribute to differentiate among NNESTs, as well as level of target language proficiency, a rather distinctive feature that cannot be ignored in the characterization of NNESTs.

Research Approaches Research on non-native teachers was for a long time dependent on the seminal work by Medgyes (1994), and therefore relied almost exclusively on survey data. Questionnaires were used to ask teachers in different contexts about their native-non-native condition and about their language and teaching skills. Still now, questionnaires are commonly used in research on this topic. However, the field has moved on to incorporate a wider range of research methods allowing for richer insights. Moussu and Llurda (2008) offered an extensive overview of research on non-native English teachers, and also dealt with theoretical and practical implications identifying past, present, and future lines of research. Regarding implications, it was made clear that status and empowerment were directly involved and affected by research, which could thus not remain neutral, as it must take a stance on the critical analysis of the socioeducational environment and conditions in which non-native teachers develop their professional task. These authors reviewed the main research methods used to investigate this topic and pointed out the excessive reliance on questionnaires and self-reports. An analysis of the methods employed in the field brought the authors to conclude that existing research had made use of the following techniques: 1) 2) 3) 4) 5)

non-empirical reflections on the nature and conditions of NNESTs; personal experiences and narratives; surveys; interviews; and classroom observations.

One of the points made by Moussu and Llurda (2008) was the need for research with a more ‘objective’ component. Holliday and Aboshiha (2009) criticized this idea, which they considered sustained by a modernist viewpoint (671), as opposed to their own postmodern approach. In criticizing “the struggle to be objective” (671), they advocated for more complex and varied approaches of gaining understanding into the nature of non-native teachers, and especially ones that aim at identifying how ideology remains present, albeit hidden, in the professional discourses. This point of view is worth looking at, as it emphasizes the value of what they termed thick description: “a wide range of instances from different locations and times” (Holliday and Aboshiha 2009, 672), although in arguing for the value of this method they may tend to underemphasize the value of research based on quantitative data, which very nicely complements postmodern approaches, as well as experiential or introspective qualitative research. In this sense, the increasing use of mixed-methods designs in educational research offers new ways of looking at the traditional dichotomy between qualitative and quantitative research. Research on non-native teachers should take advantage of the potential power of mixed-methods and use this methodology to help move the field forward. It would be good news to see a series of upcoming studies breaking the traditional dichotomy between qualitative and quantitative research and bringing both together to further our understanding of NNESTs. In the last few years, we have seen studies using in-depth interviews (Benson 2012; Hayes 2010) and autobiographies (Lim 2011; Park 2012) to research non-native teachers’ identities, and 110

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thus our understanding of the complex environments and situations experienced by a diversity of NNESTs has enriched. Yet, the main point in Moussu and Llurda’s (2008) discussion on research methods still holds true, as there is a lack of studies taking a more distant, generalizable, view on non-native teachers. Watson Todd and Pojanapunya (2009) did use the “Implicit Association Test (IAT)”, thus incorporating an innovative research design adapted from the field of social psychology, by means of which they determined implicit attitudes of students towards non-native teachers in Thailand. But still, research using other methods is strongly needed in order to complement data obtained through interviews, dialogue, and self-reports with data obtained by other means, such as direct observation of classroom performance and direct measurement of performance indicators. An increasing number of studies based on narratives and interview data have been published. Some particularly insightful studies are Ilieva (2010), Reis (2011), and Park (2012), all providing reflective accounts on non-native teacher trainees in English language teaching programs in North America, and Hayes (2010), who contributes the personal history of a Tamil English teacher in Sri Lanka during times of war. Liou (2008) combines survey data with interviews to provide a complex picture of multiple identities taken by non-native teachers of English in Taiwan, relating their professional identities to the current role of English as an international language. And following Moussu and Llurda’s (2008) suggestion to explore new methods of research in order to widen the scope of studies on non-native teachers, Selvi (2010) focused on online job advertisements to demonstrate the “multifaceted nature of discriminatory hiring practices”, including such aspects as variety of English spoken, location of academic degrees obtained, and location of residence (172). All in all, we may conclude that there has been some progress in the variety of methods and depth of analysis since Moussu and Llurda’s (2008) review article, and thus the picture is now becoming richer and more complex, with good reasons to expect new studies in the near future that will contribute to our understanding of non-native teachers.

New Debates Beyond the comparison of the strengths and weaknesses of NNESTs and NESTs, one of the main goals of research on NNESTs has been to contribute to the empowerment of this group of teachers. A defining element was a critical approach to mainstream assumptions based on the supremacy of the native speaker in ELT. Such assumptions, I have contended elsewhere (Llurda 2009b), are deeply rooted in the monolingual bias that has traditionally characterized linguistics, applied linguistics, and educational linguistics. Therefore, focusing on NNESTs brings a new way of approaching language, language learning, and language teaching, which Mahboob (2010) calls the NNEST lens, characterized by its multilingual, multinational, and multicultural perspective. Recent work has emphasized the need to move beyond the rather limiting paradigm of comparing NESTs and NNESTs, as it constrains the work on NNESTs to a never-ending circle of surveys in which the same results are permanently obtained, and which do not contribute to increase our understanding of the NNEST condition or to decrease the level of discrimination and disempowerment experienced by this group. Moussu and Llurda (2008) stated their vision of what future directions NNEST research should take, and they explicitly asked for more studies focusing on diversity within NNESTs and more classroom observation studies. Whereas a few of the former have been conducted, not much has been published based on classroom observation of NNESTs. More recently, Mahboob (2010) and Braine (2010) also referred to what directions NNEST research should take in the future. Thus, Braine (2010) asked for more collaborative 111

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research by NSs and NNSs, as well as longitudinal studies that provide in-depth insights into NNESTs, considering “the day-to-day challenges they face as both users and teachers of English, their relationship with the English language beyond the classroom, their professional growth, and their place in society” (88). One area that has repeatedly been referred to in the literature but which still suffers from a lack of research is self-confidence and professional self-esteem. It has been said that one of the greatest problems experienced by NNESTs is their lack of self-esteem, which is responsible for some of their reported weaknesses as well as for their generalized acceptance of the discriminatory practices that they experience in the language teaching profession (Lee 2004; Llurda et al. 2006; Moussu 2006; Nemtchinova 2005). However, there is not yet any large study, other than tentative approximations of the issue, that deals with NNESTs and self-esteem and investigates how to overcome the deficit approach that characterizes many NNESTs’ professional identity. Undoubtedly, NNEST self-esteem will be narrowly tied to the concept of English as an International Language (Sharifian 2009) or English as a Lingua Franca (Seidlhofer 2011). NNESTs, especially those working outside the Inner Circle (Kachru 1992), need to embrace this concept in order to be accepted as legitimate users of the language, rather than permanent learners who cannot yet be granted ‘ownership’ of the language. Supporting the notion of English as a Lingua Franca is basic to establishing NNESTs side by side with NESTs, equally positioned to claim the status of proficient user of the language. Finally, the question of teaching methodology and its adequacy for local contexts and individual characteristics needs to be critically questioned and problematized. The traditional assumption of what was acknowledged to be ‘good language teaching’ has strongly determined the way teachers, both native and non-native, have been judged. However, the notion of what method to use and whether there is such a thing as an ideal method, regardless of the local context, has been put into question (Kumaravadivelu 2003), which calls for a reconsideration of the notion of “good language teaching practices” against which teachers’ professional competence has been measured. Future research needs to look at NNESTs in their local contexts and establish ways that allow us to understand what constitutes an adequate/inadequate practice in a given local context. In other words, we need to move beyond centre-based models of language teaching and develop new ways of redefining teaching competence, so as to be able to critically appraise individual NNESTs’ performances.

Implications for Education All in all, research on NNESTs has had a deep impact on educational linguistics. Let us now consider some of its most relevant implications. In the first place, it has transformed the way language teaching is construed, evolving from its conception as an activity ideally involving native speakers to one in which different individuals contribute their share to the intended goal of helping learners develop their language skills. At the same time, placing the focus on the contributions made by non-native teachers has brought a more open view of language models and standards, calling into question the need to reproduce a restricted set of socially prestigious forms of language. Simultaneously, it has been instrumental in promoting social justice by raising awareness of the discrimination encountered by many competent and well-prepared teachers who, because of their non-native identity, have not accessed jobs for which they were qualified and ready. Discrimination based on accent in the United States was amply explored by Lippi-Green (1997), and the lack of sound reasons for maintaining a critical divide between native and non-native speakers was convincingly stated by Davies (2003). Research on NNESTs has shown how much discrimination still exists and how it is embedded on unfounded and preconceived 112

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ideas of what constitutes good language teaching. Such awareness has enormously contributed to the enhancement of professionals’ self-esteem, encompassing language teaching professionals, but also university professors participating in international meetings and conferences, or teaching assistants at North American, British, or Australian universities. Additionally, the NNEST movement has served as a gathering place for a diversity of researchers interested in language and education. They have found a platform for sharing ideas and mutual encouragement to gradually penetrate an academic world vastly dominated by English native speakers, who act as gate-keepers controlling access to scientific knowledge, while at the same time imposing their cultural and language norms. Finally, as a consequence of what has just been said above, research on NNESTs has brought a new way to look at language teaching and every area of study related to language. Such a new way of looking at linguistics in its widest sense is what Mahboob (2010) has termed “the NNEST lens”, which entails a new way of approaching recurrent problems in language, language teaching, and language-based research. In sum, the impact of research on non-native teachers can help language teachers avoid preconceived ideas about language and teaching and find the teaching solutions that best fit their particular educational situations. Teachers may, as well, develop an increased tolerance for deviations from arbitrary norms and focus on communicative ability rather than ‘formal purity’. They can, additionally, grow a critical attitude and actively challenge those situations in which the native speaker is the sole recipient of language authority, based on a ‘right-of-birth’ principle. All the above is tied to a new critical understanding of language and language teaching currently developing in applied and educational linguistics. Teachers have the power to ultimately bring this understanding to the classrooms by looking beyond established language norms and broadening their range of vision to incorporate the existing diversity of language use and users.

Further Reading Braine, G. (Ed.) 1999. Nonnative Educators in English Language Teaching. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Braine, G. 2010. Nonnative Speaker English Teachers. Research, Pedagogy, and Professional Growth. New York: Routledge. Kamhi-Stein, L. (Ed.) 2004. Learning and Teaching From Experience: Perspectives on Nonnative English-Speaking Professionals. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Llurda, E. (Ed.) 2005. Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession. New York: Springer. Mahboob, A. 2010. The NNEST Lens. Non Native English Speakers in TESOL. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Medgyes, P. 1994. The Non-Native Teacher. London: Macmillan. Moussu, L., and Llurda, E. 2008. Non-native English-speaking English language teachers: History and research. Language Teaching, 41, 315–48.

References Amin, N. 1997. Race and the identity of the nonnative ESL teacher. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 580–83. Barratt, L. 2010. Strategies to prepare teachers equally for equity. In The NNEST Lens. Non Native English Speakers in TESOL, edited by A. Mahboob, 180–201. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Benke, E. and Medgyes, P. 2005. Differences in teaching behaviour between native and non-native speaker teachers: As seen by the learners. In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 195–216. New York: Springer. Benson, P. 2012. Learning to teach across borders: Mainland Chinese student English teachers in Hong Kong schools. Language Teaching Research, 16, 483–499. Bernat, E. 2008. Towards a pedagogy of empowerment: The case of ‘impostor syndrome’ among pre-service non-native speaker teachers in TESOL. English Language Teacher Education and Development Journal, 11, 1–8. 113

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Braine, G. 2010. Nonnative Speaker English Teachers. Research, Pedagogy, and Professional Growth. New York: Routledge. Brutt-Griffler, J., and Samimy, K. 2001. Transcending the nativeness paradigm. World Englishes, 20, 99–106. Butler, Y. G. 2007. How are nonnative-English-speaking teachers perceived by Young Learners? TESOL Quarterly, 41, 731–755. Callahan, L. 2006. Student perceptions of native and non-native speaker language instructors: A comparison of ESL and Spanish. Sintagma. Journal of Linguistics, 18, 19–49. Chacón, C. 2006. My journey into racial awareness. In Color, Race, and English Language Teaching: Shades of Meaning, edited by A. Curtis and M. Romney, 49–63. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Cheung, Y. L., and Braine, G. 2007. The attitudes of university students towards non-native speaker English teachers in Hong Kong. RELC Journal, 38, 257–277. Clark, E., and Paran, A. 2007. The employability of non-native-speaker teachers of EFL: A UK survey. System, 35, 407–430. Davies, A. 2003. The Native Speaker: Myth and Reality. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. De Oliveira, L. C., and Lan, S.-W. 2012. Preparing nonnative english-speaking (NNES) graduate students for teaching in higher education: A mentoring case study. Journal on Excellence in College Teaching, 23, 59–76. Derwing, T. M., and Munro, M. J. 2005. Pragmatic perspectives on the preparation of teachers of English as a second language: Putting the NS/NNS debate in context. In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 179–192. New York: Springer. Faez, F. 2011. Are you a native speaker of English? Moving beyond a simplistic dichotomy. Critical Inquiry in Language Studies, 8, 378–399. Faez, F. 2012. Diverse teachers for diverse students: Internationally educated and Canadian-born teachers’ preparedness to teach English language learners. Canadian Journal of Education, 35, 64–84. Golombek, P. and Jordan, S. R. 2005. Becoming ‘black lambs’ not ‘parrots’: A poststructuralist orientation to intelligibility and identity. TESOL Quarterly, 39, 513–533. Hayes, D. 2010. Duty and service: Life and career of a Tamil teacher of English in Sri Lanka. TESOL Quarterly, 44, 58–83. Holliday, A. 2005. The Struggle to Teach English as an International Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Holliday, A., and Aboshiha, P. 2009. The denial of ideology in our perceptions of ‘non-native speaker’ teachers. TESOL Quarterly, 43(4), 669–689. Houghton, S., and Rivers, D. (Eds.) 2013. Native-Speakerism in Japan. Intergroup Dynamics in Foreign Language Education. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Ilieva, R. 2010. Non-native English-speaking teachers’ negotiations of program discourses in their construction of professional identities within a TESOL program. Canadian Modern Language Review, 66, 343–69. Inbar-Lourie, O. 2005. Mind the gap: Self and perceived native speaker identities of ELF teachers. In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 265–282. New York: Springer. Jenkins, J. 2007. English as a Lingua Franca: Attitude and Identity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kachru, B. B. 1986. The Alchemy of English: The Spread, Functions and Models of Non-Native Englishes. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Kachru, B. B. (Ed.) 1992. The Other Tongue: English Across Cultures (2nd ed.). Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Kubota, R., and Lin, A. 2006. Race and TESOL: Concepts, research, and future directions. TESOL Quarterly, 40, 471–493. Kumaravadivelu, B. 2003. Beyond Methods: Macrostrategies for Language Teaching. New Haven: Yale University Press. Lasagabaster, D., and Sierra, J. M. 2005. What do students think about the pros and cons of having a native speaker teacher? In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 217–242. New York: Springer. Lee, I. 2004. Preparing nonnative English speakers for EFL teaching in Hong Kong. In Learning and Teaching from Experience: Perspectives on Nonnative English-Speaking Professionals, edited by L. Kamhi-Stein, 230–250. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Lim, H.-W. 2011. Concept maps of Korean EFL student teachers’ autobiographical reflections on their professional identity formation. Teaching and Teacher Education, 27: 969–981. Liou, I. 2008. English as an International Language and Teachers’ Professional Identity. Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Deakin University. 114

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Lipovsky, C., and Mahboob, A. 2010. Appraisal of native and non-native English speaking teachers. In The NNEST Lens. Non Native English Speakers in TESOL, edited by A. Mahboob, 154–179. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Lippi-Green, R. 1997. English with an Accent. New York: Routledge. Liu, J. 1999. Nonnative English-speaking professionals in TESOL. TESOL Quarterly, 33, 85–102. Llurda, E. 2004. Non-native-speaker teachers and English as an International Language. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 14, 314–323. Llurda, E. (Ed.) 2005a. Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession. New York: Springer. Llurda, E. 2005b. Non-native TESOL students as seen by practicum supervisors. In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 131–154. New York: Springer. Llurda, E. 2008. The effects of stays abroad on self-perceptions of non-native EFL teachers. In Global English Teaching and Teacher Education: Praxis and Possibility, edited by S. Dogancay-Aktuna and J. Hardman, 99–111. Alexandria, VA: TESOL. Llurda, E. 2009a. Attitudes towards English as an International Language: The pervasiveness of native models among L2 users and teachers. In English as an International Language: Perspectives and Pedagogical Issues, edited by F. Sharifian, 119–34. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Llurda, E. 2009b. The decline and fall of the native speaker. In Continuum Contemporary Applied Linguistics, Volume One: Language Teaching and Learning, edited by V. Cook and L. Wei, 37–53. London: Continuum. Llurda, E., Brady, B., Dogancay-Aktuna, S., Inbar-Lourie, O., and de Oliveira, L. 2006. Exploring NNESTs’ professional self-esteem and confidence. Colloquium presented at the 40th Annual TESOL Convention, Tampa, Florida, March 15–19. Llurda, E., and Huguet, A. 2003. Self-awareness in NNS EFL primary and secondary school teachers. Language Awareness, 12, 220–233. Ma, L. P. F. 2012. Strengths and weaknesses of NESTs and NNESTs: Perceptions of NNESTs in Hong Kong. Linguistics and Education, 23, 1–15. Mahboob, A. 2004. Native or nonnative: What do students enrolled in an Intensive English Program think? In Learning and Teaching from Experience: Perspectives on Nonnative English-Speaking Professionals, edited by L. Kamhi-Stein, 121–147. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Mahboob, A. (Ed.) 2010. The NNEST Lens. Non Native English Speakers in TESOL. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Mahboob, A., Uhrig, K., Newman, K., and Hartford, B. S. 2004. Children of a lesser English: Status of nonnative English speakers as college-level English as a Second Language teachers in the United States. In Learning and Teaching from Experience: Perspectives on Nonnative English-Speaking Professionals, edited by L. Kamhi-Stein, 100–120. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. McNeill, A. 2005. Non-native speaker teachers and awareness of lexical difficulty in pedagogical texts. In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 107–28. New York: Springer. Medgyes, P. 1983. The schizophrenic teacher. ELT Journal, 37, 2–6. Medgyes, P. 1994. The non-native teacher. London: Macmillan. Medgyes, P. 1999. Language training: A neglected area in teacher education. In Nonnative Educators in English Language Teaching, edited by G. Braine, 177–196. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Motha, S. 2006. Racializing ESOL teacher identities in U.S. K–12 public schools. TESOL Quarterly, 40, 495–518. Moussu, L. 2006. Native and non-native English-speaking English as a second language teachers: Student attitudes, teacher self-perceptions, and intensive English program administrator beliefs and practices. PhD dissertation, Purdue University. Moussu, L. 2010. Influence of teacher-contact time and other variables on ESL students’ attitudes towards native- and nonnative-English-speaking teachers. TESOL Quarterly, 44, 746–768. Moussu, L., and Llurda, E. 2008. Non-native English-speaking English language teachers: History and research. Language Teaching, 41, 315–348. Mullock, B. 2010. Does a good language teacher have to be a native speaker? In The NNEST Lens. Non Native English Speakers in TESOL, edited by A. Mahboob, 87–113. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Nemtchinova, E. 2005. Host teachers’ evaluations of nonnative-English-speaking teacher trainees—A perspective from the classroom. TESOL Quarterly, 39, 235–262. 115

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Pacek, D. 2005. ‘Personality not nationality’: Foreign students’ perceptions of a non-native speaker lecturer of English at a British university. In Non-Native Language Teachers. Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession, edited by E. Llurda, 243–262. New York: Springer. Park, G. 2012. ‘I am never afraid of being recognized as an NNES’: One teacher’s journey in claiming and embracing her nonnative-speaker identity. TESOL Quarterly, 46, 127–151. Phillipson, R. 1992. Linguistic Imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reis, D. S. 2011. ‘I’m not alone’: Empowering non-native English speaking teachers to challenge the native speaker myth. In Research on Second Language Teacher Education: A Sociocultural Perspective on Professional Development, edited by K. E. Johnson and P. R. Golombek, 31–49. New York: Routledge. Reves, T., and Medgyes, P. 1994. The non-native English speaking EFL/ESL teacher’s self-image: An international survey. System, 22, 353–57. Richards, J., and Rodgers, T. 2001. Approaches and Methods in Language Teaching (2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Samimy, K. 1997. Review on The Non-Native Teacher. TESOL Quarterly, 31, 815–817. Seidlhofer, B. 2011. Understanding English as a Lingua Franca. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Selvi, A. F. 2010. ‘All teachers are equal, but some teachers are more equal than others’: Trend analysis of job advertisements in English language teaching. WATESOLNNEST Caucus Annual Review, 1, 156–181. Sharifian, F. (Ed.) 2009. English as an International Language: Perspectives and Pedagogical Issues. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Shin, S. J. 2008. Preparing non-native English-speaking ESL teachers. Teacher Development, 12, 57–65. Watson Todd, R., and Pojanapunya, P. 2009. Implicit attitudes towards native and non-native speaker teachers. System, 37, 23–33. Widdowson, H. G. 1994. The ownership of English. TESOL Quarterly, 28, 377–339. Widdowson, H. G. 2012. ELF and the inconvenience of established concepts. Journal of English as a Lingua Franca, 1, 5–26. Young, T. J. and Walsh, S. 2010. Which English? Whose English? An investigation of ‘non-native’ teachers’ beliefs about target varieties. Language, Culture and Curriculum, 23, 123–137.

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Part 3

Contexts of Multilingual Education

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9 Established and Emerging Perspectives on Immersion Education Siv Björklund and Karita Mård-Miettinen

In this chapter, immersion education is presented as one type of bilingual education program. It has often been stated that the term “bilingual education” itself, as well as a number of other important terms used within bilingual education programs, is both vague and multifaceted and therefore difficult to define (for a list and a discussion on some key concepts, see, e.g., SkutnabbKangas and McCarty 2008). The same is true of the term “immersion education”, which, during its almost 50 years of existence, has become a worldwide education program. Since definitions of immersion, which are somewhat misleading, occur in different contexts, the intention of this chapter is to highlight essential features of immersion education that help readers to identify immersion education characteristics.

Historical Perspectives The birth of language immersion education is closely related with a public debate in Quebec Canada during the 1960s on how English and French could locally be more beneficial for the individual. This debate resulted in a new, innovative approach to teach language in school in a way that should optimally prepare students for active use of the second language learnt in school. The communicative aspect was regarded as crucial for the local bilingual community, in which a good command of two languages was important for students’ future professional careers (see, e.g., Swain and Lapkin 1982; Johnson and Swain 1997). The demands of the local community to focus language teaching in school on students’ active language use led to a total revision of the traditional framework for language teaching in school. It was suggested that language teaching should not be limited to one or two hours of language lessons per day. Instead the language-to-be-learnt (the second language of immersion students) should be used as the language of instruction in subject teaching as well. This was a radical suggestion because up till then the importance of first language instruction (mother tongue instruction) in bilingual education programs had been heavily stressed as an essential component for successful individual bilingual development. The importance of the first language is indisputable in bilingual education. Unlike minority speakers in a majority speaking school or community, majority speakers will have little or no use of their second language in or outside school, and, therefore, their chances of becoming bilingual are low, without being surrounded by or immersed 119

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in the second language. By heavily increasing the portion of the second language use during the school day, immersion students would be given almost equal opportunities to use their second language as minority speakers have in majority communities. The above brief description of the birth of immersion clearly shows that sociolinguistic reasons were fundamental for the establishment of language immersion. Societal bilingualism played an important role for the start of the first immersion program (see, e.g., Lambert and Tucker 1972), and the distinction between majority and minority speakers was one of the core features mentioned for immersion characteristics until the end of the 20th century (see, e.g., Swain and Lapkin 1982; Genesee 1991; Johnson and Swain 1997). In Johnson and Swain’s book Immersion Education (1997), immersion was still clearly defined as a program for majority speakers who learn a minority language in immersion. The changed sociopolitical realities, with increased ethnic diversity in countries with established immersion programs, have now started to change the enrollment structure from only majority speakers to immigrant families sending their children to immersion schools. Hence, the core feature of all children in immersion being majority speakers and sharing the same first language that is supported in the program has been revised by the notion that all home languages the children have need to be supported within the program (Swain and Lapkin 2005). It is also important to point out that societal bilingualism may include geographically different areas where linguistic conditions may be different on local, regional, and national levels. Even though the national level is mostly used as a point of departure when defining immersion, the balance between a majority and a minority language may differ regionally. In areas with minority languages, immersion programs may offer an opportunity to promote minority language and culture to both majority and minority students. In this case, the number of majority and minority speakers in an immersion classroom is balanced in order to get an optimal language program for each individual student. For example, in Welsh and Irish immersion programs, some minority speakers are usually enrolled in the program, since this choice may be the only available one for sustaining the use of a threatened minority language and for providing successful individual bilingual development. It is, however, important to distinguish these kinds of immersion programs from transitional bilingual programs, aiming at assimilation of minority speakers to a community where another language is dominant and used by the majority of speakers.

Immersion Programs: Features, Aims, and Contexts When immersion was introduced in Canada in 1965, it started with kindergarten-aged children and care was taken to provide enough time for the development of immersion students’ first and second languages. In line with the pioneer program, immersion education is still predominantly based on programs in which children participate during several school years, and in which the percentage of instruction time in the first and second language is in proportion to grade level and program alternative (Swain and Lapkin 1982). For program alternatives, early, middle, and late immersion have been implemented in Canada and imply that the program starts at different student age or grade levels. Early immersion is introduced in kindergarten or grade 1, middle programs in grades 3 and 4, and late immersion in grades 6 and 7. Due to socioeducational context, early immersion programs are very popular in both Canada and Europe, whereas late immersion is widely used in, for example, Australia. Alongside the criterion of student age at the outset of the program, the intensity of the exposure to the second language is another important criterion (Swain and Lapkin 1982). Programs are either total programs, which start with 100% instruction time in the second language during the first year(s) in immersion and gradually decrease to 40–50% during the last years in the 120

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program, or partial programs, where instruction time is distributed evenly (50%:50%) between the first and the second language from the beginning of the program. When combining the two criteria, programs may be run as, for instance, early total or early partial immersion programs. Regardless of program alternative, immersion education is defined as additive bilingual education, which offers bilingual enrichment to students. At the start of the program, students have no or only limited skills in the second language and the development of the first language of the students is not put at risk even if the immersion language is extensively used as the means of instruction during the students’ school day. It is also expected that teachers in immersion adhere strictly to the principle of using only one language in communication with immersion students both inside and outside the classroom. Another vital principle is that programs are voluntary (parents or, in the case of middle and late immersion, students themselves opt for immersion). This principle of self-selectiveness may have a positive effect on the results, and, therefore, immersion is also sometimes referred to as a prestigious program for bilingual enrichment, addressing motivated students in a majority context (e.g., de Mejìa 2002). After almost five decades of immersion education, programs have been implemented and adapted to various linguistic contexts, sometimes sociolinguistically very different from the original Canadian context (e.g., Fortune and Tedick 2008, 244). The above described one-way immersion programs are today a worldwide phenomenon. Within these programs one can separate second and foreign language immersion. In a second language immersion program (e.g., French immersion in Canada, Swedish immersion in Finland) the second language of immersion students is used on a daily basis in the local community. There is an obvious need to master the language to be able to take advantage of the bilinguality of the surrounding community and to get individual advantages on, for example, the local job market. Foreign language immersion (e.g., English in China and France) is more oriented towards preparing students for a challenging multilingual and multicultural future and improving language teaching methods to get students to more readily and actively use international and widely used languages. In the United States, not only one-way but also two-way immersion programs have been put into practice with good results (see, e.g., Lindholm-Leary 2001). In two-way immersion, or dual immersion, the varying local/regional/state linguistic conditions have been considered and adapted to individual students’ linguistic needs. In these programs, both majority and minority language speakers with dominance in their first language and home support for this language are grouped together. Two main models are used in which the ratio between the instruction time in first and second language lies between 50:50 and 90:10. The most common language pair is Spanish-English, and in the 50:50 model the program starts with an even language distribution for the mixed Spanish-English group, whereas in the 90:10 model Spanish functions as the major means of instruction during the first years and levels down to 50% at later grade levels. Besides somewhat different orientations between one-way and two-way immersion alternatives, the main purpose of the enriched bilingual experience may include various target groups. Participation in immersion and motivation of the individual may vary in a continuum where different grades of instrumental and integrative reasons interplay, as stated above. In the Basque country, Wales, and Ireland, immersion programs are more oriented towards language maintenance and in the Hawaiian and Māori immersion programs, towards language revitalization. Though intercultural competence is seen as essential for all immersion programs and should not be isolated from the language learning part, culture naturally becomes more accentuated in programs where integrative reasons are driving forces for enrolment in immersion. In purely instrumental immersion programs, the focus will be on teaching second language skills and does not necessarily include cultural activities beyond teaching of well-known festivities and distinguished persons of culture, whereas the cultural component is a natural part of teaching and 121

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forms an equally important part as, or even a more important part than, language skills in maintenance and revitalisation immersion programs. The varied implementations of immersion education in different linguistic contexts have posed new challenges on how definitions of immersion can be refined, but remain explicit enough to distinguish this bilingual education program from other bilingual forms. Core features have been questioned and discussed. As regards the use of students’ first and second languages, both languages should be used as means of instruction for content teaching, but the intensity and duration of the second language use may vary greatly. In an article from 2004, Genesee (p. 549) states that “at least 50% of the prescribed non-language related curriculum of studies for one or more years” should be a minimum criterion for identifying immersion. This criterion certainly is a minimum requirement for immersion to be considered as a program.

Research in Immersion Programs Immersion programs are regarded as one of the most extensively researched and evaluated single educational programs in the world. These evaluations have always combined a focus on second language development with a thorough assessment of first language development as well as overall content achievement. Because immersion programs are content-driven programs (for term, see Met 1998) the immersion curriculum is the same as the non-immersion curriculum where the immersion program is locally implemented. Therefore, it is possible to compare the outcomes even though there are many aspects (socioeconomic and linguistic background of the students, teaching methods and strategies, materials, etc.) that vary across programs. The results of the Canadian immersion research published in numerous reports have played an especially important role in the development of the immersion programs throughout the world (e.g., Johnson and Swain 1997). The initial research projects in immersion education were strongly product-oriented, with the purpose to reassure educators, parents, and administrators that immersion is able to keep up with the expected language and content objectives. The numerous international product-oriented research projects have resulted in an overall conclusion that immersion programs are successful and produce good language and content learning outcomes as well as positive attitudes toward schooling, the immersion program, language learning, and the immersion language and its speakers. Below we briefly summarize some key results. As to first language proficiency and content knowledge, immersion students are reported to reach the same level or surpass their non-immersion peers by the end of their immersion experience. Initial lag in first language writing and reading has been reported, especially in those programs in which first language reading and writing is postponed to grades 3 and 4 and above. The good first language results have been attributed to the benefits from the bilingual ability the students are developing in immersion. A further example of well-developed bilingual ability is that former immersion students are reported to be able to demonstrate/convey their content knowledge in their first language, even though a major part of the content teaching has been given to them in the immersion language (Björklund and Mård-Miettinen 2011). Recent immersion studies have further shown that early bilingualism in immersion also favors the acquisition of additional languages within the program (Björklund and Mård-Miettinen 2011). Studies on students’ second language development dominate product-oriented immersion research. The overall research results report high levels of comprehension skills as well as fluency and confidence in second language production (e.g., Johnson and Swain 1997). Shortcomings or a developmental plateau have been reported in second language grammatical accuracy and in sociolinguistic competence in comparison to first language speakers of same age, especially in 122

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contexts in which the immersion students have minimal contact with the immersion language outside the classroom and school. Other factors, such as pedagogy in the classroom and attitudes and motivations of individual immersion students, have been found to influence the development of productive second language skills. Another type of product-oriented research, which has proved to be important in immersion, is presented in studies investigating issues of the suitability of immersion for all kinds of students. In light of the self-selectiveness of the immersion enrolment process and the fact that immersion addresses prominently majority speakers, it is fairly easy to associate immersion with elite bilingualism. Though there is a tendency in many contexts for parents of high or upper socioeconomic backgrounds to choose immersion for their children, there are also results from several studies that show that immersion is effective for children representing low socioeconomic backgrounds. For example, results from Catalonia in the 1990s consistently showed that Castilian-speaking students from low socioeconomic backgrounds with predictions to be low achievers at school scored much better than expected—on age-level—in immersion (Artigal 1991). It is, however, more difficult to identify what factors are crucial for this positive development; there are individual factors and needs, pedagogical strategies, and school/societal surroundings, to mention just a few aspects to consider. Repeatedly obtained results across diverse immersion contexts do indicate that immersion teaching per se may be beneficial for low achievers. Teaching strategies and strategies for efficient classroom work have been identified and are constantly being scrutinized and refined within immersion (see Cummins 1998; Lyster 2007; Met 1998; Snow 1987; Swain 1985) and these might be vital for low achievers, as well. There are also some studies involving students with special needs in immersion. The research results point in the same direction as those provided with low achievers. It is still premature to generalize but the tendency is that even when some students in immersion have limited cognitive or linguistic capacity, they learn to produce the second language, at least orally. Even if restricted to oral production, this competence is an advantage and an enriching experience for students living in bi- and multilingual surroundings (e.g., Laurén 2006). More studies are indeed needed, even if immersion research results tend to indicate the same positive effects on intellectual and linguistic progress, as is the case with other bilingual individuals (see, e.g., Bialystok 2007; Genesee, Lindholm-Leary, Saunders, and Christian 2006). From the end of 1980s onward, the focus in international immersion research has clearly moved from the learning product to the classroom processes (Day and Shapson 1996; Johnson and Swain 1997). During the first immersion decades, second language acquisition (SLA) was emphasized to parallel first language acquisition. Second language learning was believed to happen incidentally along with content learning, with the help of a considerable amount of comprehensible input along with implicit error correction by the teachers (Krashen 1982; Swain and Lapkin 1982). From the mid-1980s on, immersion researchers have worked on identifying classroom processes for efficient immersion education, in terms of the students’ gaining accuracy and complexity in second language production. It has been found that teaching strategies that generate advanced and comprehensible student output are needed for students (Genesee 1991; Swain 1985). The notion of implicit error correction and negotiation of meaning have been accompanied by the need for negotiation of form and form-focused instruction in a context-embedded way in order for the students’ second language ability to develop from fluency to accuracy and complexity (Lyster 2007). Lyster emphasizes that good immersion teaching provides a balance between communicative, meaning-focused interaction and activities in which students’ metalinguistic awareness is developed by pushing them to notice and use the second language accurately. 123

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Further, systematic and conscious planning for language growth within all content teaching given in the immersion language has been identified as a key element for content learning and for second language development in immersion education (Genesee 1991; Met 1998; Fortune, Tedick, and Walker 2008). It is important that every content lesson is also seen as a language lesson with content and language demands and objectives. The students need to be provided with linguistic tools for successful content learning (content-compatible language) as well as a possibility to develop their language proficiency along with content learning (content-obligatory language) (Met 1998). One of the most important programmatic and curricular features of successful immersion education is identified to be organizing the curriculum around thematic units that integrate content from several school subjects in a meaningful and holistic way. The planning of thematic units is time-consuming but worthwhile. During a thematic unit, the students work with the same key vocabulary and expressions for a longer time, using them in a variety of ways for different language functions (see, e.g., Gianelli 1997). The longer time allotted to each thematic unit allows students enough time to work with both content and language, instead of progressing in a more fragmented way in which new language and content items are linearly introduced during each new lesson. Providing possibilities of using and reusing theme-related language is essential for immersion students, since it is not enough for students to learn only key words of the thematic unit. They have to be trained to naturally and accurately use their second language when engaging in different theme-related activities and to become context-sensitive for second language variation. A large thematic unit gives a natural platform for the teachers to plan a variation in activities and to challenge the students cognitively and linguistically in different ways during the thematic unit (Cummins 1984). At the same time, the use of thematic units encourages more student-centered teaching approaches, in which students are readily activated and new information will be embedded in familiar contexts, thereby offering students better possibilities for remembering new items and connecting them meaningfully.

Research Approaches At the early beginning of language immersion in the middle of the 1960s, both the emphasis on teaching a second language for communication purposes and the use of a second language as a language of instruction for subject teaching were important incentives for identifying and developing theoretical foundations of immersion education. Since second language acquisition was vital for immersion students’ second language development and academic achievement, prevailing theories within SLA became a natural point of departure for theoretical frame building. This was particularly needed, as SLA has always been firmly rooted in applied linguistics with a focus on language learning and language pedagogy, contrary to first language acquisition research and its established research areas of linguistic universals and nature and structure of language. Immersion was, in fact, seen as a way to perceptibly put in praxis, for example, the input hypothesis, which states that acquisition of language takes place when learners understand language that contains structure a bit beyond the learner’s current level of competence (Krashen 1982). The rich, varied, and abundant input in an immersion classroom came very close to first language acquisition processes and led to more native-like real communication situations where function is more important than language correctness and linguistic form. According to Krashen (1982), immersion education proved strong empirical evidence that, as long as input is made comprehensible, simultaneous subject and language teaching is successful. Within the immersion context, the input hypothesis was later criticized and complemented with the output hypothesis, which shifts the focus point from second language comprehension to production. Based upon 124

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interventions on classroom second language talk in immersion, Swain states that in order to learn a language, a learner should not only comprehend a message but should be pushed towards the delivery of a message that is not only conveyed, but that is conveyed precisely, coherently, and appropriately (Swain 1985). This theory implies that it is essential for the learning process of the second language learner to a) use the language and to b) get feedback on both linguistic function and form in order to process the second language—not only semantically, but also syntactically. During the 1980s, another important theoretical model for better attending to second language learners in immersion arose from the need to better assess oral production and fluency in a second language. Existing assessment in second language teaching was heavily dominated by form-focused methods, which gave little or no attention to a broader view of language competence. New definitions of communicative competence (Canale 1983; Canale and Swain 1980) included not only a linguistic component but also sociolinguistic, strategic, and discourse components. This theoretical model of communicative competence is still discussed and used in research and teaching today, but has been complemented with alternative definitions, as well—for example, one by Bachman and Palmer, who define two main competencies (organizational and pragmatic knowledge) within communicative competence (Bachman and Palmer 1996). A third theoretical set of hypotheses of SLA during the 1980s proved to be very helpful to explain the mechanism at work when immersion students were observed to learn content at age-appropriate level in a language they had not yet mastered. Another seemingly contradictory result was that the first language of immersion students was as good as, or even better than, that of non-immersion students, even if the instruction time in the first language was dramatically cut in immersion in comparison with non-immersion teaching. The interdependence or iceberg hypothesis and the threshold hypothesis, presented by Jim Cummins (1984), provided theoretical foundations for all these results, vital for the further expansion of immersion. For example, according to Johnson and Swain (1997), additive bilingualism, when connected to immersion education, comprises native-like proficiency in the first language and high proficiency in the second language. Even though the definition separates first and second language proficiency, the assumption in immersion education is that the languages learned in the program form a linguistic interdependence (Cummins 1984). In addition, the dichotomy of BICS (basic interpersonal communication skills) and CALP (cognitive academic language proficiency) skills within second language competence (Cummins 1984) was useful for providing sustainable language growth in the immersion language development of individual students. The student- or learner-centered theoretical frameworks from the early 1980s were gradually accompanied with more classroom- and didactic-centered theories in immersion research at the end of the 1980s. The Immersion Teacher Handbook, published by Snow in 1987, listed efficient teaching strategies in immersion and discussed the dual role of immersion teachers who have to take on both the role of a content teacher and a language teacher in the immersion classroom. The constant balancing between content and language in immersion teaching is a prevailing research issue that awakens interest among researchers (see, e.g., Snow, Met, and Genesee 1989; Met 1998; Fortune, Tedick, and Walker 2008). From first, early acquisition in an immersion language, described as a joint interaction in cooperation with others in an immersion group and allowing for creation of indexical territories for emerging immersion language (Artigal 1991), the pedagogy-oriented theories have shifted towards clear constructivist approaches, where learning is seen as an active process, in which a student actively constructs new concepts and ideas based upon current or past knowledge. The conducted research can either be more cognitive-/ student-oriented (cognitive constructivism) or interaction-/discourse-oriented (social constructivism; see, e.g., Swain 2000 on collaborative dialogues). Also, influences of sociocultural theory and ecology of language learning in a language classroom (for definition, see, e.g., van Lier 2004) 125

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are seen in immersion research conducted from 2000 onwards. A current issue is the discussion of the possible effects of the use of the first language as a promoting or hindering learning tool for immersion language development (see, e.g., Swain and Lapkin 2013). Another prevailing research issue within immersion is the balance between experimental and analytic teaching of a language. The initial, incidental learning approach in immersion has been vividly discussed and refined during decades and has, in particular, been discussed in Lyster’s research (Lyster 2007). In his framework, the counterbalanced approach, analytic traits are embedded in holistic teaching, which enables teachers to shift focus to developmental language discussions within ongoing content teaching.

New Debates The section of this chapter on different immersion program alternatives and the various reasons for the establishment of immersion education shows that immersion as a bilingual education form has not stagnated. Instead, it has been adapted and constantly conformed to changing linguistic conditions and needs. As shown earlier in this chapter, this flexibility, as such, poses challenges to find a unifying definition of immersion education in future. The original intention to give monolingual majority speakers a chance to become functionally bilingual during their education applies to some contexts, but in many (urban) settings monolingualism is no longer a frequent common point of departure for school-aged children. In this case, the definition of immersion becomes an ethic question of inclusion or exclusion of simultaneous bi- or multilingual speakers into programs. Changing sociopolitical realities have already oriented immersion toward enrolment of children from immigrant families or children with immigrant backgrounds who, via immersion, get better chances to learn the two languages of the local community than in a traditional education program (Swain and Lapkin 2005). The effects of immersion are also manifested in other ways, especially on students’ immersion language fluency. During the last three decades immersion has proven to be a very effective tool to revitalize threatened languages. Language nests (see, e.g., May and Hill 2005) and immersion have worked very successfully in revitalisation of indigenous languages in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, mainland United States, and Hawai‘i. A recent example is Skolt Sami, a variant of Sami language that is today spoken as a first language by only 300 adults in northern Finland, but is now, via language nests, introduced to kindergarten children. At the same time, these examples show how important school is as an institution for supporting language learning on both individual and societal levels. When immersion was first set up, only one immersion language was focused on, and on an international level, immersion education is still mostly associated with bilingualism and biculturalism. Nevertheless, there are contexts, in particular in the European countries, where the inclusion of just a second language is not enough, since traditional non-immersion language programs include two obligatory foreign languages. To better meet the language conditions in those contexts, the aim of functional bilingualism in immersion moves towards the formulation of functional multilingualism as the main aim of immersion (see Björklund 2005; Cenoz 2009). In both functional bi- and multilingualism, functional language use must be flexible as well as continuous, taking into account grade and age levels of the immersion students. Thus, functional multilingualism is defined as a language competence level at which immersion students can act and participate naturally in the daily use of all languages involved in the immersion program and in line with their age (for more details, see Björklund 2011). The inclusion of additional languages alongside with a main immersion language raises both educational and sociopolitical issues. The teaching of additional languages can be restricted to a couple of explicit language lessons per week or be content-based and used frequently, and 126

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teachers of additional languages may or may not apply the principle of using the language-tobe-learnt as the only medium of instruction during their lessons (Björklund and Mård-Miettinen 2011; Björklund, Mård-Miettinen, and Mäenpää 2012). The perception of all teachers involved in immersion education as being part of an immersion program and following the didactic principles of immersion may be a crucial aspect of successful multilingualism. The consequences for outcomes of immersion program functioning totally program-based have to be exploited further, as product-oriented results indicate that learning additional languages in immersion seems very effective (Björklund and Mård-Miettinen 2011; Cenoz 2009). It is, however, not sufficient to scrutinize only classroom variables as the languages involved in immersion undoubtedly will have different prestige or social status in different contexts. It is of utmost importance that program design be developed in order for all languages to be valued equally and distributed in line with an optimal definition of each student’s individual multilingual and multicultural competence. Another way of dealing with multiple languages in immersion is double immersion (see Genesee, 1998). In this program, two immersion languages are used as media of instruction in content teaching, but these languages are separated. During the first part of the school day, the medium of instruction is immersion language one, and during the second part, immersion language two is used. Naturally, first language instruction is also included as a third element in this kind of program, and the program is especially well designed for students of heritage language backgrounds. The integration of language and content (dual-focused education, content-based language learning, CLIL) is today not only used within immersion programs, but also seen as a possible way to deal with the increasing demands to get both sufficient and efficient language and subject teaching within the compulsory education period of many countries. In Europe, in particular, the language policy of EU has strongly supported content and language integrated learning (CLIL). Growing awareness of the integration of content and language learning may benefit not only bilingual education, but also language acquisition, language teaching, and cognitively related issues in general. Optimally, programs and approaches where content and language learning are integrated are innovative and creative meeting points for academic/content teaching and language teaching and ways to schedule more languages in students’ school days at no cost of lessons devoted to different disciplines. Immersion is in many countries well developed and program-based from kindergarten to the end of the compulsory education, whereas subsequent education levels in general do not include similar immersion-like wide variations. A sustained life-long learning process of language(s) would greatly benefit from continuous immersion at secondary and tertiary levels of education, also. For example, in Canada and the Basque Country, some universities offer content courses intended for students whose second language is used as the medium of instruction. To supplement or support students’ language needs, there are a range of different provisions arranged to facilitate the content learning processes of students; often extra courses (adjunct courses) provide second language support. In comparison with immersion research conducted on other education levels, results from university level immersion are scarce and need more attention in the future. Long-term effects of immersion are needed, not only as longitudinal studies of individual students’ second language learning from early age to adulthood, but also to conduct follow-up studies of second and third generations of immersion students. Effects of the choice of immersion have impacts on both individual and societal levels if enrollment in immersion goes beyond enriched individual bilingual development and alters identity building and cultural patterns in subsequent generations. The societal impact is especially apparent in immersion for revitalization of languages, and, if long-term effects can be noted, it proves that immersion may function as a powerful instrument of language policy to maintain and (re)build multilingual and multicultural communities. 127

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Implications for Education The nature of immersion programs has challenged teacher education in the countries with established immersion education. Preschool teachers, primary school teachers, and subject teachers are traditionally educated to teach monolingual students in the students’ first language. Language teachers are educated to teach the language, not to teach content in the language. In immersion education, a preschool teacher, a primary school teacher, and a subject teacher are expected to be simultaneously a content teacher and a language teacher—to wear two hats, as expressed by Snow (1987). In-service and pre-service immersion teaching certificate programs have been established to guarantee that immersion education is given by qualified preschool, primary school, and secondary school teachers who are fluent in the immersion language; have command of the students’ home language; and are familiar with issues of bilingual and multilingual development, second language pedagogy, immersion pedagogy for biliteracy and for teaching content in a second language, evaluating content and language development, and so on. If immersion education is to function as a coherent entity, all teachers of immersion (subject teachers, L1, L2, and Lx teachers) must be educated to share similar pedagogical visions, value the contribution of fellow teachers of the program, and be confident about all teachers being responsible for their own parts of the program. This approach requires close cooperation among all teachers and a school administration that shares the same goals and visions and allows for necessary planning time. It is also crucial that immersion education is recognized as one program alternative in national curriculum guidelines and that characteristics of immersion teaching are identified, specified, and outlined as prerequisites for effective teaching. In light of the positive results of immersion education, it may be surprising that immersion is not put into practice on a very large scale. In, Canada, results from PISA (the Program for International Student Assessment of the OECD) in 2000 show that among 15-year-old students, enrolment in immersion varies from 2% of the overall student population to 32% in New Brunswick. The small scale on the national level has impacts on the actual teaching in immersion in various ways. As a program, immersion has had to conform to existing (monolingual) education structures, rather than being developed from a bilingual perspective. The role of L1 for, for instance, teaching of literacy skills is still somewhat controversial in early immersion and raises questions among both teachers and parents, since learning to read and write is mostly taught in students’ second language, thereby challenging the implicit paradigm of the importance of L1 in literacy teaching in monolingual school structures, which—on the other hand—has mostly focused on L1 students being in a minority situation both within school and society. Another important direct consequence of conforming to existing structures is very evident at the school level. Suitable teaching material developed for immersion is practically nonexistent. Commercial material is mainly developed for L1 students and language books for L2 learners within a regular language program. Immersion teachers usually find themselves between these two different teaching materials and prepare a lot of material themselves by adapting available material, finding relevant and authentic new material, and supporting students’ language input with the help of rich and varied textual sources. The time-consuming preparation for suitable teaching material is no doubt an area in which immersion teachers often feel frustrated. In this case, joint preparation and shared distribution of developed material is beneficial for all teachers and a way to sustain high motivation and a good standard among immersion teachers. It is equally important to motivate and acknowledge immersion as an education program on the student level, where an appropriate identification of students’ actual level of their mastery of the immersion language at the end of the program, as well as an official recognition (certificate of attendance in immersion and total amount of time spent in content/subject 128

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teaching in a second language) can concretely manifest and acknowledge the student’s input into immersion. The mentioned challenges of implementing immersion into regular teacher education are also affected by the fact that immersion is a quite small-scale educational program on the national level. This issue becomes even more multifaceted and challenging in special teacher education. As in regular, non-immersion programs, some students in immersion will encounter difficulties during their education time, and immersion classes should have the means to back up students when special needs education becomes relevant. It is of utmost importance that struggling learners be assisted in the best way by educators who are familiar with both bilingual issues stemming from the immersion program and general language and learning difficulties. Research in this field needs to be expanded further, as regards both more cognitive-oriented research and handbooks for practitioners (for some recent results, see, e.g., Fortune 2011; Fortune with Menke 2010). It is also likely that immersion, where multiple languages are learnt within the program, can contribute to this research field when holistic studies of students’ multilingual and multicultural competence are focused. Also, the recent orientation towards more cross-disciplinary research approaches and a growing body of functional and action-based research in immersion entail methodological tools to integrate, challenge, or even reconstruct existing theoretical frameworks in second language acquisition and thereby maintain the inspiring and leading role immersion has had in research areas of second/foreign language learning and teaching. The thorough research conducted on immersion education since it was first implemented plays a significant role in the success story of immersion education. Clearly defined concepts and guidelines, as well as product-oriented and process-oriented research objectives, has helped immersion education navigate through changing linguistic and educational conditions and provide solid foundations for other forms of bilingual approaches and for the future, yet to come.

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Bilingual education is the use of two languages in the instruction and assessment of learners (García 2009).1 Bilingual education programs vary in their goals, language use, and students served, and are shaped by sociocultural and sociopolitical factors, historical contexts, and the power of speakers and languages. Students in bilingual education programs may be language majority or language minority students. A bilingual education program offers all students the possibility of becoming bilingual and biliterate. Language majority children develop the ability to use a language other than the dominant one, which they speak at home. Other students in bilingual education programs may be immigrants, refugees, Indigenous peoples, or simply live in households where a non-dominant language is spoken. For these students, bilingual education programs offer the possibility of developing the language of school in ways that support their home language practices and identities. Bilingual education differs from traditional language education in which a “foreign” or “second” language is taught. Firstly, in bilingual education the two languages are used as a medium of instruction. However, in traditional language education programs the additional language is explicitly taught as a subject. As such, bilingual education is first and foremost an educational approach to educate students holistically, with language and literacy development in two languages as an educational goal. With the additional language also used to educate meaningfully, the epistemology about language in bilingual education often differs from that of traditional language education. Traditional language educators see language as a system of standardized structures through which students listen, speak, read, and write. In contrast, bilingual educators focus on the development of language practices; that is, on the languaging of students (Becker 1995; Maturana and Varela 1998 [1973]), which is a product of social action and consists of fluid and flexible resources through which students make meaning of what they are learning (more on languaging to follow). Bilingual education and traditional language education also differ in their approach towards the relationship between language and cultural practices. Whereas learners in bilingual education are encouraged to be able to function across cultures, and sometimes to appropriate the different cultural practices as reflective of their integrated selves, learners in traditional foreign language classrooms are expected to become familiar with an additional cultural context, but not necessarily to function competently within it. Pedagogically, bilingual education integrates language and content, whereas traditional foreign or second-language education tends 132

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to emphasize teaching the language explicitly. Finally, bilingual education has the potential to offer a just education, leveling the power differentials among language groups, as minoritized languages are used in education. Bilingual education, thus, distinguishes itself in the way in which the two languages are used to construct meaningful content, while affirming diversity and tolerance. We consider below the historical development of bilingual education, some of its core issues, the research approaches and key findings, new debates, and, finally, implications for education.

Historical Perspectives Bilingual education is not a new approach to education or to language education. Throughout history, most elites have been educated bilingually. In the 19th century, the development of public schools became a mechanism of nation-states to establish the dominance of a single state language, and education became mostly monolingual. Bilingual education continued on its own trajectory throughout the 19th and early 20th century. On the one hand, the elite continued to support privately financed schools offering bilingual education that sought to develop two powerful languages. Known as prestigious bilingual education, these bilingual schools for the elite still exist today. On the other hand, some more powerful autochthonous minorities, especially throughout Europe, developed systems of bilingual education in which both the dominant language and the community language were taught. This was especially so in cases where language and religion coincided, as the community sought to ensure sustainability of the sacred language. These educational programs are known as maintenance bilingual education. In both prestigious and maintenance bilingual education, education was carried out in two languages, often from the first years of schooling. In the mid-20th century, bilingual education became entrenched as an educational option both for language minorities and language majorities. It was in North America where the field became fertile, and where it was expanded from the more traditional formats of prestigious and maintenance bilingual education. In Québec, Canada, majority Anglophone Canadians demanded bilingual education for their children that would make them truly bilingual, enabling them to live a fruitful life in a Francophone Québec that was becoming more politically powerful. In response to these parents, Wallace Lambert and his colleagues at McGill University developed immersion bilingual education programs. Through this bilingual approach, English-speaking Canadian children were taught initially through French only, with English used increasingly, until by the fourth grade, English was used 50% of the time. At around the same time, educators in the United States started to experiment with bilingual education as a way to educate the nation’s language minorities who were failing in U.S. schools—Spanish-speaking Latinos and Native Americans. The approach was the inverse of immersion bilingual education. In the United States, the child’s home language—usually Spanish, but also Navajo and others—was used in the early grades either solely or mostly, with English introduced gradually. Whereas in Canadian immersion, bilingual education French and English eventually achieved equal time allocation, in U.S. bilingual education, what became known as transitional bilingual education, the minority language was to disappear from instruction as soon as the child gained proficiency in English. Whereas the goal of Canadian immersion bilingual education was the students’ bilingualism, the goal of the U.S. transitional bilingual education was students’ English monolingualism. This was not the first time that transitional bilingual education was used to educate language minorities for monolingualism. In colonial situations throughout Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean, local languages were used in the early years of primary education to enable the transition to the colonial language. In 1953, UNESCO passed a resolution that affirmed the value of this 133

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educational policy for language minorities: “We take it as axiomatic, too, that the best medium for teaching is the mother tongue of the pupil” (p. 6). Nothing was said, however, about the sustainability of bilingualism for these students; the non-dominant language was seen as a problem. The ethnic revival that spread throughout the world in the 1960s fuelled bilingual education efforts. Transitional bilingual education efforts were touted as not enough by some and as too much by others. Many language minority communities and politicians clamored for forms of bilingual education that would lead to sustainability of diverse language practices and not shift to the dominant language. In contrast, some language majority politicians and others felt threatened by the growing diversity that a new global order was imposing. At the same time, globalization led some majority parents to want bilingualism for their own children. García (2009) has pointed to the new conceptualization of bilingualism and bilingual education that these sociopolitical transformations produced. Originally bilingualism and bilingual education had been conceptualized from a monolingual monoglossic perspective, where bilingualism was understood as simply the pluralization of monolingualism. From this perspective, bilinguals were thought to have two balanced language systems, supporting the notion that one language plus a second language equals two separate languages. Wallace Lambert (1975) proposed two types of school bilingualism—subtractive and additive. Subtractive bilingualism refers to what happens when a child’s home language is subtracted as he or she learns the school’s language. It is what happens in transitional bilingual education. On the other hand, additive bilingualism occurs when an additional language is added to the child’s home language. It is what happens in prestigious bilingual education or immersion bilingual education. Missing from this conceptualization is what happens in the in-between spaces or border spaces—that is, where the child is neither monolingual nor biliterate and brings into school very complex language practices, as we will see below. As globalization and new technologies resulted in the greater movement of people, information, and goods, the world’s linguistic complexity came into full view, and traditional models of bilingual education, as well as subtractive and additive models of bilingualism, proved to be insufficient. The world’s majority was not monolingual, nor fully or balanced bilingual, as had been conceptualized in the monoglossic view prevalent in the early 20th century. Instead, with a more heteroglossic lens of bilingualism, in contrast to the monoglossic lens described above, the fluid and complex language practices of bilinguals came into view. Additionally, most of the world’s population became recognized as being at different points on the bilingual continuum. For example, some Indigenous minorities had experienced a great deal of language loss. Although they still held their bilingualism as a mark of their identity, they were now closer to the monolingual end of the bilingual continuum. Other autochthonous minorities, such as the Welsh, now more than ever claimed their bilingualism as mark of their identity and were further along on the bilingual continuum. Then there were nation-states where the entire population was bilingual and wanted to ensure a bilingual future. Still other nation-states saw the plurilingualism of their citizens as a good thing, with many acknowledging the fact that their children had parents and families who spoke different languages, sometimes within the same home, sometimes across different national contexts. The result of acknowledging these sociolinguistic realities has been that our traditional conceptions of additive and subtractive bilingualism no longer hold, and the old models of bilingual education—prestigious, maintenance, immersion, and transitional—do not always make sense. To the monoglossic models of additive and subtractive bilingualism, García (2009) has added two more types of bilingualism that confirm a heteroglossic view of bilingualism—the recursive dynamic model and the dynamic model. Both of these types of bilingualism are in no way linear 134

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or add two languages as wholes. Recursive dynamic bilingualism refers to drawing on language practices that have almost been silenced, in order to revitalize them and bring them forward toward a future. It refers, for example, to the bilingualism of schools in communities such as that of the Māori of Aotearoa/New Zealand. The Māori language cannot be simply added whole, since the Māori community is revitalizing language practices not from scratch, but from bits and pieces, as ancestral language practices are reconstituted for new functions. On the other hand, bilingual schools in some contexts support dynamic bilingualism. These bilingual school programs acknowledge that the children hold different degrees of bilingualism because their families speak different languages or because they have lived and worked across national contexts. The bilingualism of these children also cannot be simply added or subtracted whole, since their language practices are already multiple, non-linear, and complex when they come into school. The European Schools for children of civil servants, for example, acknowledge their children’s dynamic bilingualism, as we will see below. As we said before, the traditional models of bilingual education are simply not adequate to reflect the more complex multilingualism of the world today. Thus, other types of bilingual education have been developed. It is important to underline that the greater power and visibility of language minorities in the 21st century has resulted in bilingual education programs for them, and by them, where they exercise a great deal of agency. Immersion revitalization bilingual education programs and developmental bilingual education programs are two such programs. In Aotearoa/ New Zealand, the revitalization of Māori needed an early start. The result was the development of “language nests” preschools, known as Kōhanga Reo, which involved Māori-speaking elders in the community interacting in Māori with the very young. This model of early childhood bilingual education has been adopted by other groups who speak threatened languages—Hawaiian peoples and Native Americans in the United States; Canada’s First Nations; and the Saamis of Norway, Finland, and Sweden, among others. In the case of the Māoris, the early childhood schooling is continued in Kura Kaupapa Māori schools, offering immersion bilingual education in Māori in elementary grades. These efforts to offer immersion schooling to communities whose languages have been decimated are different from the immersion bilingual education efforts in Canada described above, although they share some characteristics. They are known as immersion revitalization bilingual education. On the other hand, there are communities that have suffered language loss, but not to the same extent as the Māoris. For them, developmental bilingual education programs (sometimes called developmental maintenance bilingual education), with a focus on the language that is threatened, are often more appropriate. Welsh bilingual education programs often fall under this type. These programs differ from those called maintenance above, in that they focus on the protection and development of the minority language, which has endured much hardship under previous educational arrangements. In addition, students in these classes often display a broad range of bilingual abilities, and are not always speakers of the minority language prior to schooling. The greater sense of a multilingual world has meant that more language majorities are looking for bilingual education options for their children. In the United States, two-way bilingual education programs (often referred to as dual language bilingual education) have been developed to accommodate students learning languages other than English (often Spanish), as well as students developing English. Although those learning English are always language minority students, those developing another language are English-speaking children of many kinds, including those whose families may have spoken languages other than English. Sometimes all the children in these programs share one ancestral language, although they fall at every point on the bilingual continuum, including some children who may already be English monolinguals. When bilingual programs serve one language minority group whose members exhibit very diverse language practices, the programs are often referred to as one-way bilingual education. In effect, they are developmental bilingual education programs. 135

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Increasingly in a globalized world, an education in two languages is simply not enough. And so, multilingual education programs in more than two languages have grown. In the European Union, the European Schools for children of civil servants offer education in more than two languages to students in different language tracks within their schools. These programs are known as poly-directional bilingual education. They are similar to the U.S. two-way bilingual education programs in that they are meant for children of different ethnicities and language backgrounds. However, although in the United States children in two-way bilingual education programs are integrated in the same classroom, the European Schools have several language tracks, and only integrate students linguistically after they have developed some measure of bilingualism. Nowhere has the value of bilingualism been more affirmed today than in the European Union. Taking note from the success of bilingual education, CLIL (Content and Language Integrated Learning) bilingual education programs are substituting foreign language programs, with one or two subjects taught in a language other than that of the dominant school system. The greater sense of a multilingual world has also resulted in nation-states and autonomous regions where two languages (and sometimes more) are spoken by the entire population, and are part of their identity. Although the language arrangements of these programs depend on the national context in which they are carried out, there is a developmental focus for all languages. Schools in Luxembourg, for example, follow a type of multiple multilingual education, enabling all their school children to become trilingual—in Luxembourgish, German, and French—through school. As the world becomes more and more multilingual, rendering traditional bilingualism insufficient, some schools are experimenting with yet another form of bilingual education, what García and Kleifgen (2010) have called dynamic bi/plurilingual education. In all the programs described above, the language allocation in classrooms is strictly controlled in top-down fashion by schools and educators. However, in dynamic bi/plurilingual education programs, the locus of control of language rests with students, as they are given agency to negotiate their linguistic repertoires. In these schools, most often at the secondary level, there is a great deal of peer teaching and collaborative learning. For example, in a class in which students read a book in English, the teacher provides space for students in groups to discuss the reading using home languages before sharing ideas with the whole class in English. There are also opportunities for students to read, write, and conduct research in multiple languages (see García and Sylvan 2011). Although all the types of bilingual education considered in this section are different, they rest on similar core principles. The next section considers what those principles are and how they function.

Core Issues Bilingual education rests on three core principles: the central role of language and bilingualism in society and education, the role of bilingualism in enacting identities and ideologies and leveling issues of power, and the ways in which bilingualism can be used to educate. We discuss the first two core issues in this section, while reserving the last one for the section covering the implications for education.

Language in Society and Education In the last two decades, our actions in a globalized world of dynamic movement and advanced technologies, coupled with advances in complexity theory, have transformed the ways in which we think about language. The new understandings of language as practices, of languaging, have had an impact on our epistemologies about bilingualism. Becker (1995) reminds us that to learn a new way of languaging is not just to learn a new code; it is to enter another history of 136

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interactions and cultural practices and to learn “a new way of being in the world” (227). That is, becoming bilingual does not refer to “picking up” new language structures, but it is about acting differently as new positionings are taken. The Chilean biologists Maturana and Varela argue that it is language that brings forth the world. They explain: “We work out our lives in a mutual linguistic coupling, not because language permits us to reveal ourselves but because we are constituted in language in a continuous becoming that we bring forth with others” (1998, 234–235, our italics). It is our language practices that bring us forth as individuals, at the same time that they constitute us differently as we interact with others. Language is not external to us; it is not, as Pennycook (2010, 9) has said, “an autonomous system that preexists its use,” or “competence as an internal capacity that accounts for language production.” Instead, Pennycook says, language is “a product of the embodied social practices that bring it about” (9, our italics). If we accept this definition of language as a form of human action, embodied in the social world of human relationships, and intimately connected to all other forms of action—physical, social, and symbolic—then it is easy to understand why language plays such an important part in education. All learners need to embody their language practices in schools if they are to make meaning of their education. Bilingual education gives all students the possibility of doing so—that is, of doing language, of languaging in ways that constitute them, connect them, and relate them to their human actions and those of others. The field of bilingual education has been deeply influenced by the psycholinguistic constructs that were developed very early by Jim Cummins (1979). Central to the development of bilingual education in the 20th century was Cummins’ construct of interdependence. For Cummins, there is interdependence between the two languages, enabling transfer of linguistic abilities and knowledge across languages, since there is a Common Underlying Proficiency (CUP) across languages. Cummins also posits that it takes learners of an additional language one to three years to develop BICS (basic interpersonal communication skills), and five to seven years to develop CALP (cognitive academic language proficiency), thus arguing for sustained bilingual instruction throughout the grades. Although still grounded in the idea that language was an autonomous system of structures, Cummins had already envisioned the changes in epistemologies about language and bilingualism that have been ushered into the 21st century. In the 21st century, super-diverse patterns of multilingualism are evident (Blommaert 2010), with different linguistic features not bound by geographical territories and national spaces, but rather representing complex local practices of interactions that are dynamically enacted by human beings. These super-diverse patterns of languaging go beyond our conceptualization of bilingualism and multilingualism of the past. While bilingualism in the past was seen as having command of two languages, and multilingualism as having command of more than two languages, languaging in society today is considered in its complexity of action as dynamic bi/multilingualism (García 2009; Herdina and Jessner 2002; Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008). But there are more than just fluid language practices that impact bilingual education in the 21st century; there are issues of identity, ideologies, and power that are important to consider, and these are the subject of our next section.

Identities, Ideologies, and Power As human action, language practices function as semiotic and symbolic tools that can be used in the formation of identities. Language practices are instrumental in developing and sustaining subjectivities in homes, communities, and especially schools. Today’s understandings about identity are far from those of German Romantics, and in particular those of Johann Gottfried Herder 137

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(1744–1803), who defined identity as natural and immovable, and closely connected to the language a people spoke. Scholars in the late 20th century such as Joshua A. Fishman (1989) argued that language also has a rhetorical function, and as such may discursively construct the group’s subjective belief in a common ethnic identity. Traditional types of bilingual education were based on a unitary monoglossic approach to language and identity, ensuring that each of the languages performed a single identity and sociolinguistic function that resulted in a bicultural individual able to keep language and cultural practices separate. Postmodern scholarship has demonstrated the situational and subjective construction of identity (Bhabha 1994; Heller 1987; Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985; Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004). This scholarship has also described the fluid identities affected by the complex linguistic repertoires and spaces where individuals embody or enact multiple identities today. As Pavlenko and Blackledge make clear, language and identity are mutually constitutive in that language provides “the linguistic means through which identities are constructed and negotiated” (2004, 14). This is the position taken up by heteroglossic types of bilingual education, acknowledging the construction of transcultural individuals whose identities are negotiated as they adapt to the image they have of themselves in relationship to the interlocutor, and as they decide whom they want to be. Postmodern scholarship has also pointed to the fact that attitudes, values, and beliefs about language are always ideological, and are enmeshed in social systems of domination and subordination of groups, having to do not only with ethnicity, but also with class, gender, and power (see for example Irvine and Gal 2000; Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004). Language and identity options may be limited or not, or negotiable or not, depending on particular sociohistorical contexts. Language practices can signal ideological positions, and can construct boundary markers for inclusion and exclusion of the Other (Kroskrity 2000). Children’s bilingual development is deeply affected by the constraints and options in their socialization in communities and schools. School children exhibit considerable agency as they resist and construct new ways of using language and new identities, not necessarily those of the home and immediate community, but also not necessarily those of the school and the dominant society. Given the greater range of linguistic and social choice that bilingual children of dominant groups have, they will obtain greater cognitive and social advantages from their bilingualism than those whose choices are more restricted by their social and historically situated conditions. Thus, schools need to provide a greater range of choices for all students, and develop and empower all students to negotiate their multiple identities and language practices.

Research Approaches and Key Findings Research on bilingual education has repeatedly affirmed its effectiveness in educating language minority children, as well as language majority children. The study of bilingualism in education has used positivist models of quantitative research methodology to explore its effectiveness in educational outcomes. Because of the centrality of this issue in the United States where bilingual education continues to be suspect, the most comprehensive quantitative studies, often comparing different types of bilingual education, have been conducted there. We review here a few such studies. Ramírez (1992) conducted a longitudinal study of 554 kindergartener-to-sixth grade Latino students in five states who were in three types of programs—English-only programs, transitional early-exit bilingual education programs, and late-exit developmental bilingual education programs. Students in late-exit developmental bilingual programs in which their home languages were used for at least five years had the most academic success. In 2002, Thomas and Collier compared achievement on nationally standardized tests of students who entered school 138

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without English proficiency and were enrolled in different kinds of programs. They found that the strongest predictor of English language achievement was the amount of formal schooling the students received in the home language. Thomas and Collier showed that developmental bilingual education programs and two-way bilingual education programs were the only types of programs that enabled emergent bilinguals to reach the 50th percentile in both languages in all subjects. Lindholm-Leary (2001) conducted a comprehensive evaluation of programs serving students who were learning English in California. Like Thomas and Collier, Lindholm-Leary concluded that students who were in instructional programs in which English was initially used for only 10 to 20% of the time did as well on English proficiency tests as those in English-only programs or 50:50 dual language bilingual education programs. By sixth grade, however, students in dual-language bilingual education outperformed transitional bilingual education students. These quantitative findings in the United States have been confirmed by recent meta-analyses. For example, Krashen, Rolstad, and McSwan (2007), Slavin and Cheung (2005), and Goldenberg (2008) have shown that students in bilingual programs outperform those in English-only programs on tests of academic achievement. Likewise, the National Literacy Panel on Language Minority Children and Youth (August and Shanahan 2006) and the synthesis conducted by Genesee, Lindholm-Leary, Saunders, and Christian (2006) concluded that bilingual education approaches are more effective in teaching students to read than are English-only approaches. Our new understandings that language and literacy practices are shaped by local, social, and economic conditions, and that language and literacy practices contribute to the reproduction of asymmetrical relations of power, have resulted in increased use of qualitative methodologies in studying bilingualism. Qualitative methods conceive of knowledge as reuniting epistemology and hermeneutics and go beyond the distinctions that have served to “subalternize” the kinds of “border” knowledge that bilinguals and multilinguals bring to school (Mignolo 2000). For example, ethnographies of cases of bilingual education (for example, Blackledge and Creese 2010; and Bartlett and García 2011) show how language practices in schools matter to people on their own terms. Critical discourse analysis, such as Pennington’s analysis of bilingual classroom discourse at a high school in Hong Kong (1999) enables researchers to study the structure of discursive practices, while connecting language ideologies and language practices to relationships of power. Historical or document analysis, in which researchers collect documents that are then subjected to interpretive policy analysis, is also broadly used, especially to study bilingual education policy and the multiple reading of the policies by various stakeholders as interpretive communities. A recent extension of document analysis methods is what has become known as linguistic landscape studies, documenting the multilingual ecology and physical spaces of bilingual classrooms and how they are used by students. Despite the research evidence, debates surrounding the efficacy of bilingual education continue. There are also new debates, especially surrounding some past assumptions, such as the existence of a first, second, and native language and the dualities in bilingualism. These debates are considered in the next section.

New Debates First and Second Languages? Native Languages? The changing epistemologies about language and bilingualism discussed above mean that traditional terms used in speaking about bilingual education are not always useful. For example, some scholars speak about first languages, second languages, and even third languages, whereas seen through a heteroglossic lens, the language practices of bilinguals are not made up of two or more autonomous language systems. The grammar of bilingual speakers consists of features that are 139

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socially assigned to one language or the other, but for the bilingual person there isn’t an L1, an L2, or an L3, except perhaps as the chronological order of acquisition. What then do we call the heteroglossic practices that characterize bilingual speech? In the last decade, alternative terms have proliferated. Jørgensen (2008) refers to the combination of features that are not discrete and complete “languages” in themselves as polylingualism. Jacquemet (2005) speaks of transidiomatic practices to refer to the communicative practices of transnational groups that interact using different communicative codes. Canagarajah (2011) uses codemeshing to describe a single-integrated system in writing for rhetorical effectiveness. Metrolingualism is the term proposed by Otsuji and Pennycook (2010) in speaking about the fluid language practices in urban contexts. Perhaps the term that has had the most traction in the literature to refer to these flexible language practices is that of translanguaging. The term translanguaging was coined in Welsh (trawsieithu) by Cen Williams (1994). In its original use, it referred to a pedagogical practice in which students are asked to alternate languages for the purposes of receptive or productive use; for example, students might be asked to read in English and write in Welsh and vice versa (Baker 2011). Since then, the term has been extended by many scholars (Blackledge and Creese 2010; Canagarajah 2011; Creese and Blackledge 2010; García 2009; forthcoming; García, Flores, and Woodley 2012; García and Sylvan 2011; Hornberger and Link 2012; Lewis, Jones, and Baker 2012a; 2012b). Translanguaging for García (2009; 2011; forthcoming) refers not to the use of two separate languages or even the shift of one language or code to the other, since there are not two languages. Rather, translanguaging is rooted in the belief that bilingual speakers select language features from one integrated system and “soft assemble” their language practices in ways that fit their communicative situations. That is, bilinguals call upon social features in a seamless and complex network of multiple semiotic signs, as they adapt their languaging to suit the immediate task environment. Bilingualism, as a soft-assembled mechanism, comes into existence with enaction, with each action being locally situated and unique to satisfy contextual constraints, and creating an interdependence among all components of the system. The greater presence of plurilingual individuals and multilingualism in the world means that it is impossible today to talk about “native” speakers of any language. As many have argued (Kramsch 2009; Bonfiglio 2010), the concept of being a “native” speaker is anchored on concepts of ethnicity, race, class, status, and privilege, and acts as a system of exclusion. “Doing” bilingualism goes beyond the concept of being a “native” speaker, as it includes all who appropriate that languaging in their lives.

Dualities in Bilingualism? Bilingualism as 1+1 = 2 is no longer viable in our globalized, multilingual world. The Council of Europe (2000) uses the term plurilingualism to refer to an individual’s ability to use several languages to varying degrees and for distinct purposes. That is to say, European citizens are encouraged to have at their disposal a varying and shifting repertoire of language practices to fulfill different purposes. Although it is a new European concept, it is important to recognize that the multilingual practices of many Africans have always reflected this more dynamic linguistic repertoire (see Makoni and Pennycook 2007). Although bilingual scholars throughout the world are shifting the conversation in the direction of plurilingualism, the United States has gone in reverse. The term “bilingual” is being further silenced, and the categorization as “two” has been solidified in the now popular term “dual language.” Bilingual education in the United States has always been associated with a history of social struggle around civil rights issues, mostly having to do with Latinos. The critical 140

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definition of political struggle for the educational rights of language minorities, and specifically of Latinos, has made U.S. bilingual education contentious. By 1974, the time of the second reauthorization of the Bilingual Education Act (Title VII of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, authorized in 1968 for the first time), bilingual education in the United States had been defined as “transitional,” with few exceptions. And the Supreme Court decision of Lau v. Nichols (1974), which ruled that children developing English must have a different educational program, never required bilingual education. As maintenance bilingual education programs disappeared under political pressure, transitional bilingual education programs grew. Bilingual education became less a program to develop language and literacy in two languages, and more a program to develop the English of those who increasingly became known as “English language learners.” By the time No Child Left Behind was implemented in 2002, the word “bilingual” had become a “bad word,” and “dual,” insisting that the two languages had to be strictly separated, came into popular use (Crawford 2004). Claiming “dual” languages, learners, books, pedagogies, etc., runs counter to the shapes of the dynamic bilingualism of societies that truly value the multiple and fluid language practices of the 21st century. The insistence on keeping the two languages as dualities is partly responsible for the failure of U.S. schools in developing their students’ bilingualism. In the separation, language practices in languages other than English never become a part of an American identity, and are instead branded as the languaging of immigrants and the “Other.” In identifying English as the “second language” of “English language learners,” bilingual Americans are never given permission to truly appropriate English language practices as their own. In insisting that the two languages be kept separate, bilingual Americans are made to think that their fluid language practices are inferior (García, Zakharia, and Otcu 2013). For example, in maintaining that Spanish and English language practices should always be separate, Latino bilinguals are made to believe that their language practices are nothing but “Spanglish.” Scholars analyze their “code-switches,” instead of acknowledging the translanguaging that characterizes all dynamic bilingual communities of practice. This has implications for education, which is the topic of the next section.

Implications for Education Bilingual education is good for education and language learning, for both language minorities and language majorities. But bilingual education in the 21st century must go beyond the emphasis on the dominant language (as happens in the United States) or monolingual proficiency in two languages (as in the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages). As bilingual education is reimagined under a dynamic framework of bilingualism, it is important to do away with what Cummins (2007) has called “the two solitudes,” and consider the use of translanguaging in schools, rather than a strict separation of languages. Translanguaging is used by students and teachers as they make sense of their bilingual worlds, using their entire linguistic repertoires across various modalities (reading, writing, speaking, and listening), and across different people in order to meaningfully learn. For example, although a lesson might be officially in one language, students may discuss, research, and produce work using all their language practices. Teachers who use translanguaging may not be bilingual themselves, but they always encourage their students to use their entire linguistic repertoire in making meaning (García, Flores, and Woodley 2011). As such, these teachers provide students with handouts, books, media, and print material in many languages, and encourage students to find others (see Celic and Seltzer 2012). Incorporating translanguaging pedagogies in today’s classrooms ensures that the bilingualism of all children is used as a resource, even when there are no bilingual education programs. In many ways, translanguaging acknowledges the dynamic language practices of bilinguals as human 141

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action. It allows the formation of multiple identities capable of leveling the power differentials among language practices and language hierarchies that continue to exist in schools that are organized by nation-states. Translanguaging is capable of releasing the histories and enunciations of all people that have been buried and constrained within the fixed identities of national ideologies. It may be the only way of sustaining bilingual education for all children in the 21st century.

Further Reading Baker, C. 2011. Foundations of bilingual education and bilingualism (5th ed.). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Fishman, J. A. 1976. Bilingual Education. An international sociological perspective. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. García, O. 2009. Bilingual Education in the 21st century. A global perspective. Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.

Note 1 Most of the conceptualization and information that follows can be found in García (2009).

References August, D., and Shanahan, T. (Eds.). 2006. Developing literacy in second-language learners: Report of the National Literacy Panel on language-minority children and youth. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Baker, C. 2011. Foundations of bilingual education and bilingualism (5th ed.). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Bartlett, L., and García, O. 2011. Additive schooling in subtractive times. Bilingual education and Dominican immigrant youth in The Heights. Nashville, TN: Vandervilt University Press. Becker, A. L. 1995. Beyond translation: Essays toward a modern philosophy. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bhabha, H. 1994. The location of culture. London: Routledge. Blackledge, A., and Creese, A. 2010. Multilingualism. London: Continuum. Blommaert, J. 2010. The socioinguistics of globalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bonfiglio, T. P. 2010. Mother tongues and nations. The invention of the native speaker. Berlin: De Gruyter/Mouton. Canagarajah, S.A. 2011. Codemeshing in academic writing: Identifying teachable strategies of translanguaging. The Modern Language Journal, 95(iii), 401–417. Celic, C., and Seltzer, K. 2012. Translanguaging: A CUNY-NYSIEB guide for educators. New York: CUNY-NYSIEB. Available online: www.cuny-nysieb.org Council of Europe. 2000. Common European framework of reference for languages: Learning, teaching, assessment. Language Policy Division, Strasbourg. Available online: www.coe.int/t/dg4/linguistic/CADRE_EN.asp Crawford, J. 2004. Educating English learners: Language diversity in the classroom, 5th ed. [formerly Bilingual education: History, politics, theory, and practice]. Los Angeles: Bilingual Educational Services. Creese, A., and Blackledge, A. 2010. Translanguaging in the bilingual classroom: A pedagogy for learning and teaching? Modern Language Journal, 94(i), 103–115. Cummins, J. 1979. Linguistic interdependence and the educational development of bilingual children. Review of Educational Research, 49, 22–51. Cummins, J. 2007. Rethinking monolingual instructional strategies in multilingual classrooms. Canadian Journal of Applied Linguistics, 10(2), 221–240. Fishman, J. A. 1989. Language and ethnicity in minority sociolinguistic perspective. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. García, O. 2009. Bilingual education in the 21st century. A global perspective. Malden and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. García, O. 2011. From language garden to sustainable languaging: Bilingual education in a global world. Perspective. A Publication of the National Association for Bilingual Education, Sept/Oct, 5–10. García, O. forthcoming. Theorizing and enacting translanguaging for social justice. In A. Creese and A. Blackledge (Eds.). Heteroglossia as practice and pedagogy. London and New York: Springer. 142

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García, O., and Kleifgen, J. A. 2010. Educating emergent bilinguals. Policies, programs and practices for English language learners. New York: Teachers College Press. García, O., Flores, N., and Woodley, H. H. 2012. Transgressing monolingualism and bilingual dualities: Translanguaging pedagogies. In A. Yiakoumetti (Ed.), Harnessing linguistic variation for better education (pp. 45–76). Bern: Peter Lang. García, O. and Sylvan, C. E. 2011. Pedagogies and practices in multilingual classrooms: Singularities in pluralities. The Modern Language Journal, 95(3), 385–400. García, O., Zakharia, Z., and Otcu, B. (Eds.). 2013. Bilingual community education and multilingualism: Beyond heritage languages in a global city. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Genesee, F., Lindholm-Leary, K., Saunders, W. M., and Christian, D. (Eds.). 2006. Educating English language learners. New York: Cambridge University Press. Goldenberg, C. 2008. Teaching English language learners. What the research does—and does not—say. American Educator, 32(2), 8–23, 42–44. Heller, M. 1987. The role of language in the formation of ethnic identity. In J. Phinney and M. Rotheram (Eds.), Children’s ethnic socialization (pp. 180–200). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Herdina, P. and Jessner, U. 2002. A Dynamic Model of Multilingualism. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Hornberger, N., and Link, H. 2012. Translanguaging and transnational literacies in multilingual classrooms: A bilingual lens. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 15(3), 261–278. Irvine, J., and Gal, S. 2000. Language ideology and linguistic differentiation. In Kroskrity (Ed.), Regimes of language: Ideologies, polities and identities (pp. 34–84). Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. Jacquemet, M. 2005. Transidiomatic practices: Language and power in the age of globalization. Language and Communication, 25, 257–277. Jørgensen, J. N. 2008. Polylingual languaging around and among children and adolescents. International Journal of Multilingualism, 5(3), 161–176. Kramsch, C. (2009). The multilingual subject. What language learners say about their experience and why it matters. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Krashen, S., Rolstad, K., and McSwan, J. 2007. Review of “Research summary and bibliography for structured English immersion programs” of the Arizona English language learners Task Force. Institute for Language and Education Policy. Tacoma Park, MD. Kroskrity, V. 2000. Regimenting languages: Language ideological perspectives. In V. Kroskrity (Ed.), Regimes of language: Ideologies, polities and identities (pp. 1–34). Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press, and Oxford: James Currey. Lambert, W. E. 1975. Culture and language as factors in learning and education. In A. Wolfgang (Ed.), Education of immigrant students (pp. 55–83). Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. Larsen-Freeman, D., and Cameron, L. 2008. Complex systems and applied linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University press. Lau v. Nichols. 1974. 414 U.S. 563 (1974). Le Page, R. B., and Tabouret-Keller, A. 1985. Acts of identity: Creole-based approaches to language and ethnicity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lewis, G., Jones, B., and Baker, C. 2012a. Translanguaging: Developing its conceptualisation and contextualisation. Educational Research and Evaluation: An International Journal on Theory and Practice, DOI:10.1080/ 13803611.2012.718490 Lewis, G., Jones, B., and Baker, C. 2012b. Translanguaging: Origins and development from school to street and beyond. Educational Research and Evaluation: An International Journal on Theory and Practice, DOI:10.1080/ 13803611.2012.718488 Lindholm-Leary, K. J. 2001. Dual language education. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Makoni, S., and Pennycook, A. 2007. Disinventing and reconstituting languages. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Maturana, H., and Varela, F. 1998 [1973]. The tree of knowledge. The biological roots of human understanding. Boston and London: Shambhala. Mignolo, W. 2000. Local histories/Global designs. Coloniality, subaltern knowledges, and border thinking. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Otsuji, E., and Pennycook, A. 2010. Metrolingualism: Fixity, fluidity and language in flux. International Journal of Multilingualism, 7(3): 240–254. Pavlenko, A., and Blackledge, A. 2004. Negotiation of identities in multilingual contexts. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. 143

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Pennington, M. C. 1999. Framing bilingual classroom discourse: Lessons from Hong Kong secondary school English classes. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism 2(1), 53–73. Pennycook, A. 2010. Language as a local practice. London and New York: Routledge. Ramírez, J. D. 1992. Executive summary, final report: Longitudinal study of structured English immersion strategy, early-exit and late-exit transitional bilingual education programs for language-minority children. Bilingual Research Journal, 16(1–2), 1–62. Slavin, R., and Cheung, A. 2005. A synthesis of research on reading instruction for English language learners. Review of Educational Research, 75(7), 247–284. Thomas, W., and Collier, V. 2002. A national study of school effectiveness for language minority students’ long term academic achievement. Final report. Available online: http:/crede.berkeley.edu/research/llaa/1.1_final.html UNESCO. 1953. The use of vernacular languages in education: Monographs of fundamental education VII, (p. 48). Available online: http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0000/000028/002897eb.pdf Williams, C. 1994. Arfarniad o Ddulliau Dysgu ac Addysgu yng Nghyd-destun Addysg Uwchradd Ddwyieithog. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Wales, Bangor.

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11 The Intersections of Language Differences and Learning Disabilities Narratives in Action Taucia Gonzalez, Adai Tefera, and Alfredo Artiles

The purpose of this chapter is to provide a critical synthesis of the literature on the intersections of language differences and learning disabilities (LD1) using a sociocultural approach. Researchers have traditionally ignored the complex intertwining of these markers of differences. For this reason, we focus in this chapter on the growing population of emergent bilinguals2 with LDs. We argue this population occupies a liminal space between language and ability differences, which is consequential because institutional practices can thrust emergent bilinguals into odd positions, sometimes stressing their language traits or needs; at other times, highlighting their disabilities. Emergent evidence suggests that living in this in-between space can sometimes limit these learners’ educational opportunities or create dilemmas, challenges, and/or puzzles for the research, practice, and policy communities. In order to examine the complexity of these intersections, we use narrative as a metaphor for the stories that are being created around emergent bilinguals with LD. There seems to be a single dominant narrative used to describe and address the educational needs of emergent bilinguals that could be described as having a Labovian linear structure (Riessman 2008). Based on an individualistic stance informed by psychological and medical premises, this narrative’s plot envisions a fragmented individual, which compels educators to determine the main determinants of developmental and learning processes—for example, does language acquisition trump learning difficulties in explanations of student educational performance? In contrast, we posit there are several narratives evolving over time about this population that can be described as narratives in action in which researchers, practitioners, and policy leaders shape “turn-by-turn” (Ochs and Capps 2001, 2; Wortham 2001) the tropes of multiple narratives on this population based on alternative assumptions about language differences, the role of culture in learning, and the ways in which the intersections of language and ability differences shape school performance. The shifts at every turn of these living narratives are contingent upon competing policies, practices, and interests (i.e., interlocutors). With multiple interlocutors creating new turns in the conversations, these narratives are not predetermined but rather unpredictable and “open to contingency, improvisation, and revision” (Ochs and Capps 2001, 62).

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Rather than subscribing to a linear narrative that would compel us to merely describe these learners using a list of static markers, we first delineate the broader contexts in which the narratives on this population are unfolding. We then narrow in on the emerging disproportionate placement of these students in special education as a case in point. We conclude with an overview of research approaches used in studies on emergent bilinguals and a discussion of the debates in these narratives. The central argument underlying our critique is that addressing the complex intersections of differences under which these learners live will require substantial systemic transformations and new turns in the narratives of emergent bilinguals with LDs.

The Evolving Linguistic and Cultural Educational Landscape of the United States Across the U.S., the racial and linguistic make-up of the country is quickly evolving to be the most diverse in its history. This increasing diversity acts as an interlocutor in the narratives of emergent bilinguals and disability, in that emergent bilinguals are a heterogeneous population with narratives that wind across and alongside that of disability narratives. According to the Office of English Language Acquisition (OELA), from 1997 to 2008, the growth in the percentage of emergent bilinguals was 51% (OELA 2011). While the number of emergent bilinguals is highest in the western and southwestern regions of the U.S., the number in the southern and southeastern parts of the country has rapidly grown in the last ten years (OELA 2011). This growing diversity is occurring not only in the often expected racially and linguistically diverse urban regions of the U.S., but in the suburbs of major metropolitan areas (Orfield and Luce 2012; Tefera, Frankenberg, and Siegel-Hawley 2011) as well as rural parts of the country (Strange, Johnson, Showalter, and Klein 2012). Of the 325 languages spoken in the U.S., in 44 states and the District of Columbia, Spanish was the most-spoken home language for emergent bilinguals (see Table 11.1) (National Clearinghouse for English Language Acquisition [NCELA] 2011). In fact, in 14 states, Spanish-speakers constituted more than 80% of all emergent bilingual students. NCELA also reported that a significant number of emergent bilinguals also spoke Vietnamese, Chinese, and Arabic (see Table 11.1). While the predominance of Spanish speakers may give the illusion of homogeneity, we argue that there is an abundance of heterogeneity that is often overlooked.

Table 11.1 Top Ten Languages Most Spoken by Emergent Bilinguals at Home, 2009–2010 Language

Number of Emergent Bilinguals

Spanish

3,582,884

Vietnamese

85,252

Chinese

69,821

Arabic

51,606

Hmong

46,311

Haitian

33,845

Tagalog

26,885

Somali

19,699

Navajo

10,507

Note: Adapted from NCELA (2011, 1).

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Contradictions and Consequences of Shifting Educational Laws and Policies for English Learners and Students With Disabilities The proliferation of multiple (often contradictory) policies has created many new turns in these narratives. Historically, the U.S. has fought to maintain English as the dominant language in education (Gándara et al. 2010). The struggle for fair and just educational policies and practices for emergent bilinguals has, as a result, been arbitrated in U.S. courts over the last forty years. The landmark Supreme Court case, Lau v. Nichols (1974) stated that students who speak English as a second language have a right to a “meaningful education.” In their analysis of shifting education laws for Chicana/o and Latina/o students, Artiles, Waitoller, and Neal (2011) identified three key cases—Diana v. State Board of Education, 1970; Covarrubias v. San Diego Unified School District, 1971; Guadalupe Organization Inc. v. Tempe School District No. 3, 1972—that were pivotal in addressing issues related to inaccurately placing emergent bilinguals in special education. Together, these cases contributed to the passage of the Education for All Handicapped Children Act, 1975 (now Individuals with Disabilities Education Act [IDEA]). The primary intent of IDEA has been to provide a free and appropriate public education (FAPE) for students with disabilities in the least restrictive environment (LRE). While IDEA aimed to provide a fair and appropriate education for students with disabilities, the publication of A Nation at Risk (Gardner 1983) induced a state of emergency, positing the U.S. education system’s mediocrity as a threat to the nation’s ability to compete globally. This resulted in a call for greater commitment to higher standards in education and was the impetus for increased accountability for all learners. The report contributed to the 1994 Goals 2000 and ultimately the 2001 reauthorization of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA), which was renamed the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB). NCLB weaves an alluring yet flawed narrative of equity with the requirement that all “subgroups” of students meet the same standard via standardized test scores. Students facing the harshest consequences of NCLB are those Artiles (2011) referred to as living “double-bind” identities, including racial and linguistic minority students labeled with disabilities, for they are the least likely to have adequate opportunities to learn and the most likely to face the negative repercussions of current policy. In short, the educational policies intended to respond to the nation’s growing cultural and linguistic diversity have resulted in the convergence and torqueing of multiple policies that are narrowly designed with boxes in mind. Emergent bilinguals—a diverse group with sociocultural (i.e., linguistic, historical, racial) differences—do not fit neatly into federal-policy-built boxes such as NCLB and IDEA. While some narratives may benefit from neat boxes, others, at the intersections of multiple differences, are stuck between converging policies and interests. Particularly troubling is evidence that incongruent state thresholds for disproportionality determination in special education has resulted in the illusion that many states do not face problems related to disproportionality (Artiles 2011). The consequence of this cannot be overlooked as research attempts to examine the special education placement patterns of emergent bilinguals, a topic that is discussed in greater detail in the following section. The demographic shifts, competing and contradictory policies, and persistent inequities outlined thus far serve as a contextual backdrop to the emergent bilingual and disability narratives that are unfolding.

Educational Casualties in the Name of Equity: The Case of Disproportionality We suggest in the preceding section that the complexity of torqueing policies in narratives about emergent bilinguals along with the health of such policies can deepen inequalities for the very groups targeted in these policies. A case in point is the disproportionate representation of minority 147

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students in special education. Disproportionality is “the representation of a group in a category that exceeds our expectations for that group, or differs substantially from the representation of others in that category” (Skiba et al. 2008, 265), but it can also include “underrepresentation in programs for students with gifts and talents” (Artiles, Rueda, and Salazar 2005, 283). The U.S. educational system has historically underserved culturally and linguistically diverse students, creating inequitable and disparate educational outcomes. For example, although Brown v. Board of Education marked a new turn for historically underserved students by integrating schools, it also marked new forms of stratification within schools in the form of policies that created within-school segregation. Special education serves as one example of this within-school segregation. It has served to help students with disabilities, but at the same time, it has contributed to within-school racial stratification, not only through the labels assigned to students, but also through the different services and experiences they receive (Artiles 2009; Ong-Dean 2009). In large part, IDEA was an outcome of the Civil Rights Movement as a way to provide services to students with disabilities. Although disproportionality can be based on socioeconomics, sex, or language, racial disproportionality has been documented for about 45 years. Currently, African Americans and American Indian students are the racial groups most heavily affected by disproportionality, yet emerging analysis indicates that regionally Latina/os and emergent bilinguals are also overrepresented in some disability categories (Artiles 2009). At the national level in the United States, emergent bilinguals are not disproportionately identified for special education, but recently researchers have undertaken a variety of analytic approaches for understanding the intersection of these narratives. These analytic approaches for studying emergent bilinguals with learning disabilities include looking at within-group differences (Artiles et al. 2005), longitudinal work examining change over time (Linn and Hemmer 2011; Samson and Lesaux 2009), and state level identification and placement patterns (Sullivan 2011). These studies, much like new interlocutors entering the telling of these narratives, have created new turns that demonstrate new understandings in emergent bilingual disproportionality. We are beginning to understand that in one researched southern California district, emergent bilinguals with lower proficiency levels in their first language are more likely to be overrepresented in special education (Artiles et al. 2005). We know that while emergent bilinguals are underrepresented in special education in kindergarten and first grade, they are overrepresented in third grade, which raises questions as to whether emergent bilinguals are receiving academic support too late because of confusion between language proficiency and LD (Samson and Lesaux 2009). Contrary to the Artiles et al.’s (2005) study, Sullivan (2011) found that districts in Arizona with high numbers of emergent bilinguals were less likely to over-identify students with LDs and specific language impairments. Sullivan’s study also showed that identification patterns changed over time. Linn and Hemmer (2011) examined emergent bilingual identification patterns in Southeastern Texas school districts over a seven-year time period, 2004–2010. They found significant emergent bilingual over-identification, albeit with decreases, over time. Shifrer, Muller, and Callahan’s (2011) study that analyzed various sociodemographic indicators (SES, parents’ language) found that students that had participated in English as a second language (ESL) classes were significantly over-identified in special education (see also Artiles and Kozleski 2010). These recent analyses create a mosaic of understandings regarding emergent bilinguals in special education. Attention to within-group diversity requires us to untangle the tightly woven braid that history has created between race and disability. Although the braid is heavy and thick, attention to the contours and the fibers begins unraveling the thread of language from this tight construct. Emergent bilinguals serve as a powerful example to the heterogeneity within minorities in special education. We should note that the bulk of research findings outlined thus far are grounded in a linear narrative that privileges individual factors. Nevertheless, alternative narratives are emerging. For 148

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instance, the question arises as to whether the disproportionality of emergent bilinguals indexes the creation of a “safety zone” (Lomawaima and McCarty 2006), which is based on ideological constructions of a U.S. ideal. Society draws fluctuating boundaries between what are considered “safe and dangerous cultural difference[s]” in response to perceived threat to the U.S. ideal (Lomawaima and McCarty 2006, 5). Schools respond to “dangerous” cultural differences with separate programs, separate curricula, and separate teachers that have been prepared in distinct programs that often serve as a way to erase or lessen those differences, but also to create the illusion of safety within the boundary between safe and dangerous. Language and ability differences are two such constructs that are regulated with safety zones. We posit that emergent bilinguals’ disproportionality in special education could be regarded as an indicator (amongst others) of labor produced around safety zones. Artiles (2011) explained how these threats (i.e., race, language, ability differences), or “notions of difference[,] have been interlaced in complicated ways throughout the history of American education” (431). Not only have race, language, and disability been woven together, but they have also been woven into an ideological construct of danger (Artiles 2011). Different disabilities constitute different degrees of danger to the U.S. ideal. Language and racial differences are threats that have been regulated, in part, through disability identification that largely creates boundaries through separate programs. Yet, the boundary between safe and dangerous is not only tied to time; it is tied to other factors, as well (e.g., place, local histories), which is why research on the disproportionate representation of emergent bilinguals in special education must be examined as a multidimensional concept. The overrepresentation of emergent bilinguals in special education serves as a case in point to the complexity of perceived safety zones across U.S. history and geography. Researchers are building on this narrative using new analytical frameworks to create new narrative turns and understandings, which has raised further questions about this intersection. While some studies have replicated previous findings, we have seen that disproportionality research on emergent bilinguals is highly contextual, in terms of not only geography, but also policies (e.g., language support programs) and over time.

Research Approaches A review of research approaches on emergent bilinguals with disabilities cannot be restricted to theory and methods since contextual, institutional, policy, and even disciplinary considerations ought to be included in such analysis. We summarize the main trends in research approaches with particular attention to LD because this is the largest group of the population with disabilities and of emergent bilinguals with special needs. The scholarship on emergent bilinguals with disabilities is organized around three types of study. These include (a) population issues, (b) antecedent and contextual factors that mediate LD diagnosis (e.g., predictors of reading achievement, referral issues, assessment practices), and (c) instructional interventions (Klingner et al. 2006). One of the most notable limitations of the research on emergent bilinguals with and without disabilities is the lack of attention to the heterogeneity of this population. Although over 70% of this population speaks Spanish as a first language, the available evidence reflects a strikingly diverse population in terms of nationality, age, social class, ethnicity, length of residence in the U.S., and so forth (García and Cuellar 2006). This means that we know surprisingly little about the profiles of emergent bilinguals that may be more vulnerable to disability identification. Artiles et al. (2005) found an LEA-identified subgroup of emergent bilinguals in California that was more vulnerable to disability diagnosis; nevertheless, the LEA’s definition of this subgroup was based on questionable assumptions about language proficiency, rather than the unique sociocultural differences within the subgroup (e.g., literacy in native language, length of time classified as an English 149

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learner). Specifically, the vulnerable subgroup of emergent bilinguals was considered to lack proficiency in their first language (L1) and second language (L2). This phenomenon has been described as semilingualism, a notion that has been controversial for several decades. As Artiles et al. (2005) explained, “[w]e should be mindful of the controversy surrounding this construct and the difficulties inherent in assessing cognitive and other abilities with language-dependent standardized tests for this group” (294). Another factor that muddles our understanding of the emergent bilingual population is the substantial variability across local education agencies (LEAs) and state educational agencies (SEAs) to define emergent bilingual status, language proficiency, and monitor the trajectories of these learners over time—i.e., generally this population is followed only for 2–3 years after they are reclassified as English proficient. This variability complicates the aggregation of findings because emergent bilingual samples across studies are defined with the disparate criteria of the LEAs and SEAs where the students were recruited. The same critique applies to the multiple measures of language proficiency used across geographical regions. In part because of the dearth of knowledge about this population, but also due to universalist assumptions about human development that privilege members of the dominant population, there has been a tendency to extrapolate evidence from assessment and intervention technologies (e.g., literacy interventions) produced with monolingual populations to emergent bilinguals with and without disabilities (Gutiérrez, Zepeda, and Castro 2010). This is obviously problematic, considering the validity threats embodied in this practice, and it flies in the face of advances in a cultural view of human development (Gutiérrez and Rogoff 2003). Complicating this state of affairs is the absence of unified and systematic efforts to collect evidence on this population at the national level, which renders a fragmented picture about these learners that cannot be monitored longitudinally. The scholarship on antecedent and contextual forces is scarce, though multilayered and complex. The instructional contexts, including teacher factors that shape emergent bilingual opportunities to learn (e.g., quality of instruction) seem to play a role in emergent bilingual learning rates and might constitute confounding factors in eventual decisions to refer emergent bilinguals to special education (Lopez-Reyna 1996; Ruiz 1995). Perhaps more troubling, contextual considerations related to these factors were rarely examined in diagnostic decisions for emergent bilinguals (Harry and Klingner 2006). Investigations about pre-referral interventions with emergent bilinguals are rare and have not, with a few exceptions, provided substantial insights (Artiles and Ortiz 2002). Decisions to refer students are also largely influenced by institutional factors (e.g., assumptions about student competence, narrow evidence used to gauge the nature of learning due to the kinds of assessments used) and tend to have a significant role in diagnostic decisions (Mehan 1991). There is some evidence about the potential for disability misidentification with emergent bilinguals because these students could exhibit behaviors associated with learning a L2 that could be construed as signs of LDs (Klingner et al. 2006). The research on assessment is fraught with problematic practices and deep inadequacies. This has been a consistent picture for at least two decades (Klingner et al. 2006). For instance, school psychologists have reported knowing ethical principles and guidelines for effective practice with emergent bilinguals, but not applying it in their own practice; other studies have also shown a troubling lack of knowledge of best (ethical and technical) practices with this population among school psychologists (Artiles, Trent, and Palmer 2004). Another troubling finding in this area of inquiry that bears on diagnostic decisions is that even when assessment evidence on students’ first language is available to eligibility teams, they can label emergent bilinguals without regard for such data (Harry and Klingner 2006). The research on predictors of learning (particularly reading) disabilities has been growing steadily in the last 10 years, in part due to the funding available from federal and private agencies. 150

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This scholarship focuses on the role of early reading sub-skills and has consistently identified a set of predictors of reading achievement that include phonological awareness, rapid naming, alphabetic knowledge, and print awareness. Nevertheless, major syntheses of reading research that included emergent bilinguals with and without disabilities have been critiqued for overemphasizing the aforementioned skills, even though other components, such as oral language skills, background knowledge, and vocabulary, had equally strong (or stronger) associations with early literacy development (Gee 1999; Gutierrez et al. 2010). A consistent message from these critiques of research syntheses is that “language and literacy development involves the lamination of component skills and sociocultural variables that help form the social situation of development” (Gutierrez et al. 2010, 336, emphasis added). A recent review of the National Early Literacy Panel report identified a number of areas in substantial need for additional research for young emergent bilinguals (see Gutierrez et al. 2010, 335–337). These research needs illustrate the dearth of fundamental knowledge in this area of inquiry and serve as a reference for the theoretical puzzles and research lacunae in the scholarship on emergent bilinguals with disabilities. The last set of studies targets instructional interventions for emergent bilinguals struggling to learn or with reading disabilities. Although we already identified significant knowledge gaps in this domain, it is important to outline broad trends in the work produced in the recent past. Intensive reading interventions tend to be designed with a reading approach that stresses sub-skill acquisition and mastery. Klingner et al. (2006) concluded that “early intervention programs that combine phonological awareness and other reading activities with ESL strategies may be the most promising, yet further research is warranted” (120). A consistent finding across a small number of studies is that the development of certain sub-skills (i.e., phonological awareness) and vocabulary level in L1 and L2 mediate in significant ways the development of reading in L2. Moreover, researchers have shown that emergent bilinguals with disabilities can benefit from reading comprehension strategy instruction. Not surprisingly, key differences have been identified between emergent bilinguals that are more and less proficient, typically showing that the former outperform the latter group on various indices (e.g., vocabulary, use of comprehension strategies, use of schematic knowledge). In addition, emergent bilinguals’ use of reading strategies in L1 transferred to reading in L2 (Klingner et al. 2006). To conclude, aside from the need to expand the number of studies on emergent bilinguals with disabilities, it is necessary that researchers interested in this domain invest in several substantive issues that were either implicit or briefly mentioned in the preceding paragraphs. First, this research community ought to transcend the limited visions and re-presentations of emergent bilinguals used in this scholarship as monolithic, culturally static, and laden with deficits (e.g., poverty, lack of skills, etc.). Artiles (2004) explained that this work requires more than adding details about samples’ traits. Beyond documenting the breadth of diversity within the emergent bilingual population, it means that researchers should understand the consequences of the cultural-historical re-presentations of racial and linguistic minorities that construct them as the Other. New representational practices will have implications for the historical narratives that constitute the identity of the special education field in relation to emergent bilinguals. Borrowing from Rorty, Artiles (2004) argued that LD’s historiography could be construed as a doxography, in which “the key topics and scholars in the LD field are timeless and uncontestable, and it does not acknowledge that societal changes and transformations in LD theory and research are perennially taking place” (551–552). The dramatic changes in the nation’s demography that we summarized above and interdisciplinary advances in learning research (e.g., neuropsychological basis of learning, learning and gaming, youth’s hybrid linguistic and identity practices in formal and informal contexts) demand that future research on emergent bilinguals with learning and other impairments redefine 151

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the field’s doxography. To date, we are only anticipating that these developments and innovations will disrupt traditional research approaches and reframe research questions and practices.

New Debates The emergent bilingual population and policy landscapes are shifting in unprecedented ways, just as the special education field is undergoing important transformations that impact disability definitions, prevalence of conditions, as well as theories and methods. Due to space constraints, we comment briefly on two developments in the special education field—namely, inclusive education and Response to Intervention (RTI)—and contextualize this discussion in terms of emerging population and policy changes. The inclusive education movement gained international visibility in the 1990s. The U.S. research community has historically grappled with questions on where and how to serve students with disabilities, and thus, considerable debates ensued around different versions of the inclusive education movement. Inclusive education is a concept with multifaceted definitions and discourses on educational justice (Artiles and Dyson 2005). Although the notion of inclusive education has become a proxy for placing students with special needs in general education classrooms, its original theoretical aspirations were substantially bigger (Artiles, Kozleski, Dorn, and Christensen 2006). Specifically, the idea of inclusive education aimed at transforming entire educational systems so that their constitutive components (e.g., policies, curricula, pedagogies, assessments, parent involvement programs, professional development efforts, etc.) would be sensitive and responsive to the range of human differences (e.g., socioeconomic, gender, ability, linguistic, ethnic, racial, immigration and refugee status, etc.). The vast majority of students with disabilities in the U.S. are educated in general education school buildings, though the question arises as to whether these students’ educational experiences take place in truly inclusive environments, particularly in the current accountability era. Unfortunately, the emerging evidence suggests accountability policies have deepened inequalities for the very students that were targeted in the inclusive education movement (Darling-Hammond 2007). The research evidence is mixed on whether emergent bilinguals are disproportionately placed in special education in districts and states with sizable emergent bilingual representation (Artiles et al. 2005; Sullivan 2011). Moreover, emergent bilinguals with disabilities can be placed in more segregated programs than their counterparts with the same disability diagnosis (De Valenzuela, Copeland, Qi, and Park 2006). It is also known that emergent bilinguals receive less language supports after being placed in special education, which most likely affects learning opportunities for this population (Artiles and Kozleski 2010), particularly since emergent bilingual placement in English-only programs increases the probability of their disproportionate representation in special education, compared to emergent bilinguals receiving bilingual education (Artiles et al. 2005). In these cases, therefore, it is ironic that the typical inclusive education approach (i.e., mere placement in ordinary schools and classrooms with little L2 support) can constitute a substantial barrier to emergent bilinguals struggling to learn and/or with disabilities, since the absence of appropriate supports and accommodations would only restrict emergent bilinguals’ opportunities to learn. RTI is the second major development in the special education field in the last decade that we review briefly in this chapter. The distinctive features of RTI, which tends to be organized around three or four tiers of intervention, are described as follows: RTI integrates assessment and intervention within a multi-level prevention system to maximize student achievement and to reduce behavior problems. With RTI, schools identify students at risk for poor learning outcomes, monitor student progress, provide evidence-based 152

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interventions and adjust the intensity and nature of those interventions depending on a student’s responsiveness, and identify students with [LD] or other disabilities. (National Center on Response to Intervention n.d., “Response-to-Intervention”) The 2004 reauthorization of IDEA brought attention to RTI at the federal level as LD could be identified, in addition to the discrepancy formula, through RTI strategies. Such visibility did not necessarily have an immediate effect on state practices. To illustrate, in 2009 only a few states had changed their LD diagnostic practices to rely solely on RTI (Southeast Comprehensive Center 2009). We should note there is considerable debate surrounding the strengths and impact of RTI. First, RTI’s conceptualization embodies appealing features. For instance, RTI allows educators to address the needs of struggling learners without having to sanction disability labels. This proactive stance breaks the longstanding educational practice of waiting long periods of time before a student is eligible to receive targeted interventions. Even a statement about being equity minded has been made about RTI, since supporters anticipate that minority student disproportionate representation in special education will likely be reduced in LEAs and SEAs that use RTI. On the other hand, questions have been raised about the feasibility of relying on standardized protocols and the imposition of unrealistic intervention fidelity requirements given the complex nature of schools, particularly in contexts that serve emergent bilinguals and other diverse groups. Other concerns include the lack of capacity among the teaching force to carry out this model, and barriers to scaling up RTI systems (Gerber 2005; Kavale, Kauffman, Bachmeier, and LeFever 2008). A significant criticism is related to RTI’s apparent neglect of cultural and linguistic issues (Artiles 2005; Klingner and Edwards 2006), even though some programs of research have begun to include diverse samples in their projects (e.g., Linan-Thompson, Cirino, and Vaughn 2007). An important critique was also raised against RTI’s “building blocks,” namely what counts as response and intervention in this approach. Artiles and Kozleski (2010) provided a sociocultural analysis of these basic components, which rendered crucial gaps and blind spots in the design and implementation of RTI. With regard to “response,” these authors situated RTI’s closed ended (largely cognitive) view of response (i.e., learning in RTI) in the field of learning sciences to remind educators that the notion of learning is now theorized in more complex ways that take sociocultural and psychological aspects of learning into account. When linguistic differences are added to this picture, a stronger case can be made for a situated analysis of learners’ responses (or lack of response) to instruction. This is particularly the case because emergent bilinguals’ engagement and uses of sociolinguistic and pragmatics tools and strategies are qualitatively different from native speakers, which could be misconstrued as non-responses, or even LDs. In turn, interventions can be conceptualized as “contexts for thinking” from a sociocultural perspective because interventions are tested in social conditions that differ markedly from the circumstances under which learners participate and learn in classrooms. This fact creates serious challenges to the applicability of experimentally derived RTI interventions in non-experimental conditions. As Greeno (1998) explained in the context of arguing for a situated view of learning, “we risk arriving at conclusions that depend on specific features of activities that occur in the special circumstances that we arrange, and that these specific features will prevent generalization to the domains of activity that we hope to understand” (7). This situation means that experimental tasks and activities can often require engagement and participation that are not aligned with the histories of participation or performance of students, hence heightening the risk of under-estimating learners’ competence levels (Cole and Bruner 1971). These concerns raised about interventions have consequential implications for the use of RTI with emergent bilinguals who are struggling to learn or with LDs. “[F]or example, it would be important to know the students’ familiarity 153

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with reading text in English under timed conditions. How would their performance be affected if they had a history of using only literacy materials in Spanish at home or if oral narratives had been their main form of literacy?” (Artiles and Kozleski 2010, 952). While RTI and inclusive education have not served as the holy grails of educational reform, they serve as indicators that attention is shifting from fixing children to fixing systems. These recent debates serve as a continued example of the struggle to support the students that fall between the educational system’s standardized boxes.

Implications for Education In this chapter, we examined how shifting demographics and competing policies have acted as interlocutors in these living narratives. We borrowed safety zone theory as a way to understand disproportionality as a barometer of perceived cultural and linguistic threats to the “U.S. ideal.” We provided a brief history of disproportionality and how the emergent bilingual narrative has intersected with the disability narrative, creating complex intersections of difference, followed by an overview of shifting research trends in this field. We concluded by discussing how inclusive education and RTI has been conceptualized in schools and what that means for emergent bilinguals with disabilities. What do the narratives on emergent bilinguals and disability mean for education? While the educational system has responded to learning differences through various means, the shifting cultural and linguistic landscape of the U.S. has demonstrated that there are many students that do not fit neatly into the standard boxes intended to respond to such learning differences. In fact, emerging bilinguals with disabilities are caught between and betwixt categories that are in some cases competing and contradictory. With this shifting landscape, the narratives of emergent bilinguals and disability have appeared to run parallel, converge, twist, diverge, and in some cases even torque. Our desire for cohesion and to work in neat boxes can make the trajectory of these nonlinear narratives feel disconcerting, yet out of these narratives that are being created in schools and through research come opportunities for “contingency, improvisation, and revision” (Ochs and Capps 2001, 62). As we improvise and as we revise the trajectories for emergent bilinguals with disabilities, we cannot look at the narrative of emergent bilinguals in isolation from disability or vice versa. We need to look at where and how these two narratives intersect to create their own complex story. As mentioned in the previous sections, frameworks and methods for students with disabilities may not adequately serve emergent bilinguals with disabilities. Researchers and practitioners are interlocutors participating in the construction of this narrative. As the U.S. becomes more diverse, this issue of fitting into categories is becoming increasingly fuzzy. While we can build more boxes, or specialization categories, we will battle with the same tensions of trying to force fits or making decisions that afford some students opportunity at the expense of others. Another option is to focus on the spaces between the intersecting narratives of emergent bilinguals and disability as bellwethers for the new “U.S. ideal”; a new narrative turn for the living narratives of emergent bilinguals and disability.

Further Reading Artiles, A. J., Rueda, R., Salazar, J. J., and Higareda, I. 2005. Within-group diversity in minority disproportionate representation: English language learners in urban school districts. Exceptional Children, 71(3), 283–300. McDermott, R., Goldman, S., and Varenne, H. 2006. The cultural work of learning disabilities. Educational Researcher, 35(6), 12–17. 154

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Ortiz, A. A., Robertson, M., Wilkinson, C. Y., Liu, Y. J., McGhee, B. D., and Kushner, M. I. 2011. The role of bilingual education teachers in preventing inappropriate referrals of ELLs to special education: Implications for response to intervention. Bilingual Research Journal, 34(3), 316–333. Solano-Flores, G. 2006. Language, dialect, and register: Sociolinguistics and the estimation of measurement error in the testing of English language learners. The Teachers College Record, 108(11), 2354–2379.

Notes 1 LD is the largest population in the U.S. special educational system, and the most common disability category emergent bilinguals are labeled with. Although we focus on disability, we also refer to LD throughout this chapter. 2 In this manuscript we refer to English Language Learners (ELLs) as emergent bilinguals (Garcia, Kleifgen, and Falchi, 2008). While this may feel like a cumbersome alternative to the ELL acronym, we feel it is an important discursive practice that focuses on linguistic strengths rather than deficits, taking small social steps toward alternative possibilities and narratives.

References Artiles, A. J. 2004. The end of innocence: Historiography and representation in the discursive practice of learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 37, 550–555. Artiles, A. J. 2005, November. RTI for all: Reflections on sociocultural questions and challenges. Commemoration of P.L. (pp. 94–142). Los Angeles, CA: Loyola Marymount University. Artiles, A. J. 2009. Re-framing disproportionality research: Outline of a cultural-historical paradigm. Multiple Voices for Ethnically Diverse Exceptional Learners, 11(2), 24–37. Artiles, A. J. 2011. Toward an interdisciplinary understanding of educational equity and difference: The case of the racialization of ability. Educational Researcher, 40, 431–445. Artiles, A. J., and Dyson, A. 2005. Inclusive education in the globalization age: The promise of comparative cultural historical analysis. In D. Mitchell (Ed.), Contextualizing inclusive education (pp. 37–62). London: Routledge. Artiles, A. J., and Kozleski, E. B. 2010. What counts as Response and Intervention in RTI? A sociocultural analysis. Psicothema, 22, 949–954. Artiles, A. J., Kozleski, E., Dorn, S., and Christensen, C. 2006. Learning in inclusive education research: Re-mediating theory and methods with a transformative agenda. Review of Research in Education, 30, 65–108. Artiles, A. J., and Ortiz, A. (Eds). 2002. English Language Learners with special needs: Identification, placement, and instruction. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics. Artiles, A. J., Rueda, R., and Salazar, J. J. 2005. Within-group diversity in minority disproportionate representation: English language learners in urban school districts. Exceptional Children, 71(3), 283–300. Artiles, A. J., Trent, S. C., and Palmer, J. 2004. Culturally diverse students in special education: Legacies and prospects. In J. A. Banks and C. M. Banks (Eds.), Handbook of research on multicultural education (2nd ed., pp. 716–735). San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Artiles, A. J., Waitoller, F., and Neal, R. 2011. Grappling with the intersection of language and ability differences: Equity issues for Chicano/Latino students in special education. In R. R. Valencia (Ed.), Chicano school failure and success: Past, present, and future (3rd ed., pp. 213–234). London: Routledge. Cole, M., and Bruner, J. 1971. Cultural differences and inferences about psychological processes. American Psychologist, 26, 867–876. Darling-Hammond, L. 2007. Race, inequality and educational accountability: The irony of “No Child Left Behind.” Race, Ethnicity and Education, 10, 245–260. De Valenzuela, J. S., Copeland, S. R., Qi, H. C., and Park, M. 2006. Examining educational equity: Revisiting the disproportionate representation of minority students in special education. Exceptional Children, 72, 425–441. Frey, W. 2011. A demographic tipping point among America’s three year olds. Brookings Institute. Retrieved from www.brookings.edu/research/opinions/2011/02/07-population-frey Gándara, P., Losen, D., August, D., Uriarte, M., Gómez, M. C., and Hopkins, M. 2010. Forbidden language: A brief history of U.S. language policy. In P. Gándara, and M. Hopkins (Eds.), Forbidden language: English learners and restrictive learning policies (pp. 20–36). New York: Teachers College Press. 155

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García, E., and Cuellar, D. 2006. Who are these linguistically and culturally diverse students? Teachers College Record, 108, 2220–2246. Garcia, O., Kleifgen, J., and Falchi, L. 2008, January. From English language learners to emergent bilinguals. New York: Teachers College Press. Gardner, D. 1983. A nation at risk. Washington, DC: The National Commission on Excellence in Education, U.S. Department of Education. Gee, J. 1999. Reading and the New Literacy Studies: Reframing the National Academy of Sciences report on reading. Journal of Literacy Research, 31, 355–374. Gerber, M. 2005. Teachers are still the test: Limitations of response to instruction strategies for identifying children with learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 38, 516–524. Greeno, J. 1998. The situativity of knowing, learning and research. American Psychologist, 53, 5–26. Gutiérrez, K., and Rogoff, B. 2003. Cultural ways of learning: Individual traits or repertoires of practice. Educational Researcher, 32(5), 19–25. Gutiérrez, K., Zepeda, M., and Castro, D. 2010. Advancing early literacy learning for all children: Implications of the NELP report for dual-language learners. Educational Researcher, 39, 334–339. Harry, B., and Klingner, J. 2006. Why are so many minority students in special education? Understanding race and disability in schools. New York: Teachers College Press. Kavale, K. A., Kauffman, J. M., Bachmeier, R. J., and LeFever, G. B. 2008. Response-to-Intervention: Separating the rhetoric of self-congratulation from the reality of specific learning disability identification. Learning Disability Quarterly, 31, 135–150. Klingner, J. K., Artiles, A. J., Barletta, L. M. 2006. English Language Learners who struggle with reading: Language acquisition or learning disabilities? Journal of Learning Disabilities, 39, 108–128. Klingner, J. K., and Edwards, P. 2006. Cultural considerations with response to intervention models. Reading Research Quarterly, 41, 108–117. Lau v. Nichols, 414 U.S. 563, 566-69, 94 S.Ct. 786, 788–90, 39 L.Ed.2d 1 (1974). Linan-Thompson, S., Cirino, P., and Vaughn, S. 2007. Determining English language learners’ response to intervention: Questions and some answers. Learning Disability Quarterly, 30, 185–195. Linn, D., and Hemmer, L. 2011. English language learner disproportionality in special education: Implications for the scholar-practitioner. Journal of Educational Research and Practice, 1(1), 70–80. Lomawaima, K. T., and McCarty, T. L. 2006. “To Remain an Indian”: Lessons in democracy from a century of Native American education. New York: Teachers College Press. López-Reyna, N. A. 1996. The importance of meaningful contexts in bilingual special education: Moving to whole language. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 11, 120–131. Mehan, H. 1991. The schools’ work of sorting students. In D. Zimmerman and D. Boden (Eds.), Talk and social structure (pp. 71–90). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press National Center on Response to Intervention. n.d. RTI Center. Retrieved from www.rti4success.org/ RTIGlossary#RTI National Clearinghouse for English Language Acquisition (NCELA), U.S. Department of Education. 2011. What languages do English learners speak? NCELA Factsheet. Retrieved from www.ncela.gwu.edu/files/ uploads/NCELAFactsheets/EL_Languages_2011.pdf Ochs, E., and Capps, L. 2001. Living narrative: Creating lives in everyday storytelling. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Office of English Language Acquisition (OELA), U.S. Department of Education. 2011. The growing number of English learner students: 1998/99–2008/09. Retrieved from www.ncela.gwu.edu/files/uploads/9/ growingLEP_0809.pdf Ong-Dean, C. 2009. High roads and low roads to disability. In C. Ong-Dean (Ed.), Distinguishing disability: Parents, privilege, and special education (pp. 63–93). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Orfield, M., and Luce, T. 2012. America’s racially diverse suburbs: Opportunities and challenges. Institute on Metropolitan Opportunity. University of Minnesota Law School. Riessman, C. K. 2008. Narrative methods for the human sciences. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ruiz, N. T. 1995. The social construction of ability and disability: I. Profile types of Latino children identified as language learning disabled. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 28, 476–490. Ruiz, R. 1984. Orientations in language planning. NABE: The Journal for the National Association for Bilingual Education, 8(2), 15–34. Samson, J. F., and Lesaux, N. K. 2009. Language-minority learners in special education. Journal of Learning Disabilities , 42(2), 148–162. Shifrer, D., Muller, C., and Callahan, R. 2011. Disproportionality and learning disabilities: Parsing apart race, socioeconomic status, and language. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 44(3), 246–257. 156

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12 Theory and Advocacy for Indigenous Language Revitalization in the United States Mary Hermes and Megan Bang

The current moment is one of crisis and opportunity. Educators, linguists and Indigenous people have a rare opportunity to share perspectives and coordinate efforts to revitalize the Indigenous languages of the United States. The very sites used to destroy these languages (schools) are now the sites for reclaiming language (immersion schools). The disciplines used to colonize us as the “other” (e.g., anthropology and linguistics) now have a role in helping bring back languages through documentation. This chapter focuses on the work of coming together as we urge intellectuals, citizens of tribal nations, and the United States nation to seize the deep and lasting changes that this Indigenous movement has to offer. In this chapter, we discuss some of the historical factors that have led to the endangered state of what was at one time over 300 different languages (Reyhner 1995) in what is currently the geographic area of the United States. Clearly this dramatic loss was an intentional part of the bigger policy to exterminate Indigenous culture and peoples. This was not a natural de-evolution or language shift. Only in the past two decades has this policy to exterminate Indigenous languages shifted course. Since this shift, and in spite of policies against Indigenous languages, our languages survive. Drawing on these efforts, we identify two issues core to revitalization: 1) the assumption of inherent value in these languages, and 2) the complex social political nexus implicated in redirecting language shift. Next, our key findings are centered around the success of Indigenous revitalization in the immersion schools worldwide, giving rise to efforts here in the States to use immersion-like methods as a catalyst for revitalization. In the conclusion, we write about a few areas of research that are of strategic value to this movement. First and foremost, there is a need to develop a pedagogy that is situationally based and effective for restoring oral Indigenous language. Second, the collaboration of scholars and Indigenous groups is vital for revitalization. And last, the ideology of “language death” needs to be challenged. We end this chapter by returning to the broader implications for education, and offer a vision of change and hope. What could be gained by taking Indigenous languages seriously?

Historical Perspectives Indigenous languages have figured centrally into the unfolding of the Americas and continue to be a critical site of resistance, loss, and strength that illuminates much about the role of language in the course of human history. The role and relationships of Indigenous languages to the unfolding of 158

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the Americas has had dramatically different eras, ranging from multilingualism, in which early missionaries actively sought to translate Christian agendas into Indigenous languages, believing that this was the most effective way to assimilate Indigenous people, to a long and still active period in which English-only policies emerged. There is an important change in understandings of language and meaning implicit in this shift. In early colonial America, likely reflecting the multilingualism of Europe, colonists were more concerned with content and meanings being spoken. However, as English became the national language, the need for meaning to be spoken in a particular tongue grew. The rising awareness of the relationship between language and power, first as a reflection of victories in battles over territory, and later as the new colonists’ hopes for a national unity, meant that early orientations towards language took on increasingly aggressive efforts towards eradicating Indigenous languages. The most aggressive efforts of language assimilation are largely understood by many community members to be rooted in the history of the Native American boarding schools and what became known as the “boarding school era.” Boarding schools systematically segregated children from their families, communities, and, in the process, their languages and deployed physical abuse (among many other forms of abuse committed in boarding schools) on children who dared speak it. In response to the devastation these policies caused and the ways in which language has figured into the domination and colonization of Indigenous peoples, the language revitalization movement can be understood as much as a political movement as it is an academic, social, or cultural endeavor.

Historical Perspectives of Indigenous Revitalization United States In 1998, Michael Krauss published a paper estimating that over half of the world’s 7000 languages were likely to disappear in the next 100 years (Krauss 1998). A clarion call to applied linguists, the efforts for documentation of these “dying languages” quickly gave rise to this sub-field within several disciplines: applied linguistics, linguistic anthropology, sociolinguistics. At the same time, communities, tribal nations, and Indigenous activists around the world were realizing the post-traumatic effects of colonialism that meant their languages were not being transmitted at home and their speakers were dwindling. Approaching the imminent death of first speakers of their language, many tribal nations, or groups within these nations, also began to vigorously organize to revitalize language use within their communities (Hinton 2011) But this is not completely accurate either. Native people have fought for our rights to our own languages since colonization and language eradication efforts began. Individuals have kept their languages and cultures alive, often in ceremonies or other domains that were protected. The history of establishing tribal schools, bilingual schools, and culture-based schools in response to the government-controlled schools is not often seen as part of the history of language revitalization in the United States, but clearly it is. Seen as one continuous movement that encompasses resistance, sovereignty, survival, and revitalization, the language revitalization movement is the latest iteration of the ceaseless spirit of Native people to remain and thrive. The Navajo, Māori, and Hawaiian nations provide an example of this spirit. In 1966, the Rough Rock Demonstration School on the Navajo Nation was one of the first post-colonial bilingual education programs in which an Indigenous language (Navajo) was the language of instruction (McCarty 2002). This “island” of Indigenous language education was not alone for long. On the other side of the world, Māori people were reasserting their linguistic and cultural identity, developing bilingual and immersion schools along with language nests for the very young. In 1982 the Hawaiians, following the Māori example, established language nests. Built from the ground up, these early efforts have grown to encompass birth-to-doctoral level programs in and through the Hawaiian language (Wilson and Kamanā 2011). As evidence that these revitalization efforts are taking hold, the U.S. Census reported that Hawaiian language use 159

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in the home grew from 14,315 in 1990 to 27,160 in 2000, which is a 90% increase. In addition, student peers within the immersion schools are using Hawaiian among themselves as a social language (Wilson and Kamanā 2011). Cherokee, Mohawk, Ojibwe, Yupik, and Blackfeet nations also have established immersion schools throughout North America (McAlpine, Ericks-Brophy, and Crago 1996; Hermes 2007; Peter 2007). In California, where some language populations are thought to be too small for immersion programs, an alternative means of language and cultural transmission has developed in the form of Master-Apprentice programs in which aging Indigenous language speakers work with learners, performing tasks and communicating together in the target language (Hinton 2011). In 1992, the Native American Languages Act, and subsequently the Ester Martinez Act, turned around two centuries of U.S. government policies designed to annihilate native languages. Over the last 20 years, with some government support, language revitalization in the United States has been growing. In contrast to these numerous examples of language vitality, the prevailing theory and narrative surrounding revitalization has been one of certain death (Hermes 2012). The certain vanquishing of American Indians originates in doctrines of Manifest Destiny and the national construction of an “other” who was doomed to die out (Frost 2005). The United States is a settler colonial nation and scholars have increasingly argued that settler colonial nations different from colonial in some important ways. In trying to understand dynamics of settler colonialism and colonialism, Veracini (2011) notes that colonial and post-colonial studies typically focus on the ways colonialism employs a grammar of race and inferiority; settler colonialism employs this grammar of race and inferiority but towards a logic of elimination. He writes, “the settler colonial situation is premised on a foundational act where a settler body politic establishes its sovereignty by drawing different circles of inclusion and exclusion” (Veracini 2011, 2). The circles of inclusion and exclusion establish a triangulation of relationships that form the core of dialectic relationships in which the settler constructs himself as normative. Veracini (2011) argues that this triangular relationship is structural and therein marks the critical difference between settler colonialism—which is structural—and colonialism—which he says is an event. The settler-Indigenous dialectical structure is defined by the desire to erase or assimilate Indigenous people alongside a continued symbolic Indigenous presence (Wolfe 2006). Wolfe (2006) suggests the process of erasure and sustained symbolic presence codifies a binary logic of “virtuous settler” and “dysfunctional native” that underpins the structure of settler identity. This settler identity dynamic creates for the settler the perceived need to recuperate indigeneity in order to express its difference. Much of the history of Indigenous language and language effort can be mapped to this understanding of settler-Indigenous dialectic. The rise of English-only policies reflects the transition of settler presence in the Americas from one of colonialism to settler colonialism; that is, the settlers had come to stay. The desire for permanency prompted the perceived need for eradication in many forms. While the eradication often took the form of physical death early on, the rise of the “kill the Indian, save the man” era meant policies and efforts that made more pointed and specific eradication efforts—a key effort was that of language—in which settler identities, or language, in this case, were constructed as normative. While generations of eradication efforts were disturbingly successful, the call for language revitalization and the forms it took maintained a settler-Indigenous dialectic structure defined by settler colonialism. In part, the call took up fully the “virtuous settler” and “dysfunctional native” dynamic expressed by Wolfe (2006), as well as other discourses fraught with colonially imposed narratives of Indigenous loss of authenticity. These dynamics, in the form of loss narratives, sent our communities into crisis and fueled the documentation approach to language preservation. Although key in many instances to revitalization, documentation of endangered languages has generally been the territory of anthropologists and linguists. While these efforts are crucial and not intentionally aimed at reproducing a colonial 160

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troupe, documentation isolated from community efforts has no theory of change that is of benefit to revitalization and will simply memorialize our languages, keeping us locked in the settler colonial paradigms. It is up to communities to retool documentation efforts towards productive regeneration in communities. The move to revitalization and seeing our languages as living can open up creative possibilities for communities, as we have described, rather than generating only preservation efforts. Skutnabb-Kangas (2008) argues that the problem with the idea of language death as a natural phenomenon glosses over the entire social political history of empire building that has given rise to a “no contest” choice to retain and use Indigenous languages. While we embrace thinking about our languages as living, both of these approaches (life or death) leave us in a binary territory that contains us in a polarized colonial narrative. For this reason, a focus of this chapter is to think about what theories of change exist in revitalization, and how we can contribute to a counter-narrative of language revitalization. Perhaps for the field of educational linguistics, the Indigenous language revitalization movement is more than a study of communities that are struggling to keep their languages. It is a shared piece of United States history that is not in the past, but is continuing now, and is especially visible in schools and school policy. As the place-based movement suggests, the local place names and geographical features of the land call out with Indigenous words that speak to an understanding and identity with place. Unlike race and class, languages do not discriminate, but rather pull people together through a particular place, and this piece of identity is what our schools are in need of.

Core Issues and Key Findings Why Are Indigenous Languages So Valuable? Driving the field of Indigenous language revitalization is an assumption: Maintaining as many of our planet’s Indigenous languages as possible is a good thing for all of humanity. Although contested by some linguists (McWorter 2009) and questioned by others, it is generally assumed by experts in many language fields, and by Indigenous people, that our Indigenous languages are extremely valuable. But valuable how, and to whom? In competition with world hunger and poverty, or even the achievement gap in the United States, do Indigenous mother tongues become a priority, or is it a luxury to learn an Indigenous “second” language? Indigenous people across the United States are developing programs, actions, language institutes, conferences, and proficient second language speakers. Scholarly interest in the areas of Indigenous languages, endangered languages, documentation of endangered language and language revitalization cross between fields of applied linguistics, education, and Native American studies. In short, while skeptics say “Why bother?,” substantial effort from many fields is converging on revitalization, and scholars and activists are devoting their life’s work to the movement. The resounding “Yes!” from Indigenous peoples can be found in any of the volumes published from 19 years of the Stabilizing Indigenous Languages Symposium (for example, Reyhner and Lockhart, 2009). While it is not assumed that all Indigenous languages will be revitalized, evidence from the Māori, Hawaiian, and Mohawk peoples suggest that grassroots community efforts can revitalize an Indigenous language, and in the process have many positive effects on community health and well-being. Despite this intuitive and Indigenous knowing, Western research lags behind in understanding and describing exactly how Indigenous languages contribute to the planet and our humanity as a whole. Increasingly, as psychologists and linguists continue to uncover the relationship between language and thought, work in bio-cultural diversity is connecting linguistic diversity to ecological diversity (Maffi 2005). While assimilation efforts persist, standardized curricula and uniformity of thought being the political and social doctrine of our times, increasingly the idea grows that 161

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with diversity of thought comes a multiplicity of solutions (National Academy of Science, 2005; Rhoten and Parker 2004). Crocheting coral reefs to model hyperbolic geometry, Margaret Wertheim (2009) illustrates how multiple and divergent perspectives often lead to breakthroughs in thinking. The diversity of thought that comes from exploring a problem in both an Indigenous language and a European language, for example, is a potential we will lose unless our Indigenous languages are valued. Work to position Indigenous languages as an inherent right of Indigenous people has begun (UN General Assembly 2007; Skutnab-Kangas 2008; Maffi 2005). Work in bio-cultural diversity is also raising the general awareness and status by making the connection between linguistic diversity and biological diversity. The idea that Indigenous languages, like cultural heritage, should be a protected right is growing. However, if Indigenous people feel they must learn a larger world language, and further that they need to talk to their children in that language instead of their Indigenous mother tongue, policies that protect Indigenous languages are not very effective. What kinds of policies and advocacy would allow Indigenous language to become a language of currency and status and then a true choice for people? The “choice” is really located in the complex question of language and power. The decision to speak a language for families is often linked to economic survival as well as cultural and family values. Although schools, nations, and policies can declare languages official and provide funding to support them, the day-to-day work of language acquisition still largely happens early on in the home. Families able to choose their mother tongue, and speak it to their children as they are learning to speak, are at the core of this issue. According to Fishman (1990) the most challenging part about language revitalization has to do with how embedded language is in everything, and in the end, language revitalization is about revitalizing communities and building relationships. For Indigenous communities, recovering from near genocide and colonization, language revitalization is part and parcel of building relationships and community health. Amidst this discussion of whether and how Indigenous languages have value, there is a deeper shift at work. Indigenous languages and thinking represent an interruption of the dominant discourse on schooling and monolingualism. Speaking and schooling in and through an Indigenous language within the borders of the United States means challenging the immigrant narrative that glosses over Indigenous histories (Frost 2005). Living in peace with our differences having been assimilated (e.g., languages) is a part of this “successful” immigrant narrative. Native languages represent a deep difference, not one that can be addressed in a one-day theme (e.g., Native American Day). We are not one nation because we all gave up or were forced to give up our identities; we are actually still many nations within one nation because of these unique and epistemic differences, which continue to exist. Speaking and using our multiplicities of languages represents a difference that cannot be broken down into simple understandings or stereotypes. It represents many generations of sustainable evolution in one place, a place that is threatened by the unsustainable practices and languages of the colonial hegemony. Although schooling in an Indigenous language is not a perfect solution (the schooling is largely a Western institution), it has become a starting place for many communities for restoration of language, and the ideologies, practices and life ways that come with these languages.

Key Findings While much of the published work on revitalization tends to be descriptive in nature, research that asks deeper or more specific questions or research that asks in systematic ways, across sites, is just beginning. Immersion schools, emerging as the model and hope for revitalization in some contexts (Hawai‘i, Mohawk, Navajo, Cherokee, Māori, Blackfeet, Yupik Nations), have started to 162

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conduct research to look at positive effects on identity, resilience, and overall benefits to community. Some work in language policy and ideology is also starting to define the field. These two areas are discussed in this section as “key findings.” However, it should be well noted that these are areas evolving as research as part of a practical ongoing movement for sovereignty by communities generally excluded from academic research, not as research solely informed by an academic or publications perspective. In this sense, Indigenous research in the United States has a different agenda than, for example, second language learning in the schools or immersion education. At the 2012 immersion research conference, summary findings from the Indigenous research panel suggested that re-venacularization of Indigenous languages is the goal (Wilson 2012). This means the day-to-day oral, informal use of Indigenous languages throughout informal domains is necessary, but not the current focus of, Indigenous immersion schools. While immersion education as a “school” is not designed exclusively to achieve this goal, the immersion schools are currently seen as the most effective means to creating speakers and indirectly priming communities for this larger goal. Indigenous immersion programs are situated within the larger goal of language revitalization in communities and Indigenous nations (Hermes 2012; McCarty 2003; Smith 1999; Timutimu, Ormsby-Teki, and Ellis 2009; Wilson and Kamanā 2001); thus, they are inherently embedded in a nexus of power, politics, and cultural survival. Revitalization is deeply identity-driven. Some suggest post-colonial political dynamics, internalized oppression, and identity politics present the biggest obstacles and emotional challenges to successful immersion programs (Bishop, Berryman, and Richardson 2002; Hermes 2007; Johnston 2002; May, 2013; Wilson and Kamanā 2011). The goal of revitalization is intergenerational transmission (Fishman 1996; Hinton 2011), thereby deeply influencing program design (Wilson 2012). The broader goal can also be thought of as community building (Fishman 1996).

Immersion Program Models There is no evidence to suggest one immersion model is superior to another (Aguilera and LeCompte 2007). Rough Rock (Navajo) started as a bilingual program and now consists of three immersion schools (McCarty 2008). Master-apprentice programs are in practice for smaller language communities or informal learning environments (Hinton 2011; McCarty 2008). Information below refers to recent (within the past 10 years) start-ups, based on Hawaiian/Māori pre-school and school models. This includes local immersion schools in Minnesota and Wisconsin (Hickey 2011) but many United States based Indigenous immersion programs have been modeled on the Hawaiian and Māori examples. There are several common characteristics across Indigenous immersion schools. First, programs start in early childhood and are often total one-way immersion. Second, these one-way immersion programs grow from the bottom up, adding a grade or two at a time, as resources allow. Third, programs are often started by families who are not educators or first speakers of the language. Fourth, English is introduced in later grades (3–5) with wide variation depending on the policies that demand testing in English only. Many immersion schools, for example, are subject to No Child Left Behind (NCLB) policies, so early standardized testing in English is mandatory. Schools are not in a position to continue if they are defunded or raise red flags in terms of achievement, so often they must comply with this testing.

Immersion Research Specific findings from Indigenous immersion research contexts show that language exerts a strong effect on identity formation, regardless of the ethnic or racial identity (Timutimu, Ormsby-Teki, and Ellis 2009; Wilson and Kamanā 2011). For example, in Hawai‘i it was found that children in 163

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immersion schools had very strong “Hawaiian” identities regardless of government definitions of Hawaiian identity (Wilson and Kamanā 2011). Incorporating the unique goal of revitalization into Indigenous immersion programs may complicate assessment practices. Not only do researchers wish to measure academic achievement, but they also seek a clear picture of how students’ (and their communities’) cultural identities evolve through language learning. Some studies have reported that Indigenous immersion students declare feelings of pride in their Native identities (Harrison and Papa 2005) and describe a “ripple effect” of student learning that inspires community enthusiasm (Luning and Yamauchi 2010; McCarty 2003). For example, the Waadokodaading Ojibwe Immersion school in Wisconsin and the Niiganii School in Minnesota have been rallying points for second language learners. In response, higher degree programs, especially for this kind of specialized training, have started in various universities in both Wisconsin and Minnesota (Masters and doctorate degree programs with a language revitalization focus and Ojibwe immersion teacher education, for example).

Research Approaches to Revitalization Perhaps the common thread in research on Indigenous language revitalization is that the research itself is often dictated by the practical problem of revitalizing the language. Some research surveys the community and the state of language. Using Fishman’s (1991) scale, domains where language is still being used can be identified. Once languages are confined to a few domains and no longer being transmitted intergenerationally in the homes, we can say they are, or will soon be, endangered. Beyond knowing what state a language is in, strategic decisions can be made about documenting and revitalizing. “Who is making these decisions?” (McCarty 2003). Community members, speakers of the language, linguists, teachers, or a combination of these individuals are. This is where revitalization work is markedly different than other research; it involves not only community consent, but also the motivation, organization, and will to take steps toward revitalization. Building relationships between these parties—who in the past have had different agendas—is just one more facet of the community building work involved in revitalization. Kinds of research methods coming out of Indigenous communities draw on this community base and community desires. Drawing on community building and cultural revitalization, participatory methods (Bang et al. 2013; Smith 1999; Tuck 2008) have long been the backbone of deeper changes in American Indian education. How can these methods, and language work done in these ways, now inform the language revitalization movement? Through textual analysis, critical theory, and retrospective analysis of participatory design process, Hermes, Bang, and Marin (2012) pull lessons about Indigenous language learning as community building from a case study of an instructional materials project. This model of research speaks back to ideas of second language learning in context, documentary linguistics, and ideas circulating within language endangerment.

New Debates The key problem and challenge for this academic and grassroots movement is still the question of how to bring a language back into widespread use after it is has become endangered, or not been in use at all. As identified above, this problem quickly becomes not just about isolated language teaching and learning, but re-learning and re-instituting a language that does not offer the economic power of English. Situated in Indigenous nations that are within the “belly of the beast,” Indigenous language revitalization is a highly charged political movement that essentially proposes to change language use as a part of a broader political movement to re-assert the sovereignty 164

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of Indigenous nations. Many Indigenous people and nations collectively assert that these political rights are deeply reiterated in the spiritual nature of the languages and cultures that define the identity of the peoples. Just as languages are connected to many spheres—culture, politics, identity, power—the revitalization challenge is multifaceted. Current debates reflect this complexity, as the problem of restoring languages to communities evolves. In this section we will name some areas that need to be better understood. First, pedagogy. How do we actually learn and use language in these specific contexts, and how can this be promoted? That is, can language acquisition be shaped as informal education work to restore endangered language? Does language learning from the formal (school) transfer back to the community? Second, what is the relationship between documentation and revitalization efforts? This touches on the idea that academic knowledge has a history of exploiting Indigenous knowledge, and yet now these communities are beginning to have overlapping membership, stronger allies, and more reasons to collaborate. Last, what are the ideas of change, and the theories of culture that could work to revitalize Indigenous languages? How do current popular stereotypes of Native American people as “dying out” inhibit the general understanding of the value of Indigenous languages?

1) Radical Pedagogy: Acquiring Language Outside of Schools While educational linguists have been working to shift the paradigm in teaching languages in schools to be about communication in the target language, the Indigenous language movement pushes this quest with even more urgency. That is, the goal of language learning in Indigenous communities is fueled by a political, spiritual, and identity quest—and while this does not necessarily affect the process of learning to speak a language, these goals and beliefs do orient the learning context (learner, teacher, environment) much differently from that of someone attempting to learn a world language in a classroom. Given the state of many of these languages within the United States, the goal of teaching and learning is all about communication (usually speaking) in the Indigenous language. Finding the most efficient means of doing this—often with limited written resources, and often without a speech community to practice in—is the task at hand. The challenges of learning and teaching an Indigenous, endangered language force learners to become self-directed, seeking out situations in which to use or check their speaking skills, finding ways to create time to be with Elders who may be speakers or may only remember some of their language, and above all to be persistent in the face of the idea that they are only the first to re-create this community, not the last ones who know how to speak in Mohawk or Dakota. Hinton (2009) gives useful learning and teaching advice for adults working with a speaker in the master-apprentice methods, much like a one-on-one immersion. Students need to be the teacher and the learner.

2) Revitalization and Documentation Theory: Working Between Different Discourses Recent publications (Penfield and Tucker 2011; Hermes, Nichols, Roach, Sullivan, and Cowell 2011) point to the benefits for individuals engaged in documentation work to also collaborate with the communities they are working with explicitly to promote revitalization. Likewise, for those focused on just the languages, it has become more and more important to collaborate closely with tribes and revitalization efforts. Some individuals who are both community members and academics embody both. For example, in my own work, I (Mary Hermes) work with an immersion school on a reservation; I have documented and created conversation archives; I have developed 165

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training, language learning methods, and curriculum for Ojibwe as a subject within schools; and last, I continue to work to become a more fluent speaker myself. The efforts between these different worlds are seamless, as they are all pieces of revitalization. There may be strategic decisions to just try to document as much as possible before the last speakers of a language or dialect pass away, but usually these efforts are in consort with those who are trying to learn the language. It may seem easier for an outsider (academic) to side-step Indigenous community politics or to focus on individuals, not taking the time to build relationships with the broader community. However, this effort is needed in order to understand the context of their language need; it may not be a dictionary. There are numerous examples of collaboration that contradict the colonial model of extracting information, and ethical reasons for doing so (Dance, Gutierrez, and Hermes 2010).

3) Language Policy, Ideology, and Theory Language policy, whether formal or informal, we argue, exists within all speech communities (and within each domain inside that community), consisting of three distinct but interrelated components: the regular language practices of the community . . . the language beliefs of ideology of the community . . . and any language management activities, namely attempts by any individual or institution with or claiming authority to modify the language practices and language beliefs of other members of the community. (Spolsky 2008) The beliefs of U.S.-based Indigenous communities are not isolated from the beliefs, practices and policies of the larger colonizing nation (the United States) in which we now reside. In this sense, we are returning to the ideologies surrounding Indigenous revitalization as an important part of language policy. The practices, beliefs, and management of Indigenous revitalization that Spolsky outlines above as constituting “policy” are the practices and ideologies of both Indigenous citizens and U.S. citizens more generally. As described earlier, English is positioned as the unifying national language and Indigenous languages as the “other” in the American identity (Frost 2005). The meta-narrative of “language death” which circulates widely to describe Indigenous revitalization intersects with stereotypical notions of the “dying Indian.” Reinscribing what contemporary thriving Americans are not, the idea of our Indigenous languages as dying limits our own internal authoritarian voices and notions of language renewal. Work in American Indian studies (Meek 2011; Leonard 2011) and cultural studies and curriculum (Hermes 2012) has begun to critique this narrative, but so far, it does not theorize the idea of change and movement-building in this context. More theoretical and practical work needs to be done to take apart the prevalent norm of Native Americans as “Other”—as part of something so less-than, exotic, and nearly gone that no one values these languages or sees that these are a part of a shared heritage within the same geographical boundaries. As long as the Blinding Whiteness prevails, U.S. public school children will be denied the opportunity to know this place in ways beyond the settler narrative.

Implications for Education The goals and politics surrounding Indigenous revitalization set it apart from other kinds of immersion or dual language programs. Indigenous immersion educators often have limited resources for developing curricula and materials; sometimes when starting a literate tradition, they must make pivotal decisions as to how closely the programming will reflect the nature of the Native community (Reyhner 2010). Rather than interpreting a standard Western curriculum, 166

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many schools opt for “indigenized” systems (Deloria and Wildcat 2001) that involve a clear understanding and incorporation of Native values within the curriculum. The clear goal gets murky, however, as we are “nations within nations,” and Indigenous school standards are accountable to state and national standards as well. The Indigenous language immersion movement raises again the possibility and need for a new relationship to education and learning for Indigenous communities. The implications for education emergent from Indigenous language immersion and revitalization efforts range from the practical and immediate needs for materials production and adequate teacher preparation to issues of language, knowledge production, and diversity of human thought, more broadly. In this chapter we have argued that language revitalization is inextricably linked to Indigenous cultures and communities. Further, normative notions of education (i.e., schools) have been the dominant sites in which the language eradication efforts have been deployed. The language revitalization movement has recognized the ways in which language and community health, wellness and culture, are linked and is just beginning to shape understandings of how language and Indigenous knowledge at large are intertwined—thus, speaking our languages is central to the continuation of Indigenous knowledge making. Restoration of Indigenous knowledge making requires the critical analysis and disruption of cultural norms in the U.S. settler colonial society—norms that define things like standards in school, traditional documentation practices, ideas about how and where learning happens, and ideas of second language learning. Let’s consider, for example, Indigenous language immersion, which is embraced as a fourth type of immersion schooling within the immersion movement in education. There are critical differences between second language learning and Indigenous immersion schools that have been defined. Hinton (2011) defines five major differences between Indigenous immersion and other kinds of language immersion. First, the primary goal for foreign language immersion is to gain cross-cultural competence and language of a different culture; for Indigenous peoples, the goal is nothing short of sovereignty and restoration of national languages. Second, learners of foreign languages often are learning a second language to communicate with others; however, for Native Americans, recovering and building a sense of identity and community is the goal. Third, whereas there is a hope that Indigenous students learning language will re-vernacularize and pass the language on in their own homes (when they are able), the expectation of foreign language students is often centered on employment or enrichment. Last, a learner of a majority language has that country to visit to immerse herself; for endangered Indigenous languages, not only is there usually no place to be immersed, but often, there is a lack of materials and little availability for learning opportunities (Hinton 2011). U.S. educational policy and the standardization movement in public schools have direct impacts on both the possibility for new materials production and the availability of learning opportunities. Unfortunately, the need for curricular materials that are reflective of Indigenous knowledges runs counter to standards-based or common core policies because they are based in Western-European traditions. This relationship perpetuates the dynamics of manifest destiny by presuming these forms of knowledge are more important for our youth to learn. The need to balance the urgency and despair that loss narratives conjure in our communities with the depth of the implications for the endeavors of language immersion cannot be underestimated. However, those communities that work outside or around these restrictions have the opportunity to do nothing less than reimagine whole new ways of raising our children into our communities and develop new insights that may have broad applications in the field of education. As teaching, communication, and knowledge are intertwined, the more deeply we understand the relationships between our languages and knowledge production, the more dramatically what it means to teach will shift. 167

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For example, the teaching of languages for academic purposes, but not for oral proficiency, has long been a problem in second language teaching and learning. This problem is amplified in Indigenous immersion, as the goal is clearly to achieve much broader use of language than just the academic or written domain (Wilson and Kamanā 2011). Further, Indigenous languages, which tend to have oral histories and methods of teaching, are confronted with the exclusionary literacy practices that play a discursive role in all public school teaching. Are Indigenous languages without a written system somehow less valid than Western languages that are written? Linguistic anthropologists have long recognized this Eurocentric standard (see Duranti 2009; Ahearn 2011), and yet in our educational practices written literacy is equated with intelligence. These dynamics are firmly entrenched in historically shaped narratives of worth and domination in settler colonialism. As the broad recognition of and disruption of normative educational practices struggles to bring into being a stance in which the intellectual and discursive recourses of all children enhance and deepen learning, new forms of teaching and learning and the tools to engage in such an endeavor are being created. The same is true in language immersion. The deep shifts and creative forms of engagement with Indigenous languages begin to disrupt settler colonial cycles and create and recreate truly self-determined Indigenous pedagogies. Educational linguistics spotlights the intersection between power and language as these forces course through education. As the mainstream academic discourse begins to recognize the Indigenous language revitalization movement, we begin to re-imagine the intellectual and cultural resources embedded in our shared Indigenous languages, issuing a second clarion call. This call is not to save Indigenous languages, but rather to engage Indigenous languages. The Indigenous languages of North America, and the United States more specifically, represent a diversity of human life unlike any other place in the world. Yet, they are seen to have little intellectual, cultural, moral, and especially economic value in a country dominated by English and general prejudice against the use of non-English languages. The widespread monolingual beliefs and practices of our current educational system are embedded with a colonial mentality that has completely normalized the language of the dominant colonial settler group. This “blinding Whiteness” (Morrison 1992) obscures the inherent value of Indigenous languages to all of us. The unique American national identity that could be forged by this recognition represents a sustainable identity, not one that is based on exclusion of, or the eradication of, the first people.

Further Reading Classics Fishman, J. A. 1991. Reversing language shift: Theoretical and empirical foundations of assistance to threatened languages (Vol. 76). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters Limited. Hinton, L., and Hale, K. L. 2001. The Green book of language revitalization in practice. London: Emerald Group Publishing. Hinton, L., Vera, M., and Steele, N. 2002. How to keep your language alive: A commonsense approach to one-on-one language learning. Berkeley, CA: Heyday. Krauss, M. 1998. The condition of Native North American languages: The need for realistic assessment and action. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 132, 9–21.

Recent Articles and Books McCarty, T. L. 2013. Language planning and policy in Native America: History, theory, praxis. London: Multilingual Matters. Skutnabb-Kangas, T. (2008). Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human rights? Delhi: Orient Blackswan. 168

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Wilson, W. H., and Kamanā, K. 2011. Insights from Indigenous immersion in Hawai‘i. In D. J. Tedick, D. Christian, and T.W. Fortune (Eds.), Immersion education: Practices, policies, possibilities (pp. 36–57). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters.

References Aguilera, D., and LeCompte, M. D. 2007. Resiliency in Native Languages: The tale of three Indigenous communities’ experiences with language immersion. Journal of American Indian Education, 46(3), 11–36. Ahearn, L. 2011. Living language: An introduction to linguistic anthropology. Wiley-Blackwell. Bang, M., Marin, A., Faber, L., Suzokovich III, E. S. 2013. Repatriating indigenous technologies in an urban Indian community. Urban Education, 48(5) 705–733. Bishop R., Berryman, M., and Richardson, C. 2002. Te Toi Huarewa: Effective teaching and learning in total immersion Māori. Canadian Journal of Native Education, 26(1), 44–61. Dance, J., Gutierrez, R., and Hermes, M. 2010. More like jazz than classical: Reciprocal interactions among educational researchers and respondents. Harvard Educational Review 80(3), 327–351. Deloria, Jr., V., and Wildcat, D. R. 2001. Power and place: Indian education in America. Golden, CO: Fulcrum Resources. Duranti, A. (Ed.) 2009. Linguistic anthropology: A reader (Vol. 1). Wiley-Blackwell. Fishman, J. 1990. What is Reversing Language Shift (RLS) and how can it succeed? Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 11(1)(2), 5–36. Fishman, J. 1996. What do you lose when you lose your language? In G. Cantoni (Ed.) Stabilizing Indigenous Languages (pp. 71–81). Flagstaff: Northern Arizona University. Frost, L. 2005. Never one nation: Freaks, savages, and whiteness in US popular culture, 1850–1877. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Harrison, B., and Papa, R. 2005. The development of an Indigenous knowledge program in a New Zealand Māori-language immersion school. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 36(1), 52–72. Hermes, M. 2007. Moving toward the language: Reflections on teaching in an Indigenous immersion school. Journal of American Indian Education, 46(3), 54–71. Hermes, M. 2012. Indigenous language revitalization and documentation in the United States: Collaboration despite colonialism. Language and Linguistics Compass, 6(3), 131–142. Hermes, M., Bang, M., and Marin, A. 2012. Designing indigenous language revitalization. Harvard Educational Review, 82(3), 381–402. Hermes, M., Nichols, J., Roach, K., Sullivan, M., and Cowell, A. 2011. Re-imagining Ojibwe domains: Documentation as revitalization. Retrieved from http://scholarspace.manoa.hawaii.edu/handle/10125/5254 Hickey, M. 2011. Grotto Foundation Native Language Revitalization Initiative: Program Evaluation 2001–2008. St. Paul, MN: Grotto Foundation. Hinton, L. 2009, March. Language revitalization at home. Plenary talk presented at the First International Conference on Language Documentation and Conservation, Manoa, HI. Hinton, L. 2011. Language revitalization and language pedagogy: New teaching and learning strategies. Language and Education, 25(4), 307–318. Johnston, B. 2002. The rise and fall of a Dakota immersion pre-school. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 23(3), 195–213. Krauss, M. 1998. The condition of Native North American languages: The need for realistic assessment and action. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 132, 9–21. Leonard, W. 2011 Challenging “extinction” through modern Miami language practices. American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 35(2), 135–160. Luning, R. J., and Yamauchi, L. A. 2010. The influences of Indigenous heritage language education on students and families in a Hawaiian language immersion program. Heritage Language Journal, 7(2), 46–75. Maffi, L. 2005. Linguistic, cultural, and biological diversity. Annual Review of Anthropology, 34, 599–617. May, S. 2013. Indigenous immersion education: International developments. Journal of Immersion and Content-Based Language Education, 1(1), 34–69. McAlpine, L., Eriks-Brophy, A., and Crago, M. 1996. Teaching beliefs in Mohawk classrooms: Issues of language and culture. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 27(3), 390–413. McCarty, T. L. 2002. A place to be Navajo: Rough Rock and the struggle for self-determination in Indigenous schooling. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. 169

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McCarty, T. L. 2003. Revitalizing Indigenous languages in homogenising times. Comparative Education, 39(2), 147–163. McCarty, T. L. 2008. Bilingual education by and for American Indians, Alaska Natives, and Native Hawaiians. In J. Cummins and N. Hornberger (Eds.), Bilingual education. The Encyclopedia of Language and Education (2nd ed., Vol. 5, pp. 239–251). New York: Springer. McWhorter, J. 2009. The cosmopolitan tongue. World Affairs, 172(2), 61–68. Meek, B. A. 2011. Failing American Indian languages. American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 35(2), 43–60. Morrison, T. 1992. Playing in the dark: Whiteness and the literary imagination. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. The National Academey of Science. 2005. Facilitating interdisciplinary research. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. Penfield, S. D., and Tucker, B. V. 2011. From documenting to revitalizing an endangered language: Where do applied linguists fit? Language and Education, 25(4), 291–305. Peter, L. 2007. Our beloved Cherokee: Preschool language immersion. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 38(4), 323–342. Rhoten, D., and Parker, A. 2004. Risks and rewards of an interdisciplinary research path. Science, 306, 2046. Reyhner, J. A. 1995. Maintaining and renewing Native languages. Bilingual Research Journal, 19(2), 279–304. Reyhner, J. A. 2010. Indigenous language immersion schools for strong Indigenous identities. Heritage Language Journal, 7(2), 137–151. Reyhner, J. and Lockard, L. 2009. Indigenous language revitalization: Encouragement, guidance and lessons learned. Flagstaff: Northern Arizona University. Skutnabb-Kangas, T. 2008. Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human rights? Delhi: Orient Blackswan. Smith, L. 1999. Decolonizing methodologies: Research and Indigenous people. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Spolsky, B. 2008. Prospects for the survival of the Navajo language: A reconsideration. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 33(2), 139–162. Timutimu, N., Ormsby-Teki, T., and Ellis, R. 2009. Reo o Kainga (language of the home): A Ngai Te Rangi Language regeneration project. In J. Reyhner and L. Lockard (Eds.), Indigenous language revitalization, (pp. 109–120). Flagstaff: Northern Arizona University. Tuck, E., 2008. Suspending damage: An open letter to communities. Harvard Educational Review, 79(3), 409–428. UN General Assembly. 2007, October 2. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Resolution adopted by the General Assembly (A/RES/61/295). Retrieved from www.unhcr.org/refworld/docid/ 471355a82.html Veracini, L. 2011. On settlerness. Borderlands, 10(1), 1–17. Weinberg, A., Sylven, L. K., Wilson, W. H., and Xiong, W. 2012. Immersion at the tertiary levels: Models, challenges and prospects. Symposium presented at the Immersion 2012 conference. Minneapolis, MN. Wertheim, M. 2009. The beautiful math of coral. Retrieved from www.ted.com/talks/margaret_wertheim_ crochets_the_coral_reef.html Wilson, W. H., and Kamanā, K. 2001. Mai loko mai o ka ‘i‘ini: ‘Proceeding from a dream.’ The ‘Aha Punana Leo connection in Hawaiian language revitalization. In L. Hinton and K. Hale (Eds.), The Green book of language revitalization in practice (pp. 147–178). Cambridge, MA: Academic Press. Wilson, W. H., and Kamanā, K. 2011. Insights from Indigenous immersion in Hawai‘i. In D. J. Tedick, D. Christian, and T. W. Fortune (Eds.), Immersion education: Practices, policies, possibilities (pp. 36–57). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Wolfe, P. 2006. Settler colonialism and the elimination of the native. Journal of Genocide Research, 8, 387–409.

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13 Visual Literacy and Foreign Language Learning Carola Hecke

This chapter deals with visual literacy in foreign language classrooms. Because an all-encompassing definition of visual literacy does not yet exist, this essay first gives a working definition of the concept of visual literacy and explains its importance for foreign language learning. Next, it gives a historical account of the use of images in foreign language teaching from the 17th century to the present and explains the didactic functions of images. Arguing for a pedagogy for visual literacy training in foreign language classes, this chapter finally discusses ways to improve students’ visual literacy by also addressing obstacles to the implementation of visual literacy in foreign language courses.

A Definition of Visual Literacy With the rise of visual media such as television in the second half of the 20th century, scientific interest in human seeing processes grew and led to the first conference on visual literacy in the United States in the late 1960s (cf. Avgerinou and Ericson 1997, 287). In its aftermath, John Debes (1969) attempted an academic definition, stating that visual literacy was a set of vision-related competences that allowed the human being to understand visual communication: “Through the appreciative use of these competencies, he is able to comprehend and enjoy the masterworks of visual communication” (27). However, Debes and his colleagues did not coin the term visual literacy, as it had already existed in the 19th century. James Elkins’s (2008) research shows that it appeared in newspapers and magazines and was merely used to describe a person’s ability to identify famous artwork, like a painting by Raphael (1). Today, this idea of visual literacy seems rather oversimplified, as visuality does not only refer to art but any artistic and inartistic visual communication, and literacy in its basic meaning comprises receptive and productive competences. This conceptual shift is a natural consequence of the fact that visual literacy is related to visual communication and routines of communication change as cultural habits change. With shifts in the modes of existence, visuality and the competences related to it change, too; cultures and visuality “are essentially constructed, and hence are mobile and situational in nature” (Dallow 2008, 96). Not only due to its mobility, but also because of the complexity of visual communication, one all-encompassing definition of visual literacy does not exist. Visuality relates to a vast number of 171

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heterogeneous visual phenomena, some of which include verbal elements, so that skills that might be necessary for one type of visual communication are not essential for another. Also, as a culture-specific competence, it is influenced by factors such as gender, ethnicity, and class, and therefore cannot be seen as an independent set of skills (Dallow 2008, 96). For these reasons, the following attempt of a working definition must be seen as a preliminary record of interrelated competences. Essentially, visual literacy is the ability to understand visual communication (cf. Dallow 2008, 92). This includes the ability to analyze a visual sign or picture and its context, becoming aware of the picture’s “logic, emotion and attitudes” (Barry 1997, 6; cf. Curtiss 1987, 3; Debes 1969, 27; Doelker 2002, 146ff.). Context is a relevant matter, as visual communication occurs in a social world and is social practice, as Gunther Kress and Theo van Leeuwen (2006 [1996]) explain: Seeing is an interactive, social process between at least two instances, a person and another or an object, and the interpretation of any sign is based on cultural values (6ff). Seeing is a cultural routine, and at the same time it also affects culture. Kress and van Leeuwen argue that images do not necessarily represent reality but can be ideologically marked (47). In such a case, as we interpret a sign, the meaning perceived can influence our (cultural) habits. Thus, we can say that visual practice is a cultural practice that shapes culture(s) and the world (cf. Billmayer 2008, 77). Another core aspect that has already been mentioned is the productive or interactive side of visual literacy: Visually literate people cannot only receive and comprehend visual communication, but they can also react and express themselves in terms of images. According to scholars, a visually literate person can talk about images: “The teaching implications of visual literacy include the need to . . . enhance verbal and written literacy skills and vocabulary to be able to talk and write about images” (Bamford 2003, 5). More importantly, the person can create visual signs him- or herself, following certain conventions of depiction (Pettersson and Abb 1988, 302). These conventions are culture-specific (cf. Bamford 2003, 4; Stokes 2002, 12–13). Gunther Kress and Theo van Leeuwen (2006 [1996]) affirm that pictures do not have a universal grammar. They state that “[v]isual language is not—despite assumptions to the contrary—transparent and universally understood; it is culturally specific” (4). Some symbols, however, are used similarly across cultures (cf. Stokes 2002, 12–13): For instance, in many ancient cultures a voluptuous female body was a symbol of fertility; weapons stood and stand for war; nowadays, the heart is understood across cultures as a symbol of love. In addition to all these aspects, visual literacy encompasses the awareness and ability to question and evaluate visual messages (cf. Bamford 2003, 1; Doelker 2002 [1997], 151). Ann Marie Barry (1997) relates this ability to a critical attitude regarding visual interaction, “a quality of mind developed to the point of critical perceptual awareness in visual communication” (6). David Considine (1995) subsumes that visual literacy “moves from merely recognizing and comprehending information to the higher-order critical thinking skills implicit in questioning, analyzing and evaluating that information” (without page). In accordance with this, the aforementioned recognition of a famous painting by Raphael cannot be considered proof of visual literacy at all anymore. The question arises how visual literacy develops. Despite common assumptions, mere contact with visual media does not automatically make a person (more) visually literate. Human beings are born with the genetic disposition to sight but not to cultural vision, as Peter Schneck (2005) reminds us: [H]uman vision is not simply a given biological disposition determined solely by genetics and evolution. On the contrary, vision as a meaningful activity in the context of cultural and

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social interaction must be regarded as a product of learning and habit. Vision is a cultural construction. (3) So, unlike vision, visual literacy is a learned competence. Another aspect related to learning is knowledge. Visual literacy is a skill based on declarative or procedural knowledge. For example, for the success of visual communication, people have to know methods of interpretation (cf. Wileman 1993, 114), the meaning of culture-specific conventions of visual communication such as gestures (cf. Schwan 2005, 130); structure and effects (cf. Avgerinou and Ericson 1997, 286); and/or production techniques of visual signs, such as drawing, using a computer program, or filming (cf. Bering 2002, 91–92; Ennemoser and Kuhl 2008, 18). In addition, visually literate people must be able to apply their knowledge in order to perform certain activities, such as talking about art in a foreign language. In other words, knowledge and successful performance are interrelated. One might argue that visual literacy could be named differently, for example visual competence, especially since the term visual literacy itself poses a contradiction: visual refers to seeing and literacy originally to reading and writing (cf. Elkins 2008, 1). Yet Mitchell (2008) reminds us that visual competence could be understood rather as a basic skill, “the condition for the more advanced and specialized skills” (14). Instead he suggests literary visualcy (Mitchell 2008). Other alternative terms discussed are visual practices, visual skills, visual languages (Elkins 2008, 1–2) and image competence (Simons 2008, 87–89). Recognizing the problematic nature of the term in this essay, I will use the term visual literacy, following all the authors quoted above.

Visual Literacy and Educational Linguistics Educational Linguistics is the interface between Linguistics and Education. Of great interest for this field is the impact of visual literacy on foreign language learning and teaching. In the following, I will outline the discussion on visual literacy in this field, focusing on German Teaching Methodology, teaching English and teaching English as a Foreign Language, as this is the field I come from. Modern foreign language teaching methodologists argue for a visual literacy training of foreign language students because, firstly, intercultural communication involves visual communication and visual communication often is intercultural (Weidenmann 1989, 144–145). Gestures, for instance, accompany and connote sentences spoken or heard in another language and give them a deeper or different meaning. If successful intercultural communication is the main objective of foreign language learning, visual communication has to be trained in foreign language classes, too. Secondly, scholars state that visual literacy is a precondition of foreign language performance if a class is image-based because language production depends on the students’ ability to understand the pictures (Schwerdtfeger 1989, 24). Image-based means that visual tools are used in language instruction. These may include posters, films, online videos, art, or photos that are shown in textbooks. Whenever students are to talk about images—for example, about their impressions of a film—they must at least understand the stylistic means and know basic, medium-specific terminology to verbalize their thoughts clearly (cf. Morgan 2012). Without these tools, they cannot express themselves, their lack of knowledge rendering them involuntarily speechless. In that case, the teacher will never know whether the student refused to put thought into the task, was unable to string any words together at all, or simply lacked a few necessary terms to voice a very complex thought. In addition, if a student lacks familiarity with visual conventions,

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he or she is likely to misunderstand a picture and his or her verbal comment will be less beneficial to class discussion. Thus, visual literacy influences language performance. Pictures play an important role in foreign language teaching. They have been a tool in foreign language teaching for a very long time—verifiably since 1658, when Johann Amos Comenius published his illustrated Latin textbook Orbis sensualium pictus, the first illustrated, printed book for foreign language teaching in Europe. Agreeing with Comenius’ ideas—as published in his theoretical writing—in the following centuries, more scholars advocated the use of images in foreign language teaching. In those days, the pictures were to help students understand the meanings of new words and learn about foreign cultures (cf. Hecke 2012b, 34ff.). While the use of pictures had remained optional in the first half of the 20th century, with the introduction of the audio-visual method in the 1950, images became a core element of language teaching. The images showed the context of exemplary dialogues and were essential for the listening and speaking phases of this method. Thus, language performance was strongly influenced by picture comprehension, and, consequently, around this time a broader discussion on students’ visual abilities began. Edgar Dale (1969) argued for a visual training: “Students should be taught how to use a photograph [. . .].” Dale demanded from his teacher-readers to “[h]elp the student learn to ‘read’ pictures” (445). Like Dale, the German Hanno Schilder (1977) claimed that a “picture lesson” should always include a training of “picture reading,” which he explained as the training of the eye and the instruction of viewing techniques (259): “Die Bearbeitung einer ‘Picture Lesson’ im Unterricht muß verbunden werden mit einem ‘Picture Reading’, worunter eine Schulung des Auges zu verstehen ist, bzw. eine Technik des Betrachtens von Bildern zur Erfassung der wesentlichen und sprachlich relevanten Einzelheiten” (Work in a ‘picture lesson’ has to be linked to a ‘picture reading,’ which means a training of the eye or a method of viewing pictures to capture all the important details that are also relevant for language performance). A few years later, Jack Lonergan (1984) declared “active viewing” a goal of foreign language classes on film (11). He exemplified that viewing tasks should instruct and encourage active watching (cf. Lonergan 1984, 16). The tasks he mentioned were aimed at directing the students’ attention to the important aspects of the images (Lonergan 1984, 18–19). In 1989, Inge-Christine Schwerdtfeger went into more detail. She explained in her book on teaching film that student performance in class depended fundamentally on the students’ comprehension of the visual material, if used (24). She pointed out that seeing skills influenced the students’ language performance strongly and teachers inevitably took them into account evaluating student language performance. Therefore, viewing skills had to be trained: “Ausgehend von den in diesem Kapitel bisher dargestellten Forschungsergebnissen bzw. -zusammenhängen muß Seh-Verstehen als eine Fertigkeit gefordert werden, aus der sich Sprachproduktion für den Fremdsprachenunterricht ableitet” (Based on the research results and their interrelation presented in this chapter, visual comprehension has to be required as a skill from which language production results in the foreign language class) (Schwerdtfeger 1989, 24). Schwerdtfeger argues that visual literacy has to be there, prior to language production; to her, the skill of visual comprehension is a prerequisite to language production. Schwerdtfeger did not speak explicitly of visual literacy yet, and she also ignored its productive side. Bernd Weidenmann (1989)—a visual psychologist—introduced the whole concept to German Foreign Language Teaching Methodology in the same year. He published an essay on teaching German as a second language in which he argued that visual literacy had to be fostered as an important intercultural communicative competence because communication was not only verbal, but instead either had a visual component or was purely visual: Visual literacy als pädagogisches Programm will Kompetenz vermitteln zur Interpretation wie zur Produktion von Bildern. Damit wird die Parallele zum Sprachunterricht evident: wie 174

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das sprachliche soll auch das bildliche Symbolsystem in kommunikativen Situationen mitteilend und verstehend kompetent genutzt werden können. Wenn Sprachunterricht Kommunikationskompetenz vermittelt, darf dann Kompetenz in visueller Kommunikation ausgeblendet werden? (1989, 144–145) Weidenmann called the concept of visual literacy by its name. Nowadays, English and American scholars (e.g., Frey and Fisher 2008; Moline 2011; Stafford 2011) write the majority of publications on teaching visual literacy in (foreign) language classes, setting an example to put more emphasis on visual literacy training in educational contexts. Steve Moline (2011) calls visual literacy “a life skill” (13) and points out that not only the reading of texts but also that of graphs, tables, and diagrams must be taught because reading illustrated material is part of our daily life (Moline 2011, 13); we live in an “image-centered visual culture” (Dallow 2008, 92). Notwithstanding the meaningful findings of German scholars in the 1980s, publications on training visual literacy by German authors are so scarce that one might get the impression that although visual literacy is undoubtedly an important objective of the foreign language class in practical teaching, it has not become a major goal of the German foreign language classroom. The negligence regarding the formation of visual literacy is surprising because research has proven the positive impact of pictures on foreign language performance. Yet the precondition for learning progression through pictures is that students can understand the visual tools that are meant to help them, as Russell N. Carney and Joel R. Levin (2002) remind us. They say that pictures intended to aid students do not do so if the students cannot process them: Realize that even professionally designed pictures and illustrations in textbooks are not necessarily perfect, nor easy for students to comprehend or remember (e.g., Benson 1995; see also Guri 1985). Thus, even though a particular textbook illustration may be designed to be cognitively useful, it may turn out to be functionally useless unless the learner perceives the illustrated content or process in the intended manner. (22) If students are able to comprehend these pictures, they can benefit greatly: For example, Karlheinz Hellwig (1990) has proven that pictures, in his case reproductions of artwork, encourage language production (357–359). Gabriele Blell and Karlheinz Hellwig (1996) explain that any artwork in the foreign language classroom leads to processes of individual perception and language procession that results in an increase in language skills and, finally, the production of new texts (8). Regarding the acquisition of new vocabulary, research has shown that new words are understood and learned more easily with the help of pictures as they narrow down the potential meanings and help memorize them (cf. Hecke 2012b, 175). Therefore, it is easier for foreign language students to understand and memorize texts in the foreign language if the texts contain representational illustrations of the events, organizational visualizations, or interpretational tables or graphs with important data, as Carney and Levin (2002) have shown in their research survey on the topic (10–17). My own experiences indicate that studying graphic novels allows students of foreign languages deal with complex matters on the story level in the foreign language at an early stage, instead of being limited, language-wise, to simple topics, which is frustrating to them. The images often help them grasp the meaning of the text as long as image and text deal with similar matters (cf. Hecke 2013, 123–126). In addition, pictures can be used for grammar practice: Talking about images can require a certain grammar phenomenon that students train while discussing the images. Joachim Balser (2008) suggests practicing the Spanish past tenses by talking about a 175

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picture story on Columbus’s life, using the pretérito imperfecto for the surrounding actions, habits, and appearance of objects or persons and the pretérito indefinido for the actions (31). Also, grammatical structures can be explained with simple drawings (arrows, circles around words or syllables, etc.) to illustrate morphological or syntactic phenomena (cf. Scherling and Schuckall 1992, 106–107). The positive effects of pictures should not be ignored, but used to help and integrate learners. For example, the international PISA survey (Programme for International Student Assessment) has shown that a high percentage of 15-year-old German students fail to solve reading problems for linear texts. Constanze Niederhaus (2011) claims that reading non-linear, picture-involving texts is an even more complex task than reading conventional text-only passages and reminds us that picture and text combinations are becoming more and more important in our daily life. Consequently, she argues that students need integrated verbal and visual literacy training (2). Referring to the results of German students, she goes on, saying that students of second-generation immigrant background would especially benefit from this training because PISA has shown that their performance is substantially worse than that of students whose parents were born in Germany (Niederhaus 2011, 2).

Research on Pictures: A More Inclusive Learning Environment In the course of the visual turn of the 1980s and 1990s, scholars of Educational Linguistics from all over the world began to conduct studies on the use of imagery for language learning, reading, and so on, or showed a stronger interest in image studies conducted by related departments. Research regarding the interrelation of verbal and visual language showed, for example, that the mental lexicon as the boundary of speech sets the boundaries to visual perception, too (Cycowicz et al. 1997, 171; Johnson and Pascual-Leone 1989, 1; Kowalski and Zimiles 2006). Scholars say that explicit verbal knowledge guides one’s perception so that one only sees what one knows (cf. Cycowicz et al. 1997, 171; Johnson and Pascual-Leone 1989, 1; Kowalski and Zimiles 2006; Mittlmeier 2006, 61). This is of interest for cultural learning in foreign language classes and strengthens the claim for a conjunct visual and verbal training. An even stronger argument for visual training poses the interdependency among visual literacy, the ability to talk and to ask question about a picture, and the didactic effects of pictures serving as teaching tools for foreign language instruction. Visual literacy is the basis of any positive effects of pictures in foreign language classes. As shown above, research proves that visual media can serve important didactic functions. They can be motivating, elicit speech, clarify the functions of grammar, train the use of grammar, explain the meaning of words or texts, structure information, support intercultural learning, and strengthen students’ recollection of new information (Hecke 2012b, 34ff.). In addition, studies prove that the use of comprehensible images can close the gap between students with very little and very much previous knowledge. If students see informative pictures before they are introduced to a new subject matter, the pictures can increase their pre-existent knowledge or the structures of thought that are needed to comprehend the new material. These pictures have “an equalizing effect, bridging the advantage due to prior knowledge” (Dean and Enemoh 1983, 26) and can therefore help create a more inclusive learning environment. Paula Kluth (2008) observes that learners who are labeled “with special needs” benefit especially from visual material. Based on her research, she says that deaf and hearing impaired students, as well as students with autism or with learning disabilities, understand and remember the content of a class better if the teacher uses graphic representations, “including handouts, movies, diagrams, charts, and graphic organizers, illustrated books, learning-related objects 176

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(e.g., globe, manipulatives), PowerPoint presentations or overhead transparencies, pictures, and checklists” (170). Kluth explains that for these students the visual is the most important channel of perception and that words are less influential, being only their “second language” (Kluth 2008, 170). The supportive effect of images is especially relevant for reading performance and depends on the students’ visual literacy: Reading Psychology has shown that images can improve text comprehension—given that readers understand the visualizations. Illustrations are more useful the more complex and difficult the text is, implying that low-achieving readers benefit most from pictures (cf. Carney and Levin 2002, 21; Filippatou and Pumfrey 1996, 272–273). Students do not only benefit from visual training in terms of their reading performance; visual literacy training can also help them become more critical media users—which is of great importance, given the increasing media presence in their lives. Research shows that there is a demand for this formation as visual perception of many teenagers is indeed “imprecise and fragmentary” (“unpräzis und lückenhaft” [Huber 2003, 100]): Many teenagers treat highly complex and ideologically marked photos as if they were random images, and do not question their impressions or messages (cf. Glas n.d., 10). Of course, this is problematic, and critical seeing should be encouraged. For this purpose, students must practice critical approaches repeatedly. Only regular repetition will accustom them to scrutinize pictures and their effects— and to do so even beyond the foreign language classroom (cf. Salomon 1987). A brief training will keep up their critical attitude only for some time, as Salomon’s study on teenagers’ TV habits focusing on their critical TV consumption revealed: A previously encouraged critical attitude lasted two weeks, and then the teenagers returned to watching TV without questioning anything (Salomon 1987, 88–89). One way of developing visual literacy is the production-oriented approach. This means that students produce visual media such as films, photos, and comics themselves in the foreign language class, experiencing visual means and their effects at first hand so that they become aware of ways to convey a certain impression and influence the audience. Lothar Mikos (2003) argues that visual connoissance transforms people into more critical viewers and heightens their appreciation for special effects without ruining the audience’s fun (50). In addition, picture production can support learners from marginalized student populations as well as students with disabilities: Their personal stories and needs can become topics in the films, comics, posters, and so on, raising public awareness for their situation and making people understand their needs. For instance, in the German town of Pirna (Saxony) a group of students with and without migration background made a short film on how immigrants can find their way through Pirna’s bureaucratic maze (CJD n.d.). Another example is a project at my school for which 55 international students from Bosnia, Czech Republic, Germany, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and Sweden recently met for a week and made a short film, doing everything themselves—from writing dialogues to arranging costumes and set design to filming and cutting. Most of the time they used English as a link language so that in addition to their visual literacy, they trained their foreign language skills. In addition, in the course of making the movie they learned about autism; the difficulty of a person suffering from Asperger’s syndrome to show and understand emotions was a topic in the film. The character’s reflections were not entirely fictional, as the character was based on a person who was present. At the end of the project, it seemed as if the participants saw this person with different, more understanding, eyes, such that I would say that the film project affected personal relations and attitudes. I believe that such a productive visual literacy training helps students understand and accept difference and can promote integration and inclusion if difference, marginalization, and the personal experiences of persons concerned are made topics in the visual media. 177

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The Implications of Visual Literacy’s Impact on Educational Linguistics Images can only fulfill meaningful didactic functions in foreign language courses if students comprehend them. If a student misunderstands a text illustration, it will not help her or him grasp the text’s gist; if he or she does not know the gestures belonging to a foreign culture, he or she will not be able to integrate these visual signs into his intercultural communication. To tap the full didactic potential of visual media, teachers have to train their students read visual signs in class. They must assist their students in developing visual literacy because the skills necessary for successful visual communication—especially across cultures—cannot be taken for granted. In order to aid students’ comprehension of visual art, as well as other visualizations, teachers can draw upon methods from Visual Studies or Visual Culture (German Bildwissenschaft). Visual Culture professor Monika Seidl (2007a) proposes several techniques, among them Erwin Panofsky’s traditional Iconology, Symptomatic Reading (derived from Louis Althusser and Pierre Macharey’s critical reading approach), and Gunther Kress and Theo van Leeuwen’s fairly new Grammar of Visual Design (Seidl 2007a, 8). Grammar of Visual Design leads the viewer to the investigation of the kind and quality of relations between the different participants of an image (i.e. the interaction of objects and figures, including the viewer) (Kress and van Leeuwen 2006 [1996]). Symptomatic Reading guides the viewer to investigate potential contradictions and falsification and fosters a critical attitude. Iconology leads the viewer to an interpretation and allows the use of pictures as historical documents. According to Seidl, when instructed to use these methods, students are not only able to comprehend and interpret images, but they also learn to question their impressions and the messages a picture sends out. My personal experience from teaching high school and college students is that Iconology in its basic structure is a helpful tool that facilitates students’ understanding of artistic and nonartistic pictures. Iconology is a technique developed by Erwin Panofsky in the 1930s for the interpretation of artistic paintings (1932). It consists of four steps that—although the method was devised for the interpretation of two-dimensional art—can be used for any image, two- or three-dimensional (cf. Eberlein 1996, 191). The first step is an analysis to identify what is shown and to determine how it looks. The objects and their appearance are to be described. Secondly, the identified objects are related to each other and interpreted without referring to any historical context, yet. That happens in step three: The students research the image’s content, its motives, the story related in the picture, the vitae of the artist and his patron, plus the conditions under which the image came into existence and was received. Taking the relevant information into consideration, they can contextualize and interpret the image. In the fourth step, the students use the interpretation to gain insight into the image’s context, exploiting the image as a historical source itself. In my English and Spanish classes, I use this method to give students orientation when they study historic photos, political caricatures, or even graphs. The first two steps prevent them from brushing over any important details and guide their seeing. Next, research and contextualization keep them from uttering non sequitur interpretations so that they can learn something from a picture, exploring it as historical document. Some training is needed, but then students are used to the procedure, analyzing pictures and their contexts before interpretation. However, the usefulness of Iconology in the classroom cannot conceal that it is a controversial method: Although Iconology was meant to lead to an objective reading of a picture, the final interpretation is subjective, nevertheless, as it depends strongly a) on the individuals’ subjective choice of sources for the reconstruction of the context and b) on their relation of the reconstructed background to the picture (cf. Schulz 2009, 61). Not surprisingly, there is an ongoing discussion and, while on the one hand Iconology is widely and seriously applied by different 178

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branches of Visual Studies (Art History, Political Sciences, Sociology, etc.), on the other hand, it is dismissed by scholars who are looking for alternative or additional methods, such as the semiotic-structuralist Grammar of Visual Design. Camilla Badstübner-Kizik (2002) has argued against the use of Iconology for the aforementioned reasons (18, 20, 25). In contrast, Anna Pou (2012, 11) and I (Hecke 2012a) have demonstrated how Iconology can help students access art or applied art, nevertheless, because it gives them a basic structure to hang on to and prevents them from merely projecting vague, already existing ideas into a picture. I believe that a subjective interpretation that takes the image’s context into consideration is better than a purely subjective or nonsensical interpretation (or no interpretation at all). In addition, Iconology is still taught in many Art classes in German high schools, so students may even be already familiar with it. The most important thing is to show students a way to access images, as opposed to letting them struggle with complex imagery on their own, which inevitably leads to frustration among the less skilled. Teaching even a controversially discussed technique is better than shying away from it at all because the expectable interpretations might not be one hundred percent objective. Students need strategies to help them deal with visual communication, and the methods discussed can serve this purpose. This is important because pictures are essential teaching tools of the foreign language classroom, a lot of lessons focus on them, and the didactic effects of visual media are highly beneficial for foreign language learning, but only if the learners can access and make sense of the pictures. For instance, an illustration supports reading comprehension and the understanding of unfamiliar words if the students do not mistake the persons’ gestures and actions; drawing arrows and circles around words and syllables aids grammatical awareness if students understand the markings. In all, pictures help foreign language development. Therefore, Iconology, as well as the newer techniques from Visual Studies such as Grammar of Visual Design, must be introduced to foreign language classes, so that their applicability can be put to a test. However, as empirical research on visual matters is still very rare in the area of Teaching Methodologies, and scholars have to rely on the results from other disciplines, this will probably not become a reality in the near future.

Research Approaches Research approaches to visual literacy are manifold because images, literacy, and visual literacy are discussed across a large number of disciplines. Many of the topics are of great interest for Educational Linguistics. Psychology, Cognitive Science, Neuroscience, and other fields conduct empirical studies to investigate, for example, the cognitive and emotional effects of images during learning processes, including learning from text and language learning. Doing so, researchers compare, for example, the performance of two groups completing the same task with illustrated and unillustrated material. For example, in a widely known experiment, John D. Bransford and Marcia K. Johnson (1972) asked their subjects to read a brief text about an unusual setting and to describe the situation. Not surprisingly, the readers who had gotten an illustration of the text performed more successfully than the test group that read an unillustrated text (718). Russell N. Carney and Joel R. Levin (2002) give a broad overview of the studies conducted until 2001. Mary Ann Evans and her colleagues (2006) showed that young children’s exploration of the illustrations of picture books aids their language acquisition. In Humanities, research is usually hermeneutic, and the discussion on visual literacy often has a philosophical quality, focusing on select aspects such as terminology (e.g., Mitchell 2008; Simons 2008), necessary skills or strategies (e.g., Dallow 2008), and the impact of visual literacy (e.g., Burmark 2008). In American Literary Studies, for example, visual literacy is discussed as a precondition for understanding text genres complemented by images, such as comics or graphic 179

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novels (cf. Frey and Fisher 2008). From the characteristics of the media, scholars infer the skills needed by the users to be visually literate. In my field, Teaching Methodologies of English as a Foreign Language, empirical research on the impact of visual literacy in the foreign language classroom is at its start. So far, the discourse has been based on the visual literacy discourse in Visual Studies and on the results of their studies—if it is based on more than personal observations at all (see the section of this article on new debates). The discourse on visual literacy focuses on fostering visual literacy a) in specific contexts or with regard to certain lesson content, such as American Super Bowl Commercials or Images of Africa (Gessner 2007; Feuerle 2007), b) with the help of special methods (e.g., Schwerdtfeger 1989; Seidl 2007a) or c) with various media (e.g., Hecke 2012a; Carter 2008). However, visual literacy is still considered a minor detail by too many. Consequently, the curricula do not list it among the basic skills but instead pair it up with listening, merely discussing the receptive side of this double-skill. Nevertheless, methodologists who are familiar with the concept unanimously agree on its relevance, see visual literacy as a vital objective of foreign language learning (e.g., Hallet 2008, 220ff.), and suggest how visual literacy could be fostered in foreign language classes (e.g., Seidl 2007b). For this purpose, exemplary lesson plans are published regularly. Yet, a major detail is left open—namely, a definition or working definition of visual literacy for the language instruction curricula. This is the missing link between the resolution to train visual literacy and the implementation of visual literacy in foreign language courses (Hecke 2012b, 13).

New Debates on Visual Literacy in Educational Linguistics The biggest challenge is the disregard for visual literacy. Despite its impact and the omnipresence of visual media, visual literacy remains optional content in high school and university curricula, and (foreign) language and other courses keep focusing on the written word, considering visual signs as secondary. James Elkins (2008) declared that “college-level curricula throughout the world continue to be mainly text-based, with intermittent excursions into visual art and culture” (3). This means that the discourse on visual literacy that has been led by renowned scholars such as W. J. T. Mitchell for two decades and has led to the insight that visual skills are vital for participation in social interaction has left barely any traces on the frameworks of education (Elkins 2008, 3). The exclusion of visual training from college curricula leads to another dilemma: When it comes to training visual literacy in the foreign language classroom nowadays, teachers are asked to square the circle if they themselves have not had any training in this field and, therefore, might not be any more visually literate than their students. In fact, regarding new media, many teachers might be less skilled than the teenagers they are supposed to teach. How are they to help their students develop skills that they themselves lack? The missing definition of visual literacy poses another obstacle to the implementation of visual literacy: For successful instruction, teachers must know their objectives. Only if a goal is clear can you pursue it in your instruction and monitor student performance, which is essential for the evaluation in competence-oriented courses. However, in the case of visual literacy, the goal is vague, and we have to ask ourselves how foreign language teachers without any experience in the field of Visual Studies or compulsory visual training at college are supposed to specify it. To solve this problem, foreign language scholars and the Ministries of Education, which in the case of Germany determine school curricula, naming the competences and subcompetences that are to be developed by each subject, must define the meaning of visual literacy for language instruction. This will imply a didactic reduction, deciding which aspects of visual literacy are necessary in intercultural communication and for the context of the foreign language class. Also, there has to be 180

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a scale, allowing teachers to measure student performance, to monitor to which degree students have attained the different goals and to differentiate. My doctoral thesis presents one model for discussion (Hecke 2012b, 172ff.). An official definition of visual literacy for foreign language instruction is necessary because publications on the use of pictures in the foreign language classroom are of little help regarding this matter, as many authors still ignore visual literacy. To them, pictures are self-explanatory tools that serve merely explanatory or motivational purposes. In all, the awareness of visual literacy’s impact on language performance has to be heightened. Among other things, future foreign language teachers need visual training to be able to guide their students’ picture studies and development of visual literacy. When they are well prepared, teachers can use visual media more confidently and will be encouraged to practice visual communication with their students. If future foreign language scholars received image training, too, we could also hope for fewer didactic publications that ignore the necessity of training visual literacy or suggest exercises that in fact even foil its development. My research for Germany has shown that surprisingly few teaching methodologists consult Visual Studies or Image Sciences (German: Bildwissenschaft) for their hermeneutic work on pictures in the foreign classroom obviously considering Visual Studies optional even beyond university (2012b, 25–27). To raise awareness, Visual Studies must become a subdiscipline of Educational Linguistics and courses in Visual Studies must be compulsory for foreign language students. In addition, teaching methodology must develop or assemble methods of visual literacy instruction (cf. Hecke 2012b, 215ff., 235ff.). It is of little use to have each teacher devise techniques from scratch. Instead, there should be a pre-existing pool of useful methods to choose from and to adapt to each student’s needs. The methods should not only be in accordance with the principles of modern language instruction, such as competence-, action- and processorientation, but also agree with practices from Visual Studies. If they differed—as it is nowadays often the case—students would be confused in Art, Media, or Art History classes. These methods should also leave room for the old instrumental approach of foreign language teaching that recommended pictures for the mere sake of facilitating foreign language learning. The lessons devised should do both—exploit the didactic functions of images (e.g., use artwork as interesting source on aspects of life of a foreign culture) and help students become visually more competent.

Further Reading Elkins, J. (Ed.) 2008. Visual Literacy. New York: Routledge. Frey, N., and D. Fisher (Eds.) 2008. Teaching Visual Literacy Using Comic Books, Graphic Novels, Anime, Cartoons, and More to Develop Comprehension and Thinking Skills. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Hecke, C. 2012b. Visuelle Kompetenz im Fremdsprachenunterricht: Die Bildwissenschaft als Schlüssel für einen kompetenzorientierten Bildeinsatz. PhD dissertation. Retrieved from http://ediss.uni-goettingen.de/ handle/11858/00–1735–0000–000D-EF96-D Seidl, M. (Ed.) 2007b. Visual Literacy: Bilder verstehen. Der fremdsprachliche Unterricht Englisch 41(87). Weidenmann, B. 1989. Das Bild im Sprachunterricht: Lehrhilfe oder Lerngegenstand? Anregungen am Beispiel ‘Wirtschaftskommunikation’. Jahrbuch Deutsch als Fremdsprache 1989(15): 132–149.

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Balser, J. 2008. La vida de Cristóbal Colón: Eine amu¨sante Bildergeschichte als Grundlage zum Entdecken und Üben der Vergangenheitszeiten. Der fremdsprachliche Unterricht Spanisch 6(20): 27–34. Bamford, A. 2003. The Visual Literacy White Paper. Stockley Park: Adobe. Retrieved from wwwimages.adobe. com/www.adobe.com/content/dam/Adobe/en/education/pdfs/visual-literacy-wp.pdf Barry, A. M. 1997. Visual Intelligence: Perception, Image, and Manipulation in Visual Communication. Albany: State of New York University Press. Bering, K. 2002. Bezugsfelder der Vermittlung visueller Kompetenz. In Bild, Wissen, Medien:Visuelle Kompetenz im Medienzeitalter, edited by H. D. Huber, B. Lockemann, and M. Scheibel, 89–101. Munich: Kopaed. Billmayer, F. 2008. Viele Bilder, überall: Bildkompetenz in der Mediengesellschaft. In Lehren und Lernen mit Bildern: Ein Handbuch zur Bilddidaktik, edited by G. Lieber, 72–80. Hohengehren-Baltmannsweiler: Schneider. Blell, G., and K. Hellwig 1996. Zur Einführung: Bildende Kunst und Musik im Fremdsprachenunterricht. In Bildende Kunst und Musik im Fremdsprachenunterricht, edited by G. Blell and K. Hellwig, 7–13. Frankfurt a.M.: Lang. Bransford, J. D., and M. K. Johnson. 1972. Contextual Prerequisites for Understanding: Some Investigations of Comprehension and Recall. Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 11(6): 717–726. Burmark, L. 2008. Visual Literacy: What You Get Is What You See. In Teaching Visual Literacy Using Comic Books, Graphic Novels, Anime, Cartoons, and More to Develop Comprehension and Thinking Skills, edited by N. Frey and D. Fisher, 5–25. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Carney, R. N., and J. R. Levin. 2002. Pictorial Illustrations Still Improves Students’ Learning from Text. Educational Psychology Review 14(1): 5–26. Carter, J. B. 2008. Comics, the Canon, and the Classroom. In Teaching Visual Literacy Using Comic Books, Graphic Novels, Anime, Cartoons, and More to Develop Comprehension and Thinking Skills, edited by N. Frey and D. Fisher, 47–60. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. CJD Jugendmigrationsdienst Pirna. n.d. Filmprojekt “Yes we can!” Retrieved from http://jmd-pirna.de/ unsere-projekte/beendete-projekte/filmprojekt-yes-we-can Comenius, J. A. 1658. Orbis sensualium pictus. Nurnberg. Considine, D. M. 1995. An Introduction to Media Literacy: The What, Why and How To’s. Telemedium: The Journal of Media Literacy 41(2). Retrieved from www.zinelibrary.info/files/medialiteracy.pdf Curtiss, D. C. 1987. Introduction to Visual Literacy: A Guide to the Visual Arts and Communication. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Cycowicz,Y. M., Friedman, D., Rothstein, M., and J. G. Snodgrass. 1997. Picture naming by young children: Norms for name agreement, familiarity, and visual complexity. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology 65(2): 171–237. Dale, E. 1969 [1946]. Audio-Visual Methods in Teaching (3rd edition). New York: Dryden. Dallow, P. 2008. The Visual Complex: Mapping Some Interdisciplinary Dimensions of Visual Literacy. In Visual Literacy, edited by J. Elkins, 91–103. New York: Routledge. Dean, R., and P. A. C. Enemoh. 1983. Pictorial Organization in Prose Learning. Contemporary Educational Psychology 1983(8): 20–27. Debes, J. L. 1969. The Loom of Visual Literacy. Audiovisual Instruction 14(8): 25–27. Doelker, C. 2002 [1997]. Ein Bild ist mehr als ein Bild: Visuelle Kompetenz in der Multimedia-Gesellschaft (3rd edition). Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Eberlein, J. K. 1996. Inhalt und Gehalt: Die ikonographisch-ikonologische Methode. In Kunstgeschichte: Eine Einführung (5th edition), edited by H. Belting, H. Dilly, W. Kemp, W. Sauerländer, and M. Warnke, 169–191. Berlin: Reimer. Elkins, J. 2008. Introduction: The Concept of Visual Literacy, and Its Limitations. In Visual Literacy, edited by J. Elkins, 1–9. New York: Routledge. Ennemoser, M., and J. Kuhl. 2008. Die Bedeutung von Bildern aus entwicklungspsychologischer Sicht. In Lehren und Lernen mit Bildern: Ein Handbuch zur Bilddidaktik, edited by G. Lieber, 11–22. Hohengehren-Baltmannsweiler: Schneider. Evans, M. A., Saint-Aubin, J., Roy-Charland, A., and L. Allen. 2006. Reading Pictures: Preschoolers’ Eye Fixations on Illustrations During Shared Book Readings. Retrieved from http://media.leidenuniv.nl/legacy/ evans_m._a.pdf Feurle, G. 2007. There is the surface. Now think . . . : Fotos aus Afrika in den Blick nehmen. Der fremdsprachliche Unterricht Englisch 41(87): 26–31. Filippatou, D., and P. D. Pumfrey. 1996. Pictures, titles, reading accuracy and reading comprehension: A research review. Educational Research, 38(3), 259–292. 182

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Frey, N., and D. Fisher (Eds.) 2008. Teaching Visual Literacy Using Comic Books, Graphic Novels, Anime, Cartoons, and More to Develop Comprehension and Thinking Skills. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Gessner, I. 2007. Britney Spears’ Lieblingsbrause: Super Bowl Commercials dekodieren, Amerikabilder vergleichen. Der fremdsprachliche Unterricht Englisch 41(87), 32–37. Glas, A. n d. Schnittstelle Wort/Bild: Lernförderung durch Fächervernetzung. Oder: der überfällige Blick über den Tellerrand. Retrieved from www.kunstunterricht.de/materi al/texte/glas.pdf Hallet, W. 2008. Die Visualisierung des Fremdsprachenlernens: Funktionen von Bildern und visual literacy im Fremdsprachenunterricht. In Lehren und Lernen mit Bildern: Ein Handbuch zur Bilddidaktik, edited by G. Lieber, 212–223. Hohengehren: Schneider. Hecke, C. 2012a. Eine Methodik der sinnvollen Bildarbeit. In Medien im Neokommunikativen Fremdsprachenunterricht: Einsatzformen, Inhalte, Lernkompetenzen, edited by M. Reinfried and L. Volkmann, 79–97. Frankfurt: Lang. Hecke, C. 2012b. Visuelle Kompetenz im Fremdsprachenunterricht: Die Bildwissenschaft als Schlüssel für einen kompetenzorientierten Bildeinsatz. PhD dissertation. Retrieved from http://hdl.handle.net/11858/ 00-1735-0000-000D-EF96-D Hecke, C. 2013. Developing Intercultural Competence by Studying Graphic Narratives. In Children’s Literature in Second Language Education, edited by J. Bland and C. Luetge, 119–128. London: Bloomsbury. Hellwig, K. 1990. Anschauen und Sprechen—freie und gelenkte Sprachwirkungen durch küstlerische Bilder beim Lernen des Englischen. Die Neueren Sprachen 89(4): 334–361. Huber, R. 2003. Der Mensch ist ein Augentier. In R. Huber (ed.), Im Haus der Sprache wohnen: Wahrnehmung und Theater im Fremdsprachenunterricht, (pp. 77–196). Tübingen: Niemeyer. Johnson, J., and J. Pascual-Leone. 1989. Developmental levels of processing in metaphor interpretation. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology 48(1): 1–31. Kluth, P. 2008. It Was Always the Pictures . . . : Creating Visual Literacy Supports for Students With Disabilities. In Teaching Visual Literacy Using Comic Books, Graphic Novels, Anime, Cartoons, and More to Develop Comprehension and Thinking Skills, edited by N. Frey and D. Fisher, 169–188. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Kowalski, K., and H. Zimiles. 2006. The relation between children’s conceptual functioning with color and color term acquisition. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology 94(4): 301–321. Kress, G., and T. van Leeuwen. 2006 [1996]. Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design (2nd edition). Abingdon-New York: Routledge. Lonergan, J. 1984. Video in Language Teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mikos, L. 2003. Film- und Fernsehanalyse. Konstanz: UVK. Mitchell, W. J. T. 2008. Visual Literacy or Literary Visualcy? Four Fundamental Concepts of Image Science. In Visual Literacy, edited by J. Elkins, 11–29. New York: Routledge. Mittlmeier, J. 2006. Visuelle Intelligenz—als Schulfach? Kunst und Unterricht 2006 (302/303): 60–63. Moline, S. 2011. I See What You Mean:Visual Literacy K–8. Portland: Stenhouse. Morgan, B. 2012. Second Language Literacies: Trying Out the ‘Tools’ of the Trade. Retrieved from http://education. jhu.edu/PD/newhorizons/strategies/topics/literacy/articles/second-language-literacies/index.html Niederhaus, C. 2011. Zur Förderung des Verstehens logischer Bilder in mehrsprachigen Lernergruppen. proDaZ: Deutsch als Zweitsprache in allen Fächern. Retrieved from www.uni-due.de/imperia/md/content/ prodaz/verstehen_logischer_bilder.pdf Panofsky, E. 1932. Zum Problem der Beschreibung und Inhaltsdeutung von Werken der bildenden Kunst. Logos 1932(21): 103–119. Pettersson, R., and E. F. Abb. 1988. Verbal/visual literacies: Their languaging relationships. Reading Psychology: An International Quarterly 9(4): 295–314. Pou, A. 2012. El método transversal: Enseñar lengua y cultura con arte. Der fremdsprachliche Unterricht Spanisch 40(36): 8–13. Salomon, G. 1987. Psychologie und Medienerziehung. In L. Issing (ed), Medienpädagogik im Informationszeitalter, (pp. 79–89). Weinheim: Deutscher Studien Verlag. Scherling, T., and H. F. Schuckall. 1992. Mit Bildern lernen: Handbuch fu¨r den Fremdsprachenunterricht. Berlin: Langenscheidt. Schilder, H. 1977. Medien im neusprachlichen Unterricht seit 1880: Eine Grundlegung der Anschauungsmethode und der auditiven Methode unter entwicklungsgeschichtlichem Aspekt. Kronberg/Ts.: Scriptor. Schneck, P. 2005. Double Vision: (Not) A Definition of Visual Culture. In Visual Culture in the American Classroom: Proceedings of the U.S. Embassy Teacher Academy 2003, edited by U. J. Hebel and M. Kohl, 1–23. Vienna: RPO. 183

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14 When Language Is and Not the Issue The Case of “AAVE” Literacy Research, Teaching, and Labov’s Prescription for Social (in)Equality Elaine Richardson

A fairly recent article by William Labov (2010), “Unendangered Dialect, Endangered People: The Case of African American Vernacular English,” offers a telling case in the field of sociolinguistics, with regard to how we should think about the distinct language use associated with African Americans. As a language scientist and one of the foremost fathers of variationist sociolinguistics, Labov has led the way in developing theory and providing legitimacy to what he refers to as African American Vernacular English (AAVE), a language variety that was once thought to be sloppy speech, errors, and a sign of mental retardation. Labov’s (1972a) work has argued the case of “Academic Ignorance and Black Intelligence,” wherein he has showed that Black speakers display intricate and complex narration, reasoning, and argumentative skills. He demonstrated the systematicity of Black vernacular speech, in terms of its grammaticality, syntax, morphology, and phonology. Labov’s (1972b) research was detailed in his seminal text Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Vernacular. An underlying premise of this work, perhaps since its inception, is that one day Black and White vernaculars would converge—with Black vernaculars assimilating to their White neighbors. This perspective is perhaps the logical end to a liberal egalitarian view of the world. In his quest to contribute to this vision, Labov’s current work lays this argument bare and raises serious concerns about the workings of sociolinguistics for social (in)equality and the implications of Labov’s work for the future of Black language and literacy research and pedagogy for social justice and linguistic diversity. Labov sought to persuade and inform European American and middle class educators to view the language and culture of inner city Black people as different and legitimate and teachers’ understanding of such as beneficial to education. In 1972, he writes: A . . . position held by linguists and many anthropologists locates the problem not in the children, but in the relations between them and the school system. This position holds that inner-city children do not necessarily have inferior mothers, language, or experience, but that the language, family style, and ways of living of inner-city children are significantly 185

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different from the standard culture of the classroom, and that this difference is not always properly understood by teachers and psychologists. Linguists believe that we must begin to adapt our school system to the language and learning styles of the majority in the inner-city schools. They argue that everyone has the right to learn the standard languages and culture in reading and writing (and speaking, if they are so inclined); [emphasis mine] but this is the end result, not the beginning of the educational process. They do not believe that the standard language is the only medium in which teaching and learning can take place, or that the first step in education is to convert all first-graders to replicas of white middle-class suburban children. (Labov 1972a) Here, Labov argues that Black mothers, Black language, and Black experience should not of necessity be viewed as problems. It is the schools that should adapt to the language and learning styles of inner-city children. He is careful to point out that “students have the right to learn the standard languages and culture in reading and writing.” And though he might find the acquisition of spoken standardized language advantageous, he leaves that to personal inclination. We might say then that Labov’s position is for mild linguistic assimilation, or bidialectalism, to use the prominent terminology in mainstream linguistic discussions of Black speech during that time. Black students should learn standardized reading and writing, even if by non-mainstream methods, but they also have a right to maintain their spoken home language. This position encourages educational institutions to rethink their policies, philosophies, and curricula. In 1974, following Labov and the field of sociolinguistics, the Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC) followed with a language policy statement, “Students’ Right to Their Own Language” (SRTOL), based on state-of-the-art sociolinguistic principles and concepts, to provide educators with knowledge to assist them in accepting language diversity and creating pedagogy that supported it, while teaching students standardized reading and writing. The statement reads: We affirm the students’ right to their own patterns and varieties of language—the dialects of their nurture or whatever dialects in which they find their own identity and style. Language scholars long ago denied that the myth of a standard American dialect has any validity. The claim that any one dialect is unacceptable amounts to an attempt of one social group to exert its dominance over another. Such a claim leads to false advice for speakers and writers, and immoral advice for humans. A nation proud of its diverse heritage and its cultural and racial variety will preserve its heritage of dialects. We affirm strongly that teachers must have the experiences and training that will enable them to respect diversity and uphold the right of students to their own language. (College Conference on Composition and Communication 1974, 1) This statement is contextualized by an introduction and overview of twelve concepts [A-L]: the nature of language as an oral, symbolic system by which human beings interact and communicate; the history of English and how it continually changes vocabulary in syntax, and in pronunciation; the nature of dialects; language acquisition; phonology; morphology; syntax; grammar and usage; semantics; lexicography; experience; and the role of change. Following the concepts is a final section, “Language Varieties, Linguistics Profiling, Housing, Civil Rights and Employability,” and, finally, a bibliography with state of the art research in sociolinguistics to undergird pronouncements and claims. The CCCC reaffirmed the SRTOL in 2003, at which time the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) adopted the policy. Among other language and literacy policies, CCCC and NCTE also have a National Language Policy.1 186

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Throughout the next decade, Labov (1987) charts major American cities’ sound changes and notes the divergent nature of language used by inner city (segregated, impoverished) Black people who have minimal contact with European Americans and middle class Black Americans who interact with European Americans considerably. Labov asserts: There is no doubt that the divergence that we have witnessed on the linguistic front is symptomatic of a split between the black and white portions of our society. It may also be a further cause of divergence in widening the distance between the English of the classroom and the vernacular that the child brings to the classroom. . . . I see the primary cause of educational failure is not language differences, but institutional racism. (Labov 1987, 10) Labov holds a somewhat equivocal position here. Black students’ educational failure is caused by both institutional racism and widening distance between a Black child’s divergent language and a curricular approach based on standardized, dominant, monolingual, monocultural orientation. Though he emphasizes that language differences are not the culprit, he does indirectly indicate them as problematic. He decries the dismal state of the American racial divide and lack of policies to alleviate racial isolation or segregation. By 1995, Labov writes that “the problem of continuing reading failure . . . is one that would be predicted by the continued isolation and drift of AAVE in a context of increasing residential segregation”(19). Here we can see that Labov is explicitly stating that AAVE’s divergence is a cause of reading failure. He also indicts inadequate teaching of reading and the social conditions in which impoverished Black people are expected to excel: “It is not simply that efforts to improve reading have been inadequate, but rather that the material conditions that created the problem have worsened. . . . A reversal of reading failure is only possible if the curriculum is revised to provide help primarily for those who need it” (19). Labov identified several AAVE features (e.g., consonant cluster reduction on word endings, final consonant absence, differential pronunciation patterns, and others) that would interfere with the acquisition of written and spoken school English and with decoding skills. Since AAVE was further/est away from standardized English upon which the curriculum is based, AAVE causes reading difficulty, and is thus an accomplice to educational failure. He also cites teacher attitudes against AAVE speakers as a contributing factor, but all of these, Labov argues, are symbolic of the larger sociocultural conflict and residential segregation that are the major causes of linguistic divergence. To deal with the situation, Labov suggests that linguistic principles be embedded within recognition of Black children and Black culture on their own terms, while simultaneously promoting standardized language as a path to economic opportunity, without which Black people are condemned to impoverished lives in the inner city. And now we come to Labov’s (2010) current position: Recent research implies that, if residential integration increases significantly, AAVE as a whole may be in danger of losing its distinctiveness as a linguistic resource. While many of us would regret a decrease in the eloquent syntactic and semantic options of AAVE and its possible withering away, we must also consider that the loss of a dialect is a lesser evil than the endangerment AAVE speakers currently confront. (15) The argument he sets forth reflects longtime contradictions and conceptualizations of the culture of poor Black Americans and its role in the perpetuation of poverty. This argument also exemplifies the limits of sociolinguistics in its quest to uphold equality, diversity, and social justice (points which will be elaborated below). Labov’s argument is slightly different from Moynihan’s 187

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as these issues are rehearsed by Steinberg (2011) in a recent Boston Review article “Poor Reason: Culture Still Doesn’t Explain Poverty.” Although he [Moynihan] acknowledged that past racism and unemployment undermined black families, he held that the pathology in ‘the [African] American family’ had not only assumed a life of its own, but was also the primary determinant of the litany of problems that beset lower-class blacks. (Steinberg 2011, para. 7) An extended examination of Labov’s (2010) argument will make my point clearer. On the one hand, he holds that AAVE is not a pathology, that it is eloquent in its syntax and semantics, that AAVE is the “great resource, an elegant form of expression that [Black people] use when they reflect most thoughtfully on the oppression and misery of daily life” (24). On the other hand, he places AAVE, in its 20th century developments/divergences from mainstream White speech, within segregation and institutionalized racism. In Labov’s (2010, 24) words, “AAVE has developed its present form in the framework of the most extreme racial segregation that the world has ever known.” AAVE is represented as interconnected with inadequate instruction, which is connected with reading failure, both of which are linked to poor schools, poverty, unemployment, high crime rate—all forms of social pathology. There are several major reasons that this argument is problematic. AAVE is reduced to its entanglement with oppression and pathology. Labov uses words like resource and elegant, but he seems to be seeing its use as restricted to those times when African Americans “reflect most thoughtfully on the oppression and misery of daily life”—a very narrow and pessimistic view of AAVE. . . . Labov equates regressive and discriminatory practices with the existence, persistence and spread of AAVE. The end to segregation brings—in Labov’s view of the world—linguistic assimilation, loss of AAVE, improved reading scores and generally a happier, more congenial U.S. (Lippi-Green 2012, 196) As Morgan (1994, 135) has pointed out, this brand of mainstream sociolinguistics has helped to perpetuate the dominant society’s construction of AAVE as a symbol of poverty and oppression and does not do enough to highlight African Americans’ own views of their social reality and what and who exactly constitutes African American speech community membership. Morgan (following Spears) notes that many middle class African Americans have acquired standardized American English despite lack of integration; they socialize mainly among mixed classes of African Americans. This points up the fact that social mobility does not necessarily lead to a loss of African American cultural identity, though since Labov and many mainstream sociolinguists have located AAVE in poverty, lack, and pathology, they minimize the history and cultural function of Black Language within the African American speech community and its function in relation to standardized American Englishes (Morgan 1994, 128). Moreover, as Rickford (2010) has shown, some African Americans have been surrounded by European Americans and their vernacular speech patterns and did not pick them up. We need to distinguish between integration and assimilation. Many African Americans want integration in the sense of access to middle-class jobs and housing and schools and other institutions. But others are also seeking housing in Black neighborhoods (like Baldwin Hills, 188

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Los Angeles) within large urban centers like Los Angeles; Washington, DC; and Atlanta, determined to retain some of their distinctive cultural traditions. Perhaps, in a Jesse Jackson conception of race mixing in a salad bowl rather than a melting pot, there will be room for distinctive linguistic traditions as well. (Rickford 2010, 32) Labov’s prescription, focusing as it does on AAVE, assimilation and integration of Black people into European American culture, and autonomous reading (a point to which I shall return) as means to economic and cultural empowerment, ignores the African American struggle for liberation and self-determination. From a language planning perspective, the language of Black America (Smitherman 1977) has long represented a tension in the field. As argued by Debose (2007), what we call it and how we define it matters deeply. Mainstream linguists, or orthodox linguists such as Labov, classify AAVE as a dialect of English rather than a separate language. The criteria they use for language include speakers’ attitudes, mutual intelligibility, and presence or absence of an army and navy (Black people lack the status and power to name their speech a language and make it stick). Orthodox linguists describe and codify structural features and grammatical patterns and use word lists. They emphasize AAVE’s similarity to English (or its divergence from it) and recognize it as a subform of English, a non-autonomous dialect. “Ebonics” scholars, on the other hand, focus on the sociohistorical context/experiences of the people in their search/quest to define their own history and identity. “Ebonics” or “African American Language” reflects this desire to avoid undesirable symbolic designation as subordinate to English. Ebonics scholars focus on Black people’s distinctive ways of speaking and social context, settings, modes of speaking, topics, messages, particular speech acts, autonomous grammar, and Africanisms in structure and style. Smitherman’s (2006) definition of the language of Black America does not reduce it to poverty and pathology: Black or African American Language (BL/AAL) is a style of speaking English words with Black flava—with Africanized semantic, grammatical, pronunciation, and rhetorical patterns. AAL comes out of the experience of U.S. slave descendants. This shared experience has resulted in common speaking styles, systematic patterns of grammar, and common language practices in the community and gives you a sense of personal identity. AAL served to bind the enslaved together, melding diverse African ethnic groups into one community. Ancient elements of African speech were transformed into a new language forged in the crucible of enslavement, U.S. style apartheid, and the Black struggle to survive and thrive in the face of dominating and oppressive whiteness. (3) Labovian orthodox linguists seek (limited) recognition for AAVE while Ebonics scholars seek fullest recognition of the language of Black America. Ebonics scholars do not espouse the superiority of standardized English but support it as a means of survival (Debose 2007). Full recognition of African American Language (AAL) faces many political obstacles. Though he does not intend for it to be so, Labov’s current centering of AAVE in poverty and pathology is one such obstacle, since AAVE is set in opposition to learning and progress. Black people and AAVE are oppressed by the very social pathologies that press Labov into a sentimental lamentation for the loss of AAVE as something that must give way to dominant English. Though Labov acknowledges and decries racist structural problems oppressing vulnerable Black people, these receive scant attention. The major policies, practices, and entities responsible 189

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for the oppression of African Americans are obscured by nominalizations, implied subjects, and agentless passives, in the framework that he sets out: The first and overarching condition is the degree of poverty . . . with its interlocking relationships with other forms of social pathology. Unemployment is of course the primary cause of poverty. Unemployment rates for young Black men who have not graduated high school have recently been reported at 72 percent, as opposed to 19 percent for the corresponding population of Latino youth. . . . Unemployment, underemployment, and poverty jointly reduce or eliminate the economic base for the Black family. Inability to participate in the formal, legal economy leads directly to participation in the informal, illegal economy with a rapid increase in crime rates. . . . The incarceration rate of young Black males has tripled in two decades, rising from two percent per year in 1981 to almost six percent in 2002. . . . Coupled with increasing reinforcement of child support laws, young Black males are removed from the formal economy during and after their prison terms. The economic base of the largely female-headed Black family is then further eroded. Poverty in the inner city also affects the quality of schooling. . . . Underfunding of schools plainly contributes to inadequate instruction and—to reading failure. The cycle closes as reading failure leads to further unemployment. . . . Reading failure reinforces the cycle of poverty, unemployment, and crime. (Labov 2010, 20–22) What is not discussed above is the very real way in which “power relations are maintained through ideological representations in language” (Pennycook 2001, 38), Thus, the historical and current actions that created these conditions are obscured. And again, even the way that the language and the people’s oppression have been conceptualized and studied in mainstream sociolinguistics disempowers Black people. The sociolinguistic order parallels the socially stratified, market-based, and racist practices of society. Fairclough explains: The relationship between social classes starts in economic production, but extends to all parts of a society. The power of the capitalist class depends also on its ability to control the state: contrary to the view of the state as standing neutrally “above” classes, I shall assume that the state is the key element in maintaining the dominance of the capitalist class, and controlling the working class. This political power is typically exercised not just by capitalists, but by an alliance of capitalists and others who see their interests as tied to capital—many professional workers, for instance. We can refer to this alliance as the dominant bloc. (1989, 33) As such, the sociolinguistic order is not natural and follows the social order, based on societal prejudices that are accepted as normal and inculcated into societal fabric. The fact is reality is socially constructed. Concepts such as language and dialect are the product of politics, education, socialization, advertising, and public relations (Debose 2007, 36). In his discussion of racism and cultural forces and traits that disempower and impoverish the Black community, Wilson’s (2009) work focuses on the intersection of race and poverty and cites structural factors as they affect Black males in particular. Structural forces omitted from Labov’s representation of the problem that contribute to the unemployment of Black males is decreased demand for low skilled American labor as Americans now compete with workers in countries such as China, India, and Bangladesh, who can be paid less than a living wage. Wilson also cites decreased opportunity for manufacturing jobs—especially auto manufacturing jobs. This has

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stemmed a source of better-paid employment that began for Black Americans around World War II. Another contributing factor is decreased union representation. Labov cites the high percentage of “Black men who have not graduated high school” and corresponding high unemployment rate and how these factors, coupled with poverty, eliminate the economic base of the Black family. One should note Labov’s representation of the situation with Black males as the active subjects and agents of the action here who are the cause of their own school failure and unemployment. Although there are a constellation of factors that contribute to the failure of schools to graduate Black males and educate them for life, movements such as Afrocentric curriculum, which has as its focus the struggle for African American liberation, the promotion of a counterhegemonic system of meaning embedded in African American culture, and the promotion of African unity and empowerment throughout the diaspora (Debose 2007) remains a distant dream for all but a miniscule percentage of Black youth. The active involvement of a web of laws, regulations, and informal rules reinforced by social stigma is very much a part of the poverty matrix. The War on Drugs, with unfair sentencing practices for small amounts of crack cocaine, and the Prison Industrial Complex, as well as ex-felons’ inability to re-enter the community and find gainful employment, have wreaked havoc on the Black community (Alexander 2010, The New Jim Crow). Understanding the Prison Industrial Complex as discussed by Angela Davis (1998) is crucial, and her analysis is worth repeating here: To deliver up bodies destined for profitable punishment, the political economy of prisons relies on racialized assumptions of criminality—such as images of Black welfare mothers reproducing criminal children—and on racist practices in arrest, conviction, and sentencing patterns. Colored bodies constitute the main human raw material in this vast experiment to disappear the major social problems of our time. Once the aura of magic is stripped away from the imprisonment solution, what is revealed is racism, class bias, and the parasitic seduction of capitalist profit. (1998, The Color of Imprisonment) Though he may not intend for it to be so, Labov’s argument implicates AAVE as part of the social pathology of racial and economic segregation. This is substantiated in Labov’s emphasis on AAVE’s divergence from other vernaculars. Labov hopes for AAVE’s linguistic convergence with European American mainstream and middle class speech as a means to change oppressive conditions. His sentiments make good common sense. He wants poor Black AAVE speaking students to have equal access to a quality education and a chance at societal parity by integrating language and literacy education and, hopefully, society. Nonetheless, Winters-Evans and Esposito’s (2010, 17) critique of integrationist ideology sheds light on the problem with Labov’s prescription. The integrationist perspective downplays the significance of race, propagates a stance of neutrality, objectivity, and White middle class normativity, with White middle class values as the ideal ways of thinking or behaving. Thus, AAVE’s divergence is abnormal. Labov’s major claim is that Black people are endangered because they are isolated and entrapped in a context rife with conflict, struggle, and survival. Even if too hastily, Labov rightfully cites these factors, yet focuses his argument on AAVE—that it has developed and flourished and diverged in appalling conditions of segregation and poverty, and it interferes with reading and school success. Labov’s argument, roughly, is that reading and effective education will alleviate the conditions spawned from poverty, ghettos, crime, incarceration, economically torn families, and so on. Literacy in dominant discourses is advantageous, but the problem is not that Black people are illiterate AAVE speakers. The problem is that poor Black people are trapped in a cycle of structural racism, and it will take more than changing our syntax, phonology, and vocabulary to fix

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that. The problem is reflective of modern capitalist nations. In this way, Labov’s argument is closely aligned with the literacy myth: a belief . . . that the acquisition of literacy is a necessary precursor to and invariably results in economic development, democratic practice, cognitive enhancement, and upward social mobility. (Graff and Duffy 2008, 41) Labov and his associates have developed programs such as Portals, which is implemented in the California schools, and The Reading Road, implemented by the Penn Reading Initiative. These programs include attention to pertinent syntactical, phonological, and lexical aspects of AAVE, as well as incorporating the real-life conflicts and injustice children experience into the materials to thwart the trend of alienation and irrelevance Black children have faced with traditional reading materials. Labov (2010) states: Whether our efforts will be effective enough to cut into the pattern shown [in his framework of residential segregation] is a question still to be resolved over time. (22) Even if everyone spoke alike, a serious redistribution of wealth would need to occur, without which segregated upper middle class Whites, the elite, and the corporations which they control will continue to be well resourced and insulated in segregated communities. Another important point is that Labov’s conception of reading aligns with an autonomous model of literacy. As New Literacy Studies theorists have shown, literacy is not simply a set of isolated skills that can be taught; acquisition of language and literacy is socialization into particular discourses and worldviews (Scribner and Cole 1981; Heath 1983; Street 1993; Gee 1999). Literacy is informed by an array of socially constituted practices, understandings, and ways of being in the world, and literacy varies with sociocultural needs and is bound up in relations of power (Macedo 1994). If Labov’s pedagogy does little to confront these realities, it upholds structured inequality. Pennycook’s (2001) work on critical applied linguistics would locate Labov’s prescription somewhere between liberal ostrichist and emancipatory modernist approaches to sociolinguistics: [It is ] dominated by a bland egalitarianism that does not help us in framing questions of inequality, language, and power. Often based in liberal pluralist politics and structuralist approaches to academic work, the approach advocates the isolation of politics from academic work. Thus, the structuralism of linguistics and sociolinguistics that permits the view that all dialects are equal is also the view that has not allowed for an adequate understanding of how languages are complexly related to social and cultural factors, ignoring therefore, the profound questions of social difference, inequality, and conflict. . . . [T]his position accepts and even celebrates the inevitability of the global spread of English [the death of AAVE, in this case] while rather lamely calling for support for other languages. . . . (165) This version of sociolinguistics relates language to class or gender in concrete and critical terms, while in the context of the global spread of [dominant] English, it raises concerns to do with linguistic imperialism and language rights; the tendency in emancipatory modernist frameworks is to locate language in inequitable but static and deterministic social conditions. . . . The modernist emancipatory approach tends to deal with difference, therefore, 192

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only in terms of an inclusionary aspect of its vision of critical democracy rather than as an engagement with a broader notion of possibility. (167) To imply and argue that Black speakers’ language must be intervened upon as a means to social “equality” (integration, economic/political empowerment) is to argue that racism, cultural imperialism, political and economic disenfranchisement, social differences, and attitudes will never be overcome by dominant middle class White persons, their adherents, and the institutions they control. This may well be the case. If so, the ideal of democracy is a sham. Multicultural education and diversity are dead end roads and we might as well stop fighting against social injustice. Labov’s linkage of Black language and Black illiteracy with Black impoverishment and Black segregation, taken together with his assertion that some forms of cultural diversity . . . need no help to survive leads to the inference that poor Black people are responsible for and sustain the cycle of oppression in which they have been entrapped. The argument also suggests that taking Black language out of the equation will play a significant role in reversing the effects of segregation. We know that conquered, colonized, and (descendants of) enslaved people of color, such as Black Americans, Native Americans, Native Hawaiians, Alaskan Natives, Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, who were forced into the United States (non-immigrants) are generally failed by the educational system (Ogbu and Simons 1998), and their languages are disempowered, as are their cultures and histories. To reverse these traditions, we must push education to open new possibilities. . . . [If] schools (and people) are not passive mirrors of an economy, but instead are active agents in reproducing and contesting dominant social relations, then understanding what they do and acting upon them becomes of no small moment. For if schools are part of a “contested terrain,” if they are part of a much larger set of political, economic, and cultural conflicts the outcomes of which are not naturally preordained to favor capital, then the hard and continuous day-to-day struggles at the level of curriculum and teaching practice in schools is part of these larger conflicts as well. The key is linking those day-to-day struggles within the schools to other actions for a more progressive society in that wider arena (Apple and Weis 2013, 84) African American language is a repository of Black culture, history, and identity. Respecting and embracing the fullness of this position does not mean that Black students should not learn how to speak, read, and write more prestigious, standardized forms. This position underscores the point that promoting the dissolution/eradication of African American Language (AAL) is a form of miseducation that will perpetuate the cycle of dominance, racism, and internalized racism against and among Black people and the devaluation of Black humanity, history, and culture. It also promotes monolingual ideology and linguistic and sociocultural imperialism. This position simultaneously pushes for economic integration and educational reparations for Black people and Black language. New Literacy scholars are advocating approaches that incorporate youth language and literacy practices to address social issues. Literacy education for social justice forces us to confront the politics of knowledge and power as part of reading, writing, listening, and speaking holistically about ourselves in society. In this school of thought, the lived experiences of the people are fodder for critical literacy education and social change.

Note 1 NLP was established by CCCC in 1988 and adopted by NCTE in 1998.

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References Alexander, M. 2010. The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. New York, NY: The New Press. Apple, M., and Weis, L. 2013. Seeing Education Relationally: The Stratification of Culture as Lived. In M. Apple (Ed.), Knowledge, Power, and Education: The Selected Works of Michael W. Apple, (pp. 69–91). Independence, KY. College Conference on Composition and Communication. 1974. Students’ Right to Their Own Language, Special Issue of CCC, 25(3 Fall), 1–32. Davis, A. 1998, September 10. Masked Racism: Reflections on the Prison Industrial Complex. Retrieved from Colorlines: http://colorlines.com/archives/1998/09/masked_racism_reflections_on_the_prison_ industrial_complex.html Debose, C. 2007. The Ebonics Phenomenon, Language Planning, and the Hegemony of Standard English. In H. S. Alim and J. Baugh (Eds.), Talkin Black Talk: Language, Education and Social Change. New York: Columbia University Teachers College Press. 30–42. Fairclough, N. 1989. Language and Power. London: Longman. Gee, J. 1999. An Introduction to Discourse Analysis: Theory and Method. New York: Routledge. Graff, H., and Duffy, J. 2008. Literacy Myths. In B. V. Street (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education (2nd ed., Vol. 2). 41–52. Heath, S. B. 1983. Ways with Words: Language, Life, and Work in Communities and Classrooms. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Labov, W. 1972a, June. Academic Ignorance and Black Intelligence. The Atlantic Monthly. Retrieved from www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/issues/95sep/ets/labo.htm Labov, W. 1972b. Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Vernacular. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Labov, W. 1987. Are Black and White Vernaculars Diverging? Papers from the NWAVE XIV Panel Discussion with Ralph W. Fasold, William Labov, Fay Boyd Vaughn-Cooke, Guy Bailey, Walt Wolfram, Arthur K. Spears and John Rickford. American Speech, 62(1), 3–80. Labov, W. 1995. Can Reading Failure Be Reversed? A Linguistic Approach to the Question, In V. Gadsden and D. Wagner (Eds.), Literacy Among African-American Youth: Issues in Learning, Teaching, and Schooling. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press. 39–68. Retrieved from ftp://ling.upenn.edu/facpapers/bill_labov/RFR.html Labov, W. 2010. Unendangered Dialect, Endangered People: The Case of African American Vernacular English, Transforming Anthropology, 18(1), 15–27. Lippi-Green, R. 2012. English With an Accent: Language, Ideology and Discrimination in the United States (2nd ed.). New York/London: Routledge. Macedo, D. 1994. Literacies of Power: What Americans are Not Allowed to Know. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Morgan, M. 1994. The African American Speech Community: Reality and Sociolinguistics. In M. Morgan (Ed.), Language and the Social Construction of Identity in Creole Situations. Los Angeles: CAAS Publications, 121–148. Ogbu, J., and Simons, H. 1998. Voluntary and Involuntary Minorities: A Cultural-Ecological Theory of School Performance with Some Implications for Education. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 29, 155–189. Pennycook, A. 2001. Critical Applied Linguistics: A Critical Introduction. Mahwah, NJ/London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Publishers. Rickford, J. 2010. Geographical Diversity, Residential Segregation, and the Vitality of African American Vernacular and Its Speakers, Transforming Anthropology, 18(1), 28–34. Scribner, S., and Cole, M. 1981. Unpackaging Literacy. In M. Farr Whiteman (Ed.), Writing: The Nature, Development, and Teaching of Written Communication. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. 71–87. Smitherman, G. 1977. Talkin and Testifyin: The Language of Black America. Houghton Mifflin/Reprinted by Wayne State University Press, 1986. Smitherman, G. 2006. Word From the Mother: Language and African Americans. New York/London: Routledge. Steinberg, S. 2011, January 13. Poor Reason: Culture Still Doesn’t Explain Poverty. Boston Review. Retrieved from www.bostonreview.net/steinberg.php Street, B. V. (Ed.) 1993. Cross-Cultural Approaches to Literacy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilson, W. J. 2009. More Than Just Race: Being Black and Poor in the Inner City. New York/London: W. W. Norton and Company. Winters-Evans, V., and Esposito, J. 2010. Other People’s Daughters: Critical Race Feminism and Black Girls’ Education. Educational Foundations, 24(1–2), 11–24. 194

Part 4

Critical Pedagogy and Language Education

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15 Reframing Freire Situating the Principles of Humanizing Pedagogy Within an Ecological Model for the Preparation of Teachers María del Carmen Salazar

The current state of education in the United States can be symbolically represented by the Greek mythological figure Sisyphus. A king and mere mortal, this deceitful man was condemned by Zeus to roll a rock up to the top of a hill only to have it roll back down again for all of eternity. Referenced by Homer in The Odyssey, the legend of Sisyphus is captured in the following passage: Bracing himself and thrusting with hands and feet he pushed the boulder uphill on to the top. But every time, as he was about to send it toppling over the crest, its sheer weight turned it back, and once again towards the plain the pitiless rock rolled down. So once more he had to wrestle with the thing and push it up, while the sweat poured from his limbs and the dust rose high above his head. (Homer as cited in Rieu 1946, 187) This metaphor for the U.S. educational system depicts the “Sisyphean challenge” (Yearwood 2012, 23) faced by teachers in the public school system to close the unyielding achievement gap, or opportunity gap, for students of color. The challenge can appear insurmountable, given existing statistics on academic disparities between students of color and White students. One of the most persistent gaps is in mathematics, as indicated by national assessments (Kulm 2007). For example, while the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) scores in mathematics for students of color have increased recently, the scores have only recently gained parity with levels that White students attained over 20 years ago (Kulm 2007). Additionally, the gap in national fourth- and eighth-grade reading and writing scores between students of color and Whites did not change significantly from 1992 to 2000 (Hemphill and Vanneman 2011). As our nation grapples with persistent academic disparities, policymakers pursue one-size-fitsall approaches to closing the gap through value-added measures such as standardized testing. This approach negates the complexity of the systems that interact to deny equal educational opportunities for students of color. As a result, the humanity of these students and their teachers is stultified

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by sterile, static, and hegemonic practices; thus, dehumanization has become the status quo in education (Balderrama 2001; Villegas 2007). Teacher educators play a vital role in reproducing or interrupting the dehumanization of students of color through shaping the dispositions of pre-service teachers toward students of color and their communities (Balderrama 2001; Villegas 2007). Often unintentionally, teacher educators reproduce inequities and reify dehumanizing approaches by failing to provide pre-service teachers with specific dispositions and competencies to meet the needs of students of color (Villegas 2007). Moreover, when teacher educators do acknowledge the needs of students of color, they often emphasize “quick fix” (Anast Seguin and Ambrosio 2002) approaches without acknowledging the complexity of the systems that interact to support or constrain the humanization of students of color (Cochran-Smith 2004; Tedick and Walker, 1994; Villegas 2007). In contrast, teacher educators can be a conduit for interrupting dehumanization in education. As such, teacher educators can prepare pre-service teachers by: (a) nurturing the dispositions, knowledge, and skills necessary to humanize education (Franquiz and Salazar 2004), (b) unveiling the complexity of systems that interact to deny the humanness of students of color (Aloni 2002), and (c) promoting teaching as a catalyst for systemic change (Nieto 2003; Lytle and CochranSmith 1994). With the aforementioned approaches, teacher educators can equip candidates with the resources needed to foist the proverbial ‘rock’ over the crest. In this chapter, I articulate the values that guide my practice as a teacher educator, and I evaluate the consistency between my practice and my beliefs. I examine the following question: How do I live my values more fully in my practice? Paulo Freire’s educational philosophy on humanization serves as the compass that guides my values and practices. I reframe Freire’s conception of humanization in education by situating the principles of humanizing pedagogy within an ecological model to promote the development of ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions for the preparation of teachers. As a result, I generate a curriculum map that delineates existing and potential learning experiences for pre-service teachers that promote the development of such dispositions. The results of the curriculum mapping process lead me to reflect on one particular learning experience that reveals a catalyst for the development of ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions. I conclude the chapter with a call for a colectivo (collective) of teacher educators and teachers committed to humanizing education.

Naming the Questions LaBoskey (2009) asserts that teaching is inherently a principled practice, defined as “an active, decision-making praxis . . . informed by a set of well-grounded dynamic principles that can guide and interpret interventions and outcomes in relationship with goals of equity and social justice” (73). In teaching pre-service teachers, my practice is based on the following principle: Before pre-service teachers are immersed in the technical practice of teaching, they need to be immersed in learning experiences that compel them to: (a) interrogate the complexity of the systems that constrain the humanity of students of color, (b) perceive the humanity of students of color as a valuable resource for their learning, and (c) envisage teaching as a catalyst for systemic change. Ultimately, one’s principled practice is shaped by what they value (LaBoskey 2009). In this study, I pose the question: How do I live my values more fully in my practice? My question aligns with my desire to articulate the values that guide my practice, and evaluate the consistency between my practices and my beliefs. The educational philosophy of Paulo Freire serves as the compass that guides my values and practices. 198

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Naming the Theory Humanizing Pedagogy My practice is informed by Freirean philosophy on humanization. Humanization is the process of becoming more fully human as social, historical, thinking, communicating, transformative, creative persons who participate in and with the world (Freire, 1972, 1984). Freire asserts that to become more fully human, women and men must become conscious of their presence in the world as a way to individually and collectively re-envisage their social world (Dale and Hyslop-Margison 2010; Freire and Betto 1985; Schapiro 2001). Moreover, Freire adds that humanization is the ontological vocation of human beings and, as such, is the practice of freedom in which the oppressed are liberated through consciousness of their subjugated positions and a desire for self-determination (Freire 1970). Freire (1970) proposes that the process of humanization fosters the transformation and authentic liberation of the oppressed; thus, “to transform the world is to humanize it” (Freire 1985, 70). Freire’s construct of humanizing pedagogy extends his theory of humanization into the practical realm of instruction. Freire (1970) describes humanizing pedagogy as a revolutionary approach to instruction that “ceases to be an instrument by which teachers can manipulate students, but rather expresses the consciousness of the students themselves” (51). Teachers who enact humanizing pedagogy engage in a quest for “mutual humanization” (56) with their students, a process fostered through problem-posing education in which students are co-investigators in dialogue with their teachers. This dialogic approach to education should be pursued with the goal of developing “conscientizacao” (26) or critical consciousness, which is “learning to perceive social, political, and economic contradictions, and to take action against the oppressive elements of reality” (17). There are limitless possibilities for Freire’s pedagogical philosophy, and Freire urges his followers to reinvent his ideas in the context of their local struggles. Freire presents humanizing pedagogy as a philosophical approach that fosters critical, dialogical, and liberatory practices (Glass 2001; Huerta and Brittain 2010; Huerta 2011; Jennings and Smith 2002; Roberts 2000). Humanizing pedagogues have expanded Freire’s teachings over the past four decades to illuminate the application of humanizing pedagogy in educational settings. In a recent article in the Review of Research in Education, I synthesize four decades of educational research on humanizing pedagogy through the identification of its five principles (Salazar 2013): (a) the full development of the person is essential for humanization; (b) to deny someone else’s humanization is also to deny one’s own; (c) the journey for humanization is both an individual and collective endeavor toward critical consciousness; (d) critical reflection and action can transform structures that impede our own and others’ humanness, thus facilitating liberation for all; and (e) educators are responsible for promoting a more fully human world through their pedagogical principles and practices. Pedagogy, or the art and skill of teaching, is fundamental to the practice of teaching (Korthagen 2008). While Freire conceptualized a humanizing pedagogy as a philosophical approach, the focus on pedagogy is often on discrete knowledge and skills that are causal, linear, and lead to “correct” practice (Luke 2006). Educators searching for pedagogical recipes criticize Freire’s lack of specific technical methods, describing his concepts as vague, imprecise, generic, and oversimplified (Dale and Hyslop-Margison 2010; Schugurensky 2011). Bartolomé (1994) describes a humanizing pedagogy as being inclusive of both philosophical orientations and instructional methods that humanize education. Bartolomé stresses that educators should not reject the use of teaching methods and strategies, but rather, they should disavow uncritical approaches to teaching and learning in favor of reflection and action. This focus allows 199

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educators to “recreate and reinvent teaching methods and materials by always taking into consideration the sociocultural realities that can either limit or expand the possibilities to humanize education” (177). Bartolomé’s focus on the instruction that builds on the realities of students’ lives breathes practical life into Freire’s philosophies. Ecological theory compliments humanizing pedagogy through a focus on students’ lives as complex interactions between individuals and systems.

Ecological Theory Ecological theory brings together complex and dynamic perspectives, peoples, practices, and environments (Luke 2006; Shimahara, Holowinsky, and Tomlinson-Clarke 2001). Ecological theory examines five key elements: (a) interactions; (b) interrelationships; (c) adaptation; (d) succession; and (e) transformation. First, ecological theory examines interactions between individuals and their contexts as defined by social systems, including cultural and sociopolitical systems (Levine, Perkins, and Perkins 2005). Second, the theory examines the interrelationships between social systems, thus stressing the interdependence among the levels of the system and making the assertion that a change in one ecological setting can influence other settings and their relationships (Suarez-Balcazar, Fabricio, Garcia-Ramirez, and Taylor-Ritzler, 2013). Third, ecological theory explores the adaptation of a person to their complex environment; such adaptation is often fraught with challenges and power struggles (Levine, Perkins, and Perkins 2005). Trickett, Kelly, and Todd (1972) describe adaptation in the following passage: Adaptation is the ongoing interaction between individuals and the ecological environments in which they live, work, study, and play. This interaction is an ongoing, dynamic interplay between the individual and the environment. As the environment places demands on the individual, the individual adapts, and as the individual places demands on the environment, the environment adapts to changes. (7) Fourth, ecological theory describes issues of succession. This concept acknowledges the fact that change is an ever-present reality for the environment and for the individuals within it. Additionally, the complexity in interacting systems may increase over time until stabilization occurs (Suarez-Balcazar et al. 2013). It is in the interactional space of constant change where individuals and multidimensional systems interact that the fifth key element, transformation, can occur. Transformation can be understood as the “capacity to initiate social transformation” (Olsson, Folke, and Hahn 2004, 2). Shimahara, Holowinsky, and Tomlinson-Clarke (2001) delineate ecological systems that impact student learning, including microsystems, mesosystems, exosystems, and chronosystems. First, Shimahara, Holowinsky, and Tomlinson-Clarke (2001) assert that the microsystem focus on the individual, self-understanding, and interpersonal interaction. The self is defined in multiple contexts, including understanding ourselves as racial and cultural beings and contrasting how we define ourselves with how society defines us (Tomlinson-Clarke and Wang 1999). Additionally, the influence of “significant others” is relevant in the microsystem, including those who have the most immediate influence on the learner and are most likely to impact their behaviors, such as parents, siblings, extended family, teachers, and peers (Alfaro, Umaña-Taylor, and Bámaca 2006; Wang, Haertel, and Walberg 1994). Second, the mesosystem focus is “a system of microsystems that includes peer group, classroom, school, or family, is particularly important in the young person’s experiential framework” (Marks 200

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2000, 157). The mesosystem is inclusive of institutions that reside within communities in which individuals are directly influenced. Sarason (1976) asserts that communities are influenced by complex multicultural ecological settings that are influenced by a variety of sociocultural factors. Third, the exosystem focus is on social, cultural, and political institutional structures that influence policies where the mesosystem resides. The exosystem includes aspects such as educational policies that govern school reform. According to Cochran-Smith (2004), pre-service teacher preparation programs do not provide teachers with the analytical skills they need to interrogate exosystem influences on teacher performance and school reform. Cochran-Smith asserts that pre-service teachers need to be able to negotiate their conceptions of best practice within the constraints generated by the exosystem. Fourth, the chronosystem focus accounts for the temporal element of the ecological model that reflects how historical shifts have gradually contributed to the marginalization and emancipation of students of color and their communities (Shimahara, Holowinsky, and Tomlinson-Clark 2001). The elements described above are closely aligned with Bronfenbrenner’s Ecological Theory (1992), a model that is used to understand how systems interact and impact individuals and communities.

The Link Between Ecological Theory and Humanizing Pedagogy An ecological approach can be used to understand how students’ lives are impacted by systems that reproduce or interrupt educational inequities (Suarez-Balcazar et al. 2013). In adopting an ecological perspective, educators can “develop the capacity to evaluate and transform the context and oneself in accordance with the community’s fabric . . . thus transforming social systems” (Suarez-Balcazar et al. 2013, 21). Thus, an ecological approach complements humanizing pedagogy through the examination of the interconnected systems that reinforce asymmetries of power and humanize or dehumanize students of color. Saleebey (2001) eloquently captures the intersection between ecological theory and humanization in the following: Ecological theory pushes us to understand the significance of the social and physical spaces where individual and environment meet (the interfaces) and recognize that in those spaces the work of supporting human development and the nurturing of esteem and competence is done; in those spaces the dirty work of oppression can also be done, along with the stifling of human possibility and the deepening of vulnerability. (215) It is in the social and physical spaces where the individual and the environment meet that the theoretical frameworks of humanizing pedagogy and ecological theory can thrive. In the next section, I examine the following question: How do I live my values more fully in my practice? To answer this question, I analyze the learning experiences embedded in the summer orientation of the University of Denver’s Teacher Education Program (TEP), which consists of two courses, Teaching and Learning Environments and Second Language Acquisition. These courses are intended to instill ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions in pre-service teachers as a foundation for the enactment of technical instructional practices. Ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions are defined as attitudes, beliefs, and values needed to interrogate complex systems that impact the learning of students of color and advance their dignity, humanity, and learning. The result of the analysis yields a curriculum map that delineates the existing and potential learning experiences for pre-service teachers that are rooted in an ecological model and are 201

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aligned to principles of humanizing pedagogy. Additionally, I delve deeper into my questions and present one particular learning experience that can serve as a catalyst for the development of ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions.

Naming the Results Generating a Curriculum Map In examining my practice toward the development of ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions, I reframe Freire’s conceptualization of humanization in education by situating the principles of humanizing pedagogy within ecological systems in a curriculum map. I use the elements of an ecological system (Shimahara, Holowinsky, and Tomlinson-Clarke 2001); five principles of humanizing pedagogy (Salazar 2013); and elements of backward design (Wiggins and McTighe 2005), including enduring understandings, essential questions, and learning experiences. In creating this chart and starting with the end in mind—nurturing ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions—I was able to document the current learning experiences that aligned with ecological theory and humanizing pedagogy. Moreover, I was able to brainstorm potential learning experiences to continue to move our pre-service teachers toward ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions. The existing and proposed experiences are identified in Table 15.1. Engaging in the creation of this curriculum map was a powerful experience for me. It allowed me to articulate my beliefs and align current learning experiences to my values. Furthermore, it allowed me to identify curricular strengths, gaps, and opportunities to generate new ideas for learning experiences. Last, it allowed me to fully articulate my values and goals for immersing pre-service teachers in learning experiences that develop ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions.

Exploring a Catalyst for Change While articulating my philosophy of practice and aligning my practice and beliefs, I came to realize another important element: I believe pre-service teachers need a disruptive experience that can serve as a catalyst for the development of ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions. Moreover, they need to draw on their own lived experiences in order to develop a deep and sustained commitment to understanding the complexity of students’ lives and engaging in humanizing education. This assertion aligns with Clandinin and Connelly’s (1995) conceptualization of teacher knowledge as a “body of convictions, meanings, conscious or unconscious, that have arisen from experience” (7). I have used one particular pedagogical tool in the TEP program for six consecutive years, a simulation designed to submerge pre-service teachers into the experience of an English language learner (ELL). I refer to this as a submersion experience because students are compelled to “sinkor-swim” in response to my instructional strategies. In this experience, I teach a 60-minute lesson in Spanish on a topic most of the pre-service teachers do not have background knowledge of: Cesar Chavez. This icon of the U.S. civil rights movement is often invisible in American history, and typically unknown to my predominantly middle class White students. I put the students in a high stakes environment by indicating that they will need to pass a Spanish proficiency test at the end of the lesson, and that the results of this test will determine their opportunities for placements and jobs. Throughout the lesson, I strategically use instructional strategies that support my students in their efforts to excel, or “swim,” yet I also purposefully allow them to fail, or “sink.” For example, to make it easier for students to learn, I use sheltered instruction strategies such as 202

Table 15.1 Curriculum Alignment to Ecological Theory and Humanizing Pedagogy Theory

Enduring Understandings

Essential Questions

Learning Experiences

EES1: The microsystem (individual-family context) impacts student learning.

Students will understand how their own identity is influenced by contextual factors, including beliefs, values, family traditions, ethnic background, SES, gender, preferences, values, beliefs, etc.

Who am I? What aspects of my identity are most salient?

Identity quilt: Create “I” quilt to visually represent own identities.

HPP1: The full development of the person is essential for humanization.

Who are my students? How can I meet the holistic needs of my students?

*Written reflection: Compare and contrast own identities and students’ identities.

Students will understand the needs of the whole child (typical patterns in child and adolescent development, including language, racial identity, socioemotional, cognitive, etc.) EES2: The mesosystem (community context) impacts student learning. HP2: To deny someone else’s humanization is also to deny one’s own. HPP3: The journey for humanization is an individual and collective endeavor toward critical consciousness.

Students will understand the experiences of differential treatment, prejudice, and discrimination faced by marginalized communities. Students will understand family, community, and school influences on student learning. Students will understand the importance of asset perspectives and valuing and respecting diversity beyond a surface culture approach.

*Identity hands: Engage K–12 students in placement sites in creating identity hands to visually represent identities.

*Child Study: Analyze the experiences of a student (ELL, special needs, or gifted) inside and outside of school. What is the experience of marginalized communities inside and outside of school? How do family, community, and school influences impact student learning? How can I demonstrate asset perspectives and respect for diversity?

Submersion experience: Reflect on a dehumanizing experience of being submersed in a foreign language with limited supports. Community cultural wealth quilt: Create a quilt representing the cultural wealth of the community surrounding the school. Dialogic interactions: Engage in critical reflection on readings, media, and guest speakers through probing questions that address issues of equity in classroom discussion, blogs, and group discussion boards. (Continued)

Table 15.1 (Continued) Theory

Enduring Understandings

Essential Questions

Learning Experiences

EES3: The exosystem (societal-policy context) impacts student learning.

Students will understand systemic inequities that impact the learning of marginalized communities.

How are communities of color marginalized through institutionalized practices and educational policies?

Dialogic interactions: Engage in critical reflection on readings, media, and guest speakers through probing questions that address issues of equity in classroom discussion, blogs, and group discussion boards.

HPP4: Critical reflection and action can transform structures that impede our own and others’ humanness, thus facilitating liberation for all.

EES4: The chronosystem (historical context) impacts student learning. HPP5: Educators are responsible for promoting a more fully human world through their pedagogical principles and practices.

Students will understand how culturally and linguistically diverse communities and their allies have engaged in democratic participation to resist marginalization.

Students will understand the importance of a sense of urgency in interrupting oppression and promoting equity.

How have communities of color and their allies resisted marginalization?

Privilege walk: Critically reflect on own background of privilege and the resulting inequities. Why should I be invested in closing the gap for marginalized communities? What can I do to make a difference?

Description of Context: Use primary and secondary sources to document the historical and current experience of marginalized communities in the school. *Philosophy of Education: Articulate a philosophy of education that addresses the essential questions: What is the purpose of education? Why teach? Why should I be invested in closing the gap for marginalized communities? What can I do to make a difference?

Note: Asterisk (*) indicates potential learning experience that is not currently used in the program.

Reframing Freire

total physical response, gestures, and visuals. However, I also use strategies that make it difficult for students to learn, such as complex and rapid speech, high-pressure focus on testing, and lack of visual supports. This experience facilitates a mesosystem approach to teacher education, in that students experience the marginalization that communities of ELLs experience; moreover, this experience is based on the principle of humanizing pedagogy that to deny someone else’s humanization is also to deny one’s own. I specifically submerge students in a disruptive experience so that they begin to understand the differential treatment, prejudice, and discrimination faced by marginalized communities because of their language abilities. Stibbards and Puk (2011) describe an ecological approach that can be used to frame this learning experience through three foci: complexity, emergent outcomes, and transformation. First, the authors describe the complexity inherent in ecological models as ambiguous parameters. Second, the authors describe that emergent outcomes arise from complexity; these are not the result of linear relationships; rather, outcomes emerge from complex and dynamic interactions that provoke new insights as a result of chaotic interactions that ensue in a learning experience. The results of this experience cannot be predicted or controlled by the facilitator, but instead allow each individual to make meaning for themselves. Third, according to Stibbards and Puk, participants experience transformation by examining their own beliefs and identifying possible ways they might integrate the meaning they take from the experience into their teaching practice. By connecting the material to pre-service teachers’ lives, the possibility for change becomes a reality. At the completion of the submersion experience, pre-service teachers were asked to complete a graphic organizer that included the following reflection questions: How did this submersion experience make you feel? How did you communicate your feelings to your instructor and/or peers? How can this experience help you understand the challenges ELLs face in the classroom? What specific strategies can you use to make language and content comprehensible for ELLs? The graphic organizers have indicated that students grappled with the experience of ELLs by naming the complexity of their own feelings. Of the 155 students who responded, 149 students used negative terms to describe their feelings, as displayed in recurring terms in Table 15.2. Of these responses, the most common negative terms used were: frustrated, left out, nervous, anxious, inferior, inadequate, overwhelmed, disengaged, and powerless. Of the 155 respondents, only six provided positive terms to describe their feelings during the submersion experience, these were: enlightened, valuable, excited, excelled, perseverant, and privileged. Students also identified emergent outcomes from the submersion experience related to improving their practice for ELLs by providing more time and a slower pace; creating a safe learning environment; being more patient; giving ELLs more opportunities to participate; increasing visual supports; using gestures and total physical response strategies; increasing repetition; using cooperative Table 15.2 Negative Terms Used to Describe Feelings Resulting From Submersion Experience uncomfortable

annoyed

divided

powerless

inferior

inadequate

hopeless

disengaged upset

nervous

anxious

frustrated

embattled

fearful

conflicted

bored

out-of-control exhausted

disadvantaged

unconfident sinking

stressed

overwhelmed discouraged

stumbling

closed off

confused

puzzled

left out

frustrated

lost

filled with contempt

checked out

isolated

mute

insecure

timid

distracted

silent

frantic

avoidant

angry

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learning; incorporating students’ native language; frontloading vocabulary; using frequent checks for understanding; differentiating assessments; and integrating culturally relevant content. Last, as a result of the disruptive experience, pre-service teachers indicated that they would transform their practice to meet the needs of ELLs. The highest number of respondents indicated the following transformation: (a) realization that ELLs are being left behind; (b) commitment to protecting these students from the negative feelings that they experienced during the submersion experience; (c) increased compassion and empathy for the challenges faced by ELLs; and (d) greater appreciation for the strengths these learners bring to the teaching and learning experience. Only one student out of 155 articulated a negative emergent outcome as a result of the experience; the student stated that s/he does not feel responsible for supporting non-English speakers and these students should learn to speak English as quickly as possible. In sum, the simulated submersion experience immerses pre-service teachers into a disruptive learning experience where the candidates personalize the experience of ELLs; this can serve as a catalyst for interrogating the systemic marginalization of students of color based on language, in addition to a commitment to humanize the experience of these students. Thus, this chapter informs the field of educational linguistics through an innovative approach to language use and language learning in the context of teacher preparation.

Naming the Conclusion The focus on preparing pre-service teachers to understand the language use and language learning needs of their students informs the field of educational linguistics and provides a resource for educators who are committed to meeting the needs of English language learners. As a result of this work, I found that ecologically-minded humanizing dispositions can be nurtured through learning experiences that compel pre-service teachers to grapple with the elements of ecological theory and the principles of humanizing pedagogy. Through this experience, I have been empowered to articulate my values, improve my practice, expand my students’ learning, and interrupt oppression and dehumanization. Furthermore, this work has re-energized me as an educator; I have an increased commitment to stir up an “ecological ripple effect” (Watson and Steele 2006, 16) through a colectivo (collective) of ecologically-minded humanizing pedagogues, inclusive of teachers and teacher educators, that strive for internal and external transformation. Together, we can foist the rock from the “sisyphean challenge” (Yearwood 2012, 23) over the cliff once and for all; that is the challenge of humanizing education in an era of standardization in order to meet the needs of culturally and linguistically diverse learners.

References Alfaro, E. C., Umaña-Taylor, A. J., and Bámaca, M. Y. 2006. The influence of academic support on Latino adolescents’ academic motivation. Family Relations, 55(3), 279–291. Aloni, N. 2002. Enhancing humanity: The philosophical foundations of humanistic education. NY: Springer. Anast Seguin, C., and Ambrosio, A. L. 2002. Multicultural vignettes for teacher preparation. Journal of Multicultural Perspectives, 4(4), 10–16. Balcazar, F. E., Suarez-Balcazar, Y., Adams, S. B., Keys, C. B., García-Ramírez, M., and Paloma, V. 2012. A case study of liberation among Latino immigrant families who have children with disabilities. American Journal of Community Psychology, 49(1–2), 283–293. Balderrama, M. V. 2001. The (mis)preparation of teachers in the Proposition 227 era: Humanizing teacher roles and their practice. The Urban Review, 33(3), 255–267. Bartolomé, L. I. 1994. Beyond the methods fetish: Toward a humanizing pedagogy. Harvard Educational Review, 64(2), 173–195.

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16 Heritage Language Education Minority Language Speakers, Second Language Instruction, and Monolingual Schooling Jennifer Leeman and Kendall A. King

Most discussions of heritage language education begin with a consideration of the term “heritage language,” which arose in Canada to refer to languages other than English or French (Duff and Li 2009). This definition of heritage languages as any “languages other than the national language(s)” has been adopted and applied to a wide array of international contexts, leading to extensive discussion and debate. On one hand, scholars have sought to fine-tune our understanding of the meaning of “heritage languages”—for instance, by distinguishing among colonial, Indigenous, or immigrant languages (Fishman 2001). On the other hand, scholars have critiqued the term itself, noting that “ancestral languages,” “community languages,” or “minority languages” are widely used outside of the U.S. context (Brutt-Griffler and Makoni 2005; De Bot and Gorter 2005; Wiley 2005), and hence proposed the use of a more inclusive term, such as “heritage and community languages” (Wiley 2005). For many researchers, policy makers, activists, and educators, “heritage language education” refers to any and all education provided in languages other than the official or national languages. The educational programs that fall within this category vary widely with respect to aim, structure, and pedagogy, and include schooling offered completely in the (minority language) mother tongue of pupils; maintenance and transitional bilingual education; complementary schools that offer heritage language instruction on weekends; and immersion or revitalization programs designed for students who do not speak their heritage language. Labeling them all as “heritage language education” obscures the significant differences among these various types of programs and models. Further, as Brutt-Griffler and Makoni (2005) suggest, the use of a single term downplays substantial variation across languages and language communities by failing to recognize the particular local sociolinguistic, ideological, and policy contexts. In addition to this broad definition of heritage language education, however, there is also a more narrow and specific meaning. In the United States, the term “heritage language education” has been used since the 1990s to refer to “foreign” language instruction for students who have prior home or community-based exposure to this language (Valdés 2005). Simplifying somewhat, the broad definition includes all instructional programs in which the heritage language primarily is the medium of instruction; in contrast, within the narrow definition the heritage language tends to be

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the object of instruction. Of course, educational programs that use the heritage language as the medium of instruction might also have a second language or language arts component. In this chapter, we focus on heritage language education narrowly defined. The field of heritage language education is one of the fastest growing areas of second language acquisition and educational linguistics research and pedagogy. Instructional programs ranging from single classes to multi-course tracks for heritage students exist in pockets across the United States, sometimes with distinct heritage language courses for students with varying degrees of productive and receptive abilities. Active lines of scholarship address the linguistic and affective characteristics of heritage language learners; heritage language learning processes; discourses surrounding heritage languages and students in classrooms and teaching materials; and heritage students’ educational needs and the pedagogical approaches that can best meet them, among other theoretical and applied topics. In addition to providing a brief overview of the field, we analyze the language ideologies embodied in this educational and research paradigm. We argue that although the roots of heritage language education are intertwined with minority language and civil rights movements, offering special ‘foreign language’ classes for heritage speakers does not challenge the established linguistic hierarchies that frame monolingualism in the majority language as the norm and relegate minority languages (and their speakers) to the margins. Hence, to some extent, the term heritage language education as well as the scholarship and practice surrounding it are complicit in the construction of heritage speakers as an aberration. These ideological forces, we suggest, help to explain why heritage language education, both as a field of scholarship and as instructional programming for learners, remains marginalized, underfunded, and often an after-thought within the United States.

Historical Perspectives The social and political struggles of ethnic and regional minorities and Indigenous communities around the world have brought attention to minority language issues, including language discrimination, access to public services, governmental representation, and educational policy. Since the 1960s, heritage language activists have intensified calls for mother tongue education and bilingual education to allow for more equitable educational opportunities for minority language students, as well as to promote minority language maintenance. As a result of such activism, together with a substantial body of research documenting the individual and societal benefits of mother tongue education, recent decades have seen growing international recognition of the importance of education in students’ home languages (see García and Woodley, this volume, for a discussion of bilingual education). However, despite widespread scholarly agreement regarding the academic, cognitive, and social benefits of mother tongue education, and of multilingual education more broadly, program creation and implementation are constrained by context-specific language ideologies and educational policies (Hornberger 2005). In the United States, for instance, the strength of the one language–one nation ideology and the concomitant suspicion of multilingualism, together with a vocal anti-immigrant movement, have led to federal and state educational policies that increasingly favor English-only education for minority language speakers (Wright 2007; Gándara and Rios-Aguilar 2012). In such contexts, instruction in languages other than English is largely restricted to “foreign language instruction,” which, when available, is often limited to the secondary and post-secondary settings. Even these meager offerings have seen limited support, despite political lip service to the importance of linguistic competence for 21st-century competitiveness.

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The restriction and elimination of mother tongue and bilingual education in the U.S. has coincided with exponential growth in heritage language instruction and research. This apparent paradox can be understood through consideration of the ideological differences between these two pedagogical models—both of which are designed for students who speak nonEnglish languages at home. Bilingual education is most common at the elementary school level and employs a non-English language to teach academic content during a significant portion of the school day. Bilingual education, and bilingualism more broadly, have received a great deal of negative attention in public discourse, and are often portrayed as impeding the assimilation and scholastic achievement of minority language children, fostering divisiveness, and serving the interests of minority leaders more than those of minority language children (Crawford 1998). In contrast, heritage language education programs are most commonly found in secondary and post-secondary foreign language settings. Because they are limited to foreign language classes, which typically meet for a few hours each week, heritage language programs do not involve a reduction in English-language instructional time, nor do they involve the teaching of core content in a non-English language. Even community-based heritage language schools, which often operate more like mother tongue educational programs, providing cultural as well as linguistic content, typically hold classes in the evening or on weekends, outside of normal school hours, and thus complement rather than replace the students’ regular education in English. Thus, unlike bilingual education, which is seen as threatening the hegemony of English, heritage language education leaves the English-only educational paradigm largely intact (Leeman 2010). This confluence of forces, on one hand, has resulted in restricted options for bilingual schooling, and on the other, has contributed to the rise of heritage language education as a field in the United States. Another factor contributing to the prominence of the United States as a site of heritage language education is that the mostly widely spoken minority language in the country is also the most commonly taught foreign language. Almost 13% of the population over five years of age speaks Spanish at home, more than twice the percentage of all other non-English languages combined (American Community Survey 2011). With respect to foreign language instruction, post-secondary enrollments in Spanish as a second language surpassed those of all other languages in the 1970s (Draper and Hicks 2002), having already done so at the high school level before mid-century (Snyder, Tan, and Hoffman 2005). Not surprisingly, specialized instruction for heritage speakers first emerged in Spanish. Similar to struggles for Spanish mother tongue and bilingual education in primary education, calls for Spanish as a heritage language instruction at the post-secondary level were linked to the Chicano and Puerto Rican rights movements, as students enrolled in college courses to enhance their knowledge of what was seen as the language of Latina/o identity and political consciousness (Leeman and Martínez 2007). Scholars and educators recognized that students who had grown up in Spanish-speaking homes had different linguistic and pedagogical needs than their monolingual English-speaking classmates for whom foreign language instruction was tailored, and developed materials and teaching practices specifically for what were frequently called “bilingual,” “native speaker,” or “Spanish-speaking students” (Valdés 2005). Interest in heritage language education grew in the 1980s and 1990s, with the term “heritage student” adopted within the foreign language teaching profession following the 1996 publication of the American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages’ Standards for Foreign Language Learning (Valdés 2005). The growth of heritage language education as a field is clearly related to demographic shifts, migration, and globalization, as students enrolled in foreign language classes are increasingly likely to have home or community experience with multiple languages. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, in 2011, almost 22% of children between the ages of 5 and 17 spoke

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a language other than English at home, with roughly 72% of these children speaking Spanish (American Community Survey 2011). Moreover, recent years have seen an expansion of second language offerings at the postsecondary level, and courses in ‘less commonly taught languages’ often include heritage speakers of those languages, thus broadening the interest in heritage language education beyond Spanish. For instance, approximately 90% of students in college-level Korean language courses are heritage speakers (Lee and Shin 2008). The years following 9/11 saw a heightened awareness of military, intelligence, and national security agencies’ needs for individuals proficient in ‘critical’ languages such as Arabic and Hindi, among others. Researchers have suggested that the most efficient means of meeting these needs is not to rely on second language education but to develop the proficiency of heritage speakers, thus fueling even greater interest in heritage language education generally, and for languages other than Spanish in particular (Van Deusen-Scholl 2003; Wiley 2007). Another important shift in recent decades concerns the framing of heritage languages. Whereas discourses surrounding early heritage language programs tended to emphasize the affective and cultural importance of heritage language maintenance for students, the dominant discourses in the 21st century tend to stress job market advantages for individuals as well as the security and commercial interests of the nation-state (Leeman and Martínez 2007). This trend was already evident in both foreign and heritage language instruction at the end of the last century, but it became more pronounced post-9/11, as military, intelligence, and national agencies stressed their need for individuals proficient in ‘critical’ languages. Discourses of international competitiveness and national security are abundant in recent heritage language education initiatives of agencies such as the Alliance for the Advancement of Heritage Languages, the National Foreign Language Center, and the National Heritage Language Resource Center, many of which stress the instrumental value of the nation’s heritage language ‘resources’ (Ricento 2005).

Core Issues and Key Findings Characteristics of Heritage Language Students In addition to disagreement regarding the definitions of “heritage language” and “heritage language education,” scholarly debate also exists around who is a “heritage language learner.” While some researchers include anyone with a familial, ethnic, or identity connection to the heritage language (independent of linguistic ability), others reserve this term for students who have some degree of linguistic competence in the language. Within the field, there is often an assumption that heritage students have at least some receptive or productive proficiency in the language (Bale 2010). Even so, there is tremendous diversity among heritage students in terms of their experiences with the heritage language, as well as in their linguistic abilities. Heritage students include immigrants and members of Indigenous groups, as well as children and descendants of immigrants. Some have had extensive education in the heritage language, either domestically or abroad, while others have had none. Their linguistic backgrounds and familial language practices are also varied. For example, some heritage students hail from monolingual heritage language households, while others come from homes where the majority language dominates. There is also great variability in heritage language educational experiences, availability of heritage language reading materials, and opportunities for heritage language use.

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Not surprisingly, heritage students’ linguistic abilities are also heterogeneous. The earliest and most influential line of work examining the characteristics of the language spoken by heritage language speakers is that of Carmen Silva-Corvalán, who analyzed language change and variation among Spanish-English bilinguals or English-dominant-heritage language speakers of Spanish in Los Angeles (1986; 1994a; 1994b). Silva-Corvalán’s research, and the subsequent work inspired by it, explored the (often combined) impact of “incomplete acquisition” of the heritage language; attrition (individual language loss, typically through disuse); and language contact. Silva-Corvalán’s findings suggested a continuum of bilingual proficiency among Spanish-speakers in Los Angeles, with fully proficient speakers at one end, and those who are restricted to “emblematic” uses of Spanish that serve primarily to perform a Latina/o identity, on the other. In one of the relatively few heritage language education studies to look comparatively across language groups, Carreira and Kagan (2011) surveyed 1,732 learners of 22 different heritage languages from different areas of the United States. Their findings suggested a general profile of heritage language learners as students who have (1) acquired English in early childhood, after acquiring the heritage language; (2) relatively strong aural/oral skills but limited literacy skills; and (3) limited exposure to the heritage outside the home. In surveys and interviews with 20 beginning-level Spanish heritage language learners, Beaudrie and Ducar (2005) found that although most participants had ample opportunities to overhear Spanish, few spoke it with their parents or other relatives. Thus, while recent immigrants might have greater proficiency in the heritage language than the national language, students who are generations removed from immigration often have little or no productive ability in the heritage language (Beaudrie 2009). Another frequently documented characteristic of heritage students is the tendency to suffer from linguistic insecurity or shame regarding their heritage language abilities (Abdi 2011; Basham and Fathman 2008; Beaudrie and Ducar 2005; Curtin 2007). Heritage speakers often face a double stigma in that they speak a minority language and they speak a non-prestige, low-status, contact variety of that language. In addition to this research describing the characteristics of bilinguals and heritage language speakers in their own right (or by implicitly comparing them to monolingual native speakers), other work has investigated similarities and differences between heritage speakers and second language learners, or among different types of heritage learners. For example, Au (2008) reported that heritage speakers showed advantages in phonology, but not in morphosyntax, a finding consistent with the observations of numerous language educators. Further, many heritage speakers have not had formal instruction, and thus are less likely to have acquired metalinguistic knowledge or literacy in the heritage language. One additional difference between heritage students and (advanced) second language students is that the latter might have acquired academic registers in the second language but be less adept at negotiating various social situations in that language, while the former might be comfortable conversing with friends and family but have less control of linguistic registers associated with public or formal settings. While these generalizations resonate with many in the field, Kondo-Brown’s research problematizes the simple dichotomy between heritage student and second language learners. KondoBrown (2005) compared the Japanese grammatical knowledge, listening, and reading skills, and self-assessed use and competencies of four groups of students of Japanese: (a) students with at least one Japanese-speaking parent, (b) students with a Japanese-speaking grandparent, (c) students of Japanese descent without Japanese-speaking parents or grandparents, and (d) students of non-Japanese descent from non-Japanese-speaking families. She found that only those students with at least one Japanese-speaking parent performed significantly differently from the others. Kondo-Brown’s work underscores that low proficiency heritage 214

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learners’ linguistic abilities might not always differ from those of second language learners (see also Lynch 2008).

Heritage Students’ Pedagogical Needs and Best Educational Practices Given these characteristics of heritage students, heritage language education has emphasized the development of literacy skills in the heritage language. In addition, because many heritage students speak less prestigious varieties of the heritage language (e.g., contact varieties with influence from the majority language, or varieties associated with rural areas or socioeconomically disadvantaged groups), many heritage language educators have seen “dialect acquisition” of the prestige variety as a key goal. Valdés (1995) delineates the four goals of Spanish heritage language instruction as: (1) Spanish language maintenance, (2) acquisition of the prestige variety of Spanish, (3) the expansion of the bilingual range, and (4) the transfer of literacy skills. However, many heritage students are less interested in acquiring an international “standard” language variety than in developing their proficiency in local varieties (Ducar 2008; Leeman, Rabin, and RománMendoza 2011). Other heritage students’ motivation is to develop their ethnic identity or strengthen ties to the culture(s) associated with the heritage language (Jensen and Llosa 2007; Lee and Shin 2008; Wong and Xiao 2010). Another goal of some heritage language programs is to foster students’ language awareness and sociolinguistic knowledge. For example, Carreira (2000) calls for heritage language education to help students to understand linguistic variation and the contextual nature of linguistic hierarchies that favor some language varieties or linguistic features at the expense of others. Researchers and educators adopting a critical approach argue that students benefit from understanding the social and political implications of linguistic hierarchies (Correa 2011; Leeman 2005; Martínez 2003; Villa 2002). Discussing the connection of language and identity, Hornberger and Wang (2008, 15) note that “it would also help [students] to understand that multiple memberships are necessary and possible in their negotiation of self-identity and empowerment.” Student empowerment is also stressed in Leeman’s (2005) call for heritage language educators to promote students’ critical agency in deciding when, and whether, to conform to the norms of prestige varieties. Early heritage pedagogies often adopted a deficit orientation regarding students’ linguistic competence and sought to “improve” heritage speakers’ language by eradicating nonstandard linguistic features and replacing them with more prestigious forms (Valdés 1981; 2005). While this negative framing of students’ language varieties and practices is still too common, there is growing consensus that educators should value students’ home experiences and language(s). For instance, based on their research with 15 adult heritage language learners of Alaskan Athabaskan languages, Basham and Fathman (2008) recommend that educators learn about the life experiences of their students, their attitudes, and their abilities, and carefully consider these in designing adult programs. For these learners in particular, “it is important to show latent speakers what they already know and to give them confidence in their ability to reactivate their latent knowledge, speak their heritage language and ultimately pass it on to others” (593). As for instructional practices, Martínez (2003) proposes specific in-class activities designed to help students explore community language practices and linguistic variation. In line with critical pedagogical approaches, Leeman (2005) advocates bringing students’ home language practices into the classroom and argues that the in-class discussion of non-prestige varieties should include linguistic analysis of those varieties, rather than “translation” to prestige varieties or prescriptions of what to avoid. Further, educators are urged to engage students in the critical analysis of language ideologies and their consequences. 215

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In recent years, researchers have also explored ways of expanding the heritage language curriculum beyond traditional heritage language classes. For example, Martínez and Schwartz (2012) instituted the innovative Medical Spanish for Heritage Learners Program, which includes specialized training in medical Spanish as well as service learning in local clinics. A key element of the program is students’ consideration of language ideologies and the linguistic barriers to medical care. Providing students with opportunities to combat linguistic injustice while simultaneously having their linguistic knowledge validated and valued outside of the classroom were also goals of a critical service learning program in which post-secondary students offered a Spanish heritage language program for elementary school children (Leeman, Rabin, and Román-Mendoza 2011).

Research Approaches Research on heritage languages education has increased dramatically in recent decades. Below we outline the general approaches and assumptions of these major lines of work, and discuss some studies that illustrate these strands. We divide this research into three broad categories: psycholinguistic studies of individual heritage speaker/learner capacities; sociolinguistic and cultural analyses of heritage language use and identity; and educational research on materials, policies, and pedagogies for heritage learners.

Psycholinguistic Approaches Psycholinguistically oriented research has analyzed various aspects of heritage language (HL) learners’ productive and receptive language skills, usually through comparison with native (monolingual) speakers, and sometimes with second language (L2) learners of that language. This body of work tends to focus exclusively on linguistic development measured quantitatively—for instance, through grammaticality judgments or standard second language elicitation tasks. One significant line of inquiry has addressed whether HL speakers are “linguistically superior” to L2 learners and, if so, whether this advantage is limited to phonology or extends to morpho-syntactic features of language. For instance, Montrul (2010) compared 24 Spanish L2 learners and 24 Spanish HL learners’ knowledge of clitic pronouns and word order to examine this claim. Results from an oral production task, a written grammaticality judgment task, and a speeded comprehension task indicated that HL learners, overall, seemed to possess more nativelike knowledge of Spanish than their L2 counterparts. In other words, the “advantage” of HL learners, in this case, was not limited to phonology, as past work had suggested (cf. Au 2008). By including heritage language participants, this psycholinguistic research builds on and potentially contributes to the well established body of cognitively oriented second language acquisition research, which had, until recently, focused almost exclusively on the acquisition of second languages by monolinguals. Yet this approach, while offering detailed linguistic analyses of development and differences across learner types, has tended to assume a single monolingual prestige variety of international Spanish to which all learners aspire.

Sociolinguistic Approaches and Cultural Identity A second, more methodologically diverse, body of work has investigated identity construction and development among HL learners, often drawing from qualitative, ethnographic, or interpretive data and analysis. Much of this work seeks to gain deeper understanding of how learners 216

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conceptualize themselves in relation to language and culture and, in some cases, how learners’ identity stances shape individual investment in language learning. Wong and Xiao (2010), for instance, conducted interviews with 64 heritage language students of Mandarin with varied dialect backgrounds in order to explore how their identities were “produced, processed, and practiced in our postmodern world” (153). Through their qualitative, inductive analysis, they found that HL learners identified with an “imagined community” of Chinese speakers, with some heritage language dialect speakers adopting the dominant Mandarin to maintain, or even reinterpret, their own identities. Another interesting strand of sociolinguistic research, such as Dressler’s (2010) case study of German HL learners, has identified “reluctant” HL learners who decline to identify with the heritage language. This research highlights the importance of expertise, affiliation, inheritance, and cultural artifacts in learner identification. Other studies have examined the language ideologies embodied in heritage language teaching materials, classroom interactions, and departmental discourses (e.g., Leeman and Martínez 2007; Showstack 2012; Valdés, Gonzalez, Garcia, and Marquez 2003). While the bulk of this sociolinguistic work is anthropologically oriented, some researchers have utilized quantitative techniques to examine how heritage language speakers identify with their HL. For instance, Chinen and Tucker (2005) distributed questionnaires designed to measure ethnic identity, attitudes towards Japanese school, and self-reported Japanese proficiency to 31 Japanese-American adolescents enrolled in a Saturday Japanese heritage school in Los Angeles. Chinen and Tucker (2005) reported that these positive attitudes towards Japanese identity and language proficiency were closely related. Their data also suggested that the older students had a stronger sense of Japanese identity than the younger students and that students experienced positive gains across all three measures in just six months.

Educational Research A third and highly methodologically diverse body of work has examined heritage language learning and teaching specifically within educational and classroom environments. This research varies widely in research assumptions, methods, and foci. Although some of these studies also fall within the categories of psycholinguistic or sociolinguistic research, we discuss them in this section because they focus specifically on identifying heritage learners’ educational needs and improving pedagogical materials and practices. In a study that sought to profile heritage students’ language experience, goals, and preferences, Jensen and Llosa (2007) surveyed 128 students enrolled in university heritage language classes (Korean, Russian, Thai, and Vietnamese). Findings indicated that most students were interested in achieving university-level academic reading proficiency, yet reported spending little time reading in their heritage languages (despite the availability of print materials). Jensen and Llosa suggest this might be due to lack of transfer of literacy skills from English as well as students’ self-perceptions as slow readers. Most participants reported that their motivation was to maintain their cultural identity, and thus wished for more culturally and historically rich texts in the classroom. Other (more psycholinguistically oriented) work has compared heritage language and second language learners with respect to the effect of instruction. Potowski, Jegerski, and Morgan-Short (2009), for instance, attempted to extend the literature on the effect of instruction by investigating the impact of “processing instruction” (VanPatten 2004) and traditional output-based instruction on 127 learners’ acquisition of past subjunctive. While there were no statistically significant differences between the two instructional treatments, overall, second language learners seemed to make greater gains than HL participants. Potowski et al. (2009, 563) suggest that this may be due 217

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to the second language learners’ greater experience and familiarity with classroom instruction, or to the need for a different type of instruction “to oust” a previously acquired non-standard form (vs. acquiring a new form). One of the earliest researchers to critically analyze the assumptions and implicit messages of Spanish heritage language pedagogy was Valdés (1981), who condemned some HL programs’ framing of students’ home varieties as inferior and in need of ‘eradication.’ More recent studies have analyzed the erasure of linguistic variation in representations of Spanish and the reproduction of linguistic hierarchies that privilege prestige language varieties and monolingual practices (Ducar 2009; Leeman 2005; Martinez 2003; Villa 2002). Other valuable lines of educational research have evaluated placement and assessment (e.g., Fairclough 2012) or made recommendations for heritage language teacher training (e.g., Potowski 2002).

New Debates As noted at the outset of this chapter, the term “heritage language” has been variably defined and interpreted in both the academic literature and in educational practice. While this point has been widely recognized (e.g., Wiley 2001; Valdés 2001), it is only more recently that the ideological assumptions embedded in the term have received scholarly attention. Critical to understanding the position of both heritage language education programming and scholarship is the fact that across both the broad and narrow definitions, “heritage language” reifies monolingualism in the national language and concomitantly subordinates multilingual and minority language speakers. Adopting the broad definition of heritage language and designating certain individuals as “heritage students” implies that most students do not have knowledge of any other languages than the dominant ones. In reality, of course, many, if not most, of the children in the world grow up hearing more than one language and, indeed, about half of the world is bi- if not multilingual (Grosjean 1982). Recent demographic data suggest increasing numbers of international migrants (214 million in 2010, and as many as 405 million by 2050) (International Organization for Migration [IOM] 2010), many of whom will lead multilingual lives. The implicit assumptions about “heritage language education” are especially salient when “heritage language” is applied to highly multilingual contexts, such as those within many African nations. Brutt-Griffler and Makoni (2005), in particular, have noted that the term “heritage language” is largely foreign and meaningless in African contexts. They argue that in the countries in which it has been adopted, namely Zimbabwe and South Africa, “heritage language” has taken on political dimensions of xenophobia and is used to exclude or target certain groups of individuals. In the United States, heritage language instruction is highly constrained by federal and state educational policies, as well as monolingual ideologies. In particular, the strong emphasis on English-medium standardized tests dis-incentivizes schools to invest in quality heritage language instruction. The exclusive emphasis on English prevails, despite the lack of evidence that heritage language instruction negatively affects academic achievement or English language learning, as Wright (2007) demonstrated through eight years of research on heritage language programming for Khmer (Cambodian), Spanish, and Native American HL learners. Similarly, Little and McCarty note the growing pressures faced by Indigenous heritage language immersion programs, despite the evidence that heritage-language immersion is “superior to English-only instruction even for students who enter school with limited proficiency in the heritage language” (2006, i). According to García (2005), the focus on heritage language instruction has come about largely as a “fall-back” position, when the potential for bilingualism and biliteracy became restricted in light of federal policy. In her words, “in the U.S., we have gone from the two solitudes of our two languages 218

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in bilingualism, to our sole solitude in English, with whispers in other languages. Our multiple identities have been silenced, with one language identity reduced to that of a heritage” (605). Even settings dedicated to the teaching of minority languages reproduce many of the ideologies that privilege monolingual elite varieties and construct monolingual individuals as the unmarked norm (Leeman 2010; Valdés et al. 2003). One common way that this ideology is enacted is in the construction of second language sections as “normal” and heritage language tracks as “special.” In this light, it is hardly a coincidence that the term is most commonly used in contexts such as the United States, where monolingualism is the imagined norm (demographic realities aside). Considering “heritage” as a special designation only makes sense if all students are assumed to have no knowledge of the language being studied. Even within the “monolingual” U.S., fully one in five students comes from a home in which a language other than English is spoken (Institute for Education Sciences [IES] 2012). And in many U.S. school districts, the majority of students come from multilingual backgrounds (New York Times 2012), suggesting that in many cases, heritage students could be considered the norm and monolinguals the ones in need of ‘special’ tracks. These monolingual ideologies are also evident in heritage language research that tacitly posits monolingual acquisition as the norm and assumes that heritage language speakers that utilize non-prestige or contact forms or practices do so as a result of individual, cross-linguistic interference or a deficient or fossilized linguistic system. As Pascual y Cabo and Rothman (2012) point out in their critique of the notion of “incomplete acquisition,” heritage speakers’ experiences and the input to which they are exposed are simply different from the imagined monolingual norm, rather than inherently deficient. This view is supported by Polinsky’s (2008) case study of two heritage speakers of Russian, in which she found that the heritage speakers’ linguistic development continued, even with limited exposure to Russian. Such research underscores that heritage speakers’ linguistic systems are neither simply cases of fossilized first language acquisition nor determined solely by interference from a speaker’s dominant language.

Implications for Education This restrictive policy context raises substantial questions for future research. The reality is that relatively few heritage language students have access to heritage language instruction of any sort. Wiley (2005) notes the substantial gaps in course offerings, with large heritage language communities totally underserved. For instance, although there are more than one million Vietnamese, more than 1,200,000 Tagalog, and over 900,000 Korean speakers in the United States, we do not know of any heritage language offerings in these languages. The great majority of language offerings in U.S. schools (99%) are in a handful of languages (e.g., Spanish, French, German, Italian, Latin, Japanese, Russian, and Mandarin), meaning that for the vast majority of heritage language students, no instruction at all is provided. Even for the largest heritage language group in the U.S., Spanish speakers, fewer than 2.1% are enrolled in courses aimed at heritage language learners in secondary school. One major question for the field, then, is how to continue to advance heritage language education in light of severe policy restrictions and corresponding financial cutbacks. Noting that “ideological spaces for multilingual language and education policies” have been closed in many contexts (e.g., the U.S. following NCLB in 2001), Hornberger (2005) suggests that it is essential for language educators and language users “to fill up ‘implementational’ spaces with multilingual educational practices, whether with intent to occupy ideological spaces opened up by policies or to prod actively toward more favorable ideological spaces in the face of restrictive policies. Ideological spaces created by language and education policies can be seen as carving 219

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out implementational spaces at classroom and community levels, but implementational spaces can also serve as wedges to pry open ideological ones” (606). In addition to too few heritage language programs, there are also too few high quality heritage language programs, and too little research on best practices. Kondo-Brown (2003) asserted more than a decade ago that the field of heritage language education faced three major challenges: lack of evaluation research that judges the effectiveness of special heritage tracks or programs offered at post-secondary institutions; problematic methodologies adopted in research that investigated the differences in linguistic skills of post-secondary heritage language and non-heritage language students and the social-psychological factors associated with the levels of heritage language proficiency among adult HL learners; and the urgent need for developing appropriate assessment tools for adult HL learners. We concur that these remain important directions for future research and advocacy. Yet while work on these issues specific to heritage language educational programming is pressing, concomitantly, we also argue that it is important to continue to challenge the linguistic hierarchy in which heritage language education is located. This work entails pointing out and correcting the monolingual biases in our instructional assumptions (e.g., that instruction be carried out entirely in one language with an idealized monolingual variety as the aim) (Cummins 2005), and also addressing the biases in our collective notions of who language learners are; what second, foreign, and heritage language education is; and how it should be practiced. Core assumptions within the field of educational linguistics (e.g., native speaker, domain, speech community) have been critiqued and fallen into disuse in light of world events (e.g., globalization, transmigration) on one hand, and serious theoretical challenges on the other. The concept of ‘heritage language’ faces similar pressures. The field of educational linguistics increasingly grapples to address, both theoretically and empirically, the fact that many language leaners conduct their lives within highly diverse social and linguistic environments, with scholars striving to understand individual learners as dynamic, transnational, emergent multilinguals who utilize particular language varieties, registers, and styles for context-specific purposes. As heritage language programming is increasingly institutionalized, it is crucial for researchers and educators to recognize the complex multilingual lives, experiences, and ambitions of these learners.

Further Reading Beaudrie, S., and Fairclough, M. (Eds.) 2012. Spanish as a heritage language in the US: State of the science. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Brinton, D., Kagan, O., and Backhaus, S. (Eds.) 2008. Heritage language education: A new field emerging. New York: Routledge. Colombi, M. C., and Alarcón, F. (Eds.) 1997. La enseñanza del español a hispanohablantes: Praxis y teoría. Boston: Houghton Miflin. Heritage Language Journal. Retrievable at http://hlj.ucla.edu Peyton, J. K., Ranard, D. A., and McGinnis, S. (Eds.) 2001. Heritage languages in America: Preserving a national resource. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics.

References Abdi, K. 2011. She really only speaks English: Positioning, language ideology, and heritage language learners. Canadian Modern Language Review/La Revue canadienne des langues vivantes, 67(2), 161–90. American Community Survey. 2011. Washington, DC: U.S. Census Bureau. Au, T. K. F. 2008. Salvaging heritage languages. In: D. M. Brinton, O. Kagan, and S. Backhaus, eds., Heritage language education: A new field emerging. New York: Routledge, 149–64. 220

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Bale, J. 2010. International comparative perspectives on heritage language education policy research. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 30(1), 42–65. Basham, C., and Fathman, A. K. 2008. The latent speaker: Attaining adult fluency in an endangered language. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 11(4), 577–97. Beaudrie, S. 2009. Spanish receptive bilinguals: Understanding the cultural and linguistic profile of learners from three different generations. Spanish in Context, 6(1), 85–104. Beaudrie, S., and Ducar, C. 2005. Beginning level university heritage programs: Creating a space for all heritage language learners. Heritage Language Journal, 3(1), 1–26. Brinton, D., Kagan, O., and Bauckus, S. (Eds.) 2008. Heritage language education: A new field emerging. New York: Routledge. Brutt-Griffler, J., and Makoni, S. 2005. The use of heritage language: An African perspective. The Modern Language Journal, 89(4), 609–12. Carreira, M. 2000. Validating and promoting Spanish in the United States: Lessons from linguistic science. Bilingual Research Journal, 24(4), 423–42. Carreira, M., and Kagan, O. 2011. The results of the national heritage language survey: Implications for teaching, curriculum design and professional development. Foreign Language Annals, 44(1), 40–64. Chinen, G. K., and Tucker, R. 2005. Heritage language development: Understanding the roles of ethnic identity and Saturday school participation. Heritage Language Journal, 3(1), 27–59. Correa, M. 2011. Advocating for critical pedagogical approaches to teaching Spanish as a heritage language: Some considerations. Foreign Language Annals, 44(2), 308–20. Crawford, J., 1998. Ten common fallacies about bilingual education. Digest for the ERIC Clearinghouse on Languages and Linguistics, 51–56. Cummins, J., 2005. A proposal for action: Strategies for recognizing heritage language competence as a learning resource within the mainstream classroom. The Modern Language Journal, 89(4), 585–92. Curtin, M. 2007. Differential bilingualism: Vergüenza and pride in a Spanish sociolinguistics class. In: N. M. Antrim, ed., Seeking identity: Language in society (pp. 10–31). Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. De Bot, K., and Gorter, D. 2005. A European perspective on heritage languages. The Modern Language Journal, 89(4), 612–16. Draper, J. B., and Hicks, J. H. 2002. Foreign language enrollments in public secondary schools. Alexandria, VA: American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages. Dressler. R., 2010. “There is no space for being German”: Portraits of willing and reluctant heritage language learners of German. Heritage Language Journal, 7(2), Fall Issue, 1–21. Ducar, C. M. 2008. Student voices: The missing link in the Spanish heritage language debate. Foreign Language Annals, 41(3), 415–33. Ducar, C. 2009. The sound of silence: Spanish heritage textbooks’ treatment of language variation. In: M. Lacorte and J. Leeman, eds., Español en Estados Unidos y otros contextos de contacto: Sociolingüística, ideología y pedagogía. Madrid: Iberoamericana, 347–367. Duff, P., and Li, D. 2009. Indigenous, minority, and heritage language education in Canada: Policies, contexts, and issues. Canadian Modern Language Review/La Revue canadienne des langues vivantes, 66(1), 1–8. Fairclough, M. 2012. A working model for assessing Spanish heritage language learners’ proficiency through a placement exam. Heritage Language Journal 9(1), 121–38. Fishman, J. A. 2001. 300-plus years of heritage language education in the United States. In J. K. Peyton, D. A. Ranard, and S. McGinnis, (eds.), Heritage languages in America: Preserving a national resource, (pp. 81–98). Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics and Delta Systems. Gándara, P., and Rios-Aguilar, C. (Eds.) 2012. (Re)Conceptualizing and (re)evaluating language policies for English language learners: The case of Arizona [Special Issue]. Language Policy, 11(1). García, O. 2005. Positioning heritage languages in the U.S. The Modern Language Journal, 89(4), 601–5. Grosjean, F. 1982. Life with two languages: An introduction to bilingualism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hornberger, N. H. 2005. Opening and filling up implementational and ideological spaces in heritage language education. The Modern Language Journal, 89(4), 605–9. Hornberger, N. H., and Wang, S. C. 2008. Who are our heritage language learners? In: D.M. Brinton, O. Kagan and S. Backhaus, eds., Heritage language education: a new field emerging. New York: Routledge, 3–35. Institute for Education Sciences [IES]. 2012. Fast facts: English language learners. Retrieved from http://nces. ed.gov/fastfacts/display.asp?id=96 International Organization for Migration [IOM]. 2010. World migration report 2010—The future of migration: Building capacities for change. Retrieved from http://publications.iom.int/bookstore/index.php?main_page= product_infoandproducts_id=653 221

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Jensen, L., and Llosa, L. 2007. Heritage language reading in the university: A survey of students’ experiences, strategies, and preferences. Heritage Language Journal, 5(1), 98–116. Kondo-Brown, K. 2003. Heritage language instruction for post-secondary students from immigrant backgrounds. Heritage Language Journal, 1, 1–25. Kondo-Brown, K. 2005. Differences in language skills: heritage language learner subgroups and foreign language learners. The Modern Language Journal, 8(9), 563–81. Lee, J. and Shin, S. 2008. Korean heritage language education in the United States: The current state, opportunities, and possibilities. Heritage Language Journal, 6, 1–20. Leeman, J. 2005. Engaging critical pedagogy: Spanish for native speakers. Foreign Language Annals, 38(1), 35–45. Leeman, J, 2010. The sociopolitics of heritage language education. In: S. Rivera-Mills and D. Villa, eds., Spanish of the US Southwest: A language in transition. Madrid: Iberoamericana, 309–17. Leeman, J., and Martínez, G. 2007. From identity to commodity: Ideologies of Spanish in heritage language textbooks. Critical Inquiry in Language Studies, 4(1), 35–65. Leeman, J., Rabin, L., and Román-Mendoza, E. 2011. Critical pedagogy beyond the classroom walls: Community service-learning and Spanish heritage language education. Heritage Language Journal, 8(3), 1–21. Little, M. E. R., and McCarty, T. L. 2006. Language planning challenges and prospects in Native American communities and schools. Tempe: Education Policy Research Unit, Education Policy Studies Laboratory, Arizona State University. Lynch, A. 2008. The linguistic similarities of Spanish heritage and second language learners. Foreign Language Annals, 41, 252–81. Martínez, G. 2003. Classroom based dialect awareness in heritage language instruction: A critical applied linguistic approach. Heritage Language Journal 1(1), 1–14. Martínez, G., and Schwartz, A. 2012. Elevating “low” language for high stakes: A case for critical, communitybased learning in a medical Spanish for heritage learners program. Heritage Language Journal, 9(2), 37–49. Montrul, S. 2010. How similar are L2 learners and heritage speakers? Spanish clitics and word order. Applied Psycholinguistics, 31, 167–207. New York Times. 2011, December 25. Immigration in the classroom. Retrieved from http://projects.nytimes. com/immigration/enrollment Pascual y Cabo, D., and Rothman, J. 2012. The (Il)logical problem of heritage speaker bilingualism and incomplete acquisition. Applied Linguistics, 33(4), 450–455. Polinsky, M. 2008. Heritage language narratives. In D. M. Brinton, O. Kagan, and S. Backhaus, eds., Heritage language education: A new field emerging. New York: Routledge, 149–64. Potowski, K., 2002. Experiences of Spanish heritage speakers in university foreign language courses and implications for teacher training. ADFL Bulletin, 33(3), 35–42. Potowski, K., Jegerski, J., and Morgan-Short, K. 2009. The effects of instruction on linguistic development in Spanish heritage language speakers. Language Learning, 59(3), 537–79. Ricento, T. 2005. Problems with the ‘language-as-resource’ discourse in the promotion of heritage languages in the USA. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 9(3), 348–68. Showstack, R. E. 2012. Symbolic power in the heritage language classroom: How Spanish heritage speakers sustain and resist hegemonic discourses on language and cultural diversity. Spanish in Context, 9(1), 1–26. Silva-Corvalán, C. 1986. Bilingualism and language change: The extension of estar in Los Angeles Spanish. Language, 62, 587–608. Silva-Corvalán, C. 1994a. Language contact and change: Spanish in Los Angeles. New York: Oxford University Press. Silva-Corvalán, C. 1994b. The gradual loss of mood distinctions in Los Angeles Spanish. Language Variation and Change, 6, 255–72. Snyder, T. D., Tan, A. G., and Hoffman, C. M. 2005. Digest of education statistics. Washington, DC: National Center for Education Statistics. Valdés, G. 1981. Pedagogical implications of teaching Spanish to the Spanish-speaking in the United States. In: G. Valdés, A. G. Lozano, and R. García-Moya, eds., Teaching Spanish to the Hispanic bilingual. New York: Teacher’s College, 3–20. Valdés, G. 1995. The teaching of minority languages as “foreign” languages: pedagogical and theoretical challenges. Modern Language Journal, 79(3), 299–328. Valdés, G. 2001. Heritage language students: Profiles and possibilities. In: J. K. Peyton, D. A. Ranard, and S. McGinnis, eds., Heritage languages in America: preserving a national resource. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics, 37–77. Valdes, G. 2005. Bilingualism, heritage language learners, and SLA research: Opportunities lost or seized? Modern Language Journal, 89(3), 410–26. 222

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Valdés, G., Gonzalez, S. V., Garcia, D. L., and Marquez, P. 2003. Language ideology: The case of Spanish in departments of foreign languages. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 7(1), 3–26. Van Deusen-Scholl, N. 2003. Toward a definition of heritage language: Sociopolitical and pedagogical considerations. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 2(3), 211–30. VanPatten, B., ed. 2004. Processing instruction: Theory, research, and commentary. New York: Routledge. Villa, D. 2002. The sanitizing of US Spanish in academia. Foreign Language Annals, 35, 221–30. Wiley, T. 2001. On defining heritage languages and their speakers. In: J. K. Peyton, D. A. Ranard, and S. McGinnis, eds., Heritage languages in America: Preserving a national resource. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics, 29–36. Wiley, T. 2005. The reemergence of heritage and community language policy in the U.S. national spotlight. The Modern Language Journal, 89(4), 594–601. Wiley, T. 2007. Beyond the foreign language crisis: Toward alternatives to xenophobia and national security as bases for U.S. language policies. The Modern Language Journal, 91(2), 252–55. Wong, K. F., and Xiao,Y. 2010. Diversity and difference: Identity issues of Chinese heritage language learners from dialect backgrounds. Heritage Language Journal, 7(2), 153–87. Wright, W. E. 2007. Heritage language programs in the era of English-Only and No Child Left Behind. Heritage Language Journal, 5(1), 1–26.

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17 Disentangling Linguistic Imperialism in English Language Education The Indonesian Context Setiono Sugiharto

As the first foreign language taught in schools, English has been extensively taught and learned in Indonesia not only in formal contexts, but also in informal ones. The flurry of interest in the English language education in Indonesia has recently prompted the government (i.e., the Ministry of Education) to issue a policy that endorses the so-called “international pilot project state-run schools” known locally as Rintisan Sekolah Berstandar International (RSBI), the eventual goal of which is to establish international standard schools. The legal basis that strengthens its operation is Article 50, paragraph 3, of Law No. 20/2003 on the System of National Education. This controversial policy was made concomitant with the inexorable increase of privately run schools (primary, secondary, junior, and high schools) bearing various labels, such as international standard and international curriculum. The word international used in these schools has been taken to mean the following: (1) the use of the English language as the sole medium of instruction and interaction in schools, (2) the use of imported curricula and textbooks (mainly from the U.K., the U.S., and Australia), and (3) the assessment and certification system approved and legalized by the schools affiliating in these countries. Interestingly, while the campaign of the English-only policy nationwide through the “internationalization” of the state-run schools has been inveighed and opposed by local educational practitioners and local education pundits via a legal action, the government has been adamant and insisted on endorsing the policy. Clearly, all of these indicate that Indonesia suffers from what Stephen Krashen (2006) dubs “English fever”—an overwhelming desire to learn and acquire English. In this chapter, I will first discuss the genesis of English language education in the Indonesian context. Then, using Phillipson’s (1992, 15) notion of linguistic imperialism (a sub-type of linguicism) as “a particular theory for analyzing relations between dominant and dominated cultures, and specifically the way English language learning has been promoted,” I will argue that the Indonesian government’s efforts to “internationalize” local state-run schools via the use of English as a sole medium of instruction has perpetuated the idea of Western and European hegemonic pedagogy by facilitating its infiltration in the national language education through the policy it has made. Two of the most conspicuously devastating consequences of the fervent promotion of the English learning in the national education will also be discussed: (1) the 224

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creation of social stratification, inequality of access to education, and the marginalization of children from low income families; (2) the depreciation of native language education, which poses a serious threat of the extinction of Indonesia indigenous languages; and (3) resistance against the national language planning. Finally, I will discuss two conflicting camps related to how the national education should be grounded. To this end, I will demonstrate that critically interrogating the presence of English hegemony in education is difficult, as this attempt is severely constrained by deeply rooted and entrenched traditional values and norms (particularly Javanese philosophies) that permeate people’s everyday lives and govern their demeanors. The present study is ethnographic in its approach, as it is situated in the periphery context (i.e., Indonesia) and attempts to offer “the naturalistic-ecological perspective” (Nunan 1992, 53). To unravel the dominance of English hegemonic power in educational system in Indonesia, I collected the data using two broad techniques: • •

Observable techniques: participant observation (i.e., field notes). Non-observable techniques: archival materials, such as documents issued by the Indonesian Ministry of Education and Culture, which include the national curricula of English language teaching and the written policy on the establishment of the international pilot-project state schools, and interviews with local and foreign language experts.

These data were analyzed by exposing ideas that show the dominance of English hegemonic force in the Indonesian context. The interpretation of the results of analysis will be informed by Phillipson’s (1992) three arguments in linguistic imperialist discourse: (1) English-intrinsic argument, (2) English-extrinsic argument, and (3) English-functional argument. The focus of the analysis in this chapter is not only on a macro-societal aspect (i.e., a global issue on the creation of power inequality by the governmental and cultural institutions on issues related to education), but also on the micro-societal aspects (i.e., the inequality of power taking place in school contexts).

Historical Perspectives The importance of English education in Indonesia has long been recognized since the Dutch colonial period (Dardjowidjojo 1997; Jazadi 2004; Mistar 2005). Historical documents recorded that English was taught to the native Indonesians in 1914 (Dardjowidjojo 1997). However, because it was not the language of the colonialists, English was used only as a school subject, rather than as the medium of classroom instruction and communication. In other words, English was intended only for academic purposes, rather than for serving any social function. Since then, the use of English as a school subject has continued and been mandated by the Indonesian Education and Culture Ministry through the adoption of English teaching curricula primarily from western countries, most notably from the United States. Dardjowidjojo (2000) and Sumardi (1993) have recorded that Indonesia has adopted several methods or approaches from U.S. English teaching curricula. Over the years, they have included the Grammar-Translation Method, Direct Method, Audiolingual Method, and Communicative Language Teaching. Apart from these methods, a competency-based language teaching approach was also used, but its employment was relatively short-lived. Though undergoing several alterations in the curriculum, the aim of English teaching in Indonesia remained constant: to equip students with academic preparedness. In addition to the recognition of the importance of English throughout education, the language has been deemed the most important foreign language. This is unlike Indonesia’s neighboring 225

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countries, such as Singapore, the Philippines, and Malaysia, where English is considered a second language and in which local varieties of English have developed. Thus, Indonesia belongs to the Kachruian “Expanding Circle,” in that it relies heavily on the developed norms of both British and American English (Kachru 1992). In its development, English language education in Indonesia has hitherto undergone a radical shift of orientation. The goal was no longer to assist students to attain academic success, as in passing the examination and reading books and references written in English, but to make them able to perform interactional functions in all domains of life. This orientation shift is motivated primarily by the gained prominence of English as a global language that must be mastered by the Indonesians, prompting the government to initiate the idea of internationalizing local schools through the promotion of English as the medium of classroom instruction and interaction. The problem, however, is that the excessive promotion of English in Indonesia could bring about tremendous consequences inimical to the country’s ideology and sociopolitical context, as such a promotion unwittingly leads to the dominance of English hegemony. Given the absence of published studies that critically interrogate the practice of English language education in the Indonesian context, this chapter can help generate insights that contribute to our understanding of how linguistic imperialism operates in a foreign language context, as well as what implications it may have for educational linguistics.

Core Issues and Key Findings In this section, I will show how the dominance of English has seeped not only into governmental and cultural institutions (macro-societal), which create a power imbalance in issues related to education in general and English language education in particular, but also into schools (micro-societal), thus providing further evidence of linguicism in action (Phillipson 1992) or of linguistic hegemony experienced by the periphery communities in their daily lives (Canagarajah 1999). I then proceed to discuss the effects of this English hegemonic force on the equity of national education, the preservation of local languages, and resistance against the national language policy.

The Promotion of English Through Education in the Indonesian Context: Arguments of Linguistic Imperialist Discourse Phillipson (1992) proposes three important arguments that are used to legitimize English linguistic imperialism in the wider context of a hierarchy of languages. They encompass the Englishintrinsic argument (i.e., the appeal of the nature of the English language), or what English is; the English-extrinsic argument (i.e., the use of both material and immaterial resources derived from the center countries whose language is English), or what English has; and the English-functional argument (i.e., the potential of English in dealing with modern and globalized world), or what English does. Of these three arguments, the second and third arguments are often used to justify and legitimate the promotion and relevance of English in the educational policy-making in Indonesia. Both the English-functional and extrinsic arguments, for example, have been used as the basis for the development of international standard schools, which is evident in the following document: Kurikulum diperkaya dengan standard internasional, mutakhir, canggih sesuai perkembangan ilmu pengetahuan dan teknologi global. (The curriculum is enriched with the international standard and is advanced, sophisticated in line with the global science and technology.) 226

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Memiliki SDM (Sumber Daya Manusia) yang professional dan tangguh dengan manajemen yang dikembangkan secara professional. (To possess professional and strident human resources equipped with professionally developed management.) Didukung oleh sarana prasarana yang lengkap, relevan, mutakhir, canggih dan bertaraf internasional. (Supported with full, relevant, advanced, sophisticated, and internationally standardized infrastructures.) (Kebijakan Sekolah Bertaraf Internasional, Direktorat Jenderal Mandikdasmen Kementrian Pendidikan Nasional, http://dikdas. kemdiknas.go.id/docs/Kebijakan-SBI.pdf) For one thing, there is diffidence among the Indonesian educational policy makers to resort exclusively to the national curriculum developed locally, thus prompting them to seek resources from other, more developed, English-speaking countries that they presume can enrich the available curriculum. However, the enrichment of local curricular contents with the internationally standardized ones seems to imply that the locally designed curriculum is less advanced, less sophisticated, and doesn’t accord with the development of global science and technology. For another, there is a sense that the education provided is inferior unless students are trained in schools that are equipped with professional human resources and supported with advanced, sophisticated, and internationally standardized infrastructures. Although the aforementioned statements mention no direct alignments to the need for English, such positive-sounding ascriptions as ‘international standard,’ ‘advanced,’ ‘sophisticated,’ ‘professional,’ and ‘global’ are meant to “credit English with real or potential access to modernization, science, technology, etc., with the capacity to unite people within a country and across nations, or with the furthering of international understanding” (Phillipson 1992, 272). The statements are also meant to glorify the adequacy of resources English has to support and justify the development of international standard schools. The similar arguments of linguistic imperialist discourse apply to the promotion of English literacy as manifested through the design of English teaching curriculum intended for high school students: Pendidikan bahasa Inggris harus dipandang sebaga usaha pengembangan literacy. Ini diperlukan sebab di negara yang berbahasa Inggris pun, para penutur asli harus bekerja keras untuk memperoleh kompetensi berbahasa Inggris tingkat tertentu. Pendidikan ini disebut sebagai literacy education yang diarahkan pada pengembangan kompetensi komunikatif. Ini dimaksudkan mendorong siswa untuk berpartisipasi dalam penciptaan berbagai teks bahasa Inggris. Pendidikan bahasa Inggris di Indonesia perlu mempertimbangkan macam teks yang menjadi target pendidikan literacy penutur asli. (English language education ought to be viewed as an attempt to develop literacy. This is needed because in English-speaking countries, the native speakers must work hard to attain a certain level of English competence. Such an education is called literacy education, which is geared to the development of communicative competence. This is intended to encourage students to participate in the creation of English texts. English language education in Indonesia needs to take into consideration a variety of texts that become the target of native speakers’ literacy education.) Ada tujuh prinsip pembelajaran bahasa yang berbasis literasi (literacy-based approach) yang dirumuskan oleh the New London Group (Kern 2000), yaitu: intrepretasi, konvensi, kolaborasi, pengetahuan budaya, memecahkan masalah, refleksi, dan menggunakan bahasa. Maksudnya, pengalaman pembelajaran yang dirancang hendaknya berdasarkan pertimbangan prinsip-prinsip di atas. (There are seven principles of literacy-based approach language learning formulated by the New London Group (Kern 2000), namely: interpretation, 227

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convention, collaboration, cultural knowledge, problem solving, reflection, and language use. This means that the designed learning experience should be based on the considerations of the above principles.) (Kurikilum 2004 Standard Kompetensi Mata Pelajaran Bahasa Inggris Sekolah Menengah Pertama dan Madrasah Tsanawiyah, Departemen Pendidikan Nasional, 2004, 18) The assumption here is that the adoption of the New London Group’s literacy-based approach not only offers an ‘ideal’ framework for literacy education (what English has), but also works universally in all contexts (what English does), including in Indonesia, and therefore needs to be infused in the teaching of English literacy for high school students. As such, the literacy model is believed to facilitate students’ literacy acquisition in English. Clearly, as the pedagogical norms are taken blithely from the country where English is the main language, it reflects a monolingualist orientation and exemplifies linguistic imperialism in action. The linguistic imperialist arguments are even most conspicuous in the mission statement of the Regional English Language Office (RELO), a cultural-educational organization operating under the auspices of the American Embassy in Jakarta, Indonesia: The Regional English Language Office supports English teaching and learning in Indonesia. English competence brings greater opportunities in business, education, and communication, and closer ties with the United States, especially through State Department exchange programs such as Fulbright. (Regional English Language Office [RELO], http://jakarta.usembassy.gov/relo.html,) The Indonesian education practitioners’ and students’ dependence on English is further extended by the presence of such an organization, as it promises them that the ability to use English offers a bright future and grants access to easy business, education, and communication. Most importantly, the RELO can grant Indonesian students and teachers scholarships for pursuing further studies in the United States under the program called Fulbright, the goal of which is to instill in them a commitment to U.S. values and norms (see also Clachar 1998). Upon returning from their studies in the United States, the students are expected to manifest these norms and values through their professions. What is more, the organization provides easy access to material resources in the form of what it calls ‘professional materials’ needed by teachers, students, and researchers in Indonesia. Apart from these material resources, RELO also offers immaterial resources in the form of English-native teacher trainers who purportedly have the best technical know-how of the complexities of English pedagogical practices in the Indonesian contexts (Sugiharto 2009).

Schools as the Site for the Perpetuation of Linguistic Imperialist Discourse As the Indonesian education system is fully centralized, any policy issued by the Ministry of Education and Culture must be realized and implemented. The policy regarding the internationalization of local schools is no exception. In fact, while almost all private-run schools are racing to attract students by labeling themselves with ‘international standard,’ characterized by the use of English as the medium of instruction and by other imported material and immaterial resources, the state has legitimated the repressive function of English (see Phillipson 1992) by promoting the importance of English, primarily through internationalizing state-run schools. 228

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It is through schools that the process of domination and Western ideological reproduction is most tangible. An instance of this is the imposition of English-only policies, both in class and outside of class at school vicinities, between teachers and students and between students and students. Another conspicuous example is the strict imposition of the use of the dominant Western discourse in the teaching of writing in all levels of language proficiency. For example, Sugiharto (2007b; 2012a) observes that the teaching of writing and the textbooks used to teach this skill still cling heavily to and glorify the principles of the Current Traditional Rhetoric, which stresses the importance of rhetorical moves in texts, such as clarification, exemplification, process-analysis, cause-effect, and argumentation. Interestingly, despite the plethora of literature in second language writing that warns against the imperialistic forces of Western academic discourse (Spack 1997; Canagarajah 2002; Casanave 2004; Matsuda and Matsuda 2010), this dominant academic discourse still enjoys proliferation in the teaching of writing in classrooms and shapes the very constellation of the teaching of English composition landscape in Indonesia. All of these pedagogical practices attest to the monolingual orientation that brings linguistic imperialism into play.

Effects on the Equity in National Education When the Indonesian New Order regime reigned under then-President Soeharto (the second president of the Republic of Indonesia), equity in education became the top priority, with the compulsory learning program (known as program belajar) unveiled in Soeharto’s five-year development program. This program, aimed at curbing the illiteracy rates, was proven to be successful, which was evident in the sharp decline in illiteracy rates. During his administration, Soeharto emphasized the importance of equity in national education, which provided an opportunity for all Indonesians to enjoy access to education, particularly those living in remote villages. To realize his compulsory learning program for the Indonesian citizens, Soeharto established thousands of schools under the President Instruction as the legal basis. Sugiharto (2008a) recorded that in the period of 1982–1983 22,600 schools were built; 150,000 more were constructed in 1993–1994. Nevertheless, many of the policies of the national education system have changed dramatically since the demise of the New Order. With the Education and Culture Ministry issuing a policy for the establishment of international pilot project schools in Indonesia, the gap between the opulent and the needy has widened, giving rise to elitism in national education and class and social divisiveness. As this Ministry spends billions of rupiahs (hundreds of dollars) every year subsidizing the development of the RSBI (including its high operational costs), schools with the RSBI label could collect high tuition fees from students. Thus, it stands to reason that the targets of such schools are students from upper class socioeconomic backgrounds, because those students coming from lower classes simply cannot afford to enter these schools. This reality mirrors the fact that quality education in Indonesia has indeed become an exclusive and costly enterprise and can be enjoyed only by the rich. With unaffordable education fees, the poor have been marginalized and are unable to send their children to schools. Consequently, they force their children to work to make ends meet. In a stark contrast, schools in particular (both private- and stateowned) give privileges to students from well-off families, and have become “the regime of the rich” (Sugiharto 2011, 6). In fact, the policy of establishing the RSBI has been severely condemned by many Indonesian education specialists, as it has been deemed against the five principles of the State Ideology (known as Pancasila) and the Indonesian 1945 Constitution, which grants all Indonesian citizens (regardless of races, cultures, religions, ethnicities, and social backgrounds) to have equal access to quality national education. One of the noted, outspoken Indonesian education experts, H. A. R Tilaar, 229

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once filed a judicial review against the establishment of the RSBI to the Indonesian Constitutional court, arguing that “the RSBI is certainly against the mandate of our Constitution, and should be opposed because its establishment has been motivated primarily by Western’s neo-liberalism and isn’t grounded on our cultural norms and values” (Sugiharto 2012c). Another Indonesian education observer and linguist, Bambang Kaswanti Purwo, views the mushrooming of schools with the international label as symptomatic of the government deliberately inviting “neo-imperialism in local education” (personal communication, August 15, 2013). The initiation of setting up the RSBI creates a paradox, however. While the Indonesian government has pledged its allegiance to side with the less fortunate children by creating the “option for the poor” policy to ensure the Indonesian children to have access to education as mandated by the Constitution, the ambition of internationalizing state-owned schools nationwide has paved the way for generating the opposing “option for the rich” policy. The government’s endeavor to bolster the quality of national education through the internationalization of local schools indicates diffidence about reclaiming the wealth of local geniuses, long practiced by great pioneers in Indonesian national education, such as Ki Hadjar Dewantara, Mohammad Hatta, Mochtar Buchori, YB Mangunwijaya, and K. H. Dahlan, among others. While all these national education pioneers stressed the importance of upholding local wisdoms as the bases for the national education system, the system of national education at present is enmeshed in a neo-liberalist and capitalist ideology. This ideology has been observed emerging in the national education system, especially when the RSBI began operating in Indonesia, and when people (especially those from low income families) realized that, despite their constitutional rights to obtain an equal access to quality education, they could not afford to this quality education because of soaring school fees. Thus, education is treated as “an instrument for perpetuating social divisions and social injustices” (Stern 1983, 424).

Effects on the Preservation of Local Languages The fervent promotion of English through education has indubitably impinged upon the preservation of local languages. Known as an archipelagic country with some 746 local languages, Indonesia, which ranks second in terms of the number of local languages (the first being Papua New Guinea), is facing and continues to face a serious threat of local language extinction. Recent documentation by the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) reveals that out of the figure above, 637 indigenous languages are in a state of endangerment, with their native speakers at less than 100,000. This number is a significant increase from the previous data, also documented by the SIL in the 90s, which revealed 111 endangered languages. Peter J. Silzer and Helja Heikkenen Clouse (1984) in their Index of Irian Jaya Languages: A Special Bulletin of Irian Jaya recorded that out of these 111 languages, nine languages have become extinct (i.e., Bapu, Dabe, Wares, Taworta, Waritai, among others), 32 languages are terminally endangered or moribund (among others Yoki and Pawi), and 70 languages are seriously endangered (among others Biak, Sentani, and Maibrat). In addition, local languages spoken in eastern Indonesia documented in the Alor and Pantar Project (from 2003–2007)—a project funded by the Netherlands Organization of Scientific Research, Leiden University, and Hans Rausing Endangered Languages Documentation Program—found that such languages as Klon (West Alor), Abui (Central Alor), and Taiwa (West Pantar) are on the verge of extinction. Other Indonesian local languages that are no longer spoken because of the decline in their native speakers (only 500 speakers) include Dayak languages (in West Kalimantan) such as Bukat, Punan, and Konyeh. Finally, languages spoken in Sulawesi (Tondano), South west Nusa (Tanimbar), and Sumatra (Alas and Ogan), as has been reported in 230

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Bahasa Daerah di Indonesia (Local Languages in Indonesia) published by the Indonesian Language Center, are no longer spoken. While there are numerous reasons accounting for the declined use of these indigenous languages among their native speakers (see, for example, Sugiharto 2007a, as well as a personal interview with Uri Tadmor in Sugiharto 2008c), the powerful force behind the potential local language extinction is native speakers’ attitude toward languages they consider modern, sophisticated, and prestigious. A long-time veteran researcher of Indonesian local languages from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany, David Gill, observes that “in the eyes of many parents and public in general using local languages is less prestigious than using Indonesian and a much spoken international language such as English (Sugiharto 2012b). Sugiharto (2008b) observed that it was language indoctrination through the use of the Indonesian language, both as the medium of instruction and in interaction among learners in school, that contributes to the demise of local languages. If we don’t restrict our understanding of the notion of linguistic imperialism simply to English, the indoctrination of the Indonesian language through schooling for the sake of upholding unity can be considered a form of linguistic imperialism—that is, the imposition of the dominant language (i.e., Indonesian) on the minority languages (i.e., Indonesian local languages). But now, the Indonesian government’s promotion of the use of the English language through the internationalization of schools and the exponentially rising numbers of privately run local schools that strictly impose the English-only policy pose significant threats not only to local languages, but also to the Indonesian language as the official and national language. Worse, the promotion of English is enthusiastically done via the strict English-only policy in scholarly journal publications. This policy requires that scholarly journals published either by universities or by academic associations be written in English, so that they can be granted sponsorships from the government to reach a wider international readership. This policy clearly discourages those who have less competence in writing in standard academic English, but probably have greater proficiency when writing in their own native languages. By implication, while locally written journals have begun to draw the attention of international readers, the policy denigrates the importance of preserving Indonesian and its vernacular languages, contributing to their endangerment in the long terms. It is important to highlight that although most local schools claiming to use international standards (expatriate teaching staff and the use of imported curriculum and assessments) are promoting bilingual education, in reality, teacher–student interactions and student–student interactions are conducted in the English language. Many schools masquerade their identity as exclusive schools with the use of English by offering bilingual education because they need to respect students with multilingual and multicultural backgrounds. In practice, however, English is more favored than the student’s own native languages, and most parents demand that their children be exposed to English as much as and as early as possible (see also Djiwandono 2005). Schools have no choice but succumb to their customers’ demands, lest they suffer from a plummeting number of students. This fetish about English should come as no surprise, as people in big cities and villages in Indonesia have become increasingly aware that “English is . . . a cultural icon of westernization or success, a goal which entails the promise of a better life” (Schneider 2011, 335). In addition, the technological breakthroughs and the advancement of communication channels such as the Internet, email, Twitter, and Facebook, to mention just a few, have been associated with westernization, which uses English as an important international language. The shifting attitudes of Indonesian speakers and speakers of local languages from their own native languages to English can be accounted for partly by what Rubin (1977, 260) calls “semi linguistic motivation.” As the goal of semi linguistic motivation is social, English is seen as “a gateway . . . to a new form of society” (Ostler 2011) and “. . . correlates with urbanity, advanced education, [and] an international 231

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outlook that tends to go together with higher social strata . . .” (Schneider 2011). Thus, it is highly likely that native speakers of Indonesia and of local languages will dramatically shift their attitudes to the “prestigious” language (i.e., English) and eventually communicate in it as a means of displaying their social status. Whereas in the 80s and 90s English was taught as a mandatory school subject in only junior and high school levels, the craze of the English language in Indonesia hitherto has started from an early stage of learning. Enticed by the charm of English as a superpower language, many, if not most, Indonesians have high expectations that sending children to schools that expose them to English as early as possible will make the children’s future brighter. In other words, the Indonesians’ positive perception of English cannot be separated from the image of English as a language of modernity, superiority, prestige, and sophistication. Thus, the linguistic adequacy and geographic adequacy of the English language as a global language—advanced consciously and unconsciously by the government (through its repressive policy); local scholars (through their publications in scholarly journals); political figures (through their speeches); not to mention journalists, media commentators, and news presenters—has further motivated Indonesian native speakers and speakers of local languages to view and treat English with awe and seek educational alternatives that can equip them with this language. As a consequence, the preservation of local languages through education remains in limbo, with their users gradually but surely abandoning them.

Effects on the National Language Policy The promotion of English both through pedagogical contexts and other domains, such as commerce, entertainment, politics, and technology, backfires, in that it brings about resistance against Indonesia’s long-established national language policy. This policy stipulates that Bahasa Indonesia and its local languages must be the first resource to consult with in any attempt to find the equivalents from other foreign languages, including English. Should there be no equivalents found in these languages, words from foreign terminologies can be taken through the following ways: a. b. c.

To adopt new words in accordance with the international use To adopt new words due to their common usage To adopt new words by translating them (Pusat Pembinaan dan Pengembangan Bahasa Departmen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Lembar Komunikasi, 2.2. June–July 1986; see also Sneddon 2003)

The establishment of this policy was basically aimed at promoting the spirit of nationalism among the Indonesian people through the use of BI—the Indonesian language—and its local languages in all domains of life. Yet, many view that this policy still marginalizes the use of local languages, especially in the exhortation of the infamous slogan Bahasa Indonesia yang Baik dan Benar (correct and appropriate Indonesian), both in daily communication among the Indonesian societies and in education. With the hegemony of English seeping into all domains of people’s lives, including into pedagogy, there is overt resistance displayed by the Indonesian communities in conforming to the national language policy. Despite vociferous campaigns for using the national language and local languages and despite the move initiated by the Indonesian Language Center to legalize the policy through a language bill banning the use of English in all domains, people remain recalcitrant and continue to use English without fear of sanctions imposed by the state. Ironically, the resistance against the language policy is displayed not only by the common people, but also by 232

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the state officials. This is evident in the speeches of Indonesian politicians and government officials who often saturate their language with English, through, for example, the use of loan words and code-switches. In addition, the English-only policy imposed by local schools operating under the label of ‘international-standard schools’ provides further justification of the complete disregard of, as well as resistance to, the language policy.

New Debates There are at present two opposing camps related to how national education in Indonesia should be grounded. The first is the universalists who want to base the national education system on Western philosophy; the second is the localists who make efforts to revitalize the educational philosophies passed down from the Indonesian educational pioneers, most notably Suwardi Suryaningrat (better known as Ki Hajar Dewantara) and the first Indonesian Minister of Education and Culture in 1945. The former argues that in keeping with the spirit of globalization, Indonesian educational system needs to be overhauled and reformed by internationalizing it so as to attain the status of world-class education. This is carried out by adopting Western philosophical thinking in the national education system, such as the notion of Competency Based Education, an educational movement that first emerged in the U.S. in the 1970s (Richards and Rodgers 2001), and has recently been realized through the establishment of schools using imported curricula and assessments. Indonesia’s Vice President, Boediono (2012) has recently affirmed his position that espouses the use of Western philosophical orientation in the Indonesian education system. He suggests that the national curriculum needs to adopt the ideas of Derek Bok, professor emeritus and former president of Harvard University, USA, on the real substance of education. The latter contends that the educational system in the era of globalization ought to be contextualized in the rich historical roots of education in Indonesia. This is, in fact, an attempt to revitalize the spirit and vision of education laid by the Indonesian education pioneers and practiced during the Dutch colonization period. The well-known educational philosophy and local wisdom, which many Indonesia scholars believe to be highly germane at the present time, is In Ngarso Sung Tulodo, In Madya Mangun Karso, Tut Wuri Handayani, which literally means ‘set up a model, create an intention, and provide constructive support.’ Despite these two competing base camps, it is important to highlight that while at the discourse level, the conflicting ideas on how the national education needs to be grounded are real, in practice, they are not operating side by side. In other words, what Pennycook (1994) has suggested in terms of the co-existence of Anglicism (those who buttress education in English) and Orientalism (those who buttress education in the vernacular) in ideologies is just a delusion. While Pennycook (1994, 77) argues that “Anglicism never really replaced Orientalism, but rather operated alongside it,” the real practice of English education in Indonesia shows just the contrary. The problem here is that those espousing education in the vernacular belong to the silent minority, whose voices are often silenced and even suppressed by the political forces that often intrude into the process of decision making in educational policies. As a consequence, those who stay in power have the absolute last say in determining the contents of the policy without necessarily accommodating and taking voices from the opposing silent minority. For instance, although the judicial review—initiated by Indonesia’s noted education specialist H. A. R. Tilaar—against the establishment of the RSBI has been granted by the Indonesian Constitutional Court, the Education and Culture Ministry seems adamant that the RSBI must be maintained. Tilaar has not been upbeat about the dismissal of the RSBI: “The political pressure is too strong this time, and I am not certain whether our request for judicial review will be followed up and approved” (Sugiharto 2012c). 233

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Clearly, the states’ initiation of internationalizing local schools through the use of English-only and imported material and immaterial resources—not to mention the widespread use of English in all spheres of Indonesian people’s life—have facilitated the hegemonic forces of English. In fact, the spirit of internationalizing and modernizing oneself in all life domains through English has seeped into these domains without any significant resistance. In other words, despite a wealth of publications on the resistance of linguistic imperialism to date, we cannot lay a claim that significant changes in English language education, especially in foreign contexts such as Indonesia, have been made (see Jenkins 2006). Nevertheless, the near-absence of resistance to English appropriation cannot uncritically be explained by the failure of Indonesian societies to develop critical attitudes, as critical scholars such as Pennycook (1994) and Canagarajah (1999) seem to suggest. Hegemonic practices are ubiquitous in the policy-making institutions here, and these institutions not only give them privileges, but also legitimize them as a “natural” condition (Fairclough 1989). To complicate the issue of the absence of resistant attitudes among the Indonesians, we need to understand the philosophical outlooks held by the majority of Indonesians. In almost all aspects of life, including in education, Indonesian societies firmly hold three types of Javanese philosophies—ways of life derived from the dominant Javanese culture that have seemingly permeated all cultures in Indonesia. These philosophies are (1) the Manut–lan-miturut philosophy (literally, ‘follow and obey’), (2) the Ewuh-pekewuh philosophy (literally, ‘feeling uncomfortable and uneasy’ [to argue and discuss controversial topics with and challenge those who are more senior in age and position, and who have a higher social hierarchy]), and (3) the Sabda Pendita Ratu philosophy (literally,‘the words of priestly king’). Undergirding these philosophies are “the principles of total obedience, the unquestioning mind, and the concept of elders-know-all, and the belief that teachers can do no wrong” (Dardjowidjojo 2001, 309). From these two conflicting orientations, further research needs to be carried out to validate the claims made by the proponents of each camp. First, from the perspective of sociology, it still needs to be proven to what extent the internationalization of local schools, which create elitism in education, will perpetuate further social class divisions, as well as language and cultural barriers among the Indonesian societies, given that Indonesia is a multicultural and multilingual country. Second, from the second language acquisition vantage point, to what extent a monolingual orientation to language pedagogy is effective in facilitating language acquisition is subject to empirical scrutiny, as research has shown that bilingual education is more effective than monolingual education (see, for example, Krashen 1996; 1999). A final area of research worth specifying is what Stern (1983, 430) calls ‘educational planning.’ Because the policy that motivated the establishment of the RSBI seems to be politically loaded and without a clear academic rationale, it remains to be seen whether the interconnectedness of complex factors (teachers, students, parents, curriculum, and equipment, among others) involved in the establishment of the schools has been acknowledged and included in the planning process.

Implications for Education I have shown that even without competing for dominance with the national language and local languages in almost all domains, including in education, English has penetrated with ease into the life of the Indonesians. As such, the imposition of hegemonic ideology of English takes place with no significant opposition from the periphery communities and causes undesirable effects on the equity of education, the preservation of local languages, and the national language policy. This is, on the one hand, due to the strong political power that intrudes upon the decision-making process in educational policies and silences those opposing voices. On the other hand, voicing 234

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opposition is considered culturally inappropriate because the Javanese philosophy is ingrained— in the education system, in particular, and in other domains of life, in general. Thus, to make student and would-be language teachers aware of the latent hegemonic power of English, it is important to begin with challenging and interrogating the dominant local Javanese culture. As the notion of linguistic imperialism also applies to the dominance of one culture over other cultures within a multicultural country (like Indonesia), resisting the Javanese philosophical outlooks should be one of the most important teaching agendas, before any efforts are made to resist the English hegemony. As for the language policy, attempts to preserve both Indonesian and its vernacular languages need to be placed in a larger sociopolitical context, not just simply in an educational setting.

Further Reading Alwasilah, C. 2006. Pokoknya Sunda: Interpretasi untuk Aksi [Nothing but Sunda: Interpretation for Action]. Bandung: Kiblat. Canagarajah, S. A., and Said, S. B. 2011. Linguistic imperialism. In J. Simpson. Ed. The Routledge Handbook of Applied Linguistics. New York: Routledge. Makoni, S., and Pennycook, A. Eds. 2007. Disinventing and Reconstituting Languages. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Sumardi, M. (Ed.) 1992. Berbagai Pendekatan dalam Pengajaran Bahasa dan Sastra [Some Approaches in Language and Literature Teaching]. Jakarta: Pustaka Sinar Harapan.

References Boediono, W. 2012. Pendidikan kunci pembangunan. Kompas, August 27. Canagarajah, S. A. 1999. Resisting Linguistic Imperialism in English Language Teaching, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Canagarajah, S. A. 2002. Critical Academic Writing and Multilingual Students. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Casanave, C. P. 2004. Controversies in Second Language Writing: Dilemmas and Decisions in Research and Instruction. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Clachar, A. 1998. Differential effects of linguistic imperialism on second language learning: Americanisation in Puerto Rico versus Russification in Estonia. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism 1 (2): 101–18. Dardjowidjojo, S. 2000. English teaching in Indonesia. English Australia Journal 18 (1): 22–30. Dardjowidjojo, S. 1997. English policies and their classroom impact in some ASEAN/Asian countries. In G. M. Jacobs. Ed. Language Classrooms of Tomorrow: Issues and Responses (Anthology series 38). Singapore: SEAMEO-RELC. Dardjowidjojo, S. 2001. Cultural constraints in the implementation of learner autonomy: the case of Indonesia. Journal of Southeast Asian Education 2 (2):309–22. Departemen Pendidikan Nasional. 2004. Kurikulum 2004 standar kompetensi mata pelajaran bahasa Inggris sekolah menengah pertama dan madrasah tsanawiyah. Jakarta. Djiwandono, I. 2005. ‘Teach my children English’: Why parents want English teaching for their children. Indonesian Journal of English Language Teaching 1 (1): 62–72. Fairclough, N. 1989. Language and Power. London: Longman. Jazadi, I. 2004. ELT in Indonesia in the context of English as global language. In B. Y. Cahyono and U. Widiati. Eds. The Tapestry of English Language Teaching and Learning in Indonesia. Malang: Malang University Press. Jenkins, J. 2006. Current perspectives on teaching world Englishes and English as a lingua franca. TESOL Quarterly 40 (1): 157–81. Kachru, B. Ed. 1992. The Other Tongue (2nd.). Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Kern, R. 2000. Literacy and Language Teaching. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Krashen, S. 1996. Under Attack: The Case Against Bilingual Education. Culver City, CA: Language Education Associates.

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Krashen, S. 1999. Condemned Without a Trial: Bogus Arguments Against Bilingual Education. Portsmouth, N.H.: Heinemann. Krashen, S. 2006. English Fever. Taipeh City: Crane Publishing. McKay, S. 1993. Examining L2 composition ideology: A look at literacy education. Journal of Second Language Writing, 2 (1): 65–81. Matsuda, A., and Matsuda, K. 2010. World Englishes and the teaching of writing. TESOL Quarterly, 44 (2): 369–74. Mistar, J. 2005. Teaching English as a foreign language (TEFL) in Indonesia. In G. Braine. Ed. Teaching English to the World: History, Curriculum and Practice. Mahwah, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Nunan, D. 1992. Research Methods in Language Learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ostler, N. 2011. Language maintenance, shift, and endangerment. In R. Mesthrie. Ed. The Cambridge Handbook of Sociolinguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pennycook, A. 1994. The Cultural Politics of English as an International Language. London: Longman. Phillipson, R. 1992. Linguistic Imperialism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Purwo, B. K. 2013. Personal communication. Pusat Pembinaan dan Pengembangan Bahasa Departmen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan.1986. Lembar komunikasi, 2.2 Juni–Juli. Jakarta. Richards, J., and Rodgers, T. S. 2001. Approaches and Methods in Language Teaching (2nd edition). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Richards, J. C., and Rodgers, T. S. 2001. Approaches and Methods in Language Teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rubin, J. 1977. New insights into the nature of language change offered by language planning. In B. G. Blount and M. Sanches. Eds. Sociocultural Dimensions of Language Change. New York: Academic Press. Schneider, E. W. 2011. Colonization, globalization, and the sociolinguistics of world Englishes. In R. Mesthrie. Ed. The Cambridge Handbook of Sociolinguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Silzer, J., and Clouse, H. H. 1984. Index of Irian Jaya Languages: A Special Bulletin of Irian Jaya. Unpublished manuscript. Sneddon, J. 2003. The Indonesian Language: Its History and Role in Modern Society. Sydney: University of South Wales Press. Spack, R. 1997. The acquisition of academic literacy in a second language. Written Communication, 14 (1): 3–62. Stern, H. H. 1983. Fundamental Concepts of Language Teaching. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sugiharto, S. 2007a. Indigenous languages in danger of disappearing. The Jakarta Post, October 27. Sugiharto, S. 2007b. New directions in contrastive rhetoric: Some implications for teachers of writing in multilingual contexts. The Journal of ASIA TEFL, 4 (1): 105–22. Sugiharto, S. 2008a. Equity in national education the best option (Special Issue on Education). The Jakarta Post, May 2. Sugiharto, S. 2008b. Saving local languages through printed materials. The Jakarta Post, March 1. Sugiharto, S. 2008c. Uri Tadmor: Documenting linguistic heritage. The Jakarta Post, May 15. Sugiharto, S. 2009. RI’s English education: International in goal, local in substance. The Jakarta Post, June 21. Sugiharto, S. 2011. Schools as the regime of the rich. The Jakarta Post, July 30. Sugiharto, S. 2012a. The construction of self in academic writing: A qualitative case study of three Indonesian undergraduate student writers. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Atma Jaya Catholic University, Jakarta, Indonesia. Sugiharto, S. 2012b. David Gill: In love with local languages. The Jakarta Post, August 1. Sugiharto, S. 2012c. H. A. R. Tilaar: Advocate of emancipatory education. The Jakarta Post, September 17. Sumardi, M. 1993. Pengajaran bahas Inggris di sekolah menengah: Tinjauan dari masa ke masa [English teaching in high schools: A historical perspective] In B. K. Purwo. Ed. Analisis Wacana Pengajaran Bahasa [Discourse Analysis of Language Teaching] PELLBA 6. Yogyakarta: Kanisius.

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18 Immigrants and Education Lesley Bartlett and Jill Koyama

Introduction The past 50 years have been a period of unprecedented human mobility. An estimated 214 million people migrated transnationally in 2010 (Ratha et al. 2010). Seventy-three million migrants moved from developing countries to OECD countries, while another 74 million resettled in other developing countries (Ratha et al. 2010, 12). In this era, which is often described as ‘globalizing,’ immigrants strategically navigate overlapping and, at times, contradictory educational settings, routines, and socially sanctioned forms of knowledge. These situations bring issues of language and learning to the fore. The United States (U.S.) receives one of the largest flows of immigrants, thanks in part to changes to U.S. immigration law, international migration governing bodies, and more local shifts in trade treaties. An estimated 1 million migrants relocate to the U.S. per year, and according to the U.S. Census Bureau’s 2010 American Community Survey, 40 million people, or 13% of the U.S. population, are immigrants. Nearly a quarter of all school-aged children in the U.S. have at least one immigrant parent (Terrazas and Batalova 2009); twenty-five percent of children attending U.S. schools are foreign-born (Gibson and Koyama 2011). As U.S. “immigrant gateways” have diverged, with immigrants, especially Latinos, moving out of large urban destinations to smaller cities with opportunities in low-wage manufacturing and industry, increasing numbers of school districts are enrolling immigrant students (Zhou and Lee 2004; Hernández-León and Zúñiga 2000). The increased presence of immigrants in U.S. educational settings raises important questions regarding the significance of language in learning and teaching. The involvement of immigrant parents and students in formal schooling highlights the ways in which people use, negotiate, and aim to control language and influence social relations. In this chapter, we review the contributions of anthropologists, sociologists, and linguists to the topic of immigrants and education. Historically, the study of immigrant education has been embedded within research on the broader incorporation of immigrants into U.S. society. Because American sociology and anthropology have focused on issues of immigration and incorporation, we have a clearer understanding of the schooling experiences and educational attainment of immigrants over three generations, including those born outside the U.S., those born to immigrant parents in the U.S., and the grandchildren of immigrants. However, as described below, the two 237

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dominant frameworks used to guide the study of immigrant incorporation—cultural-ecological theory and segmented assimilation theory—fail to adequately address issues of language and literacy. To bridge the inquiry framed by theories of immigration and education to questions of language and languaging in increasingly transnational contexts, we review three schools of thought or approaches—sociolinguistics, linguistic anthropology of education, and language socialization. We discuss how these approaches have shaped the existing knowledge base, posed new debates, and paved the way to new and emerging areas of inquiry regarding immigrant education.

Historical Perspectives: Cultural-Ecology and Segmented-Assimilation Theories In the anthropology of education, Ogbu’s (1974; 1987; 2003) cultural–ecological theory states that the participation of minority students in U.S. schools is affected by multiple social and cultural factors, including the historical and current treatment of the minority group by the larger society, the schools’ actions towards the groups, and immigrants’ interpretations of and collective responses to their treatment. In this theory, involuntary minorities, or those who have been incorporated into a host society as a result of conquest, colonization, or slavery, are shown to differ from voluntary immigrants in their perceptions of U.S. society and their responses to the education system. These differences, Ogbu argues, have emerged from the groups’ differing modes of incorporation into the host society and their subsequent discriminatory treatment. However, despite the theory’s role in reframing and illuminating questions about immigrant education, it has drawn criticism for restricting analysis to immigrants who have migrated for economic purposes; failing to consider intragroup and generational variations; neglecting the impact of school factors on academic engagement; and, most salient to our purposes in this chapter, not adequately considering the role of language immigrant adaptation and education. In response to the criticisms of Ogbu’s theory, and influenced by the ethnographic work of anthropologists (Gibson 1988; Suárez-Orozco 1987) whose work was influenced by Ogbu, the theory of segmented assimilation (Portes and Rumbaut 1996; Portes and Zhou 1993) emerged. Informed by large-scale sets of survey data and centered on second-generation youth, segmented assimilation theory suggests that assimilation, and related social mobility, results in one of three possible outcomes: a linear assimilation associated with upward mobility and middle class integration; downward assimilation characterized when youth integrate into peer groups of lower class; and consonant acculturation (Portes and Rumbaut 1996), or what Gibson (1988) calls accommodation and acculturation without assimilation, in which youth are grounded within their ethnic and linguistic group, while selectively taking up aspects of the host country culture. The latter strategy, Gibson (1988) found, encourages immigrant youth to engage strategically in a schooling system that too often promotes subtractive acculturation, or the subtractive schooling described by the ethnographer Valenzuela (1999), wherein school policies and practices often actively subtract immigrant students’ cultural and linguistic knowledge, to the detriment of their academic engagement and achievement. Overall, the research centering on the incorporation of immigrants into American society has contributed to our understanding of broad patterns of academic achievement for immigrant youth. Because Mexicans comprise nearly one quarter of America’s immigrant newcomers, and because many arrive with low levels of or interrupted education, numerous studies have focused on the education of Mexican immigrants in the United States. The analyses are mixed. Some scholars (Grogger and Trejo 2002) suggest that, because many Mexican immigrants do not enjoy the same early childhood opportunities and English-language foundation as some native-born Americans, they are likely to experience lower levels of academic achievement. Others demonstrate 238

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that Mexican immigrants have made substantial gains in three generations, narrowing education and income gaps with native-born Whites (Bean, Brown, and Rumbaut 2006). The 1.5 generation (those brought to the U.S. as children or early teens) and second generation (those born in the U.S. to immigrant parents) surpass their native-born peers in school achievement, offering the possibility of future advances in educational and occupational attainment (Farley and Alba 2002; Portes and Rumbaut 2006). Still, there are concerns. Portes and Rumbaut (2006) find that, despite the progress made by the second generation, there are signs—namely high school dropout rates, teen pregnancy, and male unemployment and incarceration—of downward mobility among many. As well, the third generation, which has been more fully incorporated into the American “mainstream,” is declining in academic achievement (Perlmann and Waldinger 1997). Existing studies show that there is much variation across and within ethnic groups. Similar to the second generation of Mexican-Americans, the second-generation West Indian immigrants have been found by Portes and Rumbaut (2001) to exceed academic achievement among native-born blacks in New York City, and Dominicans, Columbians, Ecuadorans, and Peruvians do better than Puerto Ricans. Offering preliminary findings from their study of 1.5- and second-generation Mexicans, Chinese, and Vietnamese in Los Angeles, Zhou and Lee (2007) note that “like other native-born Americans who follow multiple paths to mobility . . . that 1.5-generation and second-generation Latinos and Asians are successfully pursuing routes that are just as variegated” (202). Second-generation Chinese students, according to Kasinitz et. al. (2004) have higher high school graduation rates and college attendance than all other ethnic groups, including native-born Whites. Much depends on income, human and social capital, networks, transnational ties, residential patterns, and norms in the ethnic community (Kasinitz et. al. 2008). While valuable, these studies of segmented assimilation do not adequately consider issues related to language learning, use, management, and politics and how these influence immigrant education. As noted by Baquedano-López and Figueroa (2011), “in emphasizing cross-group and cross-generation comparisons, scholars working within these frameworks may continue [erroneously] to assume a one-to-one correspondence between language code and community membership, and the focus on shared patterns of group behavior can lead to typified understandings of communities and convey implicit beliefs about how the ‘competent’ or ‘successful’ immigrant assimilates into the U.S. mainstream” (539).

Research Approaches: Sociolinguistics, Linguistic Anthropology of Education, and Language Socialization Sociolinguistics Sociolinguistic approaches have been productive in the study of ethnic differences and schooling. Sociolinguists “work on language choice and language change, while trying to engage in a dialogue with formal grammarians, with whom they share an interest in how to represent linguistic competence . . . Sociolinguists also continue to be concerned with the definition of the speech community as a reference point for investigating the limits of individual variation in language use. For these intellectual pursuits, . . . phenomena like pidgins and creole languages or language planning have proved to be rich testing grounds” (Duranti 1997, 14). Foundational sociolinguistic studies used quantitative methods to empirically demonstrate the difference between working class and middle class norms in linguistic codes (Bernstein 1974) and contextualized variations in Black English, or what is now referred to as African American English (Labov 1969). 239

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Early interactional sociolinguistics employed a conversation analytical approach (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson 1974) with comprehensive, sequential analyses of naturally occurring conversations to document how people accomplished interactions. When code-switching became a central focus for the field, ethnic differences and immigrant students became more central to these investigations. Gumperz (1982) demonstrated that code-switching was purposeful and meaningful, not the result of language deficiencies. His work incited a series of studies on code-switching and its meaning. Early research on code-switching identified and quantified communicative functions, while more recent work has a qualitative, interactional focus on the socially purposeful uses of such shifts (Martin-Jones 1995). For example, Zentella (1982, 1997) engaged an “anthropolitical linguistic” lens to consider language socialization in Latino/a families and code-switching as conversational strategy. Alternately, Martin-Jones and Saxena (2001) examined the positioning and discourse strategies of bilingual students in primary classrooms in England. Code-switching and code-shifting, as well as pedagogical approaches to support bilingual learning and to transition to second academic language learning, remain enduring concerns (see discussion of translanguaging, below).

Linguistic Anthropology Linguistic anthropology presents a second major approach applicable to the study of immigrants and education. Linguistic anthropology entails the “study of language as a cultural resource and speaking as a cultural practice”—that is, “language as a set of symbolic resources that enter the constitution of social fabric and the individual representation of actual or possible worlds” (Duranti 1997, 2–3). It provides strategies and tools for exploring the ways in which language use reflects, influences, and creates social relations (Wortham and Rymes 2003). Linguistic anthropologists focus on communication in cultural contexts and within social and cultural relationships and networks (Wortham 2006, 2008), with attention to three major areas: (i) performance, (ii) indexicality, and (iii) participation (Duranti 1997). Early work in this area derived from ethnographers of communication, who demonstrated that speech can have multiple functions and, in fact, serves various functions in different educational contexts. Reacting to Chomsky’s notion of “ideal speakers” with “grammatical competence,” Hymes (1972) stressed the idea of communicative competence, emphasizing “the socially situated elements integral to each event of communication,” and promoted ethnographic examinations of “communicative practice, focusing their analysis on recurring speech events like recurrent caretaker–child events (Ochs 1988; Ochs and Schieffelin 1984), story-telling (Goodwin 1990), or literacy events (Duranti and Ochs 1986)” (Rymes 2008, 3). This vein of work led in the 1990s to calls for a critical ethnographic approach (e.g., Toohey 1995, Canagarajah 1993). Yet students from non-mainstream language speech communities that used communication from their home language communities were often misinterpreted as “uneducated” (Cazden, John, and Hymes 1972). Work on communicative competence in classrooms easily became prescriptive (but see Hornberger 2003 for a broad review). Linguistic anthropologists of education draw upon key concepts—form, use, ideology, domain, and trajectory—“to understand how linguistic signs have meaning in practice” (Wortham 2008, 84). They attend to linguistic form in order to understand cultural patterns of social relationships and interactions. Linguistic anthropologists of education consider how language ideologies, or “models of linguistic features and the speakers who characteristically use them, which people use to understand the social relations signaled through language use,” “move from event to event, across time and across social space, and how such movement contributes to local and historical change in both language and society” (Wortham 2008). Ideologies represent “the socially 240

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and culturally embedded metalinguistic forms of language and language use,” including notions of ownership, value, and norms (Blommaert 2006, 241; see also Woolard 1998). So, for example, Heller and Martin-Jones (2001) consider how language and educational ideologies are perpetuated, reinforced, or challenged, with consequences for social inequalities; social differences are imbricated in language varieties, and ideologies pervade language instruction and language policies in and through schooling. The concept allows researchers to “explore the relations between the emergent meanings of signs in use, socially circulating ideologies, and broader social structures” (Wortham 2008, 91). When linguistic features are associated with particular types of speakers, there emerges what scholars refer to as a “domain”—“the set of people who recognize the indexical link between a type of sign and the relevant ideology” (Wortham 2008, 84; see also Agha 2006; Agha and Wortham 2005). Domains can range from pairs to large networks of globalized language communities. The trajectory of individuals in one domain can be traced across time and contexts to examine how their identities are enacted linguistically and change over time. For example, Bailey (2001) investigates how youth from the Dominican Republic living in Providence, Rhode Island, rethink ethnic identification in the face of U.S. racial categories. Mendoza-Denton (2008) describes how Latina gang members in Northern California resignify referents and project local discourses of “turf,” place, and identity onto broader domains of race and modernity (104). Contemporary research is also recasting traditional concerns with code-switching among immigrant youth. Rampton’s work (2005, 2006), for instance, describes a discursive strategy that he dubs language “crossing,” or the use of linguistic features from Punjabi, Caribbean Creole, and Asian English by white, South Asian, and Caribbean youth in the United Kingdom. Through language crossing, youth culturally produce meanings of race/ethnicity and negotiate social relations. Such research shows how individuals and groups use “forms of language to co-construct social norms and manage locally contingent criteria for membership” (Baquedano-López and Figueroa 2011, 541). Moving beyond the global-local, macro-micro, and structure-agency binaries, recent work in linguistic anthropology aims to make explicit the complex networked connections between situated daily linguistic practices and broader ideologies and discourses (Warriner 2007). For example, Wortham (2006) illustrates how individuals are differentially socialized in a classroom through speech chains that engage the curriculum and more broadly circulating models of the self. He identifies not an overgeneralized pattern of “Western school discourse” but “many evolving ways of speaking” and how different students are positioned within and among them (Rymes 2008, 7). Linguistic anthropologists, then, have traced linkages among language ideologies, patterns of speech, models that link types of language with types of speakers, emergent identities, and broader social structures at multiple scales for immigrants within and beyond schools. There is great potential in extending this conceptual framework for immigrant education. Ethnographers of language and schooling examine the changeability and contradictions in language use to better understand relations of power and ideology. These studies take up varying concerns. For example, McGroarty (2002; see also 2008) demonstrates that educational language policies, especially those that guide bilingual instruction provisions, reflect social judgments and values—or ideologies—as well as a plethora of other factors that could be seen as unrelated to language. Park and Bae (2009), on the other hand, explore the linkages between migration, transnationalism, and language ideologies. They show how the temporary migration of pre-university South Korean students to English-speaking countries, such as the U.S., reflects the ideology that acquiring English skills is necessary for future success in a globalized world, but that such an ideology is, in fact, in continuous negotiation with another dominant South Korean ideology, the value of Mandarin. 241

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Relatedly, contemporary ethnographies of literacy center on cultural forms and socially situated literacy practices as inextricably linked to global circulations and discourses. Scholars (e.g., Street 2004) have called for ethnographies of literacy that make explicit the connections between global and local literacies. Heeding that call, several recent studies have carefully examined the complex social and cultural interactions that influence what kind of ‘outcomes’ will result from schooling (Bartlett 2009). They consider what Kanno and Norton (2003) describe as “the interaction between national ideologies and individual learners’ identities on the one hand, and the influence of globalization and transnationalism on the language learning and identity construction on the other” (248). As globalization, immigration, and transnational circulation increases, further ethnographic focus on transnational literacy and languaging practices of immigrant learners across multiple contexts is clearly needed.

Language Socialization Language socialization, a subset of linguistic anthropology, also offers valuable approaches to the study of immigrants and education. Scholars in this tradition “study and analyze developmental language data obtained through sustained ethnographic fieldwork. Language socialization research is thus longitudinal—it involves the observation and analysis of language data over time and, in many cases, across sites and contexts of interaction” (Baquedano-López and Figueroa 2011, 541). Though the earliest work was focused outside of formal schooling contexts (particularly within homes), for decades language socialization scholars have contrasted language use in classrooms and schools to students’ home and out-of-school contexts (Baquedano-López and Kattan 2008). Such concerns were central to Heath’s (1983) landmark study of African American working class, White working class, and White middle class children learning to use language at home and at school: Her ethnographic study raised fundamental questions about the culture- and class-specific ways of using language rewarded by schools. Similar concerns informed Phillips’ (1983) research on learning styles and interaction norms for Native American students in Warm Springs, Oregon, Gonzalez’s (2001) advocacy of an additive model for bilingual Mexican immigrant children, work by Pease-Alvarez and colleagues (Pease-Alvarez and Vásquez 1994; Vásquez, Pease-Alvarez, and Shannon 1994) on linguistic and cultural disjunctures between home and school for Mexican immigrant children, and Zentella’s investigation (1997) of home, peer, and school-based language socialization patterns among Puerto Ricans in New York City. Much of this work contrasted home and community language socialization, showing how difference is consistently cast as deficit. As Duff (2010) shows, language socialization into academic discourse communities is a process “characterized by variable amounts of modeling, feedback, and uptake; different levels of investment and agency on the part of learners; by the negotiation of power and identities; and, often, important personal transformations for at least some participants. However, the consequences and outcomes of academic discourse socialization are also quite unpredictable, both in the shorter term and longer term” (169). Language socialization approaches have blossomed into a productive framework for research on immigrant education. Scholars working in this vein have conducted research on language socialization in immigrant communities, language socialization of immigrants within schools (including by peers), language and social exclusion, and language and transnational identities. For example, Willett (1995) examined how four immigrant students in a first-grade ESL classroom contended with gender roles, class expectations, and teachers’ assumptions about students’ capabilities. Similarly, Rymes and Pash (2001) examined how a second-grade boy from Costa Rica “passed” as a competent speaker during classroom interactions while being assigned to special 242

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education classes, with significant consequences for his education. Revisiting Bernstein (1974), research by Kyratzis, Tang, and Koymen (2009) on peer socialization among Mexican immigrants in a Head Start program challenged the idea that working class kids relied on restricted codes and lacked elaborated codes. There is important work on children as cultural and linguistic brokers, including as translators in parent-teacher conferences (Orellana 2009; Garcia Sanchez and Orellana 2006; García Sánchez, Orellana, and Hopkins 2011). Increasingly, scholars are considering such issues in migration contexts beyond the United States. For example, based on two years of ethnographic fieldwork in southwest Spain and Morocco, García Sánchez (2010a, b) explores how relationships among languages, relations within multilingual communities, and larger sociopolitical processes shape identity development among Moroccan immigrant youth and children living and studying in Spain. There is a great need for more research in this vein that considers how immigrants “reconcile macro-sociological categories of belonging with micro-interactional negotiations of group membership and identity” (Baquedano-López and Figueroa 2011, 541). However, critics charge that language socialization studies produce “overly normative characterizations,” tend to overgeneralize, and “lack a systematic methodology to characterize an individual’s unique trajectory of socialization across events, longitudinally” (Rymes 2008, 8). These weaknesses are problematic because taken together, the logical conclusion of this line of research is a proliferation of studies that identify multiple forms of communicative competence that support the notion of “LS” as a dialectical process of give and take between community norms and individual action, but which have no way of identifying the processes through which norms are taken up or contested. For researchers in education, this is a significant problem. If LS research is to be illuminating, a methodology will need to be specified to (1) avoid essentializing static cultural types and the uncritical relativism that can attend such generalizations; (2) track the emergence of new forms of participation; and (3) document how individuals negotiate or are positioned and repositioned in processes of socialization over time, possibly, in part, through more sustained and detailed ethnographic study. (Rymes 2008, 8) These limitations must be addressed in efforts to extend the approach. The work will require close ethnographic attention to the multidirectional aspect of language socialization across settings and discourse communities (Garrett 2008).

Core Issues, Key Findings, and Educational Implications Pragmatic discussions of immigrants and education often narrow to the goal of developing academic language in the language of wider communication. There is strong support for additive bilingual education approaches. Empirical evidence around the world shows near consensus among researchers that greater support for a student’s home language and academic development in that language is “positively related to higher long-term academic attainment” (Ferguson 2006, 48). Cummins made an early and influential distinction between contextualized language, which is used for basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS), and the sort of decontextualized language for cognitive academic language proficiency (CALP) required to complete most school tasks—especially assessment tasks. Cummins posited that whereas BICS can be developed in one to three years, it takes five to seven years to develop the academic abstract languaging needed for CALP (1981a; 1981b; 2000). In the United States, studies conducted by Thomas and Collier 243

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(1997) and Lindholm-Leary (2001) support the call for longer-term academic instruction in L1. Thomas and Collier (1997) state: The first predictor of long-term school success is cognitively complex on-grade level academic instruction through students’ first language for as long as possible (at least through grade 5 or 6) and cognitively complex on-grade level academic instruction through the second language (English) for part of the day. (15) In their synthesis of the research evidence in the education of emergent bilinguals, Genesee, Lindholm-Leary, Saunders, and Christian (2006) showed that students enrolled in educational programs that provide extended instruction in their home language through late-exit bilingual education programs outperformed students who receive only short-term instruction through their home language. They also found that bilingual proficiency and biliteracy are positively related to academic achievement in both languages. Other meta-analyses of the literature have repeatedly shown that emergent bilinguals who are in bilingual education programs where content is taught in their home language, even if these programs are transitional in nature and students eventually exit into mainstream classes, outperform those in English-only programs on tests of academic achievement (Krashen, Rolstad, and McSwan 2007; Rolstad, Mahoney, and Glass 2005; Slavin and Cheung 2005). Researchers have consistently found that there is a cross-linguistic relationship between the students’ home language and additional languages (Riches and Genesee 2006). The National Literacy Panel on Language Minority Children and Youth concluded that bilingual education approaches in which the child’s home language is used are more effective in teaching children to read than are English-only approaches (August and Shanahan 2006). August and Shanahan (2006) summarize these findings for the United States by saying: “Language-minority children who are instructed in their first language, as well as English, perform better on English reading measures than students instructed only in English. This is the case at both secondary and elementary levels [emphasis added]” (639). The educational implications are clear but largely ignored.

Academic Language and Literacy Among Youth A specific concern in the education of immigrants is that many arrive as youth. Elementary school children born in the United States and raised in Spanish-speaking homes usually come into school with some receptive ability in English as a result of watching television and having lived for five years in an English-speaking society, even if their exposure to that society is minimal. The literacy demands are not as exacting, and there’s more emphasis on oral development. The English language and literacy development of adolescents is, by contrast, a more complex and demanding task. Though adolescents are neither less successful nor less efficient in acquiring an additional language than children (Singleton 2001), they need a firm foundation of decontextualized language skills in their home languages, and they need time to develop those same skills in English (Cummins 1991; Hakuta, Gotto Butler, and Wit 2000). However, some immigrants have experienced low quality and even interrupted formal education; further, when immigrants arrive in the United States as high school students, state assessment policies do not provide them with five to seven years to develop their English. Moreover, as work in New Literacy Studies shows, what counts as literacy, and which literacy practices are considered appropriate, varies situationally and relationally. Thus, a student who has gone to school outside the U.S. for many years has experienced a way of communicating “in and around writing” (Hornberger 1990) that is profoundly different from what is expected once they 244

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migrate to the U.S. (or elsewhere). It is not simply that English differs from their home language; rather, the ways of using language and literacy vary in the two societies and the two school systems. The expressive tradition and expository writing so common in the United States are difficult for students from places “where the central focus is either the text or the teacher as the central authority and source of information” (Watkins-Goffman and Cummings 1997, 438), or places where oral traditions dominate (Vinogradov and Bigelow 2010). Expectations about argumentation and structure vary by cultural contexts; e.g., writing in Spanish is often less direct (or some might say more subtle) than the argumentation that predominates in American academic literacies (Watkins-Goffman and Cummings 1997). These sociocultural differences in literacy and assessment practices have important implications for educating immigrant students, for despite all the evidence of transfer of skills from one language to another (e.g., Cummins 1981b; 1991; 2000; Carson, Carrell, Silberstein, Kroll, and Kuehn 1990; Gabriele, Troseth, Matohardjono, and Otheguy 2009), the lack of convergence in literacy practices leaves many immigrant students unable to apply what they know about reading, writing, and testing in their home language to tasks in English. In order for transfer to occur, either students need the languages to feature similar literacy practices, or students need to be taught new genres and textual expectations more explicitly (August and Shanahan 2006). Immigrant students must develop academic literacy practices in their home language that are similar to academic English literacy practices in U.S. schools, and/or they need to receive explicit instruction in, and opportunities to practice, different writing conventions. Recent research has worked to identify language education models for these populations (e.g., Bartlett and García 2011).

Educational Models for Migrant and Immigrant Students Increasingly scholars have turned their attention to identifying, describing, and even helping to create whole schools or school programs that are successful in educating immigrant-origin children. For example, Gibson and Hidalgo (2009) explored the role of the federally funded Migrant Education Program in supporting the children of migrant farmworkers. Drawing from four years of ethnographic research in one successful California high school, the study identified teachers’ multiple roles as mentors, counselors, advocates, and role models as a major factor in supporting migrant students. In a second example, Alvarez and Mehan (2006) identified key features of a Grade 6–12 charter school they helped to develop that prepares students from low income backgrounds, including many children from immigrant families, to strong levels of academic achievement: a culture of learning, academic, and social supports to help students meet the demands of a rigorous curriculum, and an environment designed to make students feel both confident and safe. A third example of whole school reform is Gregorio Luperón, a high school for Latino newcomers in New York City. Even in the face of the city’s divisive educational politics and polices that emphasize English only, the school successfully promotes a bilingual (Spanish– English) curriculum, supports additive acculturation or additive schooling, and brings together parents, community members, teachers, administrators, and students to promote student learning (Bartlett and García 2011). Comparative cross-national studies of the educational experiences of the children of immigrants are rare, given their costs and complexity. The Children of Immigrants in Schools (CIS), a four-year international study of how receiving-society educational systems and processes impact on the children of immigrants in Britain, France, the Netherlands, Spain, Sweden, and the United States, aims to address this gap (Alba and Holdaway 2013). Several of the comparisons in the study found that, despite systemic differences, the educational systems maintained similar mechanisms of exclusion related to the maintenance of cultural and linguistic hierarchies. While such studies provide important insights into the social and academic supports 245

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provided by successful models, there is much to learn about specific language supports offered at these schools.

New Debates and Future Directions This pragmatic concern for the education of immigrants has reignited debates over second language acquisition models for immigrant students. While some continue to promote transitional bilingual education, others are proposing more dynamic approaches. Based on the belief that bilinguals have two or more dynamically interdependent language systems whose interactions create new structures that are not found in monolingual systems, García (2014) has proposed a model of dynamic bilingualism. García argues that bilingualism is not linear, as in the additive and subtractive models of bilingualism proposed by Lambert (1974) where a second language is merely added or a first one subtracted. Instead, bilinguals develop language practices that are complex and interrelated but that differ for distinct purposes and contexts. Dynamic bilingualism does not emphasize a static conception of learning in order to approach having “native-like proficiency,” which is itself a political construct (see Canagarajah 1999; Kramsch 1997). Instead, dynamic bilingualism employs a practice approach to bilingualism that accentuates using languages to negotiate situations (Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008; Van Lier 2000). This view raises significant debates about the pedagogical uses of code-switching, code-shifting, and translanguaging. A second area in need of further research is the application of linguistic anthropological and language socialization perspectives to immigrants and schooling outside the United States. There is promising research in this area. For example, García Sánchez’s (2013) fieldwork demonstrated how Moroccan Muslim immigrants in southwest Spain linguistically negotiate exclusionary discourses concerning “Arabs.” Similarly, Lucko (2011) conducted fieldwork in Madrid, where essentialist discourses of cultural differences positioned working class Ecuadorian youth as violent and uneducable. Thus, while examples exist, there is a need to expand linguistic anthropological inquiries into schooling for immigrants, and especially to consider destinations beyond Europe to include the increasing phenomenon of South-South migration. Finally, despite the increase in numbers of especially vulnerable subpopulations of immigrants, including undocumented immigrants, asylum-seekers, and refugees (King and Punti 2012; Pinson and Arnot 2007), inadequate research attention has been given to their schooling experiences, their unique linguistic challenges and resources, and their educational trajectories. For refugee youth, displacement and resettlement abruptly disturb, and often deconstruct, their educational trajectories. As stated by Nolan (2006): “The agency and life choices of the world’s refugees are quite different from those of (im)migrants and the social processes that bind the two contexts when physical presence is impossible in the home country” (183). For those resettled in the U.S., their pre-refugee lives are substantially different from their post-resettlement ones, and their pre-refugee education is usually not commensurate with the system they enter in the United States; the certifications, degrees, and licenses previously earned by young adults are likely not recognized; and their family’s previous social status and educational history do not provide advantages in U.S. schooling. Most, especially during the first year of resettlement, exist on the margins of society—and, perhaps because of their vulnerability, at the edges of educational linguists’ research lenses. However, two million plus refugees have resettled in the U.S. since 1975, and since the 1990s most belong to what is best described as acute refugee movements, those in which populations flee from violence and war, and are characterized by poverty, limited education, and few vocational skills. Nearly half of these are school-aged youth. Concern and research attention should thus be paid to their experiences. 246

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Further Reading Baquedano-López, P., and Figueroa, A. M. 2011. Language socialization and immigration. In A. Duranti, E. Ochs, B. Schieffelin. Eds. The handbook of language socialization, (pp. 536–563). Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Rymes, B. 2008. Language socialization and linguistic anthropology. In P. Duff and N. H. Hornberger, Eds., Encyclopedia of language and education (2nd Edition, Volume 8: Language Socialization, pp. 1–14). New York: Springer. Wortham, S., and Rymes, B. (Eds.) 2003. Linguistic anthropology of education. Westport, CT: Praeger.

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19 Critical Pedagogy in Classroom Discourse Loukia K. Sarroub and Sabrina Quadros

Historical Perspectives The classroom is a unique discursive space for the enactment of critical pedagogy. In some ways, all classroom discourse is critical because it is inherently political, and at the heart of critical pedagogy is an implicit understanding that power is negotiated daily by teachers and students. Historically, critical pedagogy is rooted in schools of thought that have emphasized the individual and the self in relation and in contrast to society, sociocultural and ideological forces, and economic factors and social progress. In addressing conceptualizations in Orthodox Marxism (with Karl Marx, Max Weber, and Emile Durkheim) in the mid-19th century and the Frankfurt School (with Theodor W. Adorno, Max Horkheimer, Herbert Marcuse, Friedrich Pollock, Leo Lowenthal, and Walter Benjamin), contemporary critical theory still embodies the concept of false consciousness, the idea that institutional processes and material mislead people, and the internalization of values and norms, which induce people to act and behave according to what it is expected in society (Agger 1991). The problem of domination (which cannot be reduced to oppression, nor is it akin to it), a complex understanding of how social structures mediate power relations to create different forms of alienation (Morrow and Brown 1994), mainly depicts the reproduction of social struggles, inequities, and power differences, reflecting some of the main aspects of critical pedagogy classrooms. In considering such critical theory in classroom settings, Giroux and McLaren (1989) acknowledge the importance of teachers and students understanding classroom pedagogical practices as a form of ideological production, wherein the classroom reflects discursive formations and power-knowledge relations, both in schools and in society. Within these conceptualizations, Livingstone (1987), referring to Freire (1970), refers to critical theory in classrooms as a critical pedagogy of practice, claiming the concept as a radical perspective in which “intellectuals engage in social change to make the political more pedagogical and the pedagogical more political” (xii). In such terms, the “political more pedagogical” calls for a redefinition of historical memory (which, in critical theory, is the basis for the understanding of cultural struggles), critique, and radical utopianism, as the elements of a political discourse highlighting pedagogical processes, such as knowledge being constructed and deconstructed, dialogue being contextualized around emancipatory interests, and learning being actively pursued in radical practices of ethics and 252

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political communities. In making the “pedagogical more political,” Freire (1970) refers to a more profound idea of schooling in order to embrace the broader category of education in the forms of critically examining the production of subjects and subjectivities that take place outside of school settings and developing a radical critical teaching in which educators are able to examine how different public settings interact in shaping the ideological and material conditions that contribute to sites of domination and struggle. Theoretically, critical pedagogy in classroom discourse embodies the practice of engaging students in the social construction of knowledge, which grounds its pillars on power relations. In utilizing critical pedagogy in the classroom, teachers must question their own practices in the process to construct knowledge and why the main knowledge is legitimized by the dominant culture. Moreover, through emancipatory knowledge (Habermas 1981) educators draw practical and technical knowledge together, creating a space for understanding the relations of power and privilege that manipulate and distort social relationships. In the end, participants in critical pedagogy classrooms are encouraged to engage in collective action, founded on the principles of social justice, equality, and empowerment (McLaren 2009). One example of the application of the theory in classroom contexts in which English is taught as a foreign language directs the concept of critical pedagogy to a narrower, but no less powerful, dismantling of power structural systems of imposition and false consciousness. Pennycook (1989, 2006) and Canagarajah (1999, 2007) examine the role of English as a foreign language, which embodies political ideological assumptions in international classrooms. According to Pennycook (1989), educators need to understand local political configurations in order to know whether a particular language policy is “reactionary or liberatory” (112). Theorists in foreign language teaching (Phillipson 1988; Canagarajah 1999; 2007; Pennycook 1989; 2006) argue that the political imposition of English as a foreign language interferes with the vitality of local multilingualism due to the hegemonic status of English (in Canagarajah 1999, 208). Considering the harmful effects of linguistic influence, Phillipson (1988) and Canagarajah (2007) cite two instances of struggle for local communities where English is the imposed foreign language. The first instance is the dependence and subjugation of the third world and, second, the values of the industrial consumerism culture, which reflect aspects of capitalist societies and countries that maintain the status of global, powerful structures. Pennycook (1989) complements such claims by arguing that the international spread of English historically has paralleled the spread of Western cultural norms of international business and technological standardization. Peirce (1989) also argues that we need to expand our views of language as “neutral,” since “English, like all other languages, is a site of struggle over meaning, access, and power” (405). Regarding these assumptions of subjugation of the third world, industrial consumerism, the cultural norms of international business and technological standardization, and struggle over meaning, access, and power, critical pedagogy practitioners approach English as a tool to engage participants in larger ideological discourses, promoting agency and knowledge, not only about the learning of the structural aspects of becoming fluent in the language, but, and more importantly, how such a language influences their immediate reality and communities. In literacy studies, the discourse of critical pedagogy embodies the emancipatory force that challenges the idea of literacy as not being politically neutral, observing that with literacy comes perspectives and interpretations that are ultimately political (Gee 2008). In using literacy as a skill to prepare individuals to “read the word” and “read the world” (in Freirean terms), classroom discourse adds to the idea of learning the ability to decipher symbols and acquire the academic language to empower participants in their contexts, calling educators to open spaces for marginalized students to voice their struggles in political, social, and economic spheres. Freire (1985) defends the idea that literacy in itself does not empower those who live in oppressive conditions, 253

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but it must be linked to a critical understanding of the social context and action to change such conditions. In these terms, Auerbach (1995) refers to critical literacies as the “rhetoric of ‘strengths’” (644) for focusing on cultural sensitivity, celebration of diversity, and empowerment of parents, and she also highlights that empowerment is not regarded in individual terms but in social terms (655). An essential aspect of critical pedagogy in literacy learning includes the ongoing recognition of the power relationships amongst individuals who are involved in education, such as the power dynamics within family, classrooms, programs, and institutions. Street (1990) also argues that the failure of literacy campaigns reflects the non-consideration of significant aspects of literacy practices by those more powerful outsiders such as teachers, administrators, and politicians.

Core Issues and Key Findings The practicality of critical pedagogy, while considered highly theoretical, has brought up a series of questions founded on empirical research wherein educators have attempted to incorporate its principles in classroom discourse. While such practitioners highlight the positive facets of critical pedagogy, such as students’ stronger engagement with curriculum, empowerment through dialogue and involvement in their communities, critiques of their cultural norms, and participation in patriarchal countries/communities, the same researchers have also pointed out the shortcomings of the theoretical and ideological model. Some of these deficiencies include students’ aversion to idealized concepts, teachers’ limited understanding of the implementation of “critical” in their curricula, lack of support in adopting critical perspectives within the school site, as well as practitioners’ skepticism of the “empowering” outcome in students’ lives. To use critical pedagogy, practitioners attempt to reconstruct their classrooms as a threepronged discourse structure. Structurally, these three aspects include a curriculum that needs to be founded upon students’ interests, cultural needs, and community empowerment. In terms of the dynamics of interaction, the teacher/educator in the classroom usually focuses on participation and skills in dialogue in a rational articulation of one’s context with others who are differently situated (Young 1997). In this regard, the participatory dynamics and dialogical skills involve the construction of dialogues amongst peers, questioning concepts and common behavior, doubting the ritualized form, explaining one’s perception of reality, providing evidence of assertions, advancing arguments from diverse knowledge and/or disciplinary perspectives, drawing upon experience with the curriculum and topics addressed, and listening to a variety of voices in different discourses. In essence, this is the capacity for critique, reflecting the critical agency of participants (Habermas 1981). Meeting Different Voices: Teaching English for Cultural Awareness. The research about the use and implementation of critical pedagogy in international language classrooms possibly exemplifies some of the structural and dynamic rearrangements that teachers and educators have undergone to teach critically. In this regard, Sadegui (2008) opted to implement critical pedagogy in an Iranian classroom through adopting locally and situated forbidden topics or taboos, as well as engaging students through discussion; reading diverse articles; and utilizing students’ own sources of information and knowledge, such as texts, pictures, and audio-recordings. Although meeting resistance, Sadegui (2008) suggests that critical consciousness does not necessarily urge critical action, but it gives participants of the prevalent discourse the chance to resist or change. Showing similar results in Iranian high schools, Ghahremani-Ghajar and Mirhosseini (2005) focus on utilizing dialogue journals to express students’ thoughts on any topic of interest. Ghahremani-Ghajar and Mirhosseini (2005) found that students consistently appropriated the opportunity to utilize “their” English to express dissatisfactions and opinions. In coding the journals into descriptive and personal versus critical and creative essays, Ghahremani-Ghajar and 254

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Mirhosseini (2005) assert that in the last quarter, one percent of the journals were written with descriptive and/or personal style, 82% being either critical or creative, with 42% being creative ones. In an English class in South Korea, Shin and Crookes (2005) employed critical pedagogy by creating projects, such as slide presentations, travel plans, discussion groups, poster presentations, and written essays. The outcomes reported show that students highly valued class discussions as sites for listening to their peers’ thoughts to further their views and experiences. Shin and Crookes (2005) point out that students engaged in dialogue by asking questions, revealing disagreements, and clarifying others’ comments. Generally, time allotted to discussion with and among students has been thought of as good teaching practice, and in the United States, it has long been part of child-centered learning; however, elsewhere, and in countries where historically there has been little communication in the classroom from students, a more dialogue-oriented set of teaching and learning tools form a critical pedagogy. Huang (2011), exploring an English reading and writing classroom in Taiwan, utilized writing journals by focusing on notions of critique (Luke and Freebody 1999) and different perspectives of reading material referring to the same topic. Huang (2011) explains that reading became a conscious process through which students uncovered hidden messages and contemplated multiple perspectives. In writing, students were encouraged to write because writing became, in some way, meaningful. Despite the positive experiences within English language classrooms using critical pedagogy, challenges have not been absent from these practices. Rice (1998) ponders the welcoming concept of “criticality” in different cultural practices at the time that Eastman (1998) and Canagarajah (1993) question the integration of critical pedagogy into a curriculum in which English is learned as a means for survival and cultural status. Sadeghi (2008) highlighted her “solitude” in the school site as a result of adopting the perspective and touching on complex topics, adding the struggle in examining biased voices in every different context. Shin and Crookes’ (2005) concerns focus on combining the dialogical discourse while maintaining a certain level of authority. The researchers also point out the limited language proficiency to participate in English talk. Ko and Wang (2009) emphasize the teacher’s lack of time, insufficient classroom time, large class size, and cultural expectations in education as barriers in Taiwan English classrooms. Empowering Through Literacy: Practices and Limitations. In literacy studies, the social change perspective embodies principles of the multiple-literacies approach, further emphasizing the issues of institutional power, cultural struggles, and social change. Essentially, literacy becomes a site for struggle because the conditions created by institutions and structural forces influence the forms and access to literacy acquisition (Auerbach 1995). In the critical perspective, literacy, in itself, does not lead to empowerment or resolve economic problems, if the link does not embody a critical understanding of the social contexts and initiatives to change inequitable conditions. In critical theory studies, literacy processes comprise complementary modalities, such as connecting the oral and written “word” to the understanding and critique of controlling structures and domination, offering students the opportunity to successfully participate in the academic discourse. In terms of literacy programs, such as family literacy, critical pedagogy practice encompasses the parents’ control over the program’s goals, issues, themes, research agenda, dialogue as a key to pedagogical process, content centering on critical social issues for participants, and the critical notion of action for social change. In short, and theoretically, critical studies in literacy practices challenge power structures through the study and discernment of hierarchies as a first step to improve the condition of marginalized groups, engaging them in social participation and discourse patterns. Empirically, participants have demonstrated indifference to the discourse of critical pedagogy. Within a family literacy program for Guatemalan Maya families, Schoorman and Zainuddin 255

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(2008) examine changes in the curriculum to implement critical pedagogy and the empowerment practices with which teachers were engaged. The researchers discovered that participants in the program did not have social and structural change as their primary goal for seeking literacy education. Conversely, Schoorman and Zainuddin (2008) highlight that parents sought literacy education to “fit in” to the American system, mainly contributing to the academic success of their children. On the positive side, contributors and participants of the Literacy for Social Justice Teacher Research group, Rogers, Mosley, and Folkes (2009), examined a classroom where the literacy practices focused on “literacies of labour,” bringing up the (economic) class conflict topic within students’ immediate job contexts at work as a tool to negotiate awareness and critique in adults’ lives. Through the use of slide-based picture story and dialogue, Rogers et al. (2009), argue that while the students became more proficient with language and literacy, they also became more knowledgeable about their rights as workers and “how to be advocates for action” (136). Although focusing the findings on her practice as a critical educator, Rocha-Schmid (2010) investigates a family literacy program in London where she attempted to engage immigrant parents in a critical pedagogy discourse of empowerment. The approach gave opportunities for parents to discuss the school culture and practices and to position themselves within a different cultural system. Rocha-Schmid (2010) also acknowledges that parents displayed their own deep awareness of the topics and issues addressed and debated; however, the discourse patterns in which she was involved as a teacher did not allow for further and deeper dialogues within the classroom. Through the exercise of critical pedagogy in literacy programs, researchers have also presented the limitations of the perspective. For example, Rogers and colleagues (2009) understand that the use of critical literacy in education is necessary but insufficient in the struggle for justice and social action. They argue the need for practitioners to work with cross-societal structures in order to build more reliable alternatives. Rocha-Schmid (2010) calls for teachers’ discourse patterns to be revisited and scrutinized through the lenses of power and control. For Schoorman and Zainuddin (2008), the immediate need and desire of immigrant learners to participate in the school and in mainstream social discourse challenged their engagement with the critical view. Beyond the above limitations, considering Ellsworth’s (1989) questions, “What diversity do we silence in the name of ‘liberatory’ pedagogy?” (299) adding “to be critical of what, from what position, to what end?” (299) seems to be a constructive and productive approach to take.

Research Approaches Research in the Field. Research utilizing critical pedagogy commonly inquires into how power and the often externally imposed knowledge structures together privilege specific forms of knowledge within students’ learning and language usage. Theoretically, Giroux (1988), Freire (1985), and McLaren (2009) inform the paradigms of critical pedagogy. In the classrooms, Freire (1970), Ashton-Warner (1965), Peterson (2009), Waterhouse (2012), and Siegel (2006) have developed scholarly work that contribute to teachers’ practice in the field of critical pedagogy, as well as inquiry regarding the use of traditional methods within a critical approach framework (in addition to others already cited). Freire (1970) and Ashton-Warner (1965), for example, made use of generative words to engage students in literacy practices. Peterson (2009) acknowledges the importance of starting with generative themes (topics that emerge from students’ interests and preferences), which can be discovered and reflected upon while using a diversity of language and performance arts activities to involve students in the practice of critical pedagogy. Peterson (2009) also emphasizes that even with standardized curricula, teachers can utilize the life experiences of 256

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students, as well as poetry, movies, field trips, and music to boost critical thinking and awareness in the classroom. In exploring different approaches in critical pedagogy research, Waterhouse (2012) advances the critical literacy framework and Multiple Literacy Theory to examine the effects of becoming critical within the students’ context. Siegel (2006) analyzes the language usage ideologies professed in teacher and student discourse, suggesting that teachers should focus on a critical awareness approach when teaching language. In terms of differentiating between critical pedagogy and critical thinking, Burbules and Berk (1999) offer an analysis of both practices, explaining that they are theoretically different: One espouses an ideological position in response to power structures, while the other fosters a set learning strategies to deconstruct texts, which may influence classroom outcomes and student achievement. Lewis, Enciso, and Moje’s (2007) edited book contributes to that end, wedding studies focused on literacy, critical theory, critical pedagogy, and activity theory because “closely examining this dialectic process as it relates to learning and schools reveals, among other things, the role of power and ideology in people’s learning lives” (21). However, research on the issue of such differences in classroom practice is scarce in the literature. The teaching and development of educators in critical pedagogy has evolved with studies in classroom discourse and practice. Hennessy, Mercer and Warwick (2011) developed workshops that focused on dialogical inquiry of classroom lessons and analysis of recorded teaching practices. Hennessy et al. (2011), engaged teachers in the process to explore and reformulate ideas of classroom dialogue in the context of using an interactive whiteboard. In Brazil, Cox, and Assis-Peterson (1999), through the use of interviews, explored the facets of empowering discourse (ED) as understood by English teachers and how they used or did not use it within their classrooms. The authors reveal that the results yielded a vast unawareness of the concept and understanding of critical pedagogy. Cox and Assis-Peterson (1999) highlight that, as educators, the research gave them the opportunity to reflect on their own practice as professionals who had failed to offer a profound and further understanding of critical pedagogy. With Worthman (2008), his observation of two distinct adult learning classes acknowledges the differences between teaching for empowerment and teaching for emancipation, which in the research, refers to a different discourse and overview of learners. In his analysis, while one teacher prepared learners to “act appropriately,” the other positioned students to critique different discourses (461). Roche (2011) explored her own classroom, focusing on the students’ discursive production within critical pedagogy. Citing meaningful samples from students’ critiques and sociological concerns, Roche (2011) highlights her growth within the theory and the participation of parents in her classroom. Her critical practice not only influenced her students’ lives but also the school setting. For the most part, research on critical pedagogy and classroom discourse links data collection and analysis through the use of qualitative research methodologies and relevant research tools. Observations, field notes, interviews, work samples, dialogues, video records, and written journals compose the main body of tools to collect data. Researchers collect data mainly in classrooms where the framework is used and analyzed them in terms of engagement of participants, cultural impact on learners’ lives, limitations of the theory, teachers’ methods of implementation, and efficiency in implementing the framework. Researchers often used critical ethnographic or critical discourse perspectives (cf. Carspecken 1996; Rogers 2011).

New Debates In a broader perspective of critical pedagogy implementation, Eastman (1998) questions whether it is even appropriate to introduce and implement critical literacy into classrooms where students have more of an interest in learning the English language itself or a need to learn the language, 257

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rather than an interest in being critical of it. Rogers et al. (2009), wonder if critical literacy education will make a material difference in the lives of students and their families. From a more micro perspective, Rocha-Schmid (2010) inquires if it is possible for educators to be able to distance themselves from their discourses and ideologies to keep them from influencing and controlling the course of classroom dialogue. In addition, both Rocha-Schmid (2010) and Ellsworth (1989) ponder which diversities or voices are silenced when using a “liberatory” pedagogy. More research is needed to address critical pedagogy and critical thinking and how these are either conceptually or empirically connected. Additionally, there have been in the past 20 years, a rich array of classroom studies, urban youth, and international English language settings founded upon critical theory frameworks, but critical pedagogy and discourse have not been studied systematically on a larger scale, spanning multiple socioeconomic and sociocultural contexts, including rural, multilingual, urban, as well as ethnically and/or socioeconomically more homogeneous classroom settings.

Implications for Education Educational linguistics offers educators the potential for better understanding language use from the perspective of traditional grammar (what is usually taught in schools) and functional grammar perspectives (cf. Schleppegrell 2004). Critical theories and pedagogy, in turn, provide a useful framework for uncovering power relationships between standard forms and many other forms that are used by individuals, families, schools, and work places, in order to examine the combined form and function and its impact on interaction and learning. Further research includes the need for practitioners to study how critical pedagogy influences critical thinking, ethnographic studies that examine the impact of critical pedagogy in different cultures, and conversational and discourse analyses as necessary tools for better understanding the “critical” in critical pedagogy classrooms. Drawing attention to micro-level analyses of classroom interaction in the context of larger cultural and social processes continues to be important, especially in regions of the world experiencing political and environmental changes that are simultaneously and often instantly visible through digital and multi-media outlets. Ultimately, at stake are individuals and collectives of individuals’ access to and savvy negotiation of teaching and learning practices that aid them to succeed in spite of institutional constraints and power structures.

Further Reading For an overall understanding of the diverse facets of critical pedagogy, The Critical Pedagogy Reader (Darder et al. 2009) offers not only the theoretical perspectives that inform inquiry, but also explores how some researchers have applied these perspectives in their studies. Works from Giroux (1981; 1983), Freire (1970; 1985), and Phillipson (1992) give the most widely used historical and theoretical viewpoints for critical pedagogy. For an overview of classroom discourse, McLaren (1986; 1989) and Barbules (1992) offer salient reflective and analytic arguments focused on practice and theory.

References Agger, B. 1991. Critical theory, poststructuralism, postmodernism: Their sociological relevance. In W. R. Scott and J. Blake. (Eds.) Annual Review of Sociology, 17 (pp. 105–131). Palo Alto, CA: Annual Reviews. Ashton-Warner, S. 1965. Teacher. New York, NY: Simon and Schuster. Auerbach, E. 1995. Deconstructing the discourse of strength in family literacy. Journal of Literacy Research, 27(4), 643–661.

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Barbules, N. 1992. Dialogue in teaching: Theory and practice. New York, NY: Teacher College Press. Barbules, N. C., and Berk, R. 1999. Critical thinking and critical pedagogy: Relations, differences, and limits. In T. S. Popkewitz and L. Fendler (Eds.) Critical theories in education: Changing terrains of politics (pp. 45–65). New York, NY: Routledge. Canagarajah, S. A. 1993. Critical ethnography of a Sri Lankan classroom: Ambiguities in student opposition to reproduction through ESOL. TESOL Quarterly, 27(4), 601–626. Canagarajah, S. A. 1999. On EFL teachers, awareness, and agency. ELT Journal, 53(3), 207–213. Canagarajah, S. A. 2007. The ecology of global English. International Multilingual Research Journal, 1(2), 89–100. Carspecken, F. 1996. Critical ethnography in educational research: A theoretical and practical guide. New York, NY: Routledge. Cox, M. I. P., & de Assis-Peterson, A. A. 1999. Critical pedagogy in ELT: Images of Brazilian teachers of English. TESOL Quarterly, 33(3), 433–451. Darder, A., Baltodano, M. , Torres, R. D. (Eds.) 2009. The critical pedagogy reader. New York, NY: Routledge. Ellsworth, E. 1989. Why doesn’t this feel empowering? Working through the representative myths of critical pedagogy. Harvard Educational Review, 59(3), 297–324. Eastman, L. 1998. Oral discussions in teaching critical literacy to beginners. In A. Burns and S. Hood (Eds.), Teachers’ voices 3: Teaching critical literacy. (pp. 22—28). Sydney: NCELTR. Fairclough, N. 1998. Critical discourse analysis: The critical study of language. Essex, UK: Longman. Freire, P. 1970. Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Seabury. Freire, P. 1985. The politics of education: Culture, power and liberation. South Madley, MA: Bergin and Garvey. Gee, J. 1999. An introduction to discourse analysis: Theory and practice. New York, NY: Routledge. Gee, J. 2008. Social linguistics and literacies: Ideologies in discourse. New York, NY: Routledge. Ghahremani-Ghajar, S. & Mirhosseini, S.A. 2005. English class or speaking about everything class? Dialogue journal writing as a critical EFL literacy practice in an Iranian high school. Language, Culture and Curriculum, 18(3), 286–299. Giroux, H. A. 1981. Ideology culture and the process of schooling. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Giroux, H. A. 1983. Theory and resistance in education: Towards a pedagogy for the opposition. Westport, CT: Bergin and Garvey Publishers. Giroux, H. A. 1988. Teachers as intellectuals: Towards a critical pedagogy of learning. Westport, CT: Bergin and Garvey Publishers. Giroux, H. A., and McLaren, P. 1989. Critical pedagogy, the state, and cultural struggle. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Habermas, J. 1981. The theory of communicative action. London: Heinemann. Hennessy, S., Mercer, N., and Warwick, P. 2011. A dialogic inquiry approach to working with teachers in developing classroom dialogue. Teacher College Record, 113(9), 1906–1959. Huang, S. Y. 2011. Reading “further and beyond the text”: Student perspectives of critical literacy in EFL reading and writing. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 55(2), 145–154. Ko, M., and Wang, T. 2009. Introducing critical literacy to EFL teaching: Three Taiwanese college teacher’s conceptualization. The Asian EFL Journal Quarterly, 11(1), 174–191. Lewis, C., Enciso, P., and Moje, E. (Eds.) 2007. Reframing sociocultural research on literacy: Identity, agency, and power. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Livingstone, D. W. 1987. Critical pedagogy and cultural power. South Hadley, MA: Bergin and Garvey Publishers, Inc. Luke, A., & Freebody, P. 1999. Further notes on the four resources model. Reading Online notes. Retrieved from www.readingonline.org/research/lukefreebody.html McLaren, P. 1986. Schooling as ritual performance. London, UK: Routledge and Kegan Paul. McLaren, P. 1989. Life in schools: An introduction to critical pedagogy and the foundations of education. New York, NY: Longman. McLaren, P. 2009. Critical pedagogy: A look at major concepts. In A. Darder, M. P. Baltodano, and R. D. Torres. (Eds.) The critical pedagogy reader (pp. 61–83). New York, NY: Routledge. Morrow, R. A. and Brown, D. D. 1994. Critical theory and methodology. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Peirce, B. N. 1989.Toward a pedagogy of possibility in the teaching of English internationally. TESOL Quarterly, 23(3),401–420. Pennycook, A. 1989. The concept of method, interested knowledge, and the politics of language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 23(4), 589–618. 259

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Pennycook, A. 2006. Language education as translingual activism. Asia Pacific Journal of Education, 26(1), 111–114. Peterson, R. E. 2009. Teaching how to read the world and change it: Critical pedagogy in the intermediate grades. In A. Darder, M. P. Baltodano, and R. D. Torres. (Eds.) The critical pedagogy reader (pp. 305–323). New York, NY: Routledge. Phillipson, R. 1988. Linguicism: structures and ideologies in linguistic imperialism. In Tove SkutnabbKangas & Jim Cummins (Eds.), Minority education: From shame to struggle. (pp. 339-358). Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Phillipson, R. 1992. Linguistic imperialism. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Razfar, A., and Rumenapp, J. C. (2012). Language ideologies in English learner classrooms: Critical reflections and the role of the explicit awareness. Language Awareness, 21(4), 347–368. Rice, J. 1998. Portable critical literacy strategies. In A. Burns and S. Hood (Eds.), Teachers’ voices 3: Teaching critical literacy. (pp. 55—60). Sydney: NCELTR. Rocha-Schmid, E. 2010. Participatory pedagogy for empowerment: A critical discourse analysis of teacher-parents’ interactions in a family literacy course in London. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 29(3), 343–358. Roche, M. 2011. Creating a dialogical and critical classroom: Reflection and action to improve practice. Educational Action Research, 19(3), 327–343. Rogers, R. Ed. 2011. An introduction to critical discourse analysis in education (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. Rogers, R., Mosley, M., and Folkes, A. 2009. Focus on policy: Standing up to neoliberalism through critical literacy education. Language Arts, 87(2), 127–138. Sadeghi, S. 2008. Critical pedagogy in an EFL teaching context: An ignis fatuus or an alternative approach? Journal for Critical Education Policy Studies, 6(1), 276–295. Schleppegrell, M. 2004. The language of schooling: A functional linguistics perspective. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Schoorman, D., and Zainuddin, H. 2008. What does empowerment in literacy education look like? An analysis of a family literacy program for Guatemalan Maya families, diaspora, indigenous, and minority education. Studies of Migration, Integration, Equity, and Cultural Survival, 2(3), 169–187. Shin, H., and Crookes, G. 2005. Exploring the possibilities for EFL critical pedagogy in Korea: A two-part case study. Critical Inquiry in Language Studies, 2(2), 113–136. Siegel, J. 2006. Language, ideologies and the education of speakers of marginalized language varieties: Adopting a critical awareness approach. Linguistic and Education, 17(1), 157–174. Street, B. (1990). Literacy lessons: Cultural meanings of literacy. Geneva: UNESCO. Waterhouse, M. 2012. We don’t believe media anymore: Mapping critical literacies in and adult immigrant language classroom. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 33(1), 129–146. Worthman, C. 2008. The position of adult learners: Appropriating learner experience on the continuum of empowerment to emancipation. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 27(4), 443–462. Young, R. 1997. A critical-pragmatic theory of classroom talk. In B. Davies and D. Corson. Eds. Encyclopedia of language and education: Oral discourse and education (pp. 11–20). Norwell, MA: Kluwer.

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Language Teacher Education

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20 Teachers’ Beliefs About Language Learning and Teaching Sun Yung Song

Over the past 15 years, a particular dimension of teachers’ cognition—teacher beliefs—has received considerable attention in the fields of language teaching and language teacher education. It is widely recognized that language teachers bring to the classroom a set of beliefs that are derived from various sources, including individual personality, prior learning experiences as students, and teaching practices (Borg 2003). These beliefs are said to serve as guiding principles for instructional decisions and classroom practices, which in turn influence students’ language learning in classrooms (Pajares 1992). Therefore, it is particularly important for educational researchers and teacher educators to understand the central role that teacher beliefs play in language teaching and learning. The examination of teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching can provide valuable insights into teachers’ decision-making and classroom practices for language learners (Johnson 1994). This information can also offer important implications for designing and implementing sustained and integrated teacher education programs to promote the development and transformation of teacher beliefs for teachers’ professional growth. This chapter delineates current main trends in research into teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching. It begins with a brief discussion on the nature of teacher beliefs. In the subsequent section, it offers a historical overview of the research on language teacher cognition in which the study of teacher beliefs is grounded. Then, it provides a review of relevant work drawn from the 1990s to present. After a brief discussion of the research approaches employed in the field, the final part of the chapter discusses an agenda for future research intended to expand the knowledge base of teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching, as well as implications for teacher education.

The Nature of Teacher Beliefs Beliefs are a notoriously difficult concept to define because they are not directly observable nor are they easily measurable (Pajares 1992). Despite the increasing research interest in teachers’ beliefs over the past several decades, a single definition of beliefs has not been reached. The lack of consensus in the definitions of beliefs derives from inconsistency in the terminology used to describe teachers’ beliefs. Kagan (1992) discussed the lack of agreement in terminology, stating that “the term ‘teacher belief ’ is not used consistently, with some researchers referring instead to 263

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teachers’ ‘principles of practice,’ ‘personal epistemologies,’ ‘perspectives,’ ‘practical knowledge’ or ‘orientations’” (66). Perhaps the most problematic conceptual confusion comes from a debate over the difference between beliefs and knowledge. Although specific understandings of these concepts remain unclear, researchers have provided features of beliefs that distinguish beliefs from knowledge. For example, according to Nespor (1987), beliefs are unconsciously held and are often tacit and resistant to change, whereas knowledge is conscious and is subject to change. Pajares (1992) explained that “[b]elief is based on evaluation and judgment; knowledge is based on objective fact” (313). Richardson (1996) stated that beliefs are subjective claims that the individual considers as true, while knowledge is objective truths. In the absence of a clear definition of beliefs, in this chapter teachers’ beliefs refer to those that are related to language learning and teaching, based on the notion that beliefs are “psychologically held understanding, premises, or propositions about the world that are felt to be true” (Richardson 1996, 103). In Kagan’s (1992) view, teacher beliefs are “tacit, often unconsciously held assumptions about students, classrooms and the academic material to be taught” (65). Johnson (1994) outlines three underlying assumptions about teacher beliefs that provide a basis for research on teacher beliefs. The three assumptions include: (1) teachers’ beliefs affect perception and judgment that have an influence on classroom behaviors, (2) teachers’ beliefs shape how teachers learn to teach and implement classroom practices, and (3) understanding teachers’ beliefs is important in improving teaching practices and teacher education programs.

Historical Overview of Research on Language Teachers’ Beliefs Research on teacher beliefs is grounded in the domain of teacher cognition. Borg (2003) defines teacher cognition as the “unobservable cognitive dimension of teaching—what teachers know, believe, and think” (81). Since the 1970s, the study of teacher cognition has grown substantially. (For reviews of the literature, see Borg 2006.) Teacher cognition research emerged out of the dissatisfaction with the behaviorists’ view in the 1960s that adopted the process-product approach to teaching. In the process-product paradigm, effective teaching was considered as a set of discrete behaviors that would lead to positive learner outcomes (Calderhead 1996). From this perspective, educational researchers were primarily concerned with how teachers’ classroom behaviors (processes) facilitated student achievement (products). In the 1970s, however, the focus of research on teaching began to change with the advancement of cognitive psychology, which focused on the processes of human thinking. Influenced by this cognitive perspective, educational researchers shifted their attention from teachers’ behaviors to teachers’ mental lives (Calderhead 1996). This shift in research on teaching also resulted from a growing recognition that teachers take an active role in making decisions about classroom events (Calderhead 1996). Jackson’s (1968) pioneering ethnographic work Life in Classrooms was the first study that attempted to examine “the mental constructs and processes that underlie teacher behavior” (Clark and Peterson 1986, 255). After this groundbreaking work, educational researchers began to investigate a variety of concepts in teachers’ cognition, including teachers’ decision-making, perceptions, judgments, knowledge, and beliefs. As a result, there was significant growth in research illuminating various aspects of teachers’ cognition in the 1980s and 1990s. Although mainstream educational research has shown growing interest in teacher cognition over the past 30 years, language teachers’ cognition has only recently gained prominent attention. Research on language teachers’ cognition emerged in the 1990s. Prior to the 1990s, research on second language (L2) teaching was mainly concerned with three issues: “effective teaching behaviors, positive learner outcomes, and teacher-students interactions that are believed to enhance second language learning” (Johnson 1994, 440). However, in the 1990s researchers shifted their 264

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attention to teachers’ mental lives. Freeman and Richards (1996) were among the first leading scholars to enunciate the need for research on language teachers’ cognition. Major contributions to the study of language teacher cognition come from work by Woods (1996) and Borg (2003; 2006). Woods’ (1996) work is the first book-length study examining the effects of teacher beliefs on practice. In this work, to reduce the distinction between beliefs and knowledge, Woods proposed the integrated notion of beliefs, assumptions, and knowledge (labeled BAK) that guide teachers’ action. He argues that these three constructs (BAK) are intricately interrelated and therefore should be considered as an integrated construct, rather than distinct categories. In his latest comprehensive review, Borg (2006) traced more than 180 teacher cognition studies conducted in first (L1), L2, and foreign language (FL) settings that were published from the 1990s to 2006. He reviewed several areas of study, including the cognition of pre-service and in-service language teachers and language teachers’ cognition in grammar teaching and literacy instruction. These contributions have stimulated numerous researchers and teacher educators to explore various dimensions of language teachers’ cognition, including teachers’ beliefs (Phipps and Borg 2009), maxims (Richards 1996), pedagogical knowledge (Mullock 2006), personal practical knowledge (Golombek 1998), and principles (Breen, Hird, Milton, Oliver, and Thwaite 2001). Most published empirical studies of language teachers’ beliefs have examined three broad issues: (1) beliefs of pre-service teachers, (2) beliefs of in-service teachers, and (3) teacher beliefs in specific aspects of language teaching, particularly grammar teaching (see Borg 2006 for a full review). A summary of the research conducted in each of these areas is provided in the next three sections.

Pre-Service Teachers’ Beliefs One strand of studies has examined pre-service teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching at the point of entry into teacher education programs. Findings of these studies confirm the results from mainstream educational research that pre-service teachers bring with them a set of existing beliefs into the teacher education program, and these entering beliefs come from their previous schooling experiences as students, which Lortie (1975) refers to as apprenticeship of observation (e.g., approximately 1300 hours of observation of class instruction by teachers before graduation from high school). Pre-service teachers’ entering beliefs have been recognized as a powerful factor influencing how they learn to teach, interpret new information, and make instructional decisions during teacher education (Borg 2003). For example, Johnson (1994) explored the beliefs and teaching practices of English as a second language (ESL) teacher candidates enrolled in a teacher preparation program in TESL. The study found that teacher candidates’ emerging beliefs and instructional decisions during a practicum were influenced by the images of teachers and teaching that they formed based on their learning experiences as L2 students. Numrich (1996) also found that teacher candidates’ decision-making about specific instructional practices was shaped by their positive or negative experiences with these respective practices as L2 learners. Examining the characteristics of entering beliefs of pre-service teachers has also been a focus of research. It has been a contestable issue whether pre-service teachers’ beliefs are stable or dynamic. Some researchers have argued that as teachers’ beliefs are formed based on unique personal history and life experience, they become deeply rooted, stable, and resistant to change. In a longitudinal study in Hong Kong, for instance, Peacock (2001) examined the beliefs about L2 learning of 146 ESL pre-service teachers enrolled a three-year BA TESL program. At the end of the study, he found no significant change in pre-service teachers’ beliefs, providing evidence for the stability of teacher beliefs in some key aspects of language learning. In contrast, other researchers have supported the view that teacher beliefs are developmental and dynamic. For example, 265

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Cabaroglu and Roberts (2000) explored the development of the belief system of 20 pre-service teachers in a year-long teacher education program. The authors observed changes in organization and development of teacher beliefs during a pre-service training course. To broaden the current understanding of the nature and role of pre-service teachers’ beliefs, further research is needed to investigate which teachers’ beliefs may be resistant or open to change and what factors may contribute to change (Fives and Buehl 2012). A significant number of studies have been concerned with the impact of teacher education on pre-service teachers’ beliefs. The findings of these studies are mixed. Some studies have provided evidence that teacher education is a weak intervention. In a qualitative case study of a pre-service CELTA (Certificate in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) course, for instance, M. Borg (2005) found the limited impact of teacher education on a trainee teacher’s beliefs. The study revealed that the trainee teacher’s pre-course beliefs were largely rooted in her early schooling experiences. Although some of her pre-course beliefs were influenced by new information presented by the course, most of her beliefs showed little change. Urmston (2003) also reported the stability of trainee teachers’ beliefs. The study examined the beliefs and knowledge of 30 trainee teachers enrolled in a TESL course in Hong Kong. It was found that trainee teachers’ pre-course beliefs were based on their learning experiences as students within the teacher-centered educational system in Hong Kong. The study concluded that trainee teachers showed few changes in their beliefs about key aspects of teaching during the TESL course. These studies suggest that teacher education programs may have little or no impact on changing pre-service teachers’ beliefs for two reasons. First, given that teacher beliefs are shaped by unique personal life histories and “apprenticeship of observation” (Lortie, 1975), pre-service teachers’ existing beliefs may be too powerful to be changed by teacher education (Pajares 1992). Second, teacher education programs typically provide short-term intervention (e.g., offering short-range, discrete courses), which may weaken the impact of training on pre-service teachers’ beliefs (Richardson 2003). However, the pessimistic view of the impact of teacher training programs on pre-service teachers’ beliefs has been questioned by a number of studies. For instance, MacDonald, Badger, and White (2001) and Busch (2010) reported on changes in trainee teachers’ beliefs during an SLA course. Both studies adopted a pre- and post-course questionnaire to assess the development of trainee teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching. MacDonald et al. (2001) examined the extent to which trainee teachers’ beliefs changed during a second language acquisition (SLA) course in the United Kingdom. A questionnaire taken from Lightbown and Spada (1993) was administered to a total of 28 postgraduates and 27 undergraduates. The study found evidence of change in trainee teachers’ beliefs. The authors concluded that after the course, the students showed a shift away from the behaviorist view of language learning and accepted some of the new ideas consistent with SLA theories and research findings. Adopting a mixed methods approach, Busch (2010) examined the impact of an introductory SLA course on trainee teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching. The analysis of the questionnaire responses indicated significant changes in student teachers’ beliefs in several areas, such as “the length of time for language acquisition, difficulty of language acquisition, and the role of error correction” (318). The primary reasons for the belief changes included the content of the SLA course, class discussions/presentations, and tutoring experience during the course. In sum, the findings of the studies are inconclusive, considering a great deal of variation in the nature of the teacher education programs investigated and the research approaches employed in different studies (Borg 2011). However, given the assumption that pre-service teachers typically bring their existing beliefs to the teacher education program and changes in teachers’ beliefs are likely to result in improved classroom practices, teacher education programs should continue to 266

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help pre-service teachers modify and reconstruct their deep-rooted existing beliefs for professional growth (Richardson 2003).

In-Service Teachers’ Beliefs While the beliefs of pre-service teachers have been extensively documented, the body of research on in-service teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching is still in its infancy. This small, but growing body of research has focused on two issues: (1) the impact of teacher education on in-service teachers’ beliefs and (2) the relationship between the beliefs of in-service teachers and those of their students. Some studies have examined the impact of teacher education on in-service teachers’ beliefs. These studies suggest that teacher education is generally successful in achieving changes in the beliefs of in-service language teachers. In two qualitative studies, Phipps (2007) and Borg (2011) explored belief changes during in-service teacher education. Phipps investigated how four months of an 18-month teacher education course influenced the beliefs about grammar teaching of an in-service language teacher in Turkey, while Borg examined whether an eight-week teacher education program had any impact on the beliefs of six in-service English language teachers in the United Kingdom. The findings of these studies revealed that although the teacher education program did not lead teachers to make radical and significant changes in their beliefs, it enabled them to become more aware of and consolidate their pre-existing beliefs. It also helped them develop ways of adopting teaching practices that were aligned with their beliefs. A few studies have explored whether and how English as a foreign language (EFL) in-service teachers’ beliefs and classroom practices changed as a result of their participation in overseas teacher education programs. Lamie (2001) examined the impact of a U.K. teacher education program on the beliefs and practices of Japanese secondary EFL teachers. The findings revealed that despite the contextual constraints in secondary schools in Japan (e.g., the pressure of university entrance examinations and large class size), teachers’ beliefs and teaching practices shifted from a grammar-focused and teacher-centered approach to a more student-oriented and meaning-based approach as a result of the teacher education program. A similar finding was reported by Kurihara and Samimy (2007), who explored the effects of a U.S. teacher training program on eight experienced Japanese EFL teachers’ beliefs and practices. The authors found that while institutional and contextual constraints (e.g., the need to prepare students for standardized testing) served as an obstacle in changing classroom practices, the teacher training program generally had an influential impact on the teachers’ beliefs. To sum up, although only a small body of research on the effects of teacher education on in-service teachers’ beliefs and practices has been conducted, evidence suggests that teacher education may have a positive influence on achieving changes in the beliefs of in-service language teachers. It is generally accepted that effective teaching and learning occur when there is a consistency between teachers’ and students’ beliefs (Kumaravadivelu 1991). Adopting survey questionnaires, some studies have examined the relationship between teachers’ and students’ beliefs about language learning and teaching. The findings of the studies have indicated mismatches in beliefs between the two groups. These studies have provided useful information on the types of inconsistencies between teachers’ and students’ beliefs, which can help teachers understand students’ potential frustration or difficulties in language learning and provide more effective instruction. Kern (1995) adopted the BALLI (Horwitz 1985) and compared students’ and teachers’ beliefs about language learning. The results revealed that the overall beliefs of teachers and students were similar; however, several conflicting beliefs were found at the level of the individual survey items. The study concluded that teachers’ beliefs about language learning might have an impact on those of their students on an individual basis. Similarly, Davis (2003) used a questionnaire to 267

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explore the beliefs of 18 teachers and 97 students enrolled in Chinese-English translation courses in China. He found incongruence between the beliefs of teachers and students in areas related to the language learning theory of behaviorism (e.g., “teachers should correct students when they make grammatical errors”). In short, the findings of the studies suggest that mismatches between teachers’ and students’ beliefs may create tensions in the classroom and hinder students’ success in learning. Further research is needed to find effective ways to minimize inconsistencies between teachers’ and students’ beliefs.

Teachers’ and Students’ Beliefs About Grammar Teaching One specific aspect of language teaching that has been given much consideration in the study of teacher beliefs is grammar instruction. Two of the most frequently recurring topics are (1) teachers’ and students’ beliefs about grammar teaching and (2) the association between teachers’ beliefs about grammar teaching and classroom practices. The issue of whether grammar should be explicitly taught has been a source of controversy in the field of language teaching. The controversy lies in whether formal grammar instruction is beneficial or detrimental to students’ language learning. A number of studies investigating teachers’ beliefs about grammar teaching have indicated that teachers generally consider grammar to be a vital component in language learning and teaching. For instance, using a questionnaire and interviews, Eisenstein-Ebsworth and Schweers (1997) explored the views about grammar and grammar teaching held by 30 ESL teachers in New York and 30 ESL teachers in Puerto Rico. The study revealed that most of the teachers agreed that explicit grammar teaching was important in L2 classes. Teachers reported that their views about grammar teaching were mainly affected by their personal experiences as language learners and teachers. In another study, Burgess and Etherington (2002) explored the beliefs about grammar and grammar teaching of 48 teachers of English for academic purposes (EAP) in U.K. universities. The majority of the teachers felt that grammar teaching was valuable for enhancing EAP students’ language learning. In particular, teachers showed a preference for discourse-based approaches, rather than a decontextualized method of teaching grammar. Schulz’s (1996; 2001) two large-scale studies shed light on the views of teachers and students regarding the role of grammar instruction and error correction in FL teaching. In his first study (1996), participants were 92 FL teachers and 824 FL students at a U.S. university. The study indicated significant incongruence between teachers’ and students’ views. Students were more favorable about formal grammar instruction and error correction than teachers. Discrepancies between teachers’ and students’ perceptions about formal grammar teaching were also found in his subsequent study (2001) with 122 FL teachers and 607 students in Colombia. The study suggested that it is imperative for teachers to explore their students’ perceptions, particularly about the role of formal grammar instruction and error correction since discrepancies in perceptions between the two groups may diminish the impact of instruction and negatively affect students’ motivation and learning.

Teachers’ Beliefs About Grammar Teaching and Classroom Practices Considerable work has been done to explore the relationship between teachers’ beliefs about grammar teaching and classroom practices in both pre-service and in-service contexts. Some major findings from these studies include (1) teachers’ classroom practices are governed by their beliefs about grammar teaching, (2) teachers’ stated beliefs are not always congruent with their practices, (3) social contextual factors (e.g., time constraints and institutional expectations) serve as powerful influences on teachers’ grammar practices, and (4) the relative influence of core and peripheral beliefs on teachers’ practices may lead to discrepancies between teachers’ stated beliefs and classroom practices. 268

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Burns and Knox (2005) studied two trainee teachers enrolled in a graduate course on systemic functional linguistics (SFL) in Australia. The authors found that although trainee teachers came to integrate some SFL principles into their grammar teaching, they primarily adopted a traditional grammar teaching approach due to their pre-established beliefs on the advantages of explicit and direct grammar presentation. The study indicated that teachers’ pedagogical decisions were affected by their beliefs about grammar teaching. Farrell and Lim (2005) and Ng and Farrell (2003) examined the association between teachers’ beliefs and practices in English grammar teaching in Singapore. Farrell and Lim (2005) examined the beliefs about grammar teaching and practices of two practicing teachers in an elementary school. Although teachers stated that they preferred a communicative language teaching approach, it was observed that their classroom practices were characterized by a teacher-centered approach with explicit teaching of grammar. In a study of four secondary school teachers, Ng and Farrell (2003) also found discrepancies between teachers’ beliefs and their practices about error correction. The study revealed that contextual factors (e.g., time constraints) led to inconsistency between teachers’ beliefs and their practices. In a recent study of three in-service EFL teachers in a Turkish preparatory school, Phipps and Borg (2009) focused on tensions between teachers’ beliefs about grammar instruction and practices. To explain these discrepancies, the authors distinguished teachers’ core beliefs, being “experientially ingrained” (388) from peripheral beliefs, being “theoretically embraced” (388). For instance, one teacher had a theoretical belief (a peripheral belief) that group work increases opportunities for target language use. However, she chose to adopt teacher-class interaction in her teaching due to her core beliefs about the benefits of teacher-class interaction that were derived from her previous teaching experiences. The authors concluded that tensions between beliefs and practices occurred because teachers’ classroom behaviors were guided by their core beliefs, which were more stable and exerted stronger impact on classroom practices than peripheral beliefs.

Research Approaches to Examining Teachers’ Beliefs To gain access to teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching, researchers have developed new and adapted mainstream educational research methods and instruments to fit the objectives of their studies. Although some studies adopted only one data collection method (particularly questionnaires), researchers have increasingly used combinations of different data collection methods, not only to enhance research credibility, but also to capture the complex, multifaceted aspects of teachers’ beliefs. Data collection methods employed in studies reported in this chapter can be categorized into four main groups: (1) questionnaires, (2) verbal commentaries, (3) observations, and (4) reflective writing (see Borg 2006 for detailed descriptions). One of the most common methods of data elicitation is to use Likert-scale questionnaires of various kinds. A number of studies have mainly adopted a quantitative research methodology, using the BALLI (Horwitz 1985) (e.g., Peacock 2001), a teacher version of the BALLI (TBALLI, Horwitz 1985) (e.g., Kern 1995), a questionnaire taken from Lightbown and Spada (1993) (e.g., MacDonald et al. 2001), the Teachers’ Beliefs about Literacy Questionnaire (TBALQ) (e.g., Westwood, Knight, and Redden 1997), and the Foreign Language Education Questionnaire (FLEQ) (e.g., Allen 2002). One drawback of using questionnaires is that prefabricated statements used in the Likert-scale survey may “mask or misrepresent a particular teacher’s highly personalized perceptions and definitions” (Kagan 1990, 427). To establish the credibility of research findings, therefore, some studies have used a Likert-scale questionnaire with open-ended questions to collect extended qualitative data (e.g., Busch 2010). Various statistical methods (e.g., percentages and frequencies, t-tests) have been used for data analysis in questionnaire-based studies. 269

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The study of language teacher beliefs has paid increasing attention to qualitative methodologies, which are considered to allow a more in-depth inquiry into the complex dynamics of teachers’ beliefs and better account for relevant contextual variables (Richardson and Placier 2001). The qualitative data collected have been analyzed using multiple types of qualitative data analysis techniques, such as thematic or discursive analysis. As a form of qualitative verbal commentaries, interviews appear to be the most commonly used method. To stimulate teachers’ articulation of their beliefs, some studies have adopted structured scenario-based interviews in which teachers are asked to verbally respond through brief descriptions of hypothetical instructional situations (e.g., Bastürkmen, Loewen, and Ellis 2004). A further method to elicit verbal commentaries on teachers’ beliefs is a stimulated recall interview which is a retrospective method used to elicit qualitative data as to teachers’ thought processes related to classroom practices or instructional events. To facilitate recall of these thought processes, a stimulus, such as transcripts or video-recording of a lesson, is employed (e.g., Phipps and Borg 2009). A growing number of studies have also adopted observations of naturally occurring teaching as a data collection strategy (e.g., M. Borg 2005; Farrell and Lim 2005). Although observation data allows researchers to capture the complexity of contextual variables in which teachers’ beliefs are embedded as well as teachers’ actual beliefs and practices, rather than idealized ones, one limitation of using observations is that it “is not sufficient as a means for exploring these [thought] processes in more depth and ascertaining the validity of the inferences made” (Borg 2006, 231). To avoid this problem, observation data is often used in combination with other data elicitation strategies, such as interviews. For example, in two studies by Burns and Knox (2005) and Farrell and Lim (2005), observation data was used to facilitate stimulated recall interviews. The fourth data elicitation method is reflective writing, which “require[s] teachers to express in written form their thoughts, beliefs and attitudes, typically in relation to particular topics or experiences” (Borg 2006, 249). Reflective writing has been widely used to examine teachers’ beliefs and practices, particularly in pre-service contexts in the domain of teacher education. Journals and autobiographies have been predominantly employed to document teachers’ own learning experiences and professional development during teacher education programs (e.g., Johnson 1994; Numrich 1996). Overall, a number of approaches have been suggested and used to examine language teachers’ beliefs. Diversity in research approaches has consequently led to a variety of ways in which teacher beliefs are examined. While a questionnaire-based quantitative approach offers precision and clarity through the use of statistical analysis, qualitative approach using interviews, observations, and reflective writing provides thick descriptions and in-depth insights into the complexity of teachers’ beliefs. Perhaps one inherent methodological drawback associated with studies on teacher beliefs is that it is not easy to collect and measure teachers’ beliefs, given that teachers may be unaware of their own beliefs or may not have developed skills to articulate their beliefs clearly (Kagan 1992). This increases the need for the field to use triangulation of data from multiple sources to uncover information that teachers may not articulate and to ensure valid interpretation of research findings, which will lead to a widening and deepening understanding and knowledge of teacher beliefs.

Future Directions As shown in the review of the key findings above, the study of teacher beliefs about language learning and teaching is a growing domain of research, which has provided substantial insights into teachers’ own professional learning and classroom practices for language learners. However, much room for further research remains. 270

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One consideration is to broaden the contexts and subjects researched. While most studies of teacher beliefs have concentrated on pre-service contexts, research specifically aimed at the beliefs of in-service teachers has received far less attention. To develop a more complete picture of teachers’ beliefs, further efforts are clearly needed to obtain information about the beliefs of practicing teachers in a variety of language-related teaching contexts. For this reason, the examination of the beliefs of in-service content teachers involved in content-based language teaching (CBLT) opens an additional area for future consideration. Most of what we know about in-service teachers’ beliefs is a result of studies investigating practicing language teachers in traditional language-focused contexts. However, due to the rapid growth in demand for language learning worldwide and new educational policies implemented in language and content curricula internationally, there has been an increasing demand for in-service content teachers to serve as “content and language” teachers and provide CBLT for language learners. Tan (2011) explored the beliefs of math and science secondary teachers in Malaysia and how these beliefs influenced teachers’ pedagogical practices in CBLT classrooms. In the context of the United States, Song and Samimy (in press) examined the belief development of in-service secondary content teachers who taught English language learners (ELLs) through CBLT as they participated in a teacher education program in TESOL. These studies indicate that although in-service content teachers in CBLT settings need to play the role of “content and language” teachers, they receive no or limited training to meet the needs of language learners and that when there is a lack of training in language teaching, teachers’ beliefs may play a critical role in guiding instructional practices for language learners. Thus, the examination of the beliefs of in-service content teachers in CBLT contexts would be most welcome, as it would broaden our understanding of the beliefs of different types of practicing teachers (with different language, educational, and professional backgrounds) involved in language teaching. There is undoubtedly more research needed in specific domains of language teaching. Despite a substantial volume of work in the study of teachers’ beliefs about language learning and teaching over the past 15 years, uneven attention has been given to different domains of language teaching, such as the teaching of grammar, reading, writing, listening, speaking, and vocabulary (Borg 2003; 2006). So far, the two specific domains that have received the most attention include the teaching of grammar (e.g., Farrell and Lim 2005; Phipps and Borg 2009) and literacy instruction (e.g., Diab 2005). The least amount of attention has been paid to the teaching of listening, speaking, and vocabulary, although some recent studies have explored teachers’ beliefs and practices in the teaching of discourse prosody (Baker 2011), vocabulary learning and the teaching beliefs of pre-service and in-service teachers (Gao and Ma 2011), and teachers’ beliefs and practices about vocabulary pedagogy (Niu 2012). This dearth of research in the teaching domains of listening, speaking, and vocabulary leaves a significant gap in the literature. Therefore, more research is needed to fill this gap by investigating multiple domains of language teaching. Finally, further longitudinal research is warranted to investigate the transformation of teacher beliefs and capture change in beliefs. Much of the research reported in this chapter shows that there is a lack of longitudinal studies regarding the development and transformation of teachers’ beliefs. Given that teachers’ beliefs build up over the course of their careers (Richardson 1996), longitudinal work should be supported and would improve our understanding of how teachers develop their beliefs. Although a few studies have examined trainee teachers at several points during their pre-service years (e.g., Mattheoudakis 2007), further research may track trainee teachers in their transition to the first year of teaching and investigate whether and how teacher preparation programs contribute to the belief development of these novice teachers. Moreover, when in-service teachers are the focus of research, longitudinal research on the relationships between teachers’ stated beliefs and actual classroom practice after a teacher education program 271

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would yield insights that contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of the long-term effect of teacher education. Attention should also be directed to a research agenda that explores the links between belief change, classroom practices, and students’ learning (Kubanyiova 2012). Understanding these links deserves attention since it can offer valuable information for teacher educators, program administrators, and educational policy makers to expand the current understanding of the teaching process and teachers’ professional learning. More longitudinal research of the belief development of both pre-service and in-service teachers would contribute to our understanding of how to support teachers more effectively.

Implications for Teacher Education There is broad agreement that beliefs represent a vital concept when teachers enter the teaching profession. An important implication for teacher educators, program administrators, and educational policy makers is that change in teacher beliefs should be the central focus of long-term programmatic agendas in teacher education to prepare and support teachers. Providing teachers with training and facilitating change in beliefs as part of professional development present challenges to teacher education. One reason for the difficulty of changing teachers’ beliefs is that teacher education programs are typically not long enough to influence teachers’ beliefs (Richardson 2003). Most research reported in this chapter used short-range, discrete courses (e.g., an SLA course) as a means for belief change. Therefore, more sustained and integrated programmatic efforts should be made to enhance the impact of teacher education programs on the development and transformation of teachers’ beliefs (Tatto and Coupland 2003). Given the complex nature of teachers’ beliefs, promoting significant and meaningful belief change requires a great deal of effort to be made by teacher educators and program administrators. It is clear that the role of teacher education is to increase teachers’ awareness of their existing beliefs about language learning and how these beliefs interact with the objectives and content of the teacher education program and shape their professional learning. This should involve specific tasks and activities. For instance, reflection-oriented activities (e.g., reflective writing and portfolios) allow teachers to elicit teachers’ beliefs and encourage them to rationalize and understand their own belief system (Borg 2011). Such activities enable teacher educators to provide appropriate feedback on teachers’ beliefs and eventually facilitate belief change, which in turn can influence teachers’ classroom behavior. In supporting teachers in developing their beliefs, guidelines are needed that are congruent with the purposes of the teacher education program, yet cognizant of the contextual realities of the teaching environment. Studies have shown that contextual and institutional constraints (e.g., time constraints, curriculum mandates, standardized tests, school policies) may hinder the development of teacher beliefs that are conducive to language learning and teaching (e.g., Lamie 2001). Therefore, it is important to provide teachers with sufficient opportunity to examine their emerging beliefs given the realities of their daily teaching context. In the case of pre-service teachers, for example, teaching practicums or vicarious experiences (e.g., observations of practicing teachers) can be useful in exploring potential conflicts between professional development and classroom realities and how those conflicts influence the development of teacher beliefs. Furthermore, teacher education in collaboration with local practitioners and framed around contextual and institutional factors, such as peer coaching (Zwart, Wubbels, Bergen and Bolhuis 2009), teacher inquiry groups (Crockett 2002), and teacher networks (Hofman and Dijkstra 2010), is needed to support teachers in developing the kind of beliefs needed to effectively meet the needs of language learners. These efforts for meaningful and sustainable belief change should be planned as a continuous experience by beginning with pre-service education and continuing throughout teachers’ careers. 272

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Further Reading Barnard, R., and Burns, A. (Eds.) 2012. Researching language teacher cognition and practice: International case studies. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Borg, S. 2003. Teacher cognition in language teaching: A review of research on what language teachers think, know, believe and do. Language Teaching, 36(2), 81–109. Borg, S. 2006. Teacher cognition and language education. London: Continuum. Freeman, D., and Richards, J. C. (Eds.) 1996. Teacher learning in language teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Woods, D. 1996. Teacher cognition in language teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

References Allen, L. 2002. Teachers’ pedagogical beliefs and the standards for foreign language learning. Foreign Language Annals, 35(5), 518–529. Baker, A. 2011. Discourse prosody and teachers’ stated beliefs and practices. TESOL Journal, 2(3), 263–292. Bastürkmen, H., Loewen, S., and Ellis, R. 2004. Teachers’ stated beliefs about incidental focus on form and their classroom practices. Applied Linguistics, 25(2), 243–272. Borg, M. 2005. A case study of the development in pedagogic thinking of a preservice teacher. TESL-EJ, 9, 1–30. Retrieved from http://tesl-ej.org/ej34/a5.pdf Borg, S. 2003. Teacher cognition in language teaching: A review of research on what language teachers think, know, believe and do. Language Teaching, 36(2), 81–109. Borg, S. 2006. Teacher cognition and language education. London: Continuum. Borg, S. 2011. The impact of in-service teacher education on language teachers’ beliefs. System, 39, 370–380. Breen, M. P., Hird, B., Milton, M., Oliver, R., and Thwaite, A. 2001. Making sense of language teaching: Teachers’ principles and classroom practices. Applied Linguistics, 22(4), 470–501. Burgess, J., and Etherington, S. 2002. Focus on grammatical form: Explicit or implicit? System, 30(4), 433–458. Burns, A., and Knox, J. 2005. Realisation(s): Systemic-functional linguistics and the language classroom. In N. Bartels (Ed.), Applied linguistics and language teacher education (pp. 235–259). New York: Springer. Busch, D. 2010. Pre-service teacher beliefs about language learning: The second language acquisition course as an agent for change. Language Teaching Research, 14, 318–337. Cabaroglu, N., and Roberts, J. 2000. Development in student teachers’ pre-existing beliefs during a 1-year PGCE programme. System, 28(3), 387–402. Calderhead, J. 1996. Teachers; beliefs and knowledge. In D. Berliner and B. Calfee (Eds.), Handbook of educational psychology (pp. 709–725). New York: MacMillan. Clark, C., and Peterson, P. L. 1986. Teachers’ thought processes. In M. Wittrock (Ed.), Handbook of research on teaching (pp. 255–296). New York: MacMillan. Crockett, M. D. 2002. Inquiry as professional development: Creating dilemmas through teachers’ work. Teaching and Teacher Education, 18(5), 609–624. Davis, A. 2003. Teachers’ and students’ beliefs regarding aspects of language learning. Evaluation and Research in Education, 17(4), 207–222. Diab, R. L. 2005. Teachers’ and students’ beliefs about responding to ESL writing: A case study. TESL Canada Journal, 23(1), 28–43. Eisenstein-Ebsworth, M., and Schweers, C. 1997. What researchers say and practitioners do: Perspectives on conscious grammar instruction in the ESL classroom. Applied Language Learning, 8(2), 237–260. Farrell, T. S. C., and Lim, P. C. P. 2005. Conceptions of grammar teaching: A case study of teachers’ beliefs and classroom practices. TESL-EJ, 9(2), 1–13. Fives, H., and Buehl, M. 2012. Spring cleaning for the “messy” construct of teachers’ beliefs: What are they? Which have been examined? What can they tell us? In K. R. Harris, S. Graham and T. Urdan (Eds.), APA educational psychology handbook:Volume 2. Individual differences and cultural and contextual factors (pp. 471–499). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Freeman, D., and Richards, J. C. (Eds.) 1996. Teacher learning in language teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gao, X., and Ma, Q. 2011. Vocabulary learning and teaching beliefs of pre-service and in-service teachers in Hong Kong and mainland China. Language Awareness, 20(4), 327–342. 273

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Golombek, R. 1998. A study of language teachers’ personal practical knowledge. TESOL Quarterly, 32(3), 447–464. Hofman, R., and Dijkstra, B. 2010. Effective teacher professionalization in networks? Teaching and Teacher Education, 26(4), 1031–1040. Horwitz, E. K. 1985. Surveying student beliefs about language learning and teaching in the foreign language methods course, Foreign Language Annals, 18(4), 333–340. Jackson, P. 1968. Life in classrooms. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Johnson, K. E. 1994. The emerging beliefs and instructional practices of preservice ESL teachers. Teaching and Teacher Education, 10(4), 439–452. Kagan, D. 1990. Ways of evaluating teacher cognition: Inferences concerning the Goldilocks principle. Review of Educational Review, 60, 419–469. Kagan, D. 1992. Implications of research on teacher beliefs. Educational Psychologist, 27(1), 65–90. Kern, R. G. 1995. Students’ and teachers’ beliefs about language learning. Foreign Language Annals, 28, 71–92. Kubanyiova, M. 2012. Teacher development in action: Understanding language teachers’ conceptual change. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Kumaravadivelu, B. 1991. Language-learning tasks: Teacher intention and learn interpretation. English Language Teaching Journal, 45, 98–107. Kurihara, Y., and Samimy, K. 2007. The impact of a U.S. teacher training program on teaching beliefs and practice: A case study of secondary school level Japanese teachers of English. JALT Journal, 29(1), 99–121. Lamie, M. J. 2001. Understanding change: The impact of in-service training of teachers of English in Japan. Hauppauge, NY: Nova Science Publishers, Inc. Lightbown, M., and Spada, N. 1993. How languages are learned. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lortie, D. 1975. Schoolteacher: A sociological study. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. MacDonald, M., Badger, R., and White, G. 2001. Changing values: What use are the theories of language learning and teaching? Teaching and Teacher Education, 17(8), 949–963. Mattheoudakis, M. 2007. Tracking changes in pre-service EFL teacher beliefs in Greece: A longitudinal study. Teaching and Teacher Education 23, 1272–1288. Mullock, B. 2006. The pedagogical knowledge base of four TESOL teachers. Modern Language Journal, 90(1), 48–66. Nespor, J. 1987. The role of beliefs in the practice of teaching. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 19(4), 317–328. Niu, R. 2012. Commonalities and discrepancies in L2 teachers’ beliefs and practices about vocabulary pedagogy: A small culture perspective. TESOL Journal, 6, 134–154. Ng, J., and Farrell, T. S. C. 2003. Do teachers’ beliefs of grammar teaching match their classroom practices? A Singapore case study. In D. Deterding, A. Brown, and E. Low (Eds.), English in Singapore: Research on grammar (pp. 128–137). Singapore: McGraw Hill. Numrich, C. 1996. On becoming a language teacher: Insights from diary studies. TESOL Quarterly, 30(1), 131–153. Pajares, F. 1992. Teachers’ beliefs and educational research: Clearing up a messy construct. Review of Educational Research, 62(2), 307–332. Peacock, M. 2001. Pre-service ESL teachers’ beliefs about second language learning: A longitudinal study. System, 29, 177–95. Phipps, S. 2007. What difference does DELTA make? Research Notes, 29, 12–16. Phipps, S., and Borg, S. 2009. Exploring tensions between teachers’ grammar teaching beliefs and practices. System, 37(3), 380–390. Richards, J. 1996. Teacher maxims in language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 30(2), 281–296. Richardson, V. 1996. The roles of attitudes and beliefs in learning to teach. In J. Sikula, T. J. Buttery and E. Guyton (Eds.), Handbook of research on teacher education (pp.102–119). New York: Macmillan. Richardson, V. 2003. Preservice teachers’ beliefs. In J. Raths and A. C. McAninch (Eds.), Teacher beliefs and classroom performance: The impact of teacher education (pp. 1–22). Greenwich, CT: Information Age. Richardson, V., and Placier, P. 2001. Teacher change. In V. Richardson (Ed.), Handbook of research on teaching (pp. 905–947). Washington, DC: American Educational Research Association. Schulz, R. A. 1996. Focus on form in the foreign language classroom: Students’ and teachers’ views on error correction and the role of grammar. Foreign Language Annals, 29, 343–364. Schulz, R. A. 2001. Cultural differences in student and teacher perceptions concerning the role of grammar instruction and correct feedback: UAS-Columbia. Modern Language Journal, 85, 244–258. 274

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21 Chinese L2 Literacy Debates and Beginner Reading in the United States Helen H. Shen

Introduction Chinese L2 education is a quickly growing field in the United States. Since the beginning of this century, student enrolment in Chinese language classes in U.S. colleges and universities has increased tremendously. From 2002 to 2009, enrolment figures jumped from 34,153 to 60,976, with a 79% increase (Furman, Goldberg, and Lusin 2010). A similar trend is also observed in elementary and secondary education (American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages 2011). With the growing student body, the field of Chinese L2 education is also facing great challenges in the new century. Because of the complexity of the Chinese writing system, coupled with historical factors of language policy, learning to read and write in Chinese characters has long been considered a very difficult task by American learners (Ke, Wen, and Kotenbeutel 2001; Walker 1989; Yin 2003). The U.S. government has labelled the Chinese language a Category IV language because it takes three times longer for an American learner to reach an equivalent proficiency level of a cognate second language (Everson and Xiao 2009). However, most institutions of secondary and higher education require students to complete the Chinese curriculum within the same time frame as that of a European language. Thus, increasing efficiency of literacy acquisition in order to fulfil the curriculum goals is a major challenge in today’s Chinese L2 literacy education. This article will examine several controversial issues surrounding beginner literacy, provide possible solutions for the controversies based on existing research, and outline future directions for beginner level reading education.

The Chinese Writing System and English-Speaking Students Learning to Read It The Chinese script originated from pictographs; thus, traditionally it is classified as logographic writing (DeFrancis 1989). In Chinese writing, characters rather than alphabetic letters comprise the basic writing units. In modern Chinese, a phonetic alphabet system, pinyin, which adopts the standard roman letters used in English to spell out the syllables of Chinese characters, has been implemented in Mainland China since 1958 (Huang and Liao 1981). Today, the pinyin system is most often used in Chinese learning in the United States (Everson 2011). Because graphically the pinyin system adopts the English alphabet and some pinyin sounds share acoustic similarities 276

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with English sounds, it introduces complications in learning. The system of the learners’ first language (L1) is transferred to the second language (L2) (Major 2001); similar components are more difficult to learn than dissimilar components because negative transfer is predominant for similar phenomena (Wode 1996). Chinese is a tone language, in which tones (indicating pitch differences) are used to distinguish lexical meaning (Shen 1989). For example, zhāi 摘 (to pick), zhái 宅 (residence), zhai 窄 (narrow), and zhài 债 (debt) are four syllables with the same spelling, having different tones indicated by diacritical marks and representing different morphemes (characters) with distinguished meanings. Mastery of four tones can be very challenging to those learners who have no experience in learning a tonal language. Chinese characters can be divided into two types: integral characters with only one orthographic component (e.g., 日; sun, day) and compound characters with two or more orthographic components (e.g., 明; brightness). Strokes are the basic building blocks for characters. The stroke numbers in each character vary from one to more than 30, and no fixed rules exist on how many strokes there are for a specific character. Thus, learning to recognize and write thousands of characters has become the most time-consuming task for learners. In modern Chinese, compound characters generally can be divided into two kinds: ideographs and phonetic-semantic compounds. An ideograph is composed of two or more pictographs. For instance, character 休 consists of two pictographs ( ): the left side (亻) means person and the right side (木) means tree. ‘A person leans against a tree to take a break’ provides a hint to the meaning of the character 休 (to rest). A phonetic-semantic compound consists of at least two components, which are also referred to as radicals: a phonetic radical and a semantic radical. The phonetic radical cues the sound of the compound character and the semantic radical provides the meaning. Due to the historical changes in Chinese phonology, the reliability of a phonetic radical to cue the sound of a compound character in modern Chinese is only about 26% (Fan, Gao, and Ao 1984), and the percentage is even lower for high frequency compounds. A study of textbooks used by American Chinese L2 beginners showed that only around 10% of phonetic radicals reliably cued the sound of the compounds (Fan 2010). Semantic radicals only signify a category of meaning, but not the exact meaning of the character. For example, the semantic radical 日 in the compound character 昨 (yesterday) indicates a meaning related to time or day, but does not give the exact meaning yesterday. Owing to the fact that phoneticsemantic compounds consist of 90% of the commonly used character corpus (Zhang, J. 1992), learning to use radical information appropriately in character learning is part of beginning literacy. The vast majority characters are free morphemes. They can stand alone as a word, and can also combine with other characters to form a word. For example, 长 (long), 长度 (length), and 长颈鹿 (giraffe) are three different words that contain the same character 长. For these multicharacter words, each character, as a morpheme, contributes to the meaning of the word. For instance, 长颈鹿 literally means long (长) neck (颈) deer (鹿). In Chinese writing, characters are equally spaced and word boundaries are not indicated by space. This also introduces difficulty for American learners, who are used to reading a text with clear word boundaries.

Controversies in Learning to Read and Write Chinese Characters From a cognitive information processing perspective, reading consists of two major steps: lexical access and text comprehension (Perfetti 1985). For reading Chinese, lexical access includes three major sub-processes: character recognition, word segmentation, and lexical access (Shen 2008; Shen, Tsai, Xu, and Zhu 2011). Character recognition refers to identifying the graphic structure, activating pronunciation, and accessing the meaning of an individual character. Word 277

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segmentation involves grouping relevant characters into a lexical unit and processing them as a word in the sentential context. Lexical access refers to selecting a meaning for the word that best fits the larger context of the reading (Shen 2008). The completion of lexical access in Chinese involves knowledge of phonology, orthography, and morphology that are fundamentally different from those of English. Therefore, it is understandable that controversial issues in teaching Chinese primarily revolve around character and word learning, and much research effort has been allocated to investigate how students learn to read and write characters (Everson 2011). In this section, we will examine the major controversial issues in learning to read and write in Chinese characters, and seek to resolve the controversies by considering the relevant studies.

Controversial Issue 1: When to Introduce Pinyin and Characters? Classroom teachers, in general, have reached the consensus that pinyin should be introduced to facilitate oral language and character learning, but as for the time sequence of introducing pinyin and characters, considerable disagreement exists. The dominant practice has been to introduce characters simultaneously while learning pinyin and spoken language; this approach has been adopted from the mainstream practice used for teaching native Chinese children and has been embraced by many native Chinese-speaking teachers. A different approach assumes that character learning should lag behind the pinyin and spoken language; this strategy is mainly advocated by non-native Chinese teachers. Scholars who support the latter argue that once students have become familiar with the basics of pronunciation and have gained a certain level of oral proficiency, character learning will be facilitated (Walker 1984). Although the two practices coexist in today’s classroom teaching, empirical studies support the latter. Hayes (1988) reported that during character recognition, non-native readers were not certain about the pronunciation of characters; thus, they would also need to rely on visual skill to recognise the characters. Based on this observation, the researcher suggested that providing the student with a strong phonological foundation in the spoken language prior to working with characters is a better teaching strategy. With strongly developed phonological skills, students who come to the Chinese reading task will not have to dwell excessively on the graphic features of the characters. A year-long longitudinal study on the comparison of the two approaches (character introduced at the very beginning of the course vs. characters introduced three weeks after the course) for beginner learners also supports this notion (Packard 1990). A recent study on character learning yields that presenting pinyin together with new words helps learners to retain the words better, but only if the learners have reached the level of automatic pinyin reading. This supports the argument that pinyin should be introduced prior to character learning (Lee and Kalyuga 2011). Based on evidence from existing studies, it is clear that pedagogical practice of pinyin instruction prior to formal character learning should be encouraged for two obvious reasons: one is that it could free up cognitive resources used in character learning to make pinyin learning efficient and focused, and the other is that with solid pinyin knowledge, students are capable of learning new characters outside of the class by themselves and can also use pinyin to express words in which the graphic forms have not been fully memorised in oral communication.

Controversial Issue 2: When and How to Learn the Two Versions of Characters? Due to the structural complexity of Chinese characters, learning to write in Chinese characters is also considered a labour-intensive task, even for Chinese native speakers. Thus, historically, Chinese individuals have been using simplified versions of various characters for daily communication. After 278

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the establishment of the People’s Republic of China, the government made this script simplification official. This script simplification is aimed at two goals: to eliminate the variant forms of a character and to reduce the number of strokes in a character. In total, so far, 2,235 characters have been simplified and are used in Mainland China, Singapore, and Malaysia (Zhou 2007). The non-simplified traditional version is mainly used in Taiwan and Hong Kong. In the United States, before the 1980s, most institutes taught traditional characters. After the 1980s, the teaching of simplified characters increased with the increase in American students studying and working abroad in Mainland China (Voice of America 2012). For practical purposes, some institutes require students to learn both versions of characters (Chan and He 1988). A debatable issue for this practice is which version of these characters should be introduced first. The traditional practice is to teach the traditional version first and the simplified version later. Would this be a pedagogically sound practice? A study showed that in terms of economisation of strokes of these simplified characters, the simplified characters have 20% fewer strokes than traditional characters (Zhang 1994). A comparison of the whole corpus of simplified characters against the traditional versions yields a similar result (Gao and Kao 2002). Cognitively, character frequency and density (the number of strokes within a character) affect character recognition and production. It was reported that Chinese L2 beginner learners performed significantly better on reading and writing with low-density characters (Sergent and Everson 1992; Xiao 2002). In addition, accurate and fast recognition of Chinese characters requires strong visual skills (Chen and Kao 2002), such as visual discrimination of individual strokes within a character, visual closure of individual components within a character, and visual spatial relationships between the components within a compound character (Gardner 1996). Comparison of visual skill development in learning two versions of characters among native groups of Chinese children revealed that the simplified character group was clearly stronger in all of the three visual skills than the traditional character group. And their visual skills showed more improvement across time than in the traditional character group (Mcbridge-Chang, Chow, Zhong, Burgess, and Hayward 2005). This observation holds true for adult native Chinese speakers (Peng, Minett, and Wang 2010). Although further studies among Chinese L2 learners are needed to verify the results, the existing studies lead us to conclude that learning the simplified characters first and then the traditional characters is a more effective way of learning characters at the beginner stage.

Controversial Issue 3: A Character-Based Approach or a Word-Based Approach? The development of the modern Chinese grammar system is heavily influenced by Western classical grammar (Norman 2000). As modern Chinese is quite different from classical Chinese, at the time of constructing modern Chinese grammar, Chinese scholars borrowed concepts from the Western writing system. A Chinese word (词) is roughly equivalent to, but not exactly the same as, the English word. Word in modern Chinese is defined as “the smallest syntactical unit” (Wang 1953). Since the 1980s, some Chinese linguists have challenged the definition and claim that the “character” rather than the “word” is the very basic unit of Chinese grammar, which has brought a series of debates known as “zi benwei” 字本位 theory [character as a basic unit] versus “ci benwei” 词本位 theory [word as a basic unit] in the linguistics circle (Li 2005; Lu 2011; Xu 1994; Zhang, P. 1992; 2005). Scholars who hold “zi benwen” have argued that many characters themselves are words, and characters in a multi-character word are not just simply playing the role of morphemes, but also the role of lexemes. Noted linguists have also emphasised the complex characteristics of Chinese characters (Leong 2002). For example, Chao (1968) referred to “zi” (character) as a “sociological word” which intermediates in size between a phoneme and a sentence. Therefore, the grammatical 279

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function of a “character”, to some extent, is similar to “word” in English (Peng and Pan 2010). This linguistic debate, initiated in Mainland China, has a direct impact on overseas Chinese L2 literacy education. The prevailing character-instruction approach in Western countries, including the United States, has followed the “ci benwei” concept, and used the word-based approach in classroom instruction. Basically, in the glossary of a lesson, a list of equivalent English words for the new Chinese words is provided. Students learn the entire words from the list, but pay little attention to the meaning of the constituent characters within the word, as well as the morphological structure of the word. For example, the word 矛盾 consists of two characters, but students will learn the meaning of the whole word, contradiction, without being told the meaning and pictographic origin of each constituent character (e.g., 矛spear; 盾shield), and how each character contributes to the meaning of the word 矛盾 respectively, as well as the intra-word relationship (e.g., in this case 矛盾 is coordinative structure). Instructors who are in favour of the word-based approach hold that teaching whole words helps Western learners to memorise word meaning better, as they can easily relate the Chinese words to the English equivalents. With the rise of “zi benwei” theory, a new, character-based teaching approach, initiated in France in the 1990s, has gradually spread over Western countries, including the United States (Bellassen 1996; Wang 2004). The advocates of this approach emphasise that learning orthographic and morphological information imbedded in the individual characters will facilitate character and word learning. Existing comparative studies between these two approaches have firmly supported the efficiency of the character-based teaching approach. It is reported that when compared with a wordbased teaching approach, the character-based approach has improved both character and vocabulary acquisition in both quantity and quality for all levels of learners in the long run (Wang 2005; Luo 2009). Zhang (2007) from a pragmatist perspective, proposed that in beginning stage of literacy, a character-based method should be emphasised to help build a solid knowledge of root characters because monosyllabic words consist of 45% of the 1,033 highest frequency character corpus (Liu and Song 1992). Although more empirical studies are still required to verify how and when to use characterbased and word-based approaches to the best effect in beginner literacy, pedagogical practice is moving in the right direction to introduce a character-based approach at beginner levels, endeavouring to expand learners’ orthographic and morphological knowledge in order for them to become autonomous learners.

Controversial Issue 4: Why Practice Writing Characters by Hand? As we mentioned earlier, the logographic nature, plus the structural complexity of Chinese characters, make learning to handwrite characters a very time-consuming and challenging task. According to Xu’s “guesstimation”, learning to write in Chinese is about fifty times as hard as learning to write in French (Xu 1999). Thus, beginners have to devote hours and hours to practice writing characters by hand at the expense of developing their overall language skills. When a Chinese word processor is used in the classroom, students can write Chinese characters by using a computer, which greatly reduces the time consumed by handwriting characters. However, typing a Chinese character is quite different from typing an English one. To type a character/ word, the first step is to type the pinyin for the intended character/word on the keyboard; then, a group of homophonic characters (about 7–9) appears in the icon bar. The user then selects an intended character by hitting a number on the keyboard. A much easier way of typing characters has also been developed, which allows for continuously inputting the pinyin for the whole 280

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sentence; the computer automatically translates it into Chinese characters. Therefore, typing Chinese characters does not require knowledge of strokes and radicals. The debate on whether students should use a word processor to replace handwriting during the initial stages of character learning has been going on since the birth of the Chinese word processor. Some scholars have proposed introducing electronic writing into Chinese at the very early stage of learning. The advantages are multi-fold: it saves the time used for practicing handwriting; it greatly reduces writing errors; it allows learners to express themselves by writing and communicating with peers in written form at the very beginning stage of learning, which helps to reinforce pinyin knowledge; and it also facilitates character recognition, since the software requires the user to choose a target character from a list of homophonic characters (Xu 1999; Shen, Tsai, Xu, and Zhu 2011). Allen (2008) further argued that learning to handwrite Chinese characters is a waste of time. His study showed that beginner learners spent about 32% to 42% of their entire Chinese learning time practicing handwriting characters and completing character writing assignments or quizzes. On the other hand, educated native speakers reported that about 50% to nearly 100% of their writing was done electronically. This supported Walter’s early argument that hundreds of hours spent writing characters has a smaller payoff in terms of functioning as a participant in a Chinese society (Walker 1989). Using a computer to write Chinese characters has been very popular and it is expected that paperless writing in Chinese will be a dominant form of written communication in the near future, but can literacy education totally eliminate writing by hand? Some scholars hold the opinion that to learn handwritten characters at the beginner stage is a pedagogical necessity (Flores d’ Arcais 1994; Ke 1996; Guan, Liu, Chan, Ye, and Perfetti 2011). By practicing handwriting characters, students will have a better idea about stroke order, radical components, and the physical structure of a compound character. All of this will facilitate character memorisation. Studies showed that executing stroke order, especially the initial strokes of a character, facilitates character memorisation (Flores d’ Arcais 1994); native children’s character reading skills were highly correlated with their ability in handwriting (Tan, Spinks, Eden, Perfetti, and Siok 2005), and this observation was also true for American learners of Chinese (Ke 1996; Guan et al. 2011). Although handwriting characters can facilitate character reading, it demands time away from developing other important language skills and cultural competency. Is there a better way to help students to learn to read and write at a faster pace? The answer to this question has been explored not only in the Chinese L2 world but also in Mainland China. A radical idea of adopting digraphia (汉语双文) or the two-writing system (双轨制) was also proposed (Feng 2005; Feng and Yin 2000; Rohsenow 2001). That is the idea to use both pinyin and characters as a writing system because the two systems of inscription can support each other in developmental literacy acquisition (Feng 2000). This would allow a holistic approach to Chinese literacy development and also help sustain learners’ motivation and interest in learning the language by greatly alleviating the difficulty of learning Chinese characters in the initial stage of learning (Liu 2005). However, we should be very cautious about totally eliminating handwriting practice at beginning stages. Because practicing handwriting is an important means of strengthening orthographic knowledge, it is also promising to experiment with digraphia approaches in non-target language speaking setting, for the sake of improving the effectiveness of beginning literacy. It is hoped that the successful application of these approaches will lead Chinese L2 literacy into a new era: an era of character learning that is situated in the communicative-based, whole language learning environment and that it is no longer a discrete memorisation chore. To conclude the above discussion, the controversial issues are primarily centred on how learners can read and write characters with parsimony, so that they will be able to devote more time to the overall development of the language competency within a limited learning period. The next section will further examine the problems of current literacy practices and point out future 281

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directions, considering the aspects of character learning goals, curriculum design, technology usage, and critical learning in Chinese L2 classroom in the next section.

Major Problems in Current Practice and Future Directions for Beginning Literacy Setting Realistic Goals for Character/Word Acquisition How many characters and words does a non-native speaker need to use the Chinese language? The Vocabulary Guideline for the Chinese Proficiency Test (Liu and Song 1992) for non-native speakers developed by the scholars in Mainland China requires knowledge of 2,905 high-frequency characters and 8,822 words. So far, most Chinese programs use this as the benchmark for character/word teaching. What is the reality for non-native learners acquiring Chinese characters/ words? Zhao (2003) reported that American and European learners acquire an average of 360 passive characters from a one-semester intensive study in a target language-speaking setting (roughly equivalent to a one-year study in a non-target language-speaking setting). Western learners who have studied three years of Chinese in a full immersion target-language setting have acquired 1,847 characters and 3,985 words (equivalent to a six-year study in a non-target language environment) (Jiang, Zhao, Huang, Liu, and Wang 2006). For American learners who have completed 26 credit hours of study (equivalent to completion of the third-year Chinese course at most American colleges and universities), on average, they acquire 2,229 words (Shen 2009). This data suggests that a goal of about 3,000 characters and 8,000 words is not a realistic for a four-year college curriculum in the United States. What is a realistic goal for character/word acquisition? A careful study of the 3,000 high frequency characters showed that if one acquires 1,000 of them, one is able to recognize 90% of characters in non-technical daily-life reading materials; if one acquires 2,400 characters, one can recognize 99% of characters in daily reading materials (Zhang, J. 1992). As for words, among the 8,000 commonly used words, 3,000 are the most frequently used, which comprises 86% of words appearing in daily reading materials. If one expands this to the most frequent 5,000 words, this covers the words appearing in 91% of reading materials (Liu and Song 1992). This means that knowledge of 1,500 to 2,000 characters or 3,000 to 5,000 words would be sufficient for a non-native speaker to read and write with occasional dictionary help. So far, there is no recognised vocabulary level guideline for a classroom teacher nor a character/ vocabulary level test to gauge the students’ progress in character/vocabulary learning in the United States. It is important that we set up reachable goals and have a clear guideline for the amount of character/vocabulary acquisition at each instructional level. Thus, a collaborative effort should be made in light of developing a vocabulary level scheme to provide a base reference for classroom teaching.

Needing a Balanced Curriculum In a traditional literacy curriculum, character/word learning is regarded as the top priority in literacy education. Therefore, other language skills, especially oral and written communication skills, are often compromised at the initial stage of learning, since teachers believe that character knowledge is the key and the foundation for developing other language skills. As a result, the initial character learning activities are not well integrated into language learning as a whole, but rather they are isolated from a meaningful communicative setting, which not only increases learning difficulty, but also dampens learners’ enthusiasm toward learning. Therefore, we need a 282

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curriculum in which language skill training is balanced and learning is communicative based. In such a curriculum, students will be allowed not only to use textbooks written with digraphia or pinyin annotated lessons, but also to write by using a mixture of pinyin and characters. By doing so, insufficient character knowledge will no longer be a barrier toward reading and writing. More importantly, it will also allow instructors to adopt the method of non-synchronised character recognition and production (读写分流) (Jiang 2006a). The key concept of this method is that students are required to recognise the characters introduced in the lesson, but write fewer. By adopting this method, character learning will no longer be closely tied to a particular lesson, but rather it can follow orthographic-based instructional principles to gauge the learning progress from strokes to radicals, from high frequency characters to low frequency characters, from integral characters to compound characters, and from low density characters to high density characters (Yun 2002). In fact, studies have demonstrated that this type of character learning by sequence greatly reduces the cognitive load in learning (Jiang 2006b; 2006c; 2007).

Promoting Digital Learning to Optimise Literacy Acquisition Despite the fact that the existing studies on CALL (computer assisted language learning) in Chinese L2 have conveyed a strong positive message for adopting multimedia-based literacy instruction—it promotes pinyin learning and tonal acquisition (Liu, Wang, Perfetti, Brubaker, Wu, and MacWhinney 2011), character memorisation (Chung 2002; 2008; Jin 2003; 2006; Zhu and Hong 2005; Zhu 2012), and sentence learning (McGraw,Yoshimoto, and Seneff 2009; Wong, Boticki, Ivica, Sun, and Looi 2011; Wu 2012)—the instructional reality is that using CALL in assisting literacy acquisition at a lower instructional level is not well embraced by many Chinese teachers. There are a number of reasons for this account. One is the ideological problem. To date, many teachers still do not believe that a new way of teaching will make a difference in learning, as they are used to the “chalk-and-textbook” pedagogy. They still hold the traditional ideology that learning Chinese ought to be labour-intensive. The other is that computer mediated teaching requires substantial preparation on the teachers’ side. Even though a variety of commercial software and online learning resources are ready for use, some of them are not pedagogically sound and cannot be well integrated into daily teaching without modification. Lacking funding to support instructors’ professional development for technology-based instruction is another hindrance to implementing CALL-supported literacy in the class. Nonetheless, the rapid development of modern technology has surrounded us by new types of texts in our everyday life. These new texts, such as e-books, hypertexts, multimedia blogs, wikis, podcasts, and instant messaging, have caused a radical shift in reading from print to screen (Gounari 2009). Along with the emerging of these hypertexts, the concept of literacy is also expanding. Hyper-literacy (learning to read by using hypertext technology) as a new form of literacy becomes part of literacy education. Besieged by such a global hyper-literacy environment, the cherished tradition of using a Chinese brush or pen to learn characters will inevitably be replaced by paperless digital learning. Chinese educators must be ready to welcome the era of digital learning and to meet the challenge ahead. Meanwhile, institutional efforts should be made for teacher training to increase teachers’ capabilities in literacy education for maximum learning effectiveness through technology.

Building Critical Components Into Literacy Instruction The critical pedagogy of second languages emerged in the early 1980s (Okazaki 2005). However, it has never been a mainstream practice in Chinese L2 literacy instruction, especially in beginner literacy. In current practice, pedagogical efforts are largely placed on skill-based instruction, in 283

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which language skill training is detached from larger historical and sociocultural conditions to a great extent. And, the instruction design, to some extent, is divorced from cognitive and second language learning theories. Little attention is paid to how knowledge is acquired through self-analysing language, critical reflecting on usage of learning strategies, and actively practicing the knowledge in a sociocultural setting that is meaningful to learners. From the critical language learning perspective, the learning process is also the process of learners recognising themselves, their social surroundings, and their potentialities for the future. Introducing critical components to the literacy instruction does not replace well-developed teaching methods, but it adds a critical quality to everyday instruction to help students question and challenge domination, and to achieve critical consciousness in language learning by their own understanding of what they learn (Riasati and Mollaei 2012). This empowers learners to become active learners in knowledge acquisition. In Chinese L2 literacy instruction, critical learning can be realized in several aspects. First, L2 learning is affected by the learners’ prior literacy experience (Koda 2008). Learners will bring their prior literacy experiences, such as visual organisation of the written script (Yeh, Li, Takeuchi, Sun, and Liu 2003); the knowledge of first language phonology, orthography, and morphology (Koda 2000; Cheung et al. 2001); and processing strategies specific to their L1 to reading in L2, even when the L1 and L2 orthographies and phonologies vary widely (Wade-Woolley 1999). Thus, having learners self-analyse how their first language has made acquisition of Chinese characters/words in some ways easier and in some ways harder, as well as how the L1 and L2 writing systems differ in phonology, orthography, and morphology, can facilitate the development of L2 metalinguistic awareness, which is fundamental in learning to read. The other aspect is to foster learners’ critical consciousness in using learning strategies. Although quite a number of studies have identified strategies that Chinese L2 learners use to learn radicals, characters, and words (Jiang and Zhao 2001; Ke 1998; McGinnis 1995; Shen 2005; 2010; Yin 2003; Zhao and Jiang 2002), we still have little knowledge about why certain strategies work for one learner, but not for another. Learning is individualised, as are cognitive styles. If learners are encouraged to introspect their own learning strategies through a critical lens to find out which strategies are working best for them, it would make strategy training much more effective. The third aspect of critical learning is to put learners in a situated sociocultural environment to make character learning activities immediately relevant to learners by using taskbased or problem-posing learning approaches, and engage them in solving problematic issues in their lives during learning. Although task-based learning has been adopted in the area of second language learning for more than two decades, it is not a widely accepted pedagogical practice in Chinese L2 literacy. Chinese educators who resist this approach hold that we do not even have enough class time to introduce characters and carry out form-focused drills; thus, how can we afford time for the meaning-focused practice? They expect that students practise using language after class. However, we must understand that in a non-target language learning environment, it is very difficult for students to find opportunities to practice with the language in their daily life situations. On the other hand, if classroom learning is not supported by plenty of situated meaningful practice, it is difficult for students to transfer the knowledge into skills. The existing studies on adopting task-based learning in Chinese L2 literacy education, although limited in quantity, have demonstrated that task-based learning was welcomed by students and produced good learning outcomes (Lai, Zhao, and Wang 2012), it improved speed and quantity in writing (Yuan 2010), and it can be used to enhance performance-based assessment (Ke 2006).

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Conclusion Due to the uniqueness of the Chinese writing system, learning to read and write Chinese is a long-term effort for U.S. learners, which makes it extremely important to seek best practices to improve learning efficiency within limited classroom learning periods. In addition, our future endeavours should include adjusting curriculum goals and learning content, integrating CALL instruction, shifting the teaching pedagogy from knowledge transmission to knowledge construction, and giving students the autonomy to actively explore knowledge through critical learning.

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22 Language Teacher Identity Jason Martel and Andie Wang

Introduction Language teacher identity research has grown exponentially over the past fifteen years. Having reviewed this literature, we view identity as a crucial construct to consider when it comes to conceptualizing teacher learning (Freeman 2009; Izadinia 2012; Miller 2009; Tsui 2011; Wenger 1998) and advocate for a continued discussion about its place in language teacher education. The purpose of the present review is, therefore, to contribute to the field of educational linguistics, not only by providing an overview of the language teacher identity research, but also by suggesting directions for future research and outlining implications for language teacher education.

Historical Perspectives Researchers and theorists from a variety of fields in the social sciences began paying attention to the construct of identity in the middle of the 20th century (e.g., Holland and Lachicotte 2007; Vyran, Adler, and Adler 2003). Holland and Lachicotte (2007) provide an excellent overview of two main lines of theorizing identity: one governed by the ideas of the psychologist Erik Erikson and the other by those of the sociologist George Mead. According to Holland and Lachicotte, Erikson’s conception of identity focuses on the stability and coherence of identity, while Mead’s centers on the ways in which identities are constructed in interaction with others as they occupy various roles. Furthermore, Holland and Lachicotte (2007) state: An Eriksonian ‘identity’ is overarching. It weaves together an individual’s answers to questions about who he or she is as a member of the cultural and social group(s) that make up his or her society. A Meadian identity, on the other hand, is a sense of oneself as a participant in the social roles and positions defined by a specific, historically constituted set of social activities. (104) Thus, where emphasis is placed on coherence in the Eriksonian view of identities, Meadian conceptualizations highlight their multiplicity, corresponding to the many roles one occupies in 289

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life (Holland and Lachicotte 2007). Despite the influence of both lines of thought, the Meadian approach has pervaded the research base on language teacher identity since its inception. In the field of language education, scholars took up the study of identity first in relation to language learners. A prime example is Norton’s (2000) seminal study of immigrant women learning English in Canada. At the end of the 1990s, researchers began to turn their sights to language teachers’ identity construction, as evidenced by pioneering works by Duff and Uchida (1997) and Antonek, McCormick, and Donato (1997). From the turn of the century to the time of this writing, this research base has resulted in upwards of 50 empirical studies. As Menard-Warwick (2008) states, the majority of these studies have focused on the native speaker/non-native speaker (NS/NNS) dichotomy and legitimacy when it comes to teaching (e.g., Amin 1997; Golombek and Jordan 2005; Inbar-Lourie 2005; Park 2012; Pavlenko 2003; Vélez-Rendón 2010). However, other lines of inquiry have since emerged, such as Menard-Warwick’s (2008; 2011) and Fichtner and Chapman’s (2011) studies on language teachers’ cultural identities. It is only recently that reviews of the language teacher identity literature have begun to appear (Miller 2009; Morgan and Clarke 2011; Tsui 2011). These reviews have outlined major themes in the language teacher identity literature and have begun to touch upon the relationship between the literature and teacher education programs. For example, Miller (2009) suggests teaching student teachers about the nature of identity and engaging them in critical reflection that “takes account of identity and related issues, of individuals in specific contexts, and of the role of discourse in shaping experience” (178). The present review expands upon this base and contributes to the field of educational linguistics in several ways. First, it brings together research from a much larger collection of second language teacher roles, such as traditional foreign language (FL) teacher, immersion teacher, and bilingual teacher, where the three reviews above limit themselves to research done in Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL) and English as a Foreign Language (EFL) settings. Bringing in research on other second language teacher roles allows for enlightening cross-contextual comparisons regarding role-specific identity positions, such as advocate in English as a Second Language (ESL) (Golombek and Jordan 2005) and standards-based practitioner in traditional foreign language (Luebbers 2010). Granted, we are able to represent more contexts here because much of the teacher identity research outside of TESOL/ EFL is relatively recent (e.g., Fichtner and Chapman 2011; Cammarata and Tedick 2012). Second, following Miller (2009), we aim to further expand the connection between language teacher identity research and language teacher education, contributing to the “widening gyre” (i.e., the expanding scope) of language teacher education described by Freeman (2009).

Core Issues and Key Findings In the following sections, we present four prominent themes in the language teacher identity research. The studies cited within these themes generally subscribe to a Meadian approach to identity, in that they view it as a constantly evolving sociocultural construct.

1. Language Teachers’ Identities Are Shaped in Interaction With Significant Others, Personal Biographies, and Contexts The literature is rife with accounts of ways in which significant others influence teachers’ identity trajectories. The significant others with whom teachers associate shift throughout their careers; during teacher education, common significant others include mentor teachers, classmates, and teacher educators, while in the workforce, significant others include colleagues, administrators, and students. The influence a significant other can have on a teacher’s identity construction is 290

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vividly revealed in many of the critical incidents that pepper the language teacher identity literature (Liu and Xu 2011a; 2011b; Park 2012; Yi 2009). For example, the focal participant in Park’s (2012) study, a native Chinese-speaking teacher of English in a TESOL program in the United States, received a blow to her confidence when a classmate questioned her ability to teach English on the first day of her student teaching by laughing at her and exclaiming “You were only here for one and a half years and you are going to teach English [to kids who don’t speak English]?” (138). This incident stirred the participant’s insecurities about her non-native speaker status, in essence challenging her suitability and identity as a burgeoning English teacher. Personal biographies and prior experiences have also been shown to shape teachers’ identities (Duff and Uchida 1997; Izadinia 2012). For example, Danny, a participant in Duff and Uchida’s (1997) study, disliked the decontextualized grammar study that characterized his high school French class and, as a result, avoided using the textbook too much in his teaching. Miki, another participant in this study, “saw herself as a bilingual role model” (468) for her students, which tied back to her own history as an English learner. Yi’s (2009) study also powerfully demonstrates the influence of prior experiences, again via critical incidents. Ms. Ying, one of her participants, considered herself a “product of the times” (258), reflected by her decision to major in English despite disliking it, by working in Tibet as an interpreter, and by beginning teaching in her late 40s as a “late entrant” (259). In Ennser-Kananen and Wang’s (2013) study on Chinese language teachers’ cultural identities, one Chinese-born participant reported an ongoing interaction between being a parent to her American-born daughter and teaching culture in her class. This participant expressed regret over the weakening of her daughter’s Chinese cultural identity, which led her to recognize the importance of respecting her students’ home cultures in teaching. It goes without saying that context matters in shaping identities, too (cf. Duff and Uchida 1997; Morgan and Clarke 2011). This is well exemplified by teacher education programs, for student teachers operate in two distinct and often competing contexts: their teacher education programs and the schools in which they student teach. Feiman-Nemser and Buchmann (1985) refer to this disparity as the “two-worlds pitfall.” Luebbers (2010) explains how the participants in her study, faced with “‘the realities’ of the FL classroom” (146) in their student teaching placements, grew disenchanted as their “glorified view of FL teaching” (149) was replaced with the belief that it was not feasible to implement innovations learned in their preparation programs, such as communicative and standards-based teaching. In other words, the messages they received from their preparation program, with which many of them identified at the beginning of student teaching, were “washed out” by the student teaching context (Zeichner and Tabachnik 1981). This phenomenon occurs not only during teacher preparation programs, but also during teachers’ first years in the field (Zeichner and Tabachnik 1981).

2. Language Teachers’ Identities Are Negotiated in and Influence Practice Using a situated learning framework (Lave and Wenger 1991), Kanno and Stuart’s (2011) important study demonstrates not only how language teachers’ practice shapes their identity, but also how their identities shape their practice. Concerning practice shaping identity, the study’s participants became more confident as teachers throughout the year as they became more competent pedagogically and in terms of their subject matter. Concerning identity shaping practice, the participants presented as more confident at the start of the new quarter “because they had learned from their experiences in the previous quarter” (247). The researchers note that this authoritative stance came along with becoming more detached from students and that “some of the valuable qualities of beginning teachers may be lost as they accumulate more experience” (248). 291

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Although not explicitly highlighted, the mutual shaping of practice and identity can be seen elsewhere in the literature. In her study of FL student teachers, Luebbers (2010) compares participants’ pre-student teaching desired level of target language use (which generally amounted to “as much as possible”) with their actual use during their placements (which ranged from 28–47%). It could be argued that engaging in the actual practice of teaching and contending with the expectations of students surrounding language use gave them a sense of what was possible in that context and likely changed how they saw themselves as FL teachers. In other words, the ways in which these students desired to see themselves as providers of target language input changed across their student teaching experience. A second example comes from the immersion context, in which teachers tend to see themselves principally as content teachers, rather than both language and content teachers (Cammarata and Tedick 2012; Tan 2011). This is important, for neglecting to incorporate a language focus into teaching plateaus students out in their language development (Genesee 1987; Lyster 2007). Cammarata and Tedick (2012) describe how a professional development course that emphasized content-based instruction stimulated an identity shift in three immersion teachers, who came to see themselves as responsible for both content and language. Although not included in this study’s findings, one could hypothesize that this change in identity position encouraged the participants to incorporate more form-focused activities into their instruction.

3. Language Teachers’ Identities Are Complicated by Their Own or Others’ Perceptions of Their Native/Non-Native Speaker Status For a while now, scholars in our field have problematized the notion of native speaker (see Enric Llurda’s chapter in this volume). It is therefore not surprising that the native speaker/non-native speaker (NS/NNS) distinction has also emerged in the language teacher identity research. Indeed, this distinction has been identified as one of the principal features that distinguish the language teaching profession from the others (Borg 2006; Menard-Warwick 2008). Many studies reveal that NNS teachers experience uncertainty and self-doubt because they lack the perceived status or power associated with native speakerness (Miller 2009), which is often connected with pronunciation, intelligibility, and race (e.g., Mawhinney and Xu 1997; Motha 2006; Pavlenko 2003). Motha (2006) demonstrates how English is associated with white privilege and the concept of standard English is inherently racialized. For NNS teachers, constructing a professional identity within discourses of native-speakerness is characterized by constant struggles to gain legitimacy (Brown and Miller 2006; Golombek and Jordan 2005; Miller 2009; Reis 2011) and even failure to take on a teacher identity (Amin 1997). Most studies tend to go beyond the dichotomy of NS/NNS in the language teaching field and further into complex issues such as demystifying the myth of NS (e.g., Inbar-Lourie 2005; Reis 2011). Vélez-Rendón (2010), for instance, is the only scholar we encountered to examine how discourses of native speakerness shape the professional identity development of a FL teacher. The excessive reliance on being a native speaker of Spanish in teaching, reinforced by the prevailing discourses of native speakerness in the schooling context, prevented the student teacher from developing important dimensions of his professional identity and resulted in problematic teaching practices, e.g., giving inaccurate grammatical explanations. Other studies contesting the NS/NNS dichotomy investigate ways to empower NNS teachers (Park 2012; Pavlenko 2003) and facilitate NNS identity development through educational interventions such as shared stories (Johnson 2003) and critical literacy narratives (Rodriguez and Cho 2011). Along these lines, Pavlenko (2003) proposes the notion of the multicompetent speaker, which positions NNSs positively as those who know more rather than negatively as those who know less. It is argued that reimagining oneself as bilingual or multilingual enables NNS teachers to reframe their competencies and 292

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actively engage themselves in reshaping the teaching context, thus critically challenging the NS/ NNS dichotomy and marginalization in the profession in general.

4. Language Teachers’ Views of Themselves as Cultural Beings Bear Upon Their Cultural Teaching Practices Despite its integrality to language teaching (Duff and Uchida 1997; Lange and Paige 2003), the cultural dimension of teacher identity, or cultural identity, is the focus of investigation in only a few empirical studies. Intercultural experiences and cultural affiliations influence not only the ways in which language teachers see themselves as cultural beings, but also their approaches to teaching culture (Ennser-Kananen and Wang 2013; Fichtner and Chapman 2011; Menard-Warwick 2008; 2011). Tensions and struggles are common themes in the construction of language teachers’ bi- or multi-cultural identities. Fichtner and Chapman (2011), for example, demonstrate the disequilibrium between primary and secondary identities that language teachers come to develop in association with the languages they learned and currently teach. The participants in this study, university-level Spanish and German teachers, claimed that their primary cultural identities were rooted in their national identities, while identities associated with the target culture remained secondary. Ennser-Kananen and Wang (2013) find a strong connection between Chinese language teachers’ intercultural experiences and their beliefs in teaching culture. These teachers drew largely on cross-cultural parenting and marriage in talking about their teaching beliefs. For example, Hu, one of the study’s participants, traced her bicultural identity back to marrying an American and associated the experience with being a translator between the two cultures both in and outside the class. Language teachers’ cultural identities impact their classroom practices. The studies referenced above show that language teachers largely draw on their own cross-cultural experiences and intercultural identities as resources for addressing students’ linguistic, ideological, and cultural concerns (cf. Duff and Uchida 1997). For instance, Ruby, an ESL teacher in Menard-Warwick’s study (2008), stressed the importance of assumptions underlying cultural behaviors in her class because it helped communication in her intercultural marriage. Paloma, another teacher in the same study, encouraged her students to explore cultural changes because her transnational experiences made her see values of both the traditional and the rapidly shifting sides of the culture. The role of cultural identities in language teaching is perhaps best reflected in the notion of “identity as pedagogy” (Morgan 2004, 172), where the teacher’s identities are performed in classroom conversations around culture and, in turn, transformed in the culture teaching practice.

Research Approaches Building upon Izadinia’s (2012) recent review of the student teacher identity literature, we notice that language teacher identity scholars generally: •

• • •

frame their studies with social theoretical frameworks in qualitative paradigms, reflecting Izadinia’s (2012) claim that “researchers consider the process of identity construction a social phenomenon that is largely shaped and understood in light of social factors” (14) use a wide range of data collection methods, including “reflective practices” (Izadinia, 2012, 13) and innovative techniques such as concept maps (Lim 2011) conduct studies over relatively short periods of time (Kanno and Stuart 2011), usually less than six months analyze their data with a variety of analytical tools, notably narrative ones 293

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A handful of the studies we reviewed do not employ theoretical frameworks (e.g., Fichtner and Chapman 2011; Liu and Fisher 2006). Most of them do, however, and favor social frameworks such as sociocultural theory (Antonek et al. 1997; Reis 2011; Vélez-Rendón 2010), activity theory (Anh 2013; Luebbers 2010), communities of practice/situated learning (Kanno and Stuart 2011; Liu and Xu 2011a; 2011b; Morton and Gray 2010; Varghese, 2001), post-structuralism/ discourse (Ajayi 2011; Golombek and Jordan 2005; Mantero 2004; Menard-Warwick 2008; 2011; Morgan 2004; Pavlenko 2003), critical feminism (Motha 2006), language socialization (Duff and Uchida 1997), symbolic interactionism (Martel 2013), and phenomenology (Cammarata and Tedick 2012). Following Izadinia (2012), this copious list not only seems to confirm that “the formation, negotiation, and growth of teacher identity is a fundamentally social process” (Varghese, Morgan, Johnston, and Johnson 2005, 39), but it also honors Varghese et al.’s claim that “multiple theoretical approaches are absolutely essential if we are not to lose sight of the real-world complexity of our subject” (40). This being said, some theoretical frameworks are represented more than others—namely, communities of practice and post-structuralism. Tsui (2011), an avid proponent of the former, claims that “Wenger’s theory of identity formation is perhaps the most powerful, in that it cogently argues for identity formation being relational and experiential, as well as social and personal” (33). The popularity of the latter might be attributed to Norton’s (2000) use of it in her pioneering work. Concerning study design, there exists a healthy variety in the data collection methods employed by researchers. Some studies rely on one form of data, such as interviews (e.g., Fichtner and Chapman 2011), while others use larger kits of data consisting of interviews, teaching journals, classroom observations, videotapings of classes, stimulated recall, and documents (e.g., Kanno and Stuart 2011). Many of these studies use “reflective practices” (Izadinia 2012, 13), including student teaching portfolios (e.g., Antonek et al. 1997), self-written perspectives (e.g., Ajayi 2011), reaction papers (Golombek and Jordan 2005), linguistic autobiographies (e.g., Pavlenko 2003), dialogic journals (e.g., Reis 2011), and reflective diaries (e.g., Tsui 2007). Additionally, many of the studies include observation, departing from Izadinia’s (2012) critique of the student teacher identity literature. Within this array of methods, innovations abound. Many researchers are beginning to employ technology as a means of collecting reflective data, like Park (2012), who used e-journals; Luebbers (2010), who used a weekly group blog; and Clarke (2008), who used online Web CT discussion forums. Martel (2013) gave his participants digital voice recorders to capture reflections based on prompts; according to the participants, they were more likely to complete their reflections using this format than if they had to write them down, and did so most often in the car on their way home from their student teaching placements. Technology aside, Motha (2006) incorporated a series of “afternoon teas” into her data collection methods, which were not included in the initial study design, but rather came to occur at the behest of the participants. Lastly, Lim (2011) utilized concept mapping, a formalized statistical group process that has the power to “examine the underlying clusters and dimensions” (971) of identity. Note that this last data collection method is mixed in nature (i.e., it includes both quantitative and qualitative data), while the other methods described are qualitative. Kanno and Stuart (2011) claim that the language teacher identity literature wants for longitudinal studies, identifying Tsui’s (2007) and Liu and Fisher’s (2006) as the only two that unfold over a substantial period of time. Curiously omitted from this list is Clarke’s (2008) study, which takes place over the course of two years. In her review of the general student teacher identity literature, however, Izadinia (2012) claimed that “no obvious distinction was found between the general findings as a result of the length of data collection” (12). She also stated that “similar positive outcomes were observed across the studies in the same category and with the same approach regardless of their duration” (12–13). In our review of the language teacher identity 294

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literature, we did find a general lack of longitudinal (i.e., lasting longer than six months) studies, yet we did not find a general tendency towards what Izadinia (2012) defines as “positive outcomes.” Counter examples include Liu and Xu’s (2011a; 2011b) accounts of EFL teachers who left their communities of practice; Luebbers’ (2010) descriptions of FL student teachers who grew disenchanted by the reality of their student teaching placements; and Martel’s (2013) depiction of a FL student teacher who experienced a weakening of her FL teacher identity during her preparation program, ultimately taking a position as an ESL teacher. Finally, in terms of analysis, narrative analytical techniques figure prominently in the literature (Johnson 2003; Liu and Xu 2011a; 2011b; Reis 2011; Rodriguez and Cho 2011; Simon-Maeda 2004; Yi 2009). This is not surprising given the compelling links made between stories and one’s identity construction (Sfard and Prusak 2005). Despite narrative inquiry’s ubiquity, language teacher identity researchers have still employed a gamut of analytical tools, including thematic/ constant comparative method (Antonek et al. 1997; Golombek and Jordan 2005), discourse analysis (Clarke 2008; Morton and Gray 2010), and a discursive positioning framework (Pavlenko 2003). We appreciate the theoretical and methodological variety in this literature and encourage researchers to continue to utilize innovative ways for exploring language teachers’ identities.

New Debates In light of the literature reviewed above, we have pinpointed three areas that want for further consideration in the language teacher identity research. These areas are outlined in the following sections.

1. We Need to Augment Our Understanding of Teachers’ Identities in a Larger Variety of Roles/Contexts Language teacher education encompasses multiple roles/contexts (e.g., immersion teacher, ESL teacher, etc.). Our review of the literature revealed that we know far more about ESL/EFL teachers’ identities than those of teachers in other roles/contexts. Out of the studies we reviewed, only four explore the identities of traditional FL teachers (Antonek et al. 1997; Fichtner and Chapman 2011; Luebbers 2010; Vélez-Rendón 2010) and one the identities of bilingual education teachers (Varghese 2001). Furthermore, the studies we reviewed from the immersion context do not subscribe to theories of identity (e.g., Cammarata and Tedick 2012). These findings indicate that we need to know far more about the identity composition and construction of language teachers outside of ESL/EFL. A fuller picture would provide teacher educators with important insights for designing curricula that prepare student teachers to meet the needs and face the changes of the roles they will fill. Two lines of inquiry stand out. First, it would be fruitful to explore the NS/NNS issue more from the NS side, as did Vélez-Rendón (2010). Do native English speakers feel qualified to teach ESL by virtue of their native speakerness? Why or why not? Second, we hope that scholars further investigate the cultural identities of language teachers, particularly in the immersion context, whose goals include preparing bi/multicultural students.

2. We Need to Factor Emotions Into Theories of Language Teachers’ Identity Construction In an overview of teacher emotion research, Zembylas and Schutz (2009) conclude that the significance of emotions is illustrated and reinforced in the general experiences of teachers struggling to deal with emotional intensity. Emotion is a key dimension in teachers’ lives, and teacher 295

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identity formation is informed, reshaped, and disciplined by discourses and practices of teachers’ emotions (Zembylas 2005). In a word, the process of teaching cannot be fully understood without addressing the emotional aspect that underlies the teaching behavior. In second language education research, the role of emotion is understudied and undertheorized (Cowie 2011), lacking “a clear research agenda or consistent approach” (236). Furthermore, the few studies that explicitly connect emotion with teacher identity (e.g., Cowie 2011; Mousavi 2007; Verity 2000) are largely descriptive in nature. Most studies carry a negative tone, capturing the negative side of teachers’ emotions such as hopelessness (Verity 2000) and stress (Mousavi 2007). Future research is needed in theorizing teacher emotions in the directions of teacher self, sociopolitical aspects of emotions in teachers’ lives, and transactions between teacher selves and sociopolitical influences (Zembylas and Schutz 2009).

3. We Need to Elucidate the Connection Between Language Teachers’ Identities and Their Students’ Language Learning Outcomes/Processes As language teacher educators and teacher educators, we must never lose sight of students, for improving the quality of their language learning experiences remains the ultimate goal of any line of inquiry in our field. Borg (2003, 2006) argues that the link between teacher cognitions (e.g., beliefs, knowledge) and student language learning has yet to be convincingly made, and we would argue the same for teacher identity and language learning. As much as identity is an engaging construct to study in its own right, where do language teachers’ identities and students’ language learning processes meet? For example: What aspects of language teacher identity contribute to students’ improved and sustained language use? How is teacher identity connected with students’ development of bilingual or multilingual identities? Although many studies in the language teacher identity literature chronicle and theorize connections between teachers’ identities and their classroom practices (e.g., Ajayi 2011; Fichtner and Chapman 2011; Kanno and Stuart 2011), they do not go as far as making the important link between teacher identity and student language learning. This is most likely due to methodological challenges.

Implications for Language Teacher Education . . . we contend that identity work is vital in whatever way it manifests and that it is up to reflective teacher educators to enact this focus in appropriate ways that are contextually bound. (Gaudelli and Ousley 2009, 934) Despite the growing number of research articles calling for a reconceptualization of LTE, the field continues to operate from a traditional perspective favoring mechanistic and transmissive models that overlook the social nature of learning and the powerful role of language in society. (Vélez-Rendón 2010, 645) As Vélez-Rendón’s (2010) quotation demonstrates, we have not yet found a meaningful way to integrate the construct of identity into language teacher education. Many teacher education programs involve learning experiences in which teachers do identity work (e.g., reflection, seminar), yet what is unclear is the level of intentionality associated with this identity work. In other words, do teacher educators subscribe to an “identity approach” that guides the design of their programs 296

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and the assignments they set? Indeed, we follow Izadinia (2012), who asks, “How can teacher education programs facilitate the process of identity formation in [student teachers]?” (17). Many scholars have offered recommendations on how to conduct identity work for teacher preparation programs, ranging from general advice to specific activities. Miller (2009) proposes four directions: understanding the nature of identity; knowing the context in which student teachers work; engaging student teachers in critical reflection; and beginning with learners’ needs. Antonek et al. (1997) hold that student teaching portfolios are spaces in which student teachers can “reflect on the development of the quality of their instruction and on their identities during the student teaching experience” (16). These researchers, however, point out that teacher educators may want to push student teachers to reflect on important field-specific topics (e.g., first and second language use) that might be left out if the choice of topics in the portfolio is left completely to students. At the University of Minnesota, USA, the Teacher Education Research Initiative (TERI) project is breaking new ground by incorporating a teacher identity self-study into its curriculum. In the study, student teachers from a variety of disciplines (including ESL/FL student teachers) are asked to reflect on the ways in which their cultural and racial identities shape their perceptions of schooling and students. The reflection process is guided and supported by teacher educators and built into a course-based professional learning community. The goal of such a study is to cultivate student teachers who are able to reflect on the role of personal identity in becoming a teacher and to address the issues of culture, race, and identity in education. Related to Antonek et al.’s (1997) advice above, a compelling way to conceptualize student teacher identity construction in language teacher education consists of “actual” and “designated” identities (Sfard and Prusak 2005). Actual identities consists of “stories about the actual state of affairs,” while designated identities consist of “narratives presenting a state of affairs which, for one reason or another, is expected to be the case, if not now then in the future” (18). In other words, actual identities are the identity positions with which a student teacher comes to teacher education, while designated identities represent the identity positions (e.g., standards-based teacher [Luebbers 2010]) that preparation programs want student teachers to acquire. In accordance with Sfard and Prusak (2005), learning occurs when the gap is closed between student teachers’ actual and designated identities. There is a tension inherent in this conceptualization. On one hand, should student teachers mechanically accept the identity positions foisted upon them by teacher preparation programs (cf. Britzman 1994)? On the other, do we not value the research support and best practices that define these identity positions as a way of pushing our field further? We maintain that, in the future, researchers should document and also theorize ways in which the objectives of teacher education might be accomplished while at the same time preserving student teachers’ agency. As stated by Sexton (2008), “we should consider student teachers’ identities as a starting point for teacher education; the challenge, then, is to learn how to bridge their identity to larger hopes for teachers and students” (86).

Further Reading Historical Britzman, D. (1994). Is there a problem with knowing thyself? Toward a poststructuralist view of teacher identity. In T. Shanahan (Ed.), Teachers thinking, teachers knowing: Reflections on literacy and language education (pp. 53–75). Urbana, IL: National Conference on Research in English and National Council of Teachers of English.

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Duff, P. A., and Uchida, Y. (1997). The negotiation of teachers’ sociocultural identities and practices in postsecondary EFL classrooms. TESOL Quarterly, 31(3), 451–486. Holland, D., and Lachicotte, Jr., W. (2007). Vygotsky, Mead, and the new sociocultural studies of identity. In H. Daniels, M. Cole, and J. V. Wertsch (Eds.), The Cambridge companion to Vygotsky (pp. 101–135). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Recent Clarke, M. (2008). Language teacher identities: Co-constructing discourse and community. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters Ltd. Gaudelli, W., and Ousley, D. (2009). From clothing to skin: Identity work of student teachers in culminating field experiences. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25(6), 931–939. Liu, Y., and Xu, Y. (2011). Inclusion or exclusion?: A narrative inquiry of a language teacher’s identity experience in the new work order of competing pedagogies. Teaching and Teacher Education, 27(3), 589–597.

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Historical Perspectives Corpora are generally considered to be large collections of authentic electronic text designed to be representative of a particular language, genre, et cetera. This broad definition is open to debate (cf. Gilquin and Gries 2009), but corresponds to a prototypical view of what most people would consider a corpus today. The development of corpora and corpus linguistics over the last 50 years or so has improved the description and understanding of language and has had important implications for language teaching and learning. Early corpus work was painstaking in the extreme, being based on the manual collection and analysis of data. More recently, computers have made the various processes vastly simpler and faster: for example, the Corpus of Contemporary American English (currently 450 million words) is essentially the work of a single person. Different types of corpora have been developed: parallel corpora in translation, sound-aligned or multimedia corpora with video, and ‘learner corpora’ containing non-native speaker output mainly used by researchers in the field of second language acquisition. For present purposes, two points are worthy of note in early work. First, corpora were often compiled with a practical application in mind and not just for linguistic study as an end in itself. Second, in many cases these applications were pedagogical in nature—see, for example, Thorndike and Lorge’s Teacher’s Word Book of 30,000 Words (1944), Gougenheim and colleagues’ Dictionnaire Fondamental de la Langue Française (1958), or the Cobuild dictionaries of the 1980s and 1990s. Underlying these dictionaries is the basic idea of Zipf ’s law, which implies that the commonest items deserve direct attention in teaching, while less frequent items provide diminishing returns and may be dealt with better through strategies for observation, noticing, pattern-detection, inferring meaning, and so on (e.g., O’Keeffe et al. 2007, ch. 2). Of course, frequency is not the only criterion in deciding what to teach, though it is probably fairly safe to say that improved knowledge about language and language use can lead to better-informed pedagogical decisions—in particular, helping to target common forms, patterns, uses, and meanings in different contexts. There is no question of corpus-derived data replacing linguistic intuitions, but they complement intuitions (cf. Sinclair 1997, 32). Other corpus-based projects and products include usage manuals and grammar books (e.g., Biber et al. 1999), syllabuses for teaching and testing (e.g., English Profile), and coursebooks 301

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(e.g., McCarthy et al. 2006), which no longer rely solely on the creator’s intuitions. However, the corpus input to such resources often goes unnoticed; as McCarthy (2004, 15) puts it, referring to his Touchstone coursebooks, “teachers and learners should expect that, in most ways, corpus informed materials will look like traditionally prepared materials”; what counts is that they reflect actual language usage better. Applying corpora and corpus linguistics can go further and influence teaching and learning practices directly. For example, Burdine and Barlow (2007) include screenshots of phrasal verbs in context, with instructions to identify different meanings, uses, and patterns from the context (see Boulton 2010 for a review). Teachers can also use corpora themselves on various levels, from prioritising content in LSP to creating tests to devising activities. Existing software makes it fairly easy for teachers to create their own corpora to correspond to specific linguistic or pedagogical needs, or get their learners to create their own. In class, a corpus can be used as a permanently available “informant” (Johns 1991a, 1) and also as a tool that lends itself to various activities in which the learners explore the language themselves (assuming computers are available). This corpus-based approach is frequently termed “data-driven learning” or DDL (Johns 1991a; 1991b) and involves using the tools and techniques of corpus linguistics for pedagogical purposes (Boulton 2011b).

Core Issues and Key Findings What do corpora bring to language teaching? A simple but effective answer to this question is that they challenge certain established ways of doing things. As Sinclair (2004, 271) puts it, “from a classroom perspective the emergence of corpora may not seem to be good news—a large amount of new information to absorb, and an unsettling failure to confirm the consensus view of language that has been considered adequate for most classrooms for many years.” Sinclair points out that much of the challenge for using corpora in language education comes from the fact that it sits uncomfortably with many existing (and essentially unchallenged) views and practices, and can even contradict well-known ‘rules.’ The following paragraphs highlight the role played by corpora in key aspects of language education. A learner must have some kind of contact with the target language (L2) in order for acquisition to occur. Corpus use can provide massive exposure to language in a systematic way, highlighting target patterns. For example, in the concordance in Figure 23.1, one might observe usage of the word however (e.g., in relation to that, punctuation). More generally, corpus analysis has highlighted the shortcomings of many textbook presentations of language in a highly decontextualised and artificial manner (Chambers 2009). However, the use of authentic materials in language teaching has given rise to debate in relation to the

to create political parties. They were firm in agreeing, and credibility of the Korean framework. I would stress, , he vowed to follow the agreement. His made clear, with the latter even slightly ahead. [1] All confirm, within a deeper and enlarged Union. It is striking, integration in motion". It was not before May 1992, temps a crisis. (Laugher and applause.) I do believe, 87 % of Hispanics who speak Spanish at home. It’s true, is the most important among them. This by no means implies, delivery of services to the community. It is equally clear, are even subject to sanctions. It has always been assumed, (a) - (c) in all sorts of ways. It is not at all clear, p.a., the corresponding figure is only 25 %. Statistically,

Figure 23.1 302

however however however however however however however however however however however however however

, that Bulgaria met " all the conditions required for , that a more interventionist approach would have met , that his primary focus would be on combating the power of , that many Dutch citizens feel poorly informed about the EU , that most of them seem rather reluctant to take up this , that the candidature of Bulgaria had sufficiently advanced , that the concerns of Europeans and of Americans about our , that the disparity of access is also closely correlated , that the need for further committed involvement of , that the search for best practice in people management in , that the threats arise from large datasets that are , that these differences are systematic. Rather than clutter , the disparity is only about 50 % explained by income, i.e.

Concordance extract for however (Leeds Internet Corpus)

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question of input (Duda and Tyne 2010): Can all learners cope with authentic materials? Should they be simplified, or only used with higher-level learners, et cetera? One answer has been to allow learners access to ‘real’ language, providing some degree of preparation or negotiation. More generally, with the development of the notion of autonomy in language learning, much of what was once seen as a problem for accessing the L2 can be ruled out by providing methodologies that allow language learners to benefit appropriately even from complex materials. For example, in the case of DDL, learners typically access corpus data in response to given questions, in order to discover patterns and rules of use, essentially functioning as a researcher (cf. Johns 1991a; 1991b). Although corpora can be considered as pools of authentic language (Duda and Tyne 2010), this does not necessarily come across in the same manner as in ‘traditional’ authentic materials: corpora are not intended to be accessed or read as complete texts. Instead, corpora bring to the fore a distilled set of authentic uses that the individual would be hard pressed to tease out of the data manually or based on occasional incidental encounters. Corpora not only highlight common patterns, they also provide maximum exposure to the target language, which may otherwise be lacking in the classroom (cf. Gaskell and Cobb 2004). This concords with recent theories of lexical priming (Hoey 2005) and the mental corpus (Taylor 2012). In other words, when learners themselves engage with data, not only is the language authentic in the more traditional sense, but so are the tasks devolving from the discovery process. Authenticity is thereby concerned more with the effectiveness of doing than with the inherent nature of sample forms or input. The idea of autonomy has become something of a buzzword in language education today. The pioneering scholars at the Crapel research unit in France promoted the use of autonomisation in language learning throughout the 1970s and 1980s, insisting that since it is the learner that has to do the learning, then ownership of learning decisions can, or should, rest on his/her shoulders. (See the journal Mélanges Crapel for this period.) Moreover, the very reasons for which people go about learning languages differ from one individual to the next, thereby lending weight to the argument that it is the learner who should actively seek to guide his/her own learning. Being autonomous is not simply a matter of being ‘independent’ or in some way able to get by without the teacher. Rather, it is about being able to make informed decisions as to one’s learning so as to be able to appreciate the benefits of given tasks or to be able to take stock of what has been learned during a given activity. The use of corpora in DDL is essentially the development of autonomous learning techniques. Engaging learners with data through DDL presupposes a host of attitudes and learning activities that focus on the principles of ‘learning by doing’ and ‘learning by discovery.’ This requires specific training, both for teachers and for learners; acceptance of new ways of learning; and, in most cases, development of specific ICT skills. Though this type of approach is not without its critics (e.g., Kirschner et al. 2006), there are likely to be considerable benefits to such work on a regular basis well beyond the specific focus of any given task: it may be argued that increased autonomy develops better language learners. Some evidence for this can be found independently in Allan (2006) and Johns et al. (2008), where learners using an experimental corpus approach not only outperformed control groups on target items, but also on items that weren’t explicitly covered.

Research Approaches A frequent refrain is that, despite the numerous arguments for using corpora in language learning, very little empirical research has so far been conducted to test the validity of such arguments. This claim does not entirely stand up to scrutiny, as we have so far identified well over 100 studies that do attempt to evaluate some aspect of corpus use by language learners. (An evolving list can 303

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be found in the bibliographies at CorpusCALL.) These studies can be divided into four main categories, depending on their main research focus: • • • •

Attitudes and representations. How do learners react to using corpora? How receptive are they? Learner behaviour. What do learners do with corpus data? Can they make sense of it? Learning outcomes from corpus use. Does a DDL approach lead to observable, measurable learning compared to ‘traditional’ approaches? If so, where? Using corpora as a reference resource. How efficiently can learners use corpora in this way (usually in writing and revision)? How does this compare to use of other tools, such as dictionaries?

The overwhelming conclusion from these papers is that corpus use can provide benefits in all areas so far researched, with strong effects on language learning found in a meta-analysis by Cobb and Boulton (forthcoming). Most students in most studies appreciate what corpora can bring to their own learning and are generally capable of using them appropriately, given the right training. These findings apply almost across the board, whatever the corpus and however it is used, encompassing paper-based and computer-based approaches; controlled deductive exercises or open-ended inductive activities; and irrespective of learners’ level of proficiency, age, cultural context, mother tongue and target language, disciplinary background, needs, preferences, and so on. Though very few studies are entirely negative, it is worth noting that the majority, while offering encouraging results, tend to be mitigated in places—for example, with positive learning outcomes but mixed learner feedback, or significant results on some research questions only. Such findings are by no means limited to corpus use in language learning but are commonplace in many human and social sciences, and reflect the complex nature of such research (e.g., Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008). It is thus certainly possible to cherry-pick individual pieces of evidence to counter the use of corpora in language teaching, but a more accurate picture is provided by the weight of studies as a whole, which are clearly highly encouraging. Corpus consultation is thus by no means a panacea, but introduced appropriately it does add an extra set of tools and procedures to the teacher’s (and learner’s) panoply. There is inevitably a great deal of variation in study design. The corpora used vary from small, locally compiled corpora for specific needs to very large published corpora (hundreds of millions of words). They are overwhelmingly monolingual written corpora (including transcribed speech) of native language, with comparatively few using parallel corpora, multimodal corpora, or learner corpora. In the majority of cases, the learners are given access to data on computers; less than a quarter of studies make use of paper-based materials (often in the form of concordance printouts), and even here often as a lead-in to hands-on corpus consultation. Unsurprisingly, the target language is English in nearly all cases, though corpora of Chinese and Japanese, for example, show that a corpus-based approach can adapt to quite different scripts and target language families. Over half the studies to date have been carried out in Europe, and more than half the rest in Asia. The implication of positive results in both contexts is that corpus consultation can be effective in quite different cultures, assuming that it is appropriately adapted to local contexts (Thompson 2001). Three quarters of the studies indicate a disciplinary specialisation. In nearly half of these cases the learners are language specialists (including future teachers, linguists, and translators); the others are specialising in a variety of fields, from human and social sciences to the hard sciences, taking in business, tourism, architecture, et cetera. Very few studies are conducted outside higher education institutions (e.g., in language schools or in a company), and barely a handful concern school-age 304

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populations, even though the results with young learners appear to be as encouraging as elsewhere (e.g., Sealey and Thompson 2004). The conclusion is that age and linguistic sophistication are not necessary conditions for corpus use in language learning. However, logistical limitations and the research focus in higher education may explain the predominance of studies concentrating on advanced or intermediate language learners, although this in itself should not be taken to indicate that corpus consultation is only useful at higher levels of proficiency. Promising results are also found in the small number of studies that work with lower levels—even alleged beginners, in four cases. Those studies using corpora as a reference resource tend to focus on writing, revision, and error-correction, as well as translation. Comparatively few concentrate on spoken production or receptive skills. In terms of language learning per se, it is often claimed that corpus consultation lends itself most clearly to lexicogrammar (e.g., Johns 1991b, 28). This seems to be where most empirical research has been carried out so far, but various studies cover a wide range of other language areas, suggesting that corpora can be successfully used for pronunciation, meaning, vocabulary, collocations, phraseology, grammar, syntax, and so on. Recent years have seen a substantial increase in the use of corpora for discourse purposes, as well as awareness of and sensibility to genre, text type, sociolinguistic variation, and critical analysis. But corpus use has still wider implications, extending to the study of literature (e.g., Kettemann 2011), cultural studies (Boulton 2011a), and indeed any other discipline that works with text. We currently know little about learners’ continued use of corpora over time, and what evidence there is seems to be mixed. Bowker’s (1999) Master’s translation students mostly prefer ‘traditional’ reference resources (notably dictionaries), while Hafner and Candlin’s (2007) law students tend to revert to prior consultation practices towards the end of the course. However, other studies have found learners who continue using corpora: general language learners (Allan 2006), students from other disciplines (Yoon and Hirvela 2004), and students majoring in language (Granath 2009). Littlemore (2002) found that corpus work was among the most popular modules in her ICT course for language teachers, and was viewed even more favourably eight months after the end of the course. The most detailed data in this respect comes from Charles (2012a), who found that, by the end of her programme, more than half the participants used corpora at least once a week on their own initiative and for their own ends. A year later, 50% still used corpora at least once a week (10% daily), with an immediate writing need being the main determining factor (Charles 2012b).

New Debates One area of debate in applied corpus linguistics is the apparent slowness of uptake of methods and materials in mainstream language teaching (Römer 2006; 2009). A survey by Borg (2009) of 500 language teachers around the world showed that research engagement (including reading academic publications) is comparatively rare among practicing teachers for understandable reasons: They may not have easy access to research or training, or they may not have the time or opportunity to implement new methods and techniques. Or they may discover new things, desire to use or to test them, even, but then find their implementation impractical or impossible in their particular working environment. And yet it is teachers who need to become “central stakeholders in the corpus revolution” (McCarthy 2008, 565). Indeed, if researchers are to lament the fact that corpora have not become widespread in language education, then they might start by shifting their own research to the types of learning environments that most need it and taking stock of existing and new practices among language teachers. On another level, while many teachers and learners will spontaneously deploy search techniques closely resembling those of corpus linguistics in everyday Internet use (cf. Boulton and 305

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Tyne 2014), the very nature of corpora and corpus searches may prove to be too daunting. For users who are not used to ‘reading’ a concordance, the presentation can be a problem since there are often no obvious ‘sentences’ to be seen. Many large corpora are designed for researchers rather than language teachers or learners, which impacts the design and user-friendliness as well as the syntax of corpus enquiry, which can be highly complex at times. For these reasons, other, more ‘peripheral’ areas of corpus use, in particular those involving corpus creation, may benefit from being explored more in language education, insofar as they appear to relate more easily to existing activities in the language classroom (Tyne 2012): corpus building, transcription, whiteboard or hand concordancing (Willis 1998). The ‘web as corpus’ debate may go some way towards addressing these issues, though with a number of caveats (see below). As we have seen, the type of input provided by corpora does appear to offer a number of advantages. However, more longitudinal research is needed on a variety of issues. In particular, what are the effects of the various types of corpus use—not just on the specific language items covered, but also on long-term learning of the language as a whole? What use is made of corpora outside class or after the end of the course? Do learners apply corpus techniques to other areas of study in addition to language learning, such as in information retrieval, literary or cultural studies, translation, et cetera? The debate here is whether the use of corpora in language teaching and learning constitutes a mere passing trend or represents a lasting development. Change for the sake of change may be inherent in language education (Decoo 2001), but corpus findings and corpus techniques do reflect some fundamental issues at the heart of language teaching and learning. First, the common-sense view is that better description of the target language can positively influence language teaching. Corpus use is standard practice in almost all fields of linguistics today, such that it seems almost unconceivable to embark on the study of language without some form of empirical investigation, which includes the Internet and general electronic data access. And now that the general climate for the empirical study has been developed, together with its numerous applications, it is, as Sinclair (2004, 272) puts it, “unlikely that corpus evidence can just be ignored.” An obvious area of discussion today is the role played by the Internet as a kind of surrogate corpus. The status of the ‘web-as-corpus’ is not uncontroversial (Kilgarriff and Grefenstette 2003), but there is reason to think that many learners and teachers are already using the web in this way (e.g., Conroy 2010). The traditional view that quite simply the “web is not a corpus” (Sinclair 2005, 21) has now largely given way to the view that, for all intents and purposes, “the corpus of the new millennium is the web” (Kilgarriff 2001, 473). However, the Internet is not a ‘principled’ collection of texts; it contains a lot of ‘noise,’ and general search engines are designed primarily to search for content information (i.e., things one actually desires to know about), while in the case of corpus searches the priority is language (i.e., how that information is presented). Moreover, the types of search that can be carried out online using a commercial search engine are generally less specific than the possibilities offered by corpora. Though regular web use cannot permit the types of detail found in lemmatised, register-specific, era-specific corpora, technology can resolve certain issues: It is possible to introduce a number of filters (e.g., in Google advanced) to reduce noisy data and optimise queries via regular search engines (Boulton and Tyne 2014), and tools such as WebCorp or KwicFinder allow refined searches and more language-friendly presentation of output. However, there is still, quite understandably, a general absence of reliable spoken language transcripts in web searches: Despite some recent advances, the all-purpose label ‘spoken’ can still be found as a genre or register type; the same is not true of written language, where the identification of press sources, popular fiction, classical literature, et cetera, is standard procedure. An additional argument for reappropriating the Internet for language teaching and learning purposes is that it builds on the ordinary use of the Internet by most language learners (e.g., Shei 2008)—that is, learners can recycle a methodology they already use on a day-to-day basis. Indeed, 306

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it would seem somehow counterproductive not to tap into a set of procedures already mastered by learners and teachers.

Implications for Education As we have seen, a frequent observation is that corpora have still to make substantial inroads in mainstream teaching. Römer (e.g., 2009) talks of a “corpus mission” to convince publishers and other decision-makers; key in this process will be the involvement of teachers. Given that they are “central stakeholders” in education, McCarthy (2008) suggests that we should cease to think of them as passive “consumers” of corpora and more as “active participants,” even “corpus lobbyists.” He points out that most of the flow at the moment is one-way, with researchers expecting teachers to take up their work; it is clearly crucial, however, for researchers to be sensitive to the real needs of teachers too (also Römer 2006). So, rather than asking what corpora can do, we should therefore first ask what teachers need and then what corpora may bring them (Frankenberg-Garcia 2012; Tyne 2012). Corpus use is not an end in itself, but is justified only insofar as it is actually useful and relevant (Johansson 2009, 42). Teachers’ needs, as identified by Römer (2009), include better teaching materials and support in creating new ones, as well as native-speaker advice and reliable reference resources. As we have seen, corpora should be able to contribute on all these counts, and indeed, a study by Mukherjee (2004; also Götz and Mukherjee 2006) shows that these are the uses teachers most readily identify with: The teachers in his study quickly saw how corpora could be useful for themselves in the classroom as a permanent informant or at home in preparing or correcting work. We have seen that different learners may react to corpora differently; the same would seem to be true of teachers, both culturally and as individuals. Some may take to DDL immediately; some may need a relatively substantial introduction before adopting it; some may decide it is not appropriate for them or their students even after such an introduction. But in all cases, training is an advantage, and simply rejecting corpus work on the grounds of its newness, for example, would be an unfortunate choice. As Conrad (1999, 3) has it, we owe it to our students to introduce them to corpora, and even those who are initially reluctant may come to find the new practice of corpus consultation to be surprisingly “liberating” (Bernardini 2001, 23). Clearly, though, it is not an option to force new practices on teachers, since this may be a problem in fostering positive attitudes among learners (Yoon and Hirvela 2004, 278; Mauranen 2004); Liu and Jiang (2009), for example, find a strong positive correlation between teachers’ and learners’ motivations. A number of researchers have looked at factors critical to teachers’ uptake of corpus consultation with remarkably similar results: The first obstacles are purely practical or logistical, from availability of computers to using the software, passing through potential issues of discipline and time-wasting, but mostly these are not specific to corpus use and apply to any hands-on use of ICT in the classroom (see Boulton 2009 for discussion). While such concerns are no doubt genuine, the suspicion is that the obstacles relate more to a latent ‘technophobia’ among students and teachers (Seidlhofer 2000, 208). We have also mentioned the gap, real or perceived, between research and teaching practice. However, linguistic corpora and tools can often be ‘subverted’ for pedagogical purposes: The creators of the British National Corpus, for example, never imagined it would be used by individual teachers or learners (Burnard 2002, 67). ‘Pedagogical corpora’ (Braun 2007) are also being produced (e.g., the Elisa corpus, the Business Letters Corpus) and increasing numbers of tools are becoming available on the Internet free for download or online use (see Frankenberg-Garcia 2012), especially user-friendly ones designed in collaboration with teachers and with pedagogical applications very much the main priority (e.g., the Compleat Lexical Tutor, IFAConc, or TextStat). It 307

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is becoming ever easier to build pedagogically relevant corpora for specific purposes, using BootCat to ‘seed’ the web for virtually instantaneous corpora or tools such as AntConc to search more carefully compiled corpora of selected texts. One area, however, that is considerably underdeveloped is the provision of materials and activities which can be adapted for immediate use (Gavioli 2005, 1). Boulton (2010) notes exceptions, such as Tribble and Jones (1997) and Thurstun and Candlin (1997), both of which consist of printed exercises, but it is surprising that there are not more materials to exploit the interactive potential of hands-on corpus use. This is perhaps one of the biggest potential obstacles, as corpus work is considered to be extremely time-consuming, not just in class (e.g., Farr 2008) but especially perhaps in terms of preparation: Johns (1991a) claims to have spent four hours on a single exercise. Inevitably, more efficient tools today reduce such time considerably, but teachers may be unwilling, or simply unable, to invest the time in mastering them. Also, the fact that most existing corpora do not match the communicative needs of many courses may be a problem in getting teachers interested in using them. There has been much debate about training for learners, but it is clearly no less important for teachers. As Johns (1986, 159) noted long ago, “it is important that teachers themselves should have experience in using concordance output if they expect their students to make use of it.” It is frequently noted that effective corpus use requires extensive training for both learners and teachers. However, for the first, a number of short-term experiments show immediate benefits, and it is also possible to devise activities that allow learners to discover corpus techniques and technology at the same time as they learn the language. For both, the problems of training for the technology itself should not be overstated (Sinclair 2004), and there are numerous books (see ‘Further Reading’ section of this chapter), articles (e.g., Gabrielatos 2005; Frankenberg-Garcia 2012), and even on-line tutorials (e.g., ICT4LT; CALPER). But of course, it is not enough for the information simply to be there—it has to reach the intended audience, hence the need for specific training and awareness-raising. In-service training has received the bulk of attention so far. Mukherjee (2004) found that teachers can quickly see the advantages for their own purposes, but often hesitate to use them with their learners. Traditionally, teachers have been in the position of ultimate ‘expert’ on all matters linguistic and pedagogical and, not unsurprisingly perhaps, some teachers (and some learners) inevitably resist changes to these perceived roles. Though such factors should not be underestimated when advocating change, one advantage of corpora is that they allow the teacher to admit to not knowing everything (which can be quite a relief) and to respond to questions by saying, “I’m not sure: let’s find out together” (Johns 1991b, 31). For these reasons, it may be more advantageous to incorporate corpus work in pre-service training (e.g., Gan et al. 1996, 32; Conrad 2000, 556; O’Keeffe et al. 2007; Davis and Russell-Pinson 2004), and reports in this direction seem to be rather more encouraging. Breyer (2009), for example, reports no major problems; simply choosing an appropriate corpus was the largest barrier cited. However, it is clear that the student teachers’ mindset was substantially different from what would be expected in a researcher: selecting items from the textbook syllabus and looking for examples to support them, with a preference for ‘closed’ tasks that limit the possible answers and allow the teacher to retain full control of the activity. This brings us back to the points made earlier: the need to adjust corpus use to teachers’ needs, rather than expecting users to become overnight corpus linguists. In the case of DDL, the ‘learner as researcher’ approach may be particularly off-putting for some; as Mukherjee (2006, 14) points out, “it is doubtful . . . whether this extremely autonomous corpus-based activity can be fruitfully put into practice in the reality of ELT classrooms.” Thus, both teachers and learners may benefit from a gentle introduction for corpus use rather than being dropped in at the deep end. There may then be an argument for presenting corpus work as ‘ordinary’ practice (cf. Boulton 2011a), highlighting the bridges with 308

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existing practices and seeing how corpora can integrate to current, ordinary uses. For example, Scheffler (2007) finds that 30% of teachers already use the Internet for linguistic searches; as they have come to this heuristically, their procedures could no doubt be improved upon with training, and constitute a springboard to more regular corpus use. Corpora and the associated software and techniques constitute one extra set of tools in the teacher’s battery, albeit a potentially powerful one. Suitably chosen and consulted, they can provide answers to many of the teacher’s questions about language in the form of extensive samples that can also be used as the basis for activities, exercises, and tests. Such uses range from the ‘soft,’ which correspond very closely to the traditional, closed-answer, right-or-wrong design favoured by many learners and student teachers (cf. Breyer 2009), to the out-and-out discovery-based DDL activities, which are much more open-ended and allow for greater learner input and creativity (Gabrielatos 2005), and are more learner-centred as opposed to teacher-led. While it may be deemed appropriate to ‘progress’ from highly controlled, teacher-led activities to freer, more learner-led activities involving “a gradual transfer of responsibility and control of the mental activity from the teacher to the learner” (O’Sullivan 2007, 273), there is no single ‘right’ way to use corpora. It is important for each teacher to choose what is appropriate for him/herself given the learners’ needs and available resources. Corpora by no means contain the solutions to all pedagogical problems, and massive use with any group of learners is not necessarily the best way forward. However, the evidence suggests that, sensitively used, they can provide an additional set of tools and techniques for a variety of purposes, can increase language awareness and metacognitive skills, can build on and promote existing ICT skills, and are potentially highly motivating as they allow exploration of individual questions, fostering autonomy with potential for life-long learning. Inevitably, any decision concerning their use has to be a local one, depending on individual and cultural learning and teaching styles, as well as needs and opportunities. Nonetheless, “the corpus revolution is here to stay, and teacher education cannot afford to sideline it” (McCarthy 2008, 573).

Further Reading Important Historical Books Johns, T. and P. King (eds). 1991. Classroom concordancing. English Language Research Journal, 4. Sinclair, J. (ed). 1987. Looking Up: An Account of the COBUILD Project in Lexical Computing. London: Collins, 104–115.

Important Recent Books Boulton, A. and H. Tyne. 2014. Des Documents Authentiques aux Corpus: Démarches pour l’Apprentissage des Langues. Paris: Didier. Flowerdew, L. 2012. Corpora and Language Education. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. O’Keeffe, A. and M. McCarthy. 2010. The Routledge Handbook of Corpus Linguistics. London: Routledge. Reppen, R. 2010. Using Corpora in the Classroom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thomas, J. and A. Boulton (eds). 2012. Input, Process and Product: Developments in Teaching and Language Corpora. Brno: Masaryk University Press.

References Allan, R. 2006. Data-driven learning and vocabulary: Investigating the use of concordances with advanced learners of English. Centre for Language and Communication Studies Occasional Paper, 66. Dublin: Trinity College Dublin. 309

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Bernardini, S. 2001. ‘Spoilt for choice’: A learner explores general language corpora. In G. Aston (ed.), Learning with Corpora. Houston: Athelstan, 220–249. Biber, D., S. Johansson, G. Leech, S. Conrad, and E. Finegan. 1999. Longman Grammar of Spoken and Written English. London: Pearson. Borg, S. 2009. English language teachers’ conceptions of research. Applied Linguistics, 30(3), 358–388. Boulton, A. 2009. Data-driven learning: Reasonable fears and rational reassurance. Indian Journal of Applied Linguistics, 35(1), 81–106. Boulton, A. 2010. Data-driven learning: On paper, in practice. In T. Harris and M. Moreno Jaén (eds.), Corpus Linguistics in Language Teaching. Bern: Peter Lang, 17–52. Boulton, A. 2011a. Bringing corpora to the masses: Free and easy tools for language learning. In N. Kübler (ed.), Corpora, Language, Teaching, and Resources: From Theory to Practice. Bern: Peter Lang, 69–96. Boulton, A. 2011b. Data-driven learning: The perpetual enigma. In S. Goz´dz´-Roszkowski (ed.), Explorations Across Languages and Corpora. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 563–580. Boulton, A. and H. Tyne. 2014. Des Documents Authentiques aux Corpus: Démarches pour l’Apprentissage des Langues. Paris: Didier. Bowker, L. 1999. Exploring the potential of corpora for raising language awareness in student translators. Language Awareness, 8(3–4), 160–173. Braun, S. 2007. Integrating corpus work into secondary education: From data-driven learning to needsdriven corpora. ReCALL, 19(3), 307–328. Breyer, Y. 2009. Learning and teaching with corpora: Reflections by student teachers. Computer Assisted Language Learning, 22(2), 153–172. Burdine, S. and M. Barlow. 2007. Business Phrasal Verbs and Collocations. Houston: Athelstan. Burnard, L. 2002. Where did we go wrong? A retrospective look at the British National Corpus. In B. Kettemann and G. Marko (eds.), Teaching and Learning by Doing Corpus Analysis. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 51–70. Chambers, A. 2009. Les corpus oraux en français langue étrangère: Authenticité et pédagogie. Mélanges Crapel, 31, 15–33. Charles, M. 2012a. ‘Proper vocabulary and juicy collocations’: EAP students evaluate do-it-yourself corpus-building. English for Specific Purposes, 31(2), 93–102. Charles, M. 2012b. Student corpus use: Giving up or keeping on? 10th Teaching and Language Corpora (TaLC) International Conference. Warsaw: Uniwersytet Warszawski, 11–14 July. Cobb, T. and A. Boulton. Forthcoming. Classroom applications of corpus analysis. In D. Biber and R. Reppen (eds.), Cambridge Handbook of Corpus Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Conrad, S. 1999. The importance of corpus-based research for language teachers. System, 27(1), 1–18. Conrad, S. 2000. Will corpus linguistics revolutionize grammar teaching in the 21st century? TESOL Quarterly, 34(3), 548–560. Conroy, M. 2010. Internet tools for language learning: University students taking control of their writing. Australasian Journal of Educational Technology, 26(6), 861–882. Davis, B. and L. Russell-Pinson. 2004. Concordancing and corpora for K–12 teachers: Project MORE. In U. Connor and T. Upton (eds.), Applied Corpus Linguistics: A Multidimensional Perspective. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 147–169. Decoo, W. 2001. On the mortality of language learning methods. L. Barker Lecture. Provo: Brigham Young University. Retrieved from http://www.disseminate.be/mortality.htm Duda, R. and H. Tyne. 2010. Authenticity and autonomy in language learning. Bulletin Suisse de Linguistique Appliquée, 92, 87–106. Farr, F. 2008. Evaluating the use of corpus-based instruction in a language teacher education context: Perspectives from the users. Language Awareness, 17(1), 25–43. Frankenberg-Garcia, A. 2012. Raising teachers’ awareness of corpora. Language Teaching, 45(4), 475–489. Gabrielatos, C. 2005. Corpora and language teaching: Just a fling or wedding bells? Teaching English as a Second Language – Electronic Journal, 8(4), 1–35. Gan, S.-L., F. Low, and N. Fauziah bte Yaakub. 1996. Modeling teaching with a computer-based concordancer in a TESL preservice teacher education program. Journal of Computing in Teacher Education, 12(4), 28–32. Gaskell, D. and T. Cobb. 2004. Can learners use concordance feedback for writing errors? System, 32(3), 301–319. Gavioli, L. 2005. Exploring Corpora for ESP Learning. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Gilquin, G. and S. Gries. 2009. Corpora and experimental methods: A state-of-the-art review. Corpus Linguistics and Linguistic Theory, 5(1), 1–26.

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Götz, S. and J. Mukherjee. 2006. Evaluation of data-driven learning in university teaching: A project report. In S. Braun, K. Kohn, and J. Mukherjee (eds.), Corpus Technology and Language Pedagogy: New resources, New Tools, New Methods. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 49–67. Gougenheim, G. 1958. Dictionnaire Fondamental de la Langue Française. Paris: Didier. Granath, S. 2009. Who benefits from learning how to use corpora? In K. Aijmer (ed.), Corpora and Language Teaching. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 47–65. Hafner, C. and C. Candlin. 2007. Corpus tools as an affordance to learning in professional legal education. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 6(4), 303–318. Hoey, M. 2005. Lexical Priming: A New Theory of Words and Language. London: Routledge. Johansson, S. 2009. Some thoughts on corpora and second-language acquisition. In K. Aijmer (ed.), Corpora and Language Teaching. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 33–44. Johns, T. 1986. Micro-Concord: A language learner’s research tool. System, 14(2): 151–162. Johns, T. 1991a. Should you be persuaded: Two examples of data-driven learning. In T. Johns and P. King (eds.), Classroom Concordancing. English Language Research Journal, 4: 1–16. Johns, T. 1991b. From printout to handout: Grammar and vocabulary teaching in the context of data-driven learning. In T. Johns and P. King (eds.), Classroom Concordancing. English Language Research Journal, 4: 27–45. Johns, T., H.-C. Lee, and L. Wang. 2008. Integrating corpus-based CALL programs and teaching English through children’s literature. Computer Assisted Language Learning, 21(5): 483–506. Kettemann, B. 2011. Tracing the emo side of life: Using a corpus of an alternative youth culture discourse to teach cultural studies. In A. Frankenberg-Garcia, L. Flowerdew, and G. Aston (eds.), New Trends in Corpora and Language Learning. London: Continuum, 44–61. Kilgarriff, A. 2001. Web as corpus. Proceedings of the Corpus Linguistics 2001 Conference. Reprinted 2004 in G. Sampson and D. McCarthy (eds.), Corpus Linguistics: Readings in a Widening Discipline. London: Continuum, 471–473. Kilgarriff, A. and G. Grefenstette (eds). 2003. Web as Corpus. Computational Linguistics, 29(3) special issue. Kirschner, P., J. Sweller, and R. Clark. 2006. Why minimal guidance during instruction does not work: An analysis of the failure of constructivist, discovery, problem-based, experiential, and inquiry-based teaching. Educational Psychologist, 41(2), 75–86. Larsen-Freeman, D. and L. Cameron. 2008. Complex Systems and Applied Linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Littlemore, J. 2002. Setting up a course in ICT for language teachers: Some essential considerations. CALL-EJ Online, 4(1): n.p. Liu, D. and P. Jiang. 2009. Using a corpus-based lexicogrammatical approach to grammar instruction in EFL and ESL contexts. Modern Language Journal, 93(1): 61–78. Mauranen, A. 2004. Speech corpora in the classroom. In G. Aston, S. Bernardini, and D. Stewart (eds.), Corpora and Language Learners. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 195–211. McCarthy, M. 2004. Touchstone: From Corpus to Coursebook. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McCarthy, M. 2008. Accessing and interpreting corpus information in the teacher education context. Language Teaching, 41(4): 563–574. McCarthy, M., J. McCarten, and H. Sandiford. 2006. Touchstone 4: Teacher’s Edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mukherjee, J. 2004. Bridging the gap between applied corpus linguistics and the reality of English language teaching in Germany. In U. Connor and T. Upton (eds.), Applied Corpus Linguistics: A Multidimensional Perspective. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 239–250. Mukherjee, J. 2006. Corpus linguistics and language pedagogy: The state of the art—and beyond. In S. Braun, K. Kohn, and J. Mukherjee (eds.), Corpus Technology and Language Pedagogy: New Resources, New Tools, New Methods. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 5–24. O’Keeffe, A., M. McCarthy, and R. Carter. 2007. From Corpus to Classroom: Language Use and Language Teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. O’Sullivan, Í. 2007. Enhancing a process-oriented approach to literacy and language learning: The role of corpus consultation literacy. ReCALL, 19(3): 269–286. Römer, U. 2006. Pedagogical applications of corpora: Some reflections on the current scope and a wish list for future developments. Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, 54(2): 121–134. Römer, U. 2009. Corpus research and practice: What help do teachers need and what can we offer? In K. Aijmer (ed.), Corpora and Language Teaching. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 83–98. Scheffler, P. 2007. When intuition fails us: The world wide web as a corpus. Glottodidactica, 33: 137–145.

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Sealey, A. and P. Thompson. 2004. What do you call the dull words? Primary school children using corpus-based approaches to learn about language. English in Education, 38(1): 8091. Seidlhofer, B. 2000. Operationalizing intertextuality: Using learner corpora for learning. In L. Burnard and T. McEnery (eds.), Rethinking Language Pedagogy from a Corpus Perspective. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 207–223. Shei, C. 2008. Web as corpus, Google, and TESOL: A new trilogy. Taiwan Journal of TESOL, 5(2): 1–28. Sinclair, J. 1997. Corpus evidence in language description. In A. Wichmann, S. Fligelstone, T. McEnery, and G. Knowles (eds), Teaching and Language Corpora. Harlow: Longman, 27–39. Sinclair, J. (ed.) 2004. How to Use Corpora in Language Teaching. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Sinclair, J. 2005. Corpus and text-basic principles. In M. Wynne (ed.), Developing Linguistic Corpora: A Guide to Good Practice. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1–16. Taylor, J. 2012. The Mental Corpus: How Language is Represented in the Mind. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thompson, G. 2001. Corpus, comparison, culture: Doing the same things differently in different cultures. In M. Ghadessy, A. Henry, and R. Roseberry (eds.), Small Corpus Studies and ELT: Theory and Practice. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 311–334. Thorndike, E. and I. Lorge. 1944. The Teacher’s Word Book of 30,000 Words. New York: Columbia University. Thurstun, J. and C. Candlin. 1997. Exploring Academic English: A Workbook for Student Essay Writing. Sydney: CELTR. Tribble, C. and G. Jones. 1997. Concordances in the Classroom (2nd edition). Houston: Athelstan. Tyne, H. 2012. Corpus work with ordinary teachers: Data-driven learning activities. In J. Thomas and A. Boulton (eds.), Input, Process and Product: Developments in Teaching and Language Corpora. Brno: Masaryk University Press, 114–129. Willis, J. 1998. Concordances in the classroom without a computer: Assembling and exploiting concordances of common words. In B. Tomlinson (ed.), Materials Development in Language Teaching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 44–66. Yoon, H. and A. Hirvela. 2004. ESL student attitudes toward corpus use in L2. Journal of Second Language Writing, 13(4): 257–283.

Corpora and Resources Cited AntConc. http://www.antlab.sci.waseda.ac.jp/software.html BootCat. http://bootcat.sslmit.unibo.it British National Corpus. http://www.natcorp.ox.ac.uk/, http://corpus.byu.edu/bnc/ Business Letters Corpus. http://www.someya-net.com/concordancer CALPER. http://calper.la.psu.edu/corpus.php Compleat Lexical Tutor. http://www.lextutor.ca/vp/eng Corpus of Contemporary American English. http://corpus.byu.edu/coca/ Elisa corpus. http://www.uni-tuebingen.de/elisa/html/elisa_index.html English Profile. http://www.englishprofile.org ICT4LT module 2.4. http://www.ict4lt.org/en/en_mod2–4.htm KwicFinder. http://www.kwicfinder.com Leeds Internet corpus. http://corpus.leeds.ac.uk/internet.html WebCorp. http://www.webcorp.org.uk

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24 Second Language Acquisition and Language Teacher Education Sachiko Yokoi Horii

Introduction Second language acquisition (SLA) researchers, experts in how second languages are learned, have sought ways to contribute to language classroom practices. For instance, sections on practical implications in academic journals are usually devoted to making pedagogical suggestions to language teachers and educators to improve their daily classroom practices. There are many textbooks on SLA that are tailored specifically for language teachers in that they try to provide answers to the practical questions that emerge from classrooms. In addition, as language teacher educators, many SLA researchers offer SLA courses in their language teacher education programs. It is assumed that teachers’ knowledge about L2 acquisition acquired in such courses would be positively reflected in their classroom practices. However, researchers both from SLA and related fields have questioned such “moral ends” or “the social value and educational relevance” (Ortega 2012, 206) of research in SLA (e.g., Ellis 1997; Freeman 2002; Freeman and Johnson 1998; Ortega 2005; 2012). This chapter explores the fundamental issues of research—practice connections (and possibly disconnections) between the field of second language acquisition (SLA) and language classrooms. In reviewing the past and current research in SLA and related fields, we ask what SLA as a research field can offer to teaching practice and how it can impact language teachers and their classroom practices.

Historical Perspectives There has been considerable discussion among SLA researchers about the applicability of SLA theories and research to language classroom practices ever since SLA began to be recognized as an established field in the late 1960s or the early 1970s. In these early years, SLA researchers argued that there needed to be a careful consideration before interpreting and applying research findings to classroom practices. For instance, Tarone, Swain, and Fathman (1976) suggested that researchers not make hasty pedagogical applications, explaining how the field at that time was “still in its infancy” (29). Hatch (1979) echoes Tarone et al. (1976), pointing out “leaps in logic” (123) in such pedagogical applications. She argued that SLA researchers should not be able to answer the kind of pedagogical questions language teachers would normally pose without 313

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making “jumps (or leaps) . . . in explaining how our data applies to the classroom” (137). In the 1980s, Lightbown (1985) provided a brief historical overview of the field and concluded, “our understanding of acquisition is still far from complete, and our ability to make recommendations is still very restricted” (184). Thus, having once been language teachers and/or being language teacher educators themselves (e.g., Hatch 1979; Lightbown 1985; Tarone et al. 1976), many researchers in early studies tried to remain closely connected to language teaching practices by seeking ways to apply research to practice. However, they also argued that the field of SLA was still too young to draw conclusive findings to make practical, pedagogical suggestions at the time. In addition, issues with “leaps in logic” reflect not only the infancy of the field but also the complex, messy nature of language learning and teaching processes. As Hatch (1979) argued, instead of making conclusive pedagogical applications based on narrowly drawn but arbitrarily expanded findings, questions related to applicability also needed to be asked and explored in research for more sound application. Overall, in these early years, empirical investigation of such issues was almost non-existent. As I review below, it was only in the 1990s when such issues/questions began to be theoretically reconsidered and empirically explored.

Core Issues and Key Findings Many researchers agree that educational/pedagogical relevance was still missing in SLA research in the 1990s and even today (e.g., Clarke 1994; Crookes 1997; Ellis 1997; 2010; Freeman and Johnson 1998; Markee 1997; Ortega 2005; 2012). Ellis (1997; 2010) points to the divide between researcher and teacher communities that complicates the interpretation and application processes of relating research findings to practice. For instance, researchers most commonly make efforts to connect their research findings to practice by addressing pedagogical implications in their studies. However, in the symposium section titled “Research and Its Pedagogical Implications” in TESOL Quarterly, Han (2007) raises questions about the ways in which researchers “ostentatiously link the research to practice” (387) in their pedagogical/practical implications sections. She points out that many implications are drawn with insufficient empirical basis and further illustrates how “leaps in logic” are made in research. While the “apply with caution” maxim from the 1970s seems to still apply today, Ortega (2012) updates this notion by realistically suggesting that we apply research findings to practice with caution but not to the extreme. She articulates that studies, particularly the ones conducted in laboratory settings, should clearly state “how this fact limits the range of interpretations, and even more so the applications, that can be legitimately based on such data” (Ortega 2005, 432). Han (2007) also suggests that journals (TESOL Quarterly, in particular, in her case) embrace a wider range of ways to articulate the practical relevance. In recent years, the connections (and disconnections) between research and practice in SLA have been explored more directly. Some researchers examine whether or not SLA-related theories impact language teachers. For instance, MacDonald, Badger, and White (2001) examined the impact of an SLA course on students’ beliefs, assumptions, and knowledge about language learning and teaching in a TESOL program in the United Kingdom. They administered a questionnaire with 12 statements (see Lightbown and Spada 2006) to 55 students, both undergraduate (n = 27) and post-graduate (n = 28), in an SLA course at the beginning and the end of the semester. The questionnaire was also administered twice to a control group of 25 students who were not taking the SLA course. With respect to the students’ beliefs on behaviourist language learning and teaching and grammar-oriented instruction, the results showed that there were significant changes from the start of the course to the end of the course. In particular, after taking the SLA course, the students more strongly disagreed that language learning should take place through imitation, that learners should be exposed only to the language structures they have already learned, and 314

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that learners learn what they are taught (see Lightbown and Spada 2006, xv). On the contrary, no significant difference was found in the control group. The authors concluded that overall, by taking the SLA course, the students had moved away from the behaviourist view of language learning and teaching, which they had held more strongly before they took the course. A similar study with a larger population was done by Busch (2010) using mixed methods. She examined the effects of an SLA course on the beliefs of pre-service teachers she taught at a university in California, USA, over the course of three years. A widely used survey with 23 statements (Horwitz 1988) was administered to 381 participants before and after the course. The participants were also asked to compare their survey results and write about the changes in their beliefs. The survey results demonstrated significant changes in the teachers’ beliefs on 16 statements. In particular, the teachers moved more toward disagreement with statements such as, “If beginning students are permitted to make errors in English, it will be difficult for them to speak later on,” “It is important to repeat and practice a lot,” “You shouldn’t say anything in English until you can say it correctly” (322–323). These results also indicate a decrease in the participants’ inclination toward behaviourism as a result of the SLA course. The qualitative data of written explanations of the pre-service teachers’ beliefs further revealed that their prior language learning experience, the SLA course, and tutoring an ESL student as part of the course requirement impacted their beliefs concerning language learning and teaching. Nassaji (2012) also examined language teachers’ beliefs and understandings of the relationship between SLA and language teaching. He distributed a questionnaire to 410 ESL teachers in Canada and EFL teachers in Turkey and received 201 responses. In addition to 12 statements about their beliefs on SLA, the questionnaire asked participants about their research experience in SLA. The results show that while the teachers believed that knowing about SLA improves language teaching, many also indicated that practical knowledge gained from their teaching experience was more relevant. While these studies offered quantitative evidence of the positive effect of SLA theories on pre-service and practicing language teachers’ knowledge, assumptions, and beliefs about language learning and teaching, some of the critical factors underlying the impact of theory on practice are left unexplored. For instance, while the above studies seem to suggest that SLA courses may possibly have impact on teachers’ beliefs concerning the behaviourist view of language learning and teaching, they do not report on the process—why and how such changes occurred. The changes should be at least partly due to the ways in which the SLA courses were taught, but none of the above studies discussed this fundamental factor or provided enough description of their SLA courses. Overall, these quantitative studies overlook why and how the participant teachers came to change certain assumptions and beliefs, but not others, regarding language learning and teaching. Issues with making connections between SLA research and classroom teaching have also been discussed in the language teacher education field. In the 1998 special issue of TESOL Quarterly on language teacher education, Freeman and Johnson (1998) discussed what constitutes teacher knowledge in language teacher education, based on teacher education theories. They point out that language educators have traditionally remained within a knowledge-transmission model. In this model, teacher knowledge was viewed as an extended body of theories and research findings relevant to language teaching and was selected and transmitted to teachers by researchers as if filling in the “empty vessels” (Freeman and Johnson 1998, 401). The underlying assumption here is that once language teachers learn generalized theories and methods, they should be able to apply the knowledge in their own teaching contexts. This assumption indeed contradicts the reality as repeatedly pointed out by many researchers. In an effort to reflect this reality in our understandings of teacher knowledge, Freeman and Johnson propose to reconceptualise the knowledge base of language teacher education. Drawing from the work in general teacher education, Johnson (1996) 315

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argues that teacher knowledge “is inherently their own, constructed by teachers themselves” (767). Freeman and Johnson (1998) also echo Johnson’s statement as follows: [W]hat teachers know about teaching is largely socially constructed out of the experiences and classrooms from which teachers have come. Furthermore, how teachers actually use their knowledge in classrooms is highly interpretive, socially negotiated, and continually restructured within the classrooms and schools where teachers work. (400) Thus, the focus in language teacher education should shift from the accumulation of theories and research to the local, situated knowledge that is socially and experientially constructed and reconstructed by teachers themselves over time. This change in focus in itself can be a theorizing process. Feiman-Nemser (2001) in general teacher education illustrates this process as follows: The kind of conversation that promotes teacher learning differs from usual modes of teacher talk which feature personal anecdotes and opinions and are governed by norms of politeness and consensus. Professional discourse involves rich descriptions of practice, attention to evidence, examination of alternative interpretations, and possibilities. As teachers learn to talk about teaching in specific and disciplined ways and to ask hard questions of themselves and others, they create new understandings and build a new professional culture. (1043) This framework implies that teacher knowledge does not devalue or ignore theory, but instead suggests that teachers engage in theorizing themselves through professional discussions to generate their own knowledge. Theories and research, then, may provide teachers with tools and language to articulate and make sense of their practices in specific and disciplined ways (see Freeman 2002; Johnson 1996). Freeman (2002) suggests that such opportunities may be provided by “connecting and integrating the social contexts of professional education with those of the classroom and the school” (7). The question then is, how can social contexts of SLA courses in language teacher education programs connect and integrate those of classrooms? Or more generally, how can SLA inform classroom practices? Angelova (2005) examined a particular instructional tool used in her SLA course in an MA TESOL program at a U.S. university. She begins the study with a description of her own experience as a first-year instructor. She faced challenges in teaching the course in a traditional way when assigning students to read a number of research articles and do a presentation on an SLA-related topic. She reports that many of her practicing ESL teachers generally complained about disconnections between the theories they learned and their own beliefs regarding teaching practices. After her “very difficult first year” (27), Angelova realized that she needed to integrate “actual classroom experiences” into her SLA course so that the students could reflect on their own experiences in order to internalize and further apply what they learn about SLA into their own classrooms. She also found that 70% of her practicing ESL teacher-students were monolingual. She decided to offer her students foreign language learning experiences through 15-minute Bulgarian lessons within the SLA course. Occasionally, Angelova gave language activities that were planned based on specific SLA theories and asked her students to change them based on what they knew about SLA. She also required the students to keep reflective journals on their Bulgarian learning experiences from any SLA perspectives of their choice. In her qualitative analysis of the data collected from 30 participant-teachers, which included surveys, reflective journals, and audio-recordings of several classroom discussions, Angelova illustrated how their reflections and discussions of their language learning experiences were translated into their 316

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own classrooms. She showed how the Bulgarian mini-lessons provided the students with opportunities to internalize SLA concepts in more practical ways. For instance, at one time, students were learning how to introduce themselves in Bulgarian. Angelova presented two different types of activities using a mini dialogue. The first one involved asking each student to stand up and repeat the dialogue she read to the students, correcting their pronunciation and asking them to repeat after her until they got it right. In the second activity, the students sat in a circle and practiced how to ask and answer questions while tossing a toy. This time, she did not correct their errors at all. Angelova reports that the students reflected on how some of them were intimidated by the way the instructor corrected them in the first activity, while others were frustrated by not being corrected in the second. They further discussed how the reactions of their students might differ from their own reactions to each activity. Angelova also found that some of the SLA theories were simply not applicable to her students; even after student presentations, they could not find ways to apply certain theories to their own classrooms. Overall, Angelova concluded that the use of mini-lessons led to a better understanding of SLA concepts than the traditional lecture style. In their qualitative case study of nine graduate students in a graduate level SLA course at a U.S. university, Vásquez and Harvey (2010) examined how their students’ knowledge and beliefs about a particular SLA topic, corrective feedback, might change as they engaged in their course assignments. Vásquez and Harvey created an assignment in which the students were to conduct a partial replication of Lyster and Ranta’s (1997) classroom research on corrective feedback. The research replication project included a transcription of their own videotaped classroom teaching, data analysis using Lyster and Ranta’s codes, and write-up of a research report. The students were also asked to keep reflective journals. In addition, after the semester ended, a small group of students participated in a focus-group interview. Thus, the data that the researchers collected mainly came from the students’ assignments, which included reflective essays, open-ended questionnaire responses, researcher notes, reflective journals, and transcription of the focus group interview. The findings showed that while the students initially demonstrated minimal knowledge about corrective feedback, with more concerns about its affective dimension (fearing that corrective feedback might negatively impact learners’ self-esteem), later in the semester, particularly after conducting the research replication project, they demonstrated “a more nuanced and sophisticated understanding of its [ = corrective feedback] role and function, and its interaction with student uptake” (Vásquez and Harvey 2010, 430). For instance, they paid less attention to the affective dimension of corrective feedback, but instead began to explore relationships between corrective feedback, student uptake, and error types. The authors also described how the students were able to make “personal and meaningful connections” (437) between what they learned in the SLA course and their own classroom practices, as well as connections between their research findings and the original study. In addition, the students also reported that the research provided them with the language and concepts to better understand and articulate their own practices. For example, one of the participants reflected on her practice and her attempt to change as follows: At the time of teaching, I did not realize just how much one student was dominating the talk time, and how little negotiation of meaning was taking place. This has impacted my teaching; I started using more group work and student-student interaction in the classroom . . . This helped encourage more students to speak and negotiate for meaning, and it made the class a little more interesting for the students. (434) Overall, Vásquez and Harvey concluded that their research replication project served as a hands-on, practical tool to provide teachers with chance to make personal connections between research and their own practices. 317

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Several studies report how action/teacher research may be able to bridge the gap between SLA theory/research and practice. An SLA researcher who specializes in “theoretically motivated, hypothesis-testing quantitative research” (36), McDonough (2006), observed her students being more interested in L2 pedagogy than in SLA research and decided to explore how action research in a graduate seminar at a U.S. university might have an impact on the professional development of graduate teaching assistants. In her seminar designed specifically to explore action research, seven graduate teaching assistants participated in this study. The participants investigated topics of their choice concerning, for instance, grammar instruction, classroom participation, or activity transitions. As for data collection, they were asked to submit professional journals, reflective essays, action research projects that involved oral presentations and written reports, and course feedback through an oral focus group and a written course evaluation. The researcher also kept field notes. The findings indicated that through their action research projects, the participants were able to expand their views of research, respond to peer collaboration more positively, and further implement new L2 techniques based on their reflections. However, McDonough reports that although the participants recognized its usefulness for their professional development, “they had some lingering reservations about action research and their concerns reflected the values and standards associated with the more dominant positivistic paradigm in educational research” (40). The author attributes the students’ narrow understanding of research to the insufficient exposure to this kind of research in their graduate programs, as well as to “the relative lack of action research studies in the top-tier journals” (40). Overall, this study did not directly concern the connection between SLA research and practice. However, it documents the difficulty of and further calls for promoting a paradigm shift in understanding what counts as research. In their “modified” (because of the researcher’s active involvement in this study) action research, Rankin and Becker (2006) investigated the connection between research and practice, documenting how and to what extent reading the SLA research impacted a novice graduate instructor’s (= Becker’s) classroom practice in his German class at Princeton University, USA. For this study, the authors focused on the research on corrective feedback. In his action research project, Becker underwent three phases: Classroom observations (Phase 1), reading and planning (Phase 2), and implementation (Phase 3). In Phase 1, the authors first documented how corrective feedback was provided by Becker in his German class before he read any research articles. In Phase 2, he read three research articles on corrective feedback, assigned by Rankin, and created his own action plan to improve his instructional skills on corrective feedback. In Phase 3, Becker implemented the action plan and reflected on how it went. Rankin also observed Becker’s classes in Phase 1 and 3. The authors report that as Becker went through the three phases, he became more consistent in supplying corrective feedback to his students. In addition, they found that by reading the research articles, Becker was provided with new vocabularies and concepts to analyse, articulate, and understand his instruction, relating, in particular, to corrective feedback. For instance, when he reflected on or discussed his teaching, terms such as “salience,” “recast,” and “self-correction” were found in Becker’s language only after reading the articles (365). Overall, through the action research project, the SLA research led to instructional improvement as well as to a more in-depth understanding of the instructor’s own classroom practices. Thus, these studies suggest that action research may serve as a promising alternative tool to bridge the gap between research and practice. However, Allwright (2005) argues that even teacher research such as action research may not be a viable alternative (355) for full-time, practicing teachers. When Allwright worked with language teachers in Brazil to lead their research projects, he realized that their classroom-based SLA research projects were pushing teachers too close to “burnout” (354). Allwright argues that this is because academic research, be it classroom-based SLA research or action research, requires 318

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too much of teachers’ time to learn and acquire the research skills necessary to carry out research projects that are “doubtfully usable” (354) in their classroom teaching. He further continues: [I]t [ = Action research] appeared to be something that could be fitted into an in-service teacher development course, where good support was available, and be used as the framework for a final project. This project would be done with great enthusiasm and at a level of energy expenditure that it would not be possible to repeat after the course was over and the teacher was back in the classroom full-time. (355) Indeed, findings in both McDonough (2006) and Rankin and Becker (2006) support Allwright’s argument. The action research projects in these studies were the final projects for the courses in which the participants were enrolled. In addition, all the participants were graduate students who received ample support from university instructors/researchers and had easy access to academic literature. These graduate students would “read and respond to the texts . . . with an eye to critical analysis and conceptual synthesis” (Rankin and Becker 2006, 363) and thus, had no issues with reading and processing research articles. McDonough (2006) examined whether the graduate seminar on action research had “lingering effects” (42) on the graduate instructors. Thirteen months after the seminar ended, she sent a follow-up message to the seven participants via email, asking whether they did anything else with the project after the course, whether they have done any other research projects, and whether they think the action research had a persistent impact on their professional development (42). According to their responses, all the participants agreed that the action research projects had a lasting impact on their professional development. Five out of seven participants continued their action research projects after the course was over in order to present them at a language teacher education conference. However, only one participant expanded her action research for her master’s thesis; the rest of the participants did not conduct any other action research projects. It is clear that the fundamental issues with the research—practice connections that Allwright (2005) pointed out—were less explicit in McDonough’s study. Allwright’s (2003; 2005) work, known as exploratory practice, grew out of his own experience working with practicing teachers on classroom research projects in Brazil, Hong Kong, and the United Kingdom. He observed how traditional academic research might exploit already overworked language teachers’ lives by requiring extra time and energy of them in order to learn research skills and conduct research. In response to such realities, he proposed an ethically and epistemologically motivated approach to practitioner research designed for teachers. Exploratory practice focuses on the relationship between knowledge and life and aims to “work to understand, rather than to problem-solve; and to understand life in the language classroom, rather than other aspects of language teaching and learning” (360). Allwright (2005) firmly claims: . . . [R]esearch in the human field of language teaching and learning is necessarily and essentially, first and foremost an ethical and an epistemological matter. If that leaves us apparently vulnerable on the technical side, we are comfortable with that. If teachers and researchers interested in EP [ = exploratory practice] want practical help in putting it into practice, then we are ready to help and have plenty of ideas to propose. (362) With an ethical and different epistemological perspective, exploratory practice is now an established approach, developed over the course of a few decades. For example, in 2003, in a 319

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special issue of Language Teaching Research devoted to exploratory practice, a variety of exploratory practice studies were presented, including two dissertation studies. More recently, Tarone and Swierzbin (2009) developed a set of SLA analytical tools in order to provide language teachers (and researchers) with “basic skills and tools for the analysis of learner language” (xvi). Providing a DVD of six English language learners (and two native speakers) completing six communicative tasks, the two SLA researchers lay out five different analytical frameworks to analyse learner language in terms of error analysis and interlanguage, developmental sequence, interaction (e.g., corrective feedback), referential communication, and language complexity. The point seems to lie in what and how research and theory may be introduced to language teachers in exploratory practice research so they can internalize and use it as a tool to understand what they do in their own classrooms. Overall, quantitative studies offer evidence of the positive impact of SLA research on classroom practices, while qualitative studies explore a range of ways to integrate two different domains, documenting how teachers were provided with time, space, and tools (language, concepts, research techniques and opportunities) in their university courses to reflect on and make sense of what they do in their classrooms and/or how learners learn second languages. Angelova (2005) and Vásquez and Harvey (2010) proposed practical ways to integrate the SLA findings and research techniques into university courses. McDonough (2006) and Rankin and Becker (2006) report on their action research courses to examine how research may be integrated into classroom practices. All these studies were based in university, often graduate level, courses, seeking ways to integrate language classroom contexts into their university contexts. Allwright (2003; 2005) points to the realities of the language teaching profession and fully questions the feasibility of the existing practitioner research approaches proposed by researchers instead of teachers. In his framework of exploratory practice, he primarily considers teacher knowledge in relation to life in the language classroom, not necessarily the research–practice connections. In this framework, research takes place in classrooms in a way not to exploit the teacher but, instead, to serve her by providing her with a better understanding of what she does in her classroom. As I discuss in the next section, a wider range of practitioner research approaches should be creatively explored and embraced for “research about practice could perhaps most sensibly [emphasis added] conducted by practitioners themselves working to understand their own practices” (Allwright 2005, 357).

Research Approaches As I have reviewed in the previous section, a range of approaches, methods, and techniques have been employed to examine the connections between SLA research and classroom practice. The key question researchers generally raise is whether and how SLA has impact on language teachers and their classroom practices. On one end of the methodological spectrum is the quantitative approach. Studies such as MacDonald et al. (2001) and Nassaji (2012) used surveys and questionnaires to reveal whether SLA courses have an impact on teacher knowledge, assumptions, and beliefs about language learning and teaching. Busch (2010) chose mixed methods in order to quantitatively examine the effect of the SLA course on teachers’ knowledge and beliefs while qualitatively including their explanations about their beliefs in the analysis. As Angelova (2005) cautioned, questions for teachers in surveys need to be carefully crafted because the wording of each question does impact the results. As part of her larger study (although she did not include any quantitative data in the study under discussion), Angelova (2005) conducted a survey at the beginning and end of her SLA course. She used two different sets of questions for each survey. The first survey used almost no technical terms, but the second survey directly asked about SLA concepts. Angelova reports that while the participants shared their opinions on every question in the first survey, in the second survey, they “did not recognize or were not able to explain 70 percent 320

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of the concepts” (31). Of course, this does not necessarily mean that the teachers had not internalized the concepts they could not answer; it could be due to the way in which they learned those concepts. In fact, Angelova’s qualitative analysis documents moments of teacher learning in her SLA course. Since the participants learned several SLA concepts through learning Bulgarian in mini-lessons, they might have internalized those concepts without using many technical terms. Thus, when employing survey as a method of the study, the way in which each question is presented to the participants needs to coincide with how they learned SLA research and theories. On the other end of the spectrum is the qualitative approach. Angelova (2005) and Vásquez and Harvey (2010) detailed how their instructional approaches played an important role in bridging the gap between SLA research and classroom practices. Both studies are a semester long investigation of their teacher-participants’ learning processes. The researchers included the students’ course assignments, such as reflective journals and essays, as well as recordings of classroom and group discussions, as part of the data set. They also included open-ended questionnaire responses in their analyses. These studies mainly investigated the connections between SLA research and language teacher knowledge, beliefs, and assumptions. Although it may be assumed that teacher learning should be almost directly translated into classroom teaching, teacher education research suggests a far more complex reality. For instance, Zeichner and Tabachnik (1981) pointed out that what teachers learn in university-level teacher education is mostly “washed out,” or has little impact on their teaching. However, Grossman (1990) demonstrated that those who finished a university-level teacher education program were better prepared to teach than those who did not. In other words, the ways in which teacher knowledge is formed may largely impact how the acquired knowledge is translated into classroom practices. Then, it is critical to examine how teachers not only understand what they learn, but also interpret and translate it into what they do in their classrooms. Ultimately, classroom practices must be included in the analyses in order to examine the connections between teacher learning and teaching practices. Freeman and Johnson’s (1998) call for reconceptualization of the knowledge-base of language teacher education added another layer of fundamental, epistemological perspective to our investigation of the research–practice connections in SLA. If we are to understand that teacher knowledge is socially and experientially constructed by language teachers themselves, research projects must be designed accordingly. Instead of asking whether and how SLA has an impact on language teachers’ knowledge, the questions should ask how language teachers construct their own knowledge regarding SLA. In this perspective, language teachers play a central role in shaping their own knowledge. The methods that align well with this framework would be teacher/practitioner research in which teachers conduct their own research in their own classrooms, exploring topics of their interests. Practitioner research can take many forms. In McDonough (2006) and Rankin and Becker (2006), teacher participants successfully conducted their own action research projects as part of their graduate course assignments. Both studies collected qualitative data, including journal entries, reflective essays, and field notes from the SLA classroom discussions, as well as from the actual classroom observations. Another interesting form of practitioner research is selfstudy methodology. Martel (2012) employed this methodology in order to explore how his work as a university student-teacher supervisor was shaped by the way in which his language teacher education program was designed, which combined different second language contexts (English as second language, foreign language, and bilingual/immersion). His data collection and analysis included transcribing and/or coding of post-observation conferences, his reflective journal, and syllabi from courses he had taken or taught. This methodology allows teachers and teacher educators to explore “self and the arena of practice, between self in relation to practice and the others who share the practice setting” (Bullough and Pinnegar 2001, 15) and typically takes the form of a narrative. 321

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Allwright’s (2003; 2005) framework of exploratory practice challenges and further expands the traditional, narrow understanding of what counts as research by centering on the knowledge and life of the teacher. The primary purpose of exploratory practice is to allow language teachers to understand their own practices. As such, the guiding principles are designed accordingly, proposing that teachers prioritize their quality of life, collectively work in groups, “minimize the extra effort of all sorts for all concerned” (Allwright 2003, 360), and the like. Thus, the exploratory practice studies that appear in academic journals explicitly maintain this perspective. When their research agenda involves academic research theories and methods/techniques, their use is clearly addressed (e.g., Miller 2003). Despite the growing body of teacher-centered research, more is needed to inform teacher educators how their pedagogy may be connected to teacher learning and ultimately the classroom teaching.

New Debates Over the course of the last few decades, the research–practice connections in SLA have been widely explored. The issues have been extensively discussed from the very beginning. A wide range of approaches, methods, and techniques has been used to examine the connections/disconnections of the two domains. More recent research proposes new frameworks that foreground practitioners/ teachers in the process of teacher learning, while promoting their local, socially, and experientially constructed knowledge. While current research has advanced our understanding of language teacher knowledge with regards to SLA, more research needs to be done in order to create a robust empirical base for better understanding and conceptualization of the SLA research and classroom practice connections, researcher–practitioner relationships, and, in general, the knowledge-base of language teacher education. First, the research needs to include actual classroom practices in its data collection and analysis to more directly examine how what teachers learn impacts how they actually teach. In addition, more longitudinal studies are necessary to explore and document the persistence of such professional development opportunities for more sound, nuanced understandings of individual teachers’ own situations. Second, the researcher–language teacher relationships must also be examined in more depth. As Ellis (2010) proposed, we should look at the research–practice connections in SLA “in terms of the actors involved rather than, abstractly, in terms of the kinds of actions they perform” (190). In his framework, classroom researchers and teacher educators function as mediators between SLA researchers and language teachers. These actors usually hold multiple roles. For instance, SLA researchers typically teach SLA courses in language teacher education programs. In such cases, they perform both researcher and teacher educator roles. Alternatively, many university-based SLA researchers teach not only SLA courses but also second languages in language departments. In this case, the SLA researcher, language teacher educator, and language teacher roles all coincide. Thus, more research is needed to examine how the multiple roles that these actors perform variably intersect and, overall, illuminate the complexities of the SLA research–language teaching connections. Finally, in light of the reconceptualised knowledge base of language teacher education, we ask how language teachers construct their own knowledge about language teaching. Does teachers’ local knowledge interact with SLA research and theories? If so, how? Ellis (2010) admits that the contribution of teacher/practitioner research to the SLA research “is well-taken but probably not realistic” (189). McDonough (2006) points to the lack of action research studies in the top-tier journals (40): “I easily located articles about the principles, theory, or value of action research, but I had more difficulty finding published action research studies” (33). Ellis (1997) also reports: Teacher research is unlikely to meet the rigorous requirements of SLA gatekeepers such as the editors of journals like Studies in Second Language Acquisition. Foster’s (1993) pseudoexperimental study of task-based meaning, for example, did not survive the in-house editing 322

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of this journal. Yet this article, the product of teacher research, raises an important issue for SLA—namely, whether, the kind of meaning negotiation that tasks provide in laboratory settings also occurs in an real classroom setting. (87) Certainly, more teacher research should be published in academic journals. At the same time, SLA researchers’ advocacy and engagement in this line of research would not only expand the research community itself but also give them chance for “epistemological ‘world’-traveling” (Ortega 2012, 214) to possibly make their own research more ethically sensitive and theoretically and/or empirically more valid within the research community (Ortega 2012; see also Foster 1998).

Implications for Education Since the 1990s, the field of SLA has undertaken epistemological expansions (e.g., Ortega 2005; 2012) and at the intersection of SLA and language teacher education, new frameworks have been presented to better understand SLA and language teaching. However, despite the epistemological diversity achieved in the SLA field, researchers are generally reluctant to change, and thus, “the bulk of current research continues with business as usual” (Ortega 2012, 216). Ortega (2012) argues that the epistemological diversity should guide researchers to seriously consider the moral ends of research. The consideration of the moral ends of SLA research would involve taking implication sections far more seriously in our research. Those who offer SLA courses in teacher education programs may explore ways in which teacher learning can socially and experientially take place. SLA researchers who take on teacher education responsibilities may engage in action/ teacher research themselves (e.g., McDonough 2006). Overall, more theoretical, empirical, and ethical investigation of teacher knowledge and practice will advance our understandings of teacher learning and teaching.

Further Reading Allwright, D. (2005). Developing principles for practitioner research: The case of exploratory practice. Modern Language Journal, 89(3), 353–366. Ellis, R. (2010). Second language acquisition, teacher education and language pedagogy. Language Teaching, 43(2), 182–201. Ellis, R. (2012). Language Teaching Research and Language Pedagogy. Malden, MA: Wiley/ Blackwell. Freeman, D., and Johnson, K. E. (1998). Reconceptualizing the knowledge-base of language teacher education. TESOL Quarterly, 32(3), 397–417. Hatch, E. (1979). Apply with caution. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 2(1), 123–143. Ortega, L. (2012). Epistemological diversity and moral ends of research in instructed SLA. Language Teaching Research, 16(2), 206–226.

References Allwright, R. L. (2003). Exploratory practice: Rethinking practitioner research in language teaching. Language Teaching Research, 7, 113–141. Allwright, D. (2005). Developing principles for practitioner research: The case of exploratory practice. Modern Language Journal, 89(3), 353–366. Angelova, M. (2005). Using Bulgarian mini-lessons in an SLA course to improve the KAL of American ESL teachers. In N. Bartels (Ed.), Applied Linguistics and Language Teacher Education (Vol. 4, pp. 27–41). New York: Springer. Bullough, R. V., and Pinnegar, S. (2001). Guidelines for quality in autobiographical forms of self-study research. Educational Researcher, 30(3), 13–21. 323

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Busch, D. (2010). Pre-service teacher beliefs about language learning: The second language acquisition course as an agent for change. Language Teaching Research, 14(3), 318–337 Clarke, M. A. (1994). The dysfunctions of the theory/practice discourse. TESOL Quarterly, 28(1), 9–26. Crookes, G. (1997). SLA and language pedagogy: A socioeducational perspective. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 19(1), 93–116. Ellis, R. (1997). SLA and language pedagogy: An educational perspective. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 19(1), 69–92. Ellis, R. (2010). Second language acquisition, teacher education and language pedagogy. Language Teaching, 43(2), 182–201. Feiman-Nemser, S. (2001). From preparation to practice: Designing a continuum to strengthen and sustain teaching. Teachers College Record, 103(6), 1013–1055. Foster, P. (1998). A classroom perspective on the negotiation of meaning. Applied Linguistics, 19, 1–23. Freeman, D. (2002). The hidden side of the work: Teacher knowledge and learning to teach. Language Teaching, 35(1), 1–13. Freeman, D., and Johnson, K. E. (1998). Reconceptualizing the knowledge-base of language teacher education. TESOL Quarterly, 32(3), 397–417. Grossman, L. (1990). The making of a teacher: Teacher knowledge and teacher education. New York: Teachers College Press. Han, Z. (2007). Pedagogical implications: Genuine or pretentious? TESOL Quarterly, 41(2), 387–393. Hatch, E. (1979). Apply with caution. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 2(1), 123–143. Horwitz, E. K. (1988). The beliefs about language learning of beginning university foreign language students. The Modern Language Journal, 72(3), 283–294. Johnson, K. E. (1996). The role of theory in L2 teacher education. TESOL Quarterly, 30(4), 765–771. Lightbown, M. (1985). Great expectations: Second-language acquisition research and classroom teaching. Applied Linguistics, 6(2), 173–189. Lightbown, M., and Spada, N. (2006). How languages are learned (3rd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lyster, R., and Ranta, L. (1997). Corrective feedback and learner uptake: Negotiation of form in communicative classrooms. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 19(1), 37–66. MacDonald, M., Badger, R., and White, G. (2001). Changing values: what use are theories of language learning and teaching? Teaching and Teacher Education, 17(8), 949–963. Markee, N. (1997). Second language acquisition research: A resource for changing teachers’ professional cultures? The Modern Language Journal, 81(1), 80–93. Martel, J. (2012). Looking across contexts in foreign language student teacher supervision: A self-study. The New Educator, 8(3), 243–257. McDonough, K. (2006). Action research and the professional development of graduate teaching Assistants. The Modern Language Journal, 90(1), 33–47. Miller, I. K. (2003). Researching teacher-consultancy via exploratory practice. Language Teaching Research, 7(2), 201–219. Nassaji, H. (2012). The relationship between SLA research and language pedagogy: Teachers’ perspectives. Language Teaching Research, 16(3), 337–365. Ortega, L. (2005). For what and for whom is our research? The ethical as transformative lens in instructed SLA. The Modern Language Journal, 89(3), 427–443. Ortega, L. (2012). Epistemological diversity and moral ends of research in instructed SLA. Language Teaching Research, 16(2), 206–226. Rankin, J., and Becker, F. (2006). Does reading the research make a difference? A case study of teacher growth in FL German. Modern Language Journal, 90(3), 353–372. Tarone, E., Swain, M., and Fathman, A. (1976). Some limitations to the classroom applications of current second language acquisition research. TESOL Quarterly, 10, 19–31. Tarone, E., and Swierzbin, B. (2009). Exploring learner language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vásquez, C., and Harvey, J. (2010). Raising teachers’ awareness about corrective feedback through research replication. Language Teaching Research, 14(4), 421–443. Zeichner, K., and Tabachnick, B. R. (1981). Are the effects of university teacher education washed out by school experiences? Journal of Teacher Education, 32(3), 7–11.

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Part 6

Language Instruction and Assessment

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25 Primary Language Use in Foreign Language Classrooms Jennifer Dailey-O’Cain and Grit Liebscher

In this chapter, we provide an overview of the research on the use of the primary language in foreign language classrooms. These classrooms include both traditional foreign language classrooms in primary, secondary, and post-secondary schools and content instruction that is taught in a foreign language. The primary language is considered to be the main or common language in the community, which is often (though certainly not in all cases) the native language of most learners. Taking into account the contributions of educational researchers, foreign language pedagogy scholars, and applied sociolinguists, we detail the contributions on a controversy in which one side has historically regarded the primary language as something that was simply inappropriate for the foreign language classroom, while the other side tends to regard it as something that could in fact be beneficial to learning and communication. Ultimately, however, we feel compelled to argue in favour of the value of allowing the use of the primary language in foreign language classrooms, on the basis of three sets of findings that emerge from the existing body of literature on the subject. First, the most reliable research evidence suggests that principled use of the primary language can be a cognitive tool in the learning of the target language; second, allowing emerging bilinguals to alternate between the language they are learning and the language they use every day allows them to behave as fluent bilinguals do naturally around the world; and third, using two languages in the same conversation both accords more naturally with bilingual identities in general and affords learners a tool that they can use to construct identities in conversation. After an overview of the findings from these three areas, we move on to a discussion of the most recent contentious issues among researchers and of the most common research methodologies in the field, and we conclude with the implications for education.

Historical Perspectives The notion that the learner’s primary language is to be avoided in the foreign language classroom has been persistent throughout the language pedagogy revolutions of the 20th century and beyond. In the scholarly literature, this notion is more often simply assumed rather than stated outright—limited to remarks such as Polio and Duff ’s (1994) “using the TL as much as possible is important” (324) but that has not made its effects on the language pedagogy of the late 20th 327

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and early 21st centuries any less profound. This is largely due to the strong influence of this notion on educational policy, reflected in documents such as the official statement from Canada’s Education Foundation of Atlantic Provinces, cited in McMillan and Turnbull (2009), in which it is stated that “it is essential that [the target language] be the only language of communication in the classroom” (15). The most extreme version of this notion—the idea that there is no pedagogical or communicative value at all in the use of the primary language and that the target language needs to be used for all purposes—has been dubbed the “virtual position” (Macaro 1997). We can trace the theoretical roots of the virtual position back to two areas of research in second language acquisition: first, the work on contrastive analysis in the mid-20th century, which argued that the bulk of the problems in learning a target language resulted from interference from the primary language (e.g., Lado 1957), and second, the body of literature on input and interaction from the 1980s and 1990s (e.g., Krashen 1985; Ellis and He 1999), which showed that the amount of target language input ultimately has an effect on learners’ target-language development. Toward the end of the 20th century, this combination of theories paved the way for communicative pedagogies that prescribed as little use of the primary language as possible, in the hopes that the end learning result would be a compartmentalization of the two languages in the learners’ minds in a kind of coordinate bilingualism, with little to no influence from one language on the other (Cook 2001, 406–408). It was in the late 20th and the beginning of the 21st century that challenges to the virtual position began to be issued. Most obviously, the primary language was stated to be simply more efficient for the explanation of complex notions (Cook 2001; Celik 2003; Ferguson 2003), especially when the learners’ level of proficiency in the target language was low (Giauque and Ely 1990; Nunan and Lamb 1996; Macaro 1997). If those were the only benefits to using the primary language in the foreign language classroom, of course, it would have been easy to disregard it as something done only by lazy teachers and/or learners who are unwilling to put up with a few inefficiencies in order to communicate exclusively in the target language. However, as will be discussed in the following section, there is a growing body of evidence that there are many other benefits to the principled use of the primary language in the foreign language classroom beyond efficiency when discussing complex notions.

Core Issues and Key Findings It can be said that the current state of inquiry into primary language use in foreign language classrooms came about at the intersection of two distinctly different research communities, both concerned with the confluence of the bilingual and the social: on the one hand, language pedagogy scholars interested in sociocultural theory and ecological perspectives, and on the other hand, sociolinguists interested in conversational code-switching. While there were, of course, a number of key early works that had already called the virtual position into question by the mid-to-late 1990s (e.g., Kramsch 1995; Macaro 1997; Antón and DiCamilla 1998), interest ballooned around the turn of the 21st century and beyond when a large number of pedagogy scholars turned to the sociolinguistics literature (and sociolinguists to the literature on pedagogy, especially sociocultural theory) in order to help explain what they were observing in their classrooms. The effect of this meeting of minds was ultimately to link classroom code-switching more strongly with the kind of code-switching that takes place in bilingual communities. Of course, researchers still differ on how deep this connection between bilingual and classroom code-switching is and on what it should imply for classroom pedagogy. However, the notion that language learners should be seen as aspiring bilinguals (rather than as simply poor imitators of target-language monolinguals), and should therefore be permitted to behave as bilinguals do, is nearly always 328

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emphasized in this more recent work (e.g., Moore 2002; Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain 2004; Üstünel and Seedhouse 2005; Edstrom 2006; Liang 2006; Littlewood and Yu 2011 de la Campa and Nassaji 2009; Turnbull and Dailey-O’Cain 2009a; van der Meij and Zhao 2010; Levine 2011; Majer 2011; DiCamilla and Antón 2012; Oguro 2012; Grasso 2012; Tian and Macaro 2012). This is a notable point of agreement in such a new and diverse area of inquiry, but it is not the only one. In fact, as alluded to in the previous section, current researchers in the field of primary language use in foreign language classrooms are more or less unanimous about at least one point of pedagogy as well: a rejection of the virtual position that prescribes a complete ban on the primary language. This stance has come about as a result of a combination of findings from different corners of the field. First, the use of the primary language has been found to assist cognitively both in thinking about learning and in learning itself: It better enables learners to think about language learning in their familiar language of thought (Macaro 2005); it serves as a cognitive tool that helps negotiate meaning in the target language—for example, through scaffolding (Antón and DiCamilla 1998; Lantolf 2000; Swain and Lapkin 2000); and it facilitates the cognitive process of target language intake (Dickson 1992; van Lier 1995; Long 1996; Py 1996; Turnbull 2001). Second, the use of the primary language in the classroom also allows learners to code-switch in ways that are natural for bilingual speakers: not only by providing them with a multilingual model of communication (Blyth 1995; Chavez 2003; Cook 2005; Levine 2005; Levine 2011), but also by equipping them with a tool that allows them to use multiple languages for a range of conversational functions that fluent bilinguals use them for (Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain 2004; Üstünel and Seedhouse 2005; Dailey-O’Cain and Liebscher 2006; Dailey-O’Cain and Liebscher 2009). Finally, there are also identity-related benefits: Multilingual classrooms allow learners to adopt identities that take into account both their monolingual pasts and their bilingual futures (Kramsch 1995; Castellotti and Moore 1997; Moore 2002; Levine 2003; Liang 2006), and when code-switching is permitted, it can in and of itself be used as a tool in identity construction (Belz 2003; Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain 2007; Ellwood 2008; Fuller 2008; Fuller 2009; Fuller 2012). While nearly all researchers agree on their rejection of the virtual position, however, there are still key areas of disagreement in the literature. These are discussed in the next section.

New Debates First of all, it is important to note that a uniformly accepted view that the primary language has a place in the foreign language classroom does not imply a uniformly accepted view of the precise amount of primary language that should be allowed in such classrooms. In fact, researchers have proposed two distinct and conflicting alternatives to the virtual position. The first is the maximal position (e.g., Cook 2001; Turnbull 2001; Turnbull and Arnett 2002; Turnbull and Dailey-O’Cain 2009b; Oguro 2012), which states that instead of attempting to force the classroom to be target-language-only, teachers should instead be striving to use (and thereby encourage learners to use) the most target language possible within the realities of a classroom environment and the goal of effective communication. The basis for this position is the argument that when learners primarily or only encounter the target language in the classroom, the teacher is the main linguistic model for the target language, and it is important that learners be enabled to take advantage of that resource (Turnbull 2001). Under the maximal position, some classroom code-switching is seen as being allowable and even necessary—both in order to provide learners with the cognitive benefits of their primary language and to allow them to communicate as fluent bilinguals do—but at the same time, teachers should be cautioned that an overuse of the first language would have the consequence of reducing learners’ exposure to target language input, and be avoided. Neither ‘maximal’ nor ‘overuse’ are explicitly defined under this model. Instead, 329

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teachers are simply encouraged to use the target language whenever it is not overtly damaging to the learning process or the learning environment. Further research is also encouraged to help researchers and teachers understand more precisely how ‘maximal’ can be defined in terms of quantity (Turnbull 2001, 537). The maximal position has been criticized on several grounds, most vehemently by Macaro (2009). Most importantly, he argues that it is not sufficiently distinct from the virtual position, because it still states that the ultimate ideal is the use of the target language as often as possible. Relatedly, he also maintains that to take such a position is to regard the use of the primary language as inherently suspect, and as something that necessarily has a negative effect on the ideal classroom situation, rather than as something that, in fact, might enhance learning more than its non-use would. He further goes on to criticize the maximal position for being insufficiently grounded in research, arguing that there are no theoretical underpinnings for a position that demands that the target language be used “as much as possible” and that it fails to show, for example, that 85% target language use would always be better than 75% target language use (Macaro 2009, 38). On the contrary, he argues (in some overlap with the aforementioned three stances for the rejection of the virtual position) that there are three bodies of research that give evidence that classroom primary language use is beneficial enough to be wholeheartedly embraced rather than merely tolerated. The first of these is cognitive processing theory (e.g., Ellis 2005), which claims that the primary language is not contained in a conceptual store separate from all subsequent languages, and that the mental lexicon is not inherently language-specific. The second is sociocultural theory (e.g., Vygotsky 1986; Antón and DiCamilla 1998), which suggests that private speech that takes place in the primary language is a key component of learning. The third body of research mentioned by Macaro is the work comparing code-switching in foreign language classrooms to code-switching in bilingual communities (e.g., Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain 2004), which suggests that the kind of code-switching that is often stigmatized as “falling back on” the primary language can in fact be found in naturalistic environments as well, among fluent bilinguals, where it is not considered to have that stigma. The alternative to the maximal position that emerges out of these critiques is the optimal position (e.g., Macaro 2001; Macaro 2009; Levine 2011; Tian and Macaro 2012), which states that the reason to allow primary language use in foreign language classrooms is that using it can actually be more beneficial to target language acquisition and to the goal of eventual proficiency in the target language than exclusive or near-exclusive use of the target language would be. According to this position, it is just as important to look at the potential detrimental effects of not using the primary language as it is to look at the potential detrimental effects of using it, and principled decisions must be made about when to use each language that take both sets of considerations into account. The second ongoing debate concerns the extent to which teacher intervention into learner code-switching in the classroom is desirable, and if it is desirable, what form it should take. Several researchers have argued that an important goal for future research is a set of principles that teachers should use in their own code-switching practices. Castellotti and Moore (1997), for example, argue that teacher code-switching must be deliberate if it is to increase learner proficiency and bilingualism, and that teachers should decide in advance of a given lesson whether they are going to use the first language or not. Macaro (2001), in focusing on vocabulary learning, insists that researchers “need to provide, especially for less experienced teachers, a framework that identifies when reference to the first language can be a valuable tool and when it is simply used as an easy option” (545). Finally, Levine (2003) argues that instructors should “seek to formalize the relationship between the L1 and the target language, in order to create, in essence, bilingual norms that tend to develop organically in multilingual environments outside the classroom” (355). 330

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Dailey-O’Cain and Liebscher (2009), on the other hand, demonstrate that learners code-switch in ways that are not modeled by their teachers, and from this they draw the conclusion that “envisioning the foreign language classroom as a bilingual community does not entail saddling the instructor with the task of formally training learners to behave as bilinguals, or even modeling the conventional code-switching norms found in non-classroom bilingual communities” (DaileyO’Cain and Liebscher 2009, 143). They even go so far as to argue that because code-switches are often interpreted differently, depending on whether the person doing the code-switching is the teacher or a learner, teachers modeling or explicitly teaching ideal learner code-switching will have limited success, and a similar concern is also voiced by Chavez (2003), who questions whether intentional influence on learner code-switching practices is either possible or desirable. As an alternative to deliberate teacher-driven intervention into classroom code-switching practices, then, Dailey-O’Cain and Liebscher (2009) argue that a distinction between teacher code-switching and learner code-switching is essential, with different behaviours desirable for each. For learners, they propose a laissez-faire approach in which teachers do not intervene beyond “[giving] students permission to use both languages during classroom interaction,” (143) arguing that learners will then automatically “tend to use them in ways that promote both secondlanguage learning and bilingual language behaviour” (143). For teachers, then, they argue that it is not necessary to explicitly model code-switching practices, which affords them the possibility of “maximizing their own target-language use in the classroom, while at the same time making space for a bilingual community of practice—and the resulting naturalistic norms of code-switching— to develop among learners” (143). In response to this proposal, Levine (2011) argues against a purely laissez-faire approach, on the basis that pedagogy should always be more reflective than that. He does not, however, argue for the explicit teaching of proper code-switching practices or even teacher modelling of ideal learner code-switching behaviour. Instead, he argues for a “curricular architecture based on multiple code use in the language classroom” that involves “systematically raising teacher and learner awareness of code choices in conversation, both in and outside of the classroom, and of using this awareness to foster a multilingual classroom community of practice that also promotes avid L2 use, and hopefully L2 acquisition” (82–83). This architecture encompasses three pedagogical strands, the ultimate goal of which is “resignifying the use of the L1, and the use of code-switching as conventional classroom language use, toward unmarking the L1 and toward optimizing L2 use” (83). Levine maintains that this resignifying is “not only possible and feasible” but that “it may be crucial to the success of classroom L2 learning” (146–147). While it is certainly possible that these debates may ultimately fail to end in one or the other of the sides being conclusively proven right, their existence does give rise to several obvious directions for future research. In all the discussion about whether the maximal position or the optimal position leads to better target-language learning, studies are conspicuously absent that compare learning outcomes in classrooms in which the teacher attempts to “maximize” the target language to classrooms in which the teacher instead attempts to use the primary language in the principled ways governed by “optimal” use. The arguments of both sides of that debate would be enriched by such a contrast. Similarly, in order to understand whether a laissez-faire approach to primary language use by learners or an explicit curricular architecture based on multiple code use in the language classroom lead to better learning outcomes, a similar comparative investigation is also necessary. In this latter case, it will also be particularly important to take classroom type and learning aims into account in any such investigation. This is because it may ultimately be that the laissez-faire approach is more appropriate for advanced content-based classrooms that focus less on target language learning and more on content learning through the target language (e.g., Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain 2004), while an explicit architecture is more appropriate for earlier stages of language learning (e.g., Levine 2009), but without a comparative investigation of 331

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learning outcomes of both kinds of pedagogies, it is difficult to make strong arguments in favour of either approach’s superiority in any sort of classroom. Furthermore, in both of these cases, studies that make use of experimental and quasi-experimental research designs are ultimately needed in order to make the case not only that a particular approach is generally beneficial, but that it actually produces superior learning results to another (cf. Ferguson 2009, 234). The need for these kinds of studies, among others, is discussed at greater length in the next two sections.

Research Approaches Although there are any number of research methodologies (and combinations of research methodologies) that have been used in various contributions to the field of primary language use in foreign language classrooms, this section focuses specifically on the three most common broad trends within the field in terms of approaches to data collection and analysis. The first of these is the investigation of attitudes and beliefs by teachers and/or students about primary language use in the foreign language classroom, whether through survey techniques or through interviews (e.g., Kharma and Hajjaj 1989; Duff and Polio 1990; Macaro 1997; Macmillan and Turnbull 2009; S¸imsek 2011; Yavuz 2012). These studies have been carried out using many variations on the methodology and in many countries and educational contexts, posing different kinds of questions about perceptions of functions of code-switching and the desirability of banning the primary language. Interestingly, the three positions represented by teachers and learners alike in the results of these studies are the same ones that have been found throughout the years in the academy: the virtual position, the maximal position, and the optimal position. One particularly interesting innovation in this body of research was made by Wang and Kirkpatrick (2012), who measured not only the attitudes of teachers toward primary language use in the foreign language classroom in China, but also the direct influence on those attitudes from a very strict official policy governing language use in foreign language classrooms. This suggests that the debate may be shaped not only by pedagogical success, but also by power dynamics and language ideologies. Another common research methodology involves in-depth qualitative analyses of excerpts from interactions (either learner-learner or teacher-learner, and either occurring naturally in classroom discourse or elicited), using some form of discourse analysis. Studies in this tradition that come from within the field of language pedagogy tend to analyze these interactions in terms of the pedagogical functions of switching between the target language and the primary language (e.g., Polio and Duff 1994; Castellotti 1997; Macaro 2001; Rolin-Ianziti and Brownlie 2002), often from the point of view of sociocultural theory (e.g., Antón and DiCamilla 1998; Swain and Lapkin 2000; Thoms et al. 2005; Majer 2011). By contrast, while studies in this vein coming from within a sociolinguistic tradition often have similar goals, their methods of analysis are often influenced by conversation analysis and/or interactional sociolinguistics and, perhaps as a result, usually deal more with communicative functions of code-switching rather than strictly pedagogical ones (e.g., Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain 2004; Üstünel and Seedhouse 2005; Unamuno 2008; Fuller 2009; Fuller 2012). A few studies combine both sociocultural and interactional forms of analysis in a hybrid approach (Dailey-O’Cain and Liebscher 2009; Levine 2009). Kibler (2010) and DiCamilla and Antón (2012) have also used this combination of approaches in an innovative way in investigating how the primary language can be used to negotiate meaning during target-language writing tasks. As mentioned earlier, the kinds of experimental and quasi-experimental approaches that employ pretests and posttests to measure variation in learning under different pedagogical conditions, such as permission to code-switch versus a target-language-only environment (e.g., Macaro 2009; Macaro et al. 2009; Turnbull et al. 2011; Tian and Macaro 2012), are still in their infancy 332

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in this field. Of the few studies in this vein that have already been done, some have focused on degrees of success in vocabulary learning (Macaro 2009; Macaro et al. 2009; Tian and Macaro 2012), while others have focused on an increase in target-language complexity to measure learning (Turnbull et al. 2011). The early results of these studies have been promising, demonstrating quantitative evidence for beneficial effects of a learning environment in which the use of the primary language is permitted and used strategically, and/or for the notion that code-switching promotes learning. However, there is much work yet to be done in this corner of the field. While the discourse-analytic studies mentioned earlier have certainly gone a long way toward pointing us toward specific kinds of instances in which the pedagogical and communicative functions of classroom code-switching are evident and in which the primary language in the foreign language classroom can be shown to be useful or beneficial, it is only experimental research designs that compare different classrooms that can ever show whether permitting code-switching is more beneficial than not permitting it, or whether certain pedagogical innovations are more effective than others. Ferguson (2009) also argues that it is this experimental area of the field in which there is the greatest need for further attention on the basis that controlled, experimental designs for data collection and quantitative forms of analysis are able to produce broadly-based generalizations that are likely to be more convincing to policymakers—including those educators who hold administrative positions within universities or schools—in the long term. To this end, more kinds of studies in different types of classrooms and with a broader focus on the acquisition of different parts of the language than just vocabulary will ultimately be necessary, as well as a focus on how bilinguals emerge over time. It is important to note, however, that such studies will need to take care to control for the variables they target, and this can be fraught with methodological problems in a classroom context. In addition to an increased focus on experimental approaches, ongoing qualitative and mixedmethod studies (including ones that make use of a longitudinal approach not yet seen in this field’s existing body of research) would provide further insights into the use of “the” primary language, which, in practice, may encompass more than one language for individual students. This multiplicity of language resources has not been explored to the extent that it could be, despite an emerging conceptualization of the shift toward multilingualism and multicompetence (Franceschini 2011). In particular, while the pedagogical and communicative functions of the primary language in the foreign language classroom have certainly been described and analyzed within discourse analytical approaches, the next step in qualitative research should be to link this analysis with research methods that explore conceptualizations of multilingualism and multicompetence, both from the perspective of learners as well as teachers and policymakers. To this end, linking actual primary language use in classrooms with teacher cognition research (e.g., Borg 2006) would be a fruitful endeavour.

Implications for Education As the literature reviewed in this chapter has shown, while there are certainly still open debates among scholars of primary language use in foreign language classrooms, the evidence against the virtual position is so overwhelming that it is difficult to find proponents of it among researchers. It is only in the area of policy that the debate over the merits of the virtual position still rages on; in fact, the remaining opponents of code-switching in the classroom all come from official policies for target language use in the classroom, which have as strong an influence as ever in educational policy throughout much of the world (Swain and Lapkin 2005 and McMillan and Turnbull 2009 for Canada; Rohsenow 2004 and Wang and Kirkpatrick 2012 for China; Probyn 2009 for South Africa; and Raschka et al. 2009 for Taiwan, just to name a few examples). It is 333

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not immediately obvious why this is the case, though four possible explanations come to mind: (1) policymakers may be unaware or only peripherally aware of the findings that have come out of the academy because most researchers have tended to publish their admonitions of existing policies in academic publications rather than intervening in policy directly; (2) policymakers are, in fact, aware of the research findings but reject them, perhaps because of the limited quantitative evidence based on controlled experiments (Ferguson 2009); (3) policymakers are aware of the research findings and accept them, but are reluctant to make changes due to logistical or funding concerns, or are unsure which changes to make because of the variation in researchers’ suggestions; or (4) the monolingual bias is still so persuasive that it is a hindrance to a rethinking of language teaching and learning as a multilingual endeavour. Regardless of which of these reasons proves to be the ultimate explanation, however, improved communication between researchers and policymakers would go a long way toward introducing policymakers to our results and convincing them of their merits. It should also be said that the onus is ultimately on the researchers rather than on policymakers to make these kinds of overtures, since it is the researchers who are demanding a change from the status quo. We now know a great deal about the pedagogical and communicative benefits of primary language use in foreign language classrooms; it is time to make a greater effort to speak with policymakers about these benefits in their language and on their turf. Once those dialogues have begun on a broader scale, however, researchers already have a good start on what kinds of policy changes to suggest, because some important strides have been made in recent years in terms of potential curricular improvements. Oguro (2012) proposes a Scaffolded Teacher Speech Model, which applies the sociocultural theory notion of scaffolding (strategies used by a teacher or advanced learner that support novice learners in their learning by initially limiting complexity and then gradually removing those limits as acquisition occurs) to the issue of how teachers might maximize their use of the target language in the classroom. When used as a critical component of maximizing target language use, Oguro argues, the primary language can serve to amplify complex target language messages and aid in the task of comprehending them. Blyth (2009) also proposes (and reports on the results of) a new model for course materials that involves featuring not just monolingual speakers of the target language, but bilinguals and language learners as well, and also incorporates strategies for language learners to notice differences in language use among different kinds of speakers. Finally, while Levine’s (2011) innovative curricular suggestions have been discussed briefly above, he also goes beyond them to propose specific classroom activities that would meet their goals: overtly comparing real-world communication with language classroom communication, identifying and acquiring phrases that help learners communicate in the target language, and an exercise identifying the functions and meanings of code-switching or not switching codes, just to name a few. The common goal among all of these strands is strategies instruction, which entails explicitly identifying the practices of successful learners and then training learners in these practices. Finally, Butzkamm and Caldwell (2009) propose many techniques for systematic classroom use of the primary language, in an approach that they term the Bilingual Reform in foreign language education. One of these is the “sandwich technique,” in which a complex utterance in the target language by the teacher both begins and ends with the same utterance in the primary language, in order to facilitate comprehension while still exposing the learner to what the utterance sounds like in the target language. A second technique is “mirroring,” in which the teacher not only translates the target-language utterance into idiomatic use of the primary language, but also literally, word-for-word, in order to make the target-language structure of the utterance more transparent. This latter technique has the added benefit of what the authors refer to as “dual comprehension,” enabling learners to understand the utterance both functionally and structurally, 334

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making it far easier for them to use the structure in their own communication in the future. Although the pedagogical and curricular suggestions proposed by these three researchers come from different theoretical positions, they are not at all incompatible, and taken together, they are an excellent start to concrete policy proposals that could ultimately replace the widespread prohibition of primary language use in the foreign language classroom. While many questions still remain about the best practices in terms of primary language use in foreign language classrooms, there is surprising unanimity among researchers from different traditions that a prescribed target-language-only environment is more detrimental than beneficial to learners. It is therefore crucial that the virtual position be laid to rest in policy and in classroom practice just as it has been laid to rest in academic debate. This will inevitably meet with resistance in foreign language programs that have invested a great deal of time and effort into turning the virtual position into official policy, but that only makes it all the more important to underscore to skeptical teachers and policymakers that conceiving the foreign language classroom as a bilingual community of practice entails turning an impossible goal (teaching learners to behave as target-language monolinguals) into a possible one (teaching learners to behave as bilinguals). This new goal not only serves the learning of the structures of the target language and the functions of communicating in the target language than exclusive target language use far more effectively, but it is also an optimistic goal that serves to encourage and empower teachers and learners alike.

Further Reading Antón, M. and DiCamilla, F. J. (1998). Socio-cognitive functions of L1 collaborative interaction in the L2 classroom. The Modern Language Journal, 83(2), 233–247. Kramsch, C. (Ed.) (1995). Redefining the Boundaries of Language Study. Boston: Heinle and Heinle. Levine, G. S. (2011). Code Choice in the Language Classroom. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Li Wei and Martin, P. (Eds.) (2009). Special issue on conflicts and tensions in classroom codeswitching. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism 12(2). Macaro, E. (1997). Target Language, Collaborative Learning and Autonomy. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Turnbull, M. and Dailey-O’Cain, J. (Eds.) (2009). First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning. Bristol: Multilingual Matters.

References Antón, M. and DiCamilla, F. J. (1998). Socio-cognitive functions of L1 collaborative interaction in the L2 classroom. The Modern Language Journal, 83(2), 233–247. Belz, J. (2003). Identity, deficiency, and first language use in foreign language education. In C. Blyth (Ed.), The Sociolinguistics of Foreign Language Classrooms: Contributions of the Native, Near-native, and Non-native Speaker (pp. 209–256). Boston: Heinle and Heinle. Blyth, C. (1995). Redefining the boundaries of language use: The foreign language classroom as a multilingual speech community. In C. Kramsch (Ed.), Redefining the Boundaries of Language Study (pp. 145–183). Boston: Heinle. Blyth, C. (2009). The impact of pedagogical materials on critical language awareness: assessing student attention to patterns of language use. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 163–181). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Borg, S. (2006). Teacher Cognition and Language Education: Research and Practice. London, New York: Continuum. Butzkamm, W and Caldwell, J. A. W. (2009). The Bilingual Reform: A Paradigm Shift in Foreign Language Teaching. Tübingen: Narr. Castellotti, V. (1997). Langue étrangère et français en milieu scolaire: Didactiser l’alternance? In V. Castellotti and D. Moore (Eds.), Études de Linguistique Appliquée, 108 (pp. 401–410). Castellotti, V. and Moore, D. (1997). Alternances des langues et apprentissages: Revue de dialectologie des langues-cultures. Paris: Didier Erudition. 335

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Celik, M. (2003). Teaching vocabulary through code-mixing. ELT Journal, 57(4), 361–369. Chambers, G. (1992). Teaching in the target language. Language Learning Journal, 6, 66–67. Chavez, M. (2003). The diglossic foreign-language classroom: Learners’ views on L1 and L2 functions. In C. Blyth (Ed.), The Sociolinguistics of Foreign Language Classrooms: Contributions of the Native, Near-native, and Non-Native Speaker (pp. 163–208). Boston: Heinle and Heinle. Cook, V. (2001). Using the first language in the classroom. Canadian Modern Language Review, 57(3), 402–423. Cook, V. (2005). Basing teaching on the L2 user. In E. Llurda (Ed.), Non-Native Language Teachers: Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession (pp. 47–61). Boston: Springer. Dailey-O’Cain, J., and Liebscher, G. (2006). Language learners’ use of discourse markers as evidence for a mixed code. International Journal of Bilingualism 10(1), 89–109. Dailey-O’Cain, J., and Liebscher, G. (2009). Teacher and student use of the first language in foreign language classroom interaction: Functions and applications. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 131–144). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. de la Campa, J. C., and Nassaji, H. (2009). The amount, purpose, and reasons for using L1 in L2 classrooms. Foreign Language Annals 42(4), 742–759. DiCamilla, F., and Antón, M. (2012). Functions of L1 in the collaborative interaction of beginning and advanced second language learners. International Journal of Applied Linguistics 22(2), 160–188. Dickson, P. (1992). Using the Target Languages in the Modern Foreign Language Classrooms. Slough: NFER. Duff, P. A., and Polio, C. G. (1990). How much foreign language is there in the foreign language classroom? The Modern Language Journal 74(2): 154–166. Edstrom, A. (2006). L1 use in the L2 classroom: One teacher’s self-evaluation. The Canadian Modern Language Review/La revue canadienne des langues vivantes 63(2), 275–292. Ellis, N. (2005). At the interface: Dynamic interactions of explicit and implicit language knowledge. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 21, 285–301. Ellis, R., and He, X. (1999). The roles of modified input and output in the incidental acquisition of word meanings. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 21, 285–301. Ellwood, C. (2008). Questions of classroom identity: what can be learned from codeswitching in classroom peer group talk? The Modern Language Journal 92(4), 538–557. Ferguson, G. (2003). Classroom code-switching in post-colonial contexts. Functions, attitudes and policies. In S. Makoni and U. Meinhof (Eds.), Africa and Applied Linguistics. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Ferguson, G. (2009). What next? Towards an agenda for classroom codeswitching research. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism 12(2), 231–241. Franceschini, R. (2011). Multilingualism and multicompetence: A conceptual view. The Modern Language Journal 95(3). 344–355. Fuller, J. (2008). Multilingualism in educational contexts: ideologies and identities. Language and Linguistics Compass 3(1), 338–358. Fuller, J. (2009). How bilingual children talk: Strategic codeswitching among children in dual language programs. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 115–130). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Fuller, J. (2012). Bilingual Pre-Teens: Competing Ideologies and Multiple Identities in the U.S. and Germany. New York, London: Routledge. Giauque, G. S., and Ely, C. M. (1990). Code-switching in beginning foreign language teaching. In R. Jacobson and C. Faltis (Eds.), Language Distribution Issues in Bilingual Schooling (pp. 178–184). Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Grasso, S. (2012). “L1, or no L1: that is the question.” How do we reconcile the ethical implications of this issue in the context of the adult ELICOS classroom? In R. Jackson (Ed.), TESOL as a Global Trade: Ethics, Equity and Ecology: Papers from the 2012 ACTA International Conference. Online publication. Kharma, N. N., and Hajjaj, A. H. (1989). Use of the mother tongue in the ESL classroom. International Review of Applied Linguistics, 26, 223–235. Kibler, A. (2010). Writing through two languages: First language expertise in a language minority classroom. Journal of Second Language Writing, 19, 121–142. Kramsch, C., Ed. (1995). Redefining the Boundaries of Language Study. Boston: Heinle and Heinle. Krashen, S. D. (1985). The Input Hypothesis: Issues and Implications. London: Longman. Lado, R. (1957). Linguistics Across Cultures. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Lantolf, J. P. (2000). Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 336

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Levine, G. S. (2003). Student and instructor beliefs and attitudes about target language use, first language use, and anxiety: Report of a questionnaire study. The Modern Language Journal, 87(3), 343–364. Levine, G. S. (2005). Co-construction and articulation of code choice practices in foreign language classrooms. In C. Barrette and K. Paesani (Eds.), Language Program Articulation: Developing a Theoretical Foundation (pp. 110–130). Boston: Heinle and Heinle. Levine, G. S. (2009). Building meaning through code choice in second language learner interaction: a D/discourse analysis and proposals for curriculum design and teaching. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 145–162). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Levine, G. S. (2011). Code Choice in the Language Classroom. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Liang, X. (2006) Identity and language functions: High school Chinese immigrant students’ code-switching dilemmas in ESL classes. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education 5(2), 143–167. Liebscher, G., and Dailey-O’Cain, J. (2004). Learner code-switching in the content-based foreign language classroom. Canadian Modern Language Review, 60(4), 501–525. Liebscher, G., and Dailey-O’Cain, J. (2007). Interculturality and code-switching in the German language classroom. In J. Plews, C. Lorey, and C. Rieger (Eds.), Intercultural Literacies and German in the Classroom Interkulturelle Kompetenzen im Fremdsprachenunterricht, a Festschrift for Manfred Prokop (pp. 49–67). Giessen: Gunter Narr Verlag (Giessener Beiträge zur Fremdsprachendidaktik). Littlewood, W., and Yu, B. (2011). First language and target language in the foreign language classroom. Language Teaching, 44(1), 64–77. Long, M. (1996). Input, interaction and foreign language acquisition. In H. Winitz (Ed.), Native Language and Foreign Language Acquisition (pp. 259–278). Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 379. Macaro, E. (1997). Target Language, Collaborative Learning and Autonomy. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Macaro, E. (2001). Analysing student teachers’ codeswitching in foreign language classrooms: theory and decision making. Modern Language Journal, 85(4), 531–548. Macaro, E. (2005). Codeswitching in the L2 classroom: a communication and learning strategy. In E. Llurda (Ed.) Non-Native Language Teachers: Perceptions, Challenges and Contributions to the Profession (pp. 63–84). New York: Springer. Macaro, E. (2009). Teacher use of codeswitching in the second language classroom: Exploring ‘optimal’ use. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 35–49). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Macaro, E., Guo, T., Chen, H., and Tian, L. (2009). Can differential processing of L2 vocabulary inform the debate on teacher code-switching behaviour? The case of Chinese learners of English. In B. Richards and H. M. Daller (Eds.), Vocabulary Studies of First and Second Language Acquisition: The Interface Between Theory and Application (pp. 125–146). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Majer, J. (2011). Talking the same language: Sociocultural aspects of code-switching in L2 classroom discourse. In M. Pawlak, E. Waniek-Klimczak, and J. Majer (Eds.), Speaking and Instructed Foreign Language Education (pp. 66–83). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. McMillan, B., and Turnbull, M. (2009). Teachers’ use of the first language in French immersion: Revisiting a core principle. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 15–34). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Moore, D. (2002). Case study: Code-switching and learning in the classroom. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 5(5), 279–293. Nunan, D., and Lamb, C. (1996). The Self-Directed Teacher. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oguro, S. G. J. (2012). Scaffolded teacher talk: Maximising target language use in foreign language classrooms. Unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Sydney. Polio, C. P., and Duff, P. A. (1994). Teachers’ language use in university foreign language classrooms: a qualitative analysis of English and target language alternation. Modern Language Journal, 78, 311–326. Probyn, M. (2009). “Smuggling the vernacular into the classroom”: Conflicts and tensions in classroom codeswitching in township/rural schools in South Africa. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 12(2), 123–136. Py, B. (1996). Reflection, conceptualisation and exolinguistic interaction: observations on the role of the first language. Language Awareness, 5(3–4), 179–187. Raschka, C., Sercombe, P., and Huang Chi-Ling. (2009). Conflicts and tensions in a Taiwanese EFL classroom. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 12(2), 157–171. Rohsenow, J. (2004). Genesis of the language law of 2001. In M. Zhou and H. Sun (Eds.), Language Policy in the People’s Republic of China: Theory and Practice Since 1949 (pp. 21–43). Boston: Kluwer. 337

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Rolin-Ianziti, J., and Brownlie, S. (2002). Teacher use of the learners’ native language in the foreign language classroom. Canadian Modern Language Review, 58(3), 402–426. S¸imsek, M.R. (2011). Student teachers’ opinions on mentor teachers’ use of native language. Mersin University Journal of the Faculty of Education, 7(1), 69–85. Swain, M., and Lapkin, S. (2000). Task-based second language learning: The uses of the first language. Language Teaching Research, 4(3), 251–274. Swain, M., and Lapkin, S. (2005). The evolving sociopolitical context of immersion education in Canada: Some implications for program development. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 15(2), 169–186. Thoms, J., Liao, J., and Szustak, A. (2005). The use of L1 in an L2 on-line chat activity. Canadian Modern Language Review, 62(1), 161–182. Tian, L., and Macaro, E. (2012). Comparing the effect of teacher codeswitching with English-only explanations on the vocabulary acquisition of Chinese university students: a lexical focus-on-form study. Language Teaching Research, 16(3), 367–391. Turnbull, M. (2001). There is a role for the L1 in second and foreign language teaching, but . . . Canadian Modern Language Review, 57(4), 531–540. Turnbull, M., and Arnett, K. (2002). Teachers’ uses of the target and first languages in second and foreign language classrooms. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 22, 204–218. Turnbull, M., Cormier, M., and Bourque, J. (2011). The first language in science class: A quasi-experimental study in late French immersion. The Modern Language Journal, 95(Supplementary issue), 182–198. Turnbull, M., and Dailey-O’Cain, J. (Eds.) (2009a). First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Turnbull, M., and Dailey-O’Cain, J. (2009b). Introduction. In M. Turnbull and J. Dailey-O’Cain (Eds.), First Language Use in Second and Foreign Language Learning (pp. 1–14). Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Unamuno, V. (2008). Multilingual switch in peer classroom interaction. Linguistics and Education, 19, 1–19. Üstünel, E., and Seedhouse, P. (2005). Why that, in that language, right now? International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 15(3), 302–325. van der Meij, H., and Zhao, X. (2010). Codeswitching in English courses in Chinese universities. The Modern Language Journal, 94(3), 396–411. van Lier, L. (1995). The use of the L1 in L2 classes. Babylonia, 2, 37–43. Vygotsky, L. S. (1986). Thought and Language. A. Kozulin (Ed.). Cambridge: MIT Press. Wang, D., and Kirkpatrick, A. (2012). Code choice in the Chinese as a foreign language classroom. Multilingual Education, 2(3), 1–18. Yavuz, F. (2012). The attitudes of English teachers about the use of L1 in the teaching of L2. Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences, 46, 4339–4344.

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26 Language Assessment in the Educational Context Dina Tsagari and Jayanti Banerjee

Introduction Like the wider field of educational linguistics, language assessment is a transdisciplinary field that encompasses linguistics, general education, psychology, sociology, economics, and politics. The development of a language test or assessment does not take place in isolation; it demands an understanding of the nature of language ability and language use as well as measurement theory (Bachman 1990, 8). Additionally, the final shape of a language test or other assessment is influenced by beliefs about language, language learning, and learner psychology as well as demands from the wider society for certain standards of attainment. In this chapter, we historically locate language assessment in the field of educational linguistics and outline recent innovations in the field. We also exemplify corresponding research epistemologies and discuss their contributions to teaching and learning. Looking particularly at classroom-based assessment, we discuss the importance of enhancing student involvement, incorporating special language and other needs, and improving teacher literacy in assessment, as ways of improving good practice in the field. Throughout the chapter, two terms will be used: testing and assessment. In this chapter we take assessment to mean “. . . that part of evaluation that includes the collection and analysis of information about student learning” (Genesee 2001, 145). Therefore, we see that the primary purpose of assessment is formative in nature; that is, it is meant to evaluate and understand student performance in class, identify the specific needs of individual students, tailor instruction to meet these needs, monitor the effectiveness of instruction, and make decisions about advancement or promotion of individual students to the next level of instruction (see also Brindley 2001). Testing, however, is generally associated with summative measurement procedures, which are carried out at specified times of a school year when all students are usually tested on the same content. Furthermore, a test, measuring a sample of language behavior, often takes the form of a ‘paper-and-pencil’ test or a computerized/computer-adaptive version, as is the case with a number of high stakes, standardized tests nowadays. Its administration is very formal, with clear processes and instructions, and under timed conditions. Test results are either communicated via the teacher orally, through official reports, or appear on the screen of a computer (Chapelle 2001). 339

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Historical Perspectives Prior to and during the 1970s, language assessment, particularly in the form of tests, was influenced by structural views of language. In its purest form, this view advocated breaking language into its constituent parts so that each element could be isolated and taught. Tests in this period took a psychometric-structuralist approach, focusing on discrete aspects of language knowledge. For instance, a test item might focus on the test takers’ knowledge of a particular word or their ability to distinguish sounds in the language (i.e., phonemic discrimination tests). The advantage of this approach was that results were easily quantifiable. However, it ignored the fact that “crucial properties of a language are lost when its elements are separated” (Oller 1979, 212). The psycholinguistic-sociolinguistic approach that followed took the view that language is dynamic and creative, and is used to achieve communicative ends. The language tests during this period aimed to capture the use of language in communication under controlled conditions. Typical tasks included cloze passages and dictation; these were integrative, global measures in the sense that they combined the testing of discrete aspects of language knowledge such as grammar, vocabulary, and discourse and reported the results as a single score. The disadvantage of the psycholinguistic-sociolinguistic approach was that the tasks were still indirect measures of language proficiency and were not genuine interactive communication. Canale and Swain’s (1980) work describing communicative competence helped the field to take the next big leap forward. They showed how the ability to use language communicatively involved grammatical knowledge, sociolinguistic competence, and strategic competence. Their early model has since been developed into a model of communicative language ability “consisting of both knowledge, or competence, and the capacity for implementing, or executing that competence in appropriate, contextualized communicative language use” (Bachman 1990, 84). Tests increasingly included sections that elicited contextualized performances, were interactive, and engaged the test takers in processing realistic discourse. In the 1990s, the concept of test washback emerged, and there was a growing awareness that testing is often “the engine that drives learning” (Cowan 1998). It was initially believed that good tests promoted good teaching and learning (i.e., had good washback) while bad tests promoted unacceptable teaching and impeded learning. It was also believed that tests based on theories of communicative language ability would lead to better language teaching and learning. Alderson and Wall (1993) problematized this notion, arguing that a ‘good’ test might still result in undesirable teaching and learning outcomes. They listed a number of washback hypotheses, such as ‘tests will have washback on what teachers teach,’ ‘tests will have washback on how learners learn,’ and ‘a high-stakes test will have more impact than a low-stakes test.’ This seminal paper resulted in a number of empirical studies, including Cheng, (2005), Wall (2005) and Tsagari (2009), which showed that many factors (other than the test itself) influence the nature of test washback. These include teacher ability; teachers’, students’, and material writers’/ publishers’ understandings of the test; the availability of resources; and the general social and political context. Washback studies brought the attention of language assessment researchers into the classroom, but the focus was largely upon standardized tests. In fact, until recently most language assessment research in the educational context focused, unfortunately in our view, upon large-scale tests. It was also largely assumed that the principles that are so helpful for standardized testing (such as generalizability, validity theory, and reliability) would be similarly useful in more interactional educational settings such as the classroom even though, as we argue later in this chapter, some concepts are not reasonable goals and might even fly in the face of more important educational aims. This resulted, as Graue observes, in a situation where teachers were judged to be lacking in assessment skills and 340

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where “assessment and instruction [were] often conceived as curiously separate in both time and purpose” (1993, 291). In recent years, therefore, there has been increased attention on classroom-based assessment as a different paradigm. Classroom-based assessment draws either implicitly or explicitly from the interplay between teaching, learning, and assessment—be it in the form of ‘dynamic’ (Antón 2012; Poehner 2008), ‘formative’ (e.g., Black and Wiliam 2009; Broadfoot and Black 2004; Rea-Dickins and Gardner 2000), ‘diagnostic’ (Alderson 2005; Jang 2012), or assessment feedback (Hattie and Timperley 2007; Cheng and Wang 2007). Overall, effective classroom-based assessment practices involve, according to Turner (2012, 65), “strategies by teachers to plan and carry out the collection of multiple types of information concerning student language use, to analyze and interpret it, to provide feedback, and to use this information to help make decisions to enhance teaching and learning.” Such types of information are usually embedded in classroom activities and come in a variety of guises. They can be on-the-way, formative assessments such as informal quizzes or exercises, presentations, journals, conferences, observations or recitation, or have a more summative purpose, such as a collection of work in a portfolio, a project, or a standardized test (see also Rea-Dickins 2008). However, it should be noted that the recent interest in classroom-based assessment is not intended to dismiss traditional educational measurement or large-scale tests. Rather it is an acknowledgment that educational assessment straddles two paradigms: the ‘scientific’ paradigm, in which standardized assessments are used to arrive at easily interpretable and comparable information about individual students, and the ‘social-constructivist’ paradigm, in which assessment supports and is a productive part of teaching and learning. The remaining concern, however, is that standardized assessment is still privileged over the more contextualized assessment engaged in by teachers. One of the dangers of this imbalance is that the curriculum narrows to cover only what is tested. Of greater concern is the potential effect that this imbalance has upon the position of teachers in the assessment process: Their professional judgment tends to be subordinated to the results of large-scale tests.

Core Issues and Key Findings Four basic issues will be discussed in this section—namely, validity, reliability, fairness, and test use—as they are the cornerstone of quality in language testing and assessment.

Validity, Reliability, and Fairness Test fairness is freedom from bias; assessments should not disadvantage groups of test takers on any basis other than a lack of the knowledge or skills being assessed. In standardized tests, it is common practice to assure test fairness first through a rigorous item review process that includes explicit attention to fairness and bias principles (Ackerman 2011) and second by examining items for bias using differential item functioning (DIF). This statistical investigation of response patterns explores the possibility that an item or group of items have disadvantaged test takers on the basis of age, gender, cultural background, or first language (Banerjee and Papageorgiou 2011). Reliability refers to the consistency of the measurement. Ideally, a language test (be it standardized or customized for a small group of learners) should afford the same result for a test taker each time she or he is assessed. It is often presented as a corollary of fairness for it protects the student from the subjectivity (and possible bias) of the teacher. Validity subsumes both reliability and fairness. The validity of a test or an assessment is grounded in the soundness of the interpretations that are made of the test scores or performances. Traditionally, the proposed interpretation relates to the construct that the test intends to measure 341

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(AERA, APA, and NCME 1999, 9). In the case of language proficiency, this would include language knowledge (such as morphosyntax) and communicative competence (such as an understanding of implicature). However, defining the construct of a language assessment is a complex enterprise and arguably “no agreement exists concerning a single best way to define constructs of language proficiency to serve as a defensible basis for score interpretation” (Chapelle, Enright, and Jamieson 2010, 4). As a result, many language testing researchers and language test developers are turning to Kane’s (2006) argument-based approach to test validation. This involves laying out the proposed score interpretations as a series of claims and then amassing the evidence to support those claims. Types of evidence include proof that the test scores are consistent, the relationship of the test scores to other measures of student ability (such as teacher judgments, which are informed by formative classroom-based assessments, including the observation of student performance in class and more structured activities like short quizzes, exercises, and journals), as well as detailed analyses of the processes that students engage in to complete the tasks (cf. Green 1998). Validation is ongoing; new evidence should be gathered continuously to maintain and support the proposed interpretation of the scores. It is generally argued (as we have in the previous paragraph) that an assessment cannot be valid—the inferences drawn cannot be sound—if the assessment does not yield consistent results. This seems a reasonable claim until one considers deeply the aims of educational assessment, the different contexts in which it takes place, and the different purposes for which students are assessed (Moss, Girard, and Haniford 2006). Indeed, the focus of validity theory on large-scale assessment has unhelpfully narrowed its scope in a number of ways, not least the emphasis on measurement consistency in all assessment contexts. Moss (1994) argues for reliability to be an optional goal. Too much attention to reliability constrains us from exploring and capturing the range of students’ capabilities. Activities such as portfolio assessment and self-assessment are not interchangeable but, like snapshots taken with a camera, provide different insights into student learning and progress. Using the case study of a student named ‘Cory,’ Moss shows how a contextualized approach to assessment, that takes into account the product of class assignments as well as standardized measures, provides a more accurate insight into student learning and skills. Validity theory must expand to accommodate and support the contextualized nature of assessment in a teaching and learning setting (Moss et al. 2006) so that a validity argument can be made for classroom assessments (as a complement to or in place of standardized assessments). However, as we point out in the “New Debates” section of this chapter, more research is needed to understand the nature of the various methods used for classroom assessment purposes and the connections between assessment feedback and learning.

Test Use In a keynote address at the Language Testing Research Colloquium in 2003, Patricia Broadfoot spoke about the policy initiatives worldwide to promote student achievement and to raise standards by introducing standardized assessments that force teachers to achieve pre-determined results (Broadfoot 2005). In England and Wales, statutory assessments have been added to a system that already had two major exam periods when students were 16 and 18 years old (the General Certificate of Secondary Education, GCSE, and the Advanced Level examinations, respectively). Nowadays students are also tested at age 5 and then at three key stages (ages 7, 11, and 14). In the United States, the No Child Left Behind Act (2001; also known as NCLB, or P.L. 107–110) mandates the testing of students each year between grades 3 and 8 (ages 9–13) plus one grade in high school (ages 15–18). Both policy initiatives have the aim of giving all children access to a minimum standard of education and learning opportunities. Schools have annual progress targets 342

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and those whose students consistently fail to exhibit adequate yearly progress are put in administration to help them improve. On the face of it, these initiatives were designed to ensure that children had equal access to resources and received the attention they needed. Unfortunately, the policies were managed entirely through the use of test results. Broadfoot (2005) describes the extraordinary pressure this places on children. Ravitch (2010) links this to rising dropout rates, especially among African American and Hispanic students. Chalhoub-Deville and Deville (2008) weigh up the effects of the NCLB legislation upon English Language Learners (ELLs). They call the goals overly optimistic and, by implication, bound for disappointment. For reasons of expense, item types tend to be limited to multiple-choice; open-response items that might lend themselves better to eliciting higher-order skills are more expensive and, therefore, less common. This means that the content covered by the tests is narrowed. Menken (2009) also points out that ELLs must take the same tests of academic content as English L1 children. She argues that this, in effect, makes content tests into language tests for ELLs. Menken’s concern (2009, 105) is that this undermines the Bilingual Education Act, returning language to a source of educational inequity. Even though accommodations such as extended time, test translations, and the use of bilingual dictionaries can be offered, Menken feels that “most of those currently being used fail to reduce the achievement gap between native-English speakers and ELLs” (2009, 107). This situation is further complicated by current research that shows how intertwined language and content are. Kieffer, Lesaux, Rivera, and Francis (2009) evaluate the effect and effectiveness of accommodations for ELLs by conducting a meta-analysis of 11 studies. They find little evidence that the accommodations improved the performance of ELLs. They suggest that the “differences in performance between native English speakers and ELLs may be more because of variation in the necessary academic language skills required by content area assessments” (2009, 1188). This view is confirmed by Llosa and Avenia-Tapper (2013), who argue that ELLs need to be able to use certain (sometimes complex) language constructions in order to talk about the content that they know. In their review of research looking at the language of science textbooks and talk in science classrooms, they find that all students (including ELLs) need to be able to argue from evidence, use passive constructions, and other complex language constructions. More work is needed in this area; we need to better understand what language ELLs need in order to both learn and show their learning of academic content (see also Schleppegrell 2012). And since the research to date has not drilled down to the grades in which the need for each language construction emerges, we need to understand better exactly when that language is needed. Despite the complex nature of these issues, however, we do not believe that the practice of testing is the problem. Instead, we would argue that it is the way that testing is implemented— such as the decision to use standardized tests instead of classroom-based assessment and also the ineffective coordination among standards, curricula, and assessment. As Chalhoub-Deville and Deville (2008) point out, decisions about a child’s readiness at each stage of their education should be made individually and not for the group as a whole. This is usually best achieved by giving teachers and schools the autonomy to make decisions in the interests of their students rather than by applying blanket policies (however well-intentioned).

Research Approaches The deeply situated nature of educational assessment has resulted in the use of research approaches such as case studies, classroom observation, and interviews that allow for context-rich data collection. Case studies allow researchers to pay attention to contextual details in the analysis of a 343

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small number of events or people. This can result, as Stake points out, in the proliferation of information, “more to pay attention to rather than less” (1978, 7). Stake’s comment is open to a pejorative interpretation and risks us losing the very aim of this expansion, which is to add to and improve our understanding of the issues at hand. This is certainly the case in Moss (1994). She uses a case study of a single student to contrast the restricted perspective of a standardized instrument with the more complex picture of the student’s achievements and abilities that was built up by combining evidence from a variety of learning products. Classroom observations have also been used as a research-gathering tool in order to gain a clearer picture of the teaching and assessment practices used in the classroom. Cohen, Manion and Morrison (2000, 305) argue that observations can “discover things that participants might not freely talk about in interview situations, move beyond perception-based data and access personal knowledge.” Non-participant observations have generally been preferred in the field, especially in analyzing classroom discourse, since active participation in the lesson might influence the reactions of teachers and learners and, therefore, affect the accuracy of the data collected (Tsagari 2012). However, there is also scope for participant observation where, rather than attempting to maintain objectivity and neutrality, the observers try to gather data through emic perspectives and interaction with their participants. It is also possible to gather rich data using standardized interview techniques such as the repertory grid procedure. This procedure is based on personal construct theory (Kelly 2003), which holds that people have construct systems in order to process and organize information. These construct systems are open to change as new and possibly contradictory information comes in. Our constructs influence our perceptions, are not always internally consistent, but represent the truth as we see it. Access to teachers’ personal constructs can be extremely useful in understanding their assessment practices. Leung and Teasdale (1997) use the repertory grid technique to study how teachers use the English National Curriculum. They began by video-recording both English as a mother tongue (EMT) and English as an additional language (EAL) students in language classrooms. This footage was edited into 12 performances—all of seven-year olds (Key Stage 1 in the English National Curriculum). The performances were then randomly grouped into sets of three performances and teachers were asked multiple times to compare and contrast the performances. Each time they were asked how two of the performances were similar to each other and different from the third. This elicited the teachers’ assessment constructs. Leung and Teasdale (1997) used this information to develop a rating sheet with each of the constructs; the teachers then viewed each performance again, gave it a rating (0–6) on each construct, and also indicated how usable the construct was (0–2). The ratings were analyzed using cluster analysis to understand better how the different variables (constructs) coincide and are related. The ratings were also analyzed using logistic regression to see if the ratings predicted whether the student was EMT or EAL. The results of this work were interesting because even though teachers were able to award high scores for accent and fluency to EAL students (constructs that clustered with the construct ‘nativespeaker-like’), the ratings overall assessed the EMT students higher than the EAL students. More than this, the EMT students typically scored ‘average for Year 2’ or higher on each criterion while few of the EAL students did so. Leung and Teasdale (1997) found that the construct of ‘nativespeaker like’ influenced the ratings in such a way that disadvantaged the EAL students. Though there is always scope for large-scale analyses of test data, and such analyses are commonplace when school districts or states wish to evaluate the progress of students in different schools, different grade levels, or across time, in this section we have shown that the majority of research approaches in educational assessment highlight the individual. The aim of context-rich data collection methods is to better understand the survey data and provide insights that might otherwise be lost in broad-stroke summaries. 344

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New Debates Whatever the format, length, or purpose of the assessment, language teachers and other education professionals use those assessments to gather information about what the students can and cannot do, what they need more practice in, and how well they have mastered a particular aspect of the curriculum. Teachers interpret students’ performances in order to make decisions about their learning (and to inform what is taught in subsequent lessons). It is therefore important that language assessment supports teachers in their decision-making by undertaking further research in a number of directions as suggested below.

Classroom-Based Assessment Classroom-based assessment has grown in a relatively short period, and a small number of colloquia (e.g., EALTA-CBLA SIG Symposia), edited volumes (e.g., Tsagari and Csépes 2011), and research papers (e.g., Hill and McNamara 2012) have addressed a range of classroom-based assessment concerns and challenges. These illustrate not only the growth of interest in how assessment is enacted in language classrooms but also broaden the construct of assessment that recognizes the socially situated nature of assessment and accept the role of assessment as a pedagogic tool. In these studies, we also observe a range of methodological tools, including questionnaire surveys administered to teachers and students and interviews with teachers, as well as classroom observations and the adaptation of interventionist action research approaches. Through these, we hope that the field will gain a clear definition of classroom-based assessment—for example, understanding the characteristics of assessment methods used for classroom-based purposes, the nature of assessment feedback that can lead to enhanced learning, how learners may be engaged in language learning through pedagogically-oriented assessment approaches, and how classroom-based assessment can be researched.

Assessment Literacy The field of language testing and assessment is beginning to see the importance of classroom learning contexts and the teacher factor in providing information to help inform teaching and learning, as well. Indeed, teachers deal with assessment procedures, responsibilities, and duties in their professional life on a daily basis, ranging from setting, designing, and marking tests to communicating testing and other assessment results. Teachers also develop or adapt scoring schemes for their institution, region, or country. In many contexts, teachers are increasingly faced with external testing procedures—for example, school-leaving examinations and international tests fulfill a consultative role, advising learners on the choice of external proficiency tests or offer exam-preparation courses. Furthermore, new developments in foreign language teaching require new assessment competencies of teachers. For example, the European Language Portfolio (Schneider and Lenz 2001) highlights self-assessment as a supplement to teacher assessment. Peer assessment has also been added to the pedagogic agenda of the innovative language teacher in many educational systems. These developments call for new skills to be acquired by teachers (see also Edelenbos and Kubanek-German 2004). Recently, teachers’ competence in LTA has come to the forefront (Fulcher 2012; Hasselgreen, Carlsen, and Helness 2004; Inbar-Lourie and Donitsa-Schmidt 2009; Yin 2010; Inbar-Lourie 2013; Vogt and Tsagari forthcoming). Researchers have either investigated the preparedness and awareness of teachers to work with current conceptualizations of assessment or illustrate how teacher understandings of classroom assessment have been developed through specific interventions. These studies also attest to the urgent and largely unrecognized need in many policy 345

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contexts for ‘teacher learning’ and professional development opportunities leading to the strengthening of teacher assessment capacities. However, we still know little about the ways in which language teachers cope with these new demands or whether they possess the new competencies required of them in the first place or whether and to what extent teachers can be or are prepared for these new challenges. Also, we know little about how language teachers create their assessment instruments for monitoring, recording, and assessing learners’ progress and achievement in the language classroom. We also know little about how teachers’ day-to-day assessment decisions and practices are influenced by assessment policies, the tensions created by those policies, and teachers’ assessment training needs. In other words, we know little about the status quo of teachers’ ‘assessment literacy’ (cf. Stiggins 1991; Walters 2010). Further research is needed to define more precisely what is meant by ‘assessment literacy’ and how teachers can be supported to develop their professional understanding and skills to promote student learning (e.g., assessment for learning rather than assessment of learning; the Assessment Reform Group; Black et al. 2003).

Learner Involvement in Assessment Learners are given a prominent place in language assessment, as they are considered ‘important stakeholders’ (Erickson and Gustafsson 2005). Actually, good practice in the field recommends that students’ views of the assessment procedures should be taken into account because they contribute valuable insights into the development and validation of assessment instruments and procedures (Cheng and DeLuca 2011; Xie 2011). Sharing assessment criteria and procedures with students is also said to facilitate learning, student participation, and metacognition, as well as enhance motivation (Anderson 2012; Frey 2012). Assessment methods such as self- and peer-assessment, for example, are tools that can strengthen student involvement (Black 2009; Falchikov 2003; Finch 2007; Stiggins 2001). Students’ views of assessment, in particular, are important variables that influence their effort, efficacy, performance, and attitudes towards the subject matter and, importantly, their learning (Dorman, Fisher, and Waldrip 2006; Van de Watering, Gijbels, Dochy, and Van der Rijt 2008). Student involvement in assessment can also provide teachers with information about instruction (Carr 2002; Ekbatani and Pierson 2000). Teachers can thus gain insights into areas that seem problematic during instruction (Wenden 1998); develop habits of reflection and self-evaluation; record progress in preparation, implementation and evaluation; and yield results derived through consensus (Williams 2011). However, despite students’ centrality in language assessment, little empirical evidence exists that can show the extent to which students’ attitudes and perceptions of assessment are indeed taken into consideration or whether students’ involvement in assessment processes is active (Gijbels and Dochy 2006; Sambell, McDowell, and Brown 1997; Struyven, Dochy and Janssens 2002). Research has mainly focused on aspects such as students’ language attitudes and their impact on language learning (Lee 2001;Yang and Lau 2003), the influence of language assessment on teachers and teaching methods (Cheng 2005; Wall 2005), and teachers’ practices and perceptions towards LTA (Cheng, Rogers, and Hu 2004; Tsagari 2011).

Assessing Language Learners With Special Needs The numbers of children diagnosed with specific learning differences (SpLD; e.g., dyslexia, dyspraxia, dyscalculia, Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder) as well as those with other disabilities like visual, hearing, or physical impairments, is steadily increasing today; so is the number of 346

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students enrolled in special education. This situation, combined with greater awareness of individual human rights, has led to an increased demand for appropriate teaching and testing and assessment provision. This is of particular concern to second or foreign language test providers (Taylor 2012; Abedi 2012) and teachers (Kormos and Smith 2012; Kormos and Kontra 2008; Nijakowska 2010) who are very often faced with the challenge of having to depart from the established testing procedures and alter their assessment protocols, administration, and/or content in order to accommodate the special needs of second language learners (SLLs) with disabilities. In this context, future research should discuss the theoretical, ethical and practical considerations involved in the assessment of such populations. Researchers need to explore the theoretical models and research findings that better identify the language and special needs of SLLs with SpLD and other disabilities and evaluate the effectiveness of accommodation practices employed so far. Studies of both high stakes tests and classroom-based assessments that are related to the special needs of SLLs should also be conducted by professionals and researchers working in the areas of psychology; special education; and second/foreign language teaching, testing and assessment. Studies of both cross-sectional and longitudinal nature should be encouraged as well as studies conducted with young and adult SpLD and other disabilities in either high or low stakes environments (see Tsagari and Spanoudis 2013).

Implications for Education Given the unprecedented expansion of language assessment during the 21st century, there has been an increasing need for the profession to meet the changing needs of teachers, students, and other stakeholders. For example, the notion of assessment literacy, the “. . . knowledge and understanding of the principles and practice of assessment” (Taylor 2009, 25), is considered an important aspect of the professionalism of language teachers, which fosters teachers’ empowerment and autonomy. Language teachers with a solid background in assessment are well equipped to integrate assessment with instruction and use appropriate forms of teaching leading to enhanced learning (Coombe, Al-Mamly, and Troudi 2009; Inbar-Lourie 2008; Malone 2008). However, despite the importance placed on the ‘assessment literacy’ of language teachers in the international literature, the area is still relatively under-researched. If educators, particularly those in teacher training language programs, are to assist teachers to use their assessment time effectively, more must be learned and done about meeting teachers’ training needs. The sheer number of language teachers around the globe, as well as the central role that assessment plays in teaching and learning, offers room for further investigation. Future research needs to present findings of large-scale research surveys conducted in various educational contexts aiming at investigating language teachers’ assessment literacy in terms of teachers’ practices and training needs, identifying any possible intervening factors that might have an influence on teachers’ assessments. It would, therefore, be important to develop understandings from holistic perspectives that recognize and promote understandings of and interactions between the nature of language, second language learning, and assessment. It is also important for the field to reconfigure assessment to promote productive student involvement in meeting learners’ and teachers’ needs; students and teachers should collaboratively design effective assessment procedures and use the results from well-designed assessments to improve learning. Students need to become active participants and decide what is of importance to them and how they can reach their goals (Clark 2006; Sambell, McDowell, and Brown 1997). We, therefore, propose that an assessment culture of collaboration can be established that will 347

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eventually lead to increased metacognitive awareness of students’ learning and engagement in a critical but healthy and effective assessment environment that can result in greater improvement in language learning (Carless 2011). Actually, the notion of collaboration is crucial in language testing and assessment and is considered to be as important as validity and reliability, providing an important prerequisite for responsibility and respect for students, thereby contributing to fairness. The EALTA Guidelines for Good Practice in Language Testing and Assessment (EALTA 2006) stress the importance of collaboration among all parties involved in the process of developing instruments, activities, and programs for testing and assessment. Collaboration is necessary between different contexts and fields—schools and universities, testing organizations and teachers, test developers and researchers, testers and test takers. It is also crucial between colleagues with different specializations within the field of language testing and assessment, be they teachers in classrooms; teacher educators; policy makers; or test developers and researchers, including content specialists, item writers, and psychometricians. We believe that the time is ripe to call for extensive and fruitful collaboration at all levels of the educational system, and language teaching and testing should be promoted that considers both the realities and characteristics of educational contexts. Such collaboration should focus on different stakeholders, both in test development, administration, and evaluation and in the design and use of formative assessment procedures in the classroom (see Tsagari and Csépes 2012).

Further Reading Hill, K., and McNamara, T. (2012). Developing a comprehensive, empirically based research framework for classroom-based assessment. Language Testing, 29(3), 395–420. Moss, P. A., Girard, B. J., and Haniford, L. C. (2006). Validity in educational assessment. Review of Research in Education, 30, 109–162. O’Malley, M., and Valdez Pierce, L. (1996). Authentic assessment for English language learners. New York: Addison-Wesley. Shepard, L. (2000). The role of assessment in a learning culture. Educational Researcher, 29(7), 4–14.

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Nijakowska, J. (2010). Dyslexia in the Foreign Language Classroom. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. No Child Left Behind Act [NCLB]. (2001). Public Law No. 107–110. Oller, J. W. (1979). Language Tests at School. London: Longman. Poehner, M. E. (2008). Dynamic Assessment: A Vygotskian Approach to Understanding and Promoting Second Language Development. Berlin: Springer Ravitch, D. (2010). The Death and Life of the Great American School System: How Testing and Choice Are Undermining Education. Philadelphia, PA: Basic Books. Rea-Dickins, P. (2008). ‘Classroom-Based Language Assessment’. In Shohamy, E., and Hornberger, N. (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education (2nd ed., Vol. 7. Language Testing and Assessment). New York: Springer Science and Business Media (pp. 257–271). Rea-Dickins, P. and Gardner, S. (2000). Snares and Silver Bullets: Disentangling the Construct of Formative Assessment. Language Testing, 17(2), 215–243. Sambell, K., McDowell, L., and Brown, S. (1997). ‘But Is It Fair?’: An Exploratory Study of Student Perceptions of the Consequential Validity of Assessment. Studies in Educational Evaluation, 23(4), 349–371. Schleppegrell, M. J. (2012). Academic Language in Teaching and Learning: Introduction to the Special Issue. The Elementary School Journal, 112(3), 409–418. Schneider, G., and Lenz, P. (2001). European Language Portfolio: Guide for Developers. Strasbourg: Council of Europe. Stake, R. E. (1978). The Case Study Method in Social Inquiry. Educational Researcher, 7(2), 5–8. Stiggins, R. (1991). Assessment Literacy. The Phi Delta Kappan, 72, 534–539. Stiggins, R. (2001). Student-Involved Classroom Assessment (3rd ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc. Struyven, K., Dochy, F., and Janssens, S. (2002). Students’ Perceptions about Assessment in Higher Education: A Review. Paper presented at the Joint Northumbria/EARLI SIG Assessment and Evaluation Conference: Learning communities and assessment cultures, University of Northumbria at Newcastle. Taylor, L. (2009). Developing Assessment Literacy. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 29, 21–36. Taylor, L. (2012). ‘Accommodation in Language Testing’. In Coombe, C., Davidson, P., O’Sullivan, B., and Stoynoff, S. (Eds.), The Cambridge Guide to Second Language Assessment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (pp. 307–315). Tsagari, D. (2009). The Complexity of Test Washback: An Empirical Study. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang GmbH. Tsagari, D. (2011) ‘Investigating the ‘Assessment Literacy’ of EFL State School Teachers in Greece’. In Tsagari, D., and Csépes, I. (Eds.), Classroom-Based Language Assessment. Frankfurt: Peter Lang (pp. 169–190). Tsagari, D. (2012). FCE-Exam Preparation Discourses: Insights from an Ethnographic Study. Research Notes. Issue 47, 36–47. Retrieved from www.cambridgeesol.org/rs_notes/rs_nts47.pdf Tsagari, D. and Csépes, I. (Eds.) (2011). Classroom-Based Language Assessment. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang GmbH. Tsagari, D., and Csépes, I. (Eds.) (2012). Collaboration in Language Testing and Assessment. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang GmbH. Tsagari, D., and Spanoudis, G. (Eds.) (2013). Assessing L2 Students with Learning and Other Disabilities. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press. Turner, C. E. (2012). ‘Classroom Assessment’. In Fulcher, G. and Davidson, F. (Eds.), Routledge Handbook of Language Testing. London and New York: Routledge (pp. 61–74). Van de Watering, G., Gijbels, D., Dochy, F., and Van der Rijt, J. (2008). Students’ Assessment Preferences, Perceptions of Assessment and Their Relationships to Study Results. High Education, 56(6), 645–658. Vogt, K., and Tsagari, D. (forthcoming). Assessment Literacy of Foreign Language Teachers: Findings of a European Study. Language Assessment Quarterly. Wall, D. (2005). The Impact of High-Stakes Examinations on Classroom Teaching: A Case Study Using Insights From Testing and Innovation Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Walters, F. S. (2010). Cultivating Assessment Literacy: Standards Evaluation Through Language-Test Specification Reverse Engineering. Language Assessment Quarterly, 7, 317–342. Wenden, A. L. (1998). Metacognitive Knowledge and Language Learning. Applied Linguistics, 19(4), 515–537.

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27 Analyzing Classroom Language in CLIL Do Coyle

The term classroom discourse labels a real world event of immense complexity. Whether one experiences it as a live observer, or watches or listens to recordings, or studies transcripts, one is invariably overwhelmed by the multiplicity of levels of action and meaning that are present (Dalton-Puffer 2007, 15).

Introduction Classroom language in any setting where a foreign, second, indigenous, or additional language is used is open to wide interpretation and debate. The nature of the language used by both the teacher and the learners is highly complex, depending on the cultural context, the goals, and the projected outcomes of the learning. It also depends on the teachers’ values and belief systems; linguistic and cultural background and skills; and the professional development, learning, and experiences in which individuals engage. Characterized by tensions among theories, pedagogies, and practices, the concept of classroom language in Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL) has been influenced by diverse, interconnected, yet separate developments, including language learning in foreign language classrooms (MFL, TEFL, and TESOL), language learning in immersion settings, first language subject learning, and deeper understanding of literacies in both first and other languages. Before considering these influences in more detail, a historical overview will situate classroom language in CLIL contexts and provide the reader with a sense of how and why current challenges have evolved.

Content and Language Integrated Learning as an Evolving Phenomenon During the first decade of the 21st century, CLIL became an established phenomenon in the field of education (Eurydice 2006, 2). Although the principles of being educated through an alternative language have been established for centuries (Dalton-Puffer 2007), CLIL focuses on the integration of content learning and language learning. Since its early European pioneering phase in the 1990s, when CLIL was perceived as an important contributor to the European Commission’s Language Policy, (ref. CLIL/EMILE–The European Dimension: Actions, Trends and Foresight 353

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Potential, Marsh 2002), the concept of integrating language learning and subject learning has been the attention of two ‘curiously divided’ groups (Dalton-Puffer 2007, 3)—that is, policy makers and practitioners on a European and, more recently, a global stage. Defined as a dual focused educational approach in which an additional language is used for the learning and teaching of both content and language (Coyle et al. 2010, 1) the interpretation and enactment of CLIL takes on many different forms according to the contexts where it is realized and the variables which impact. As Baetens-Beardsmore (1993, 39) notes ‘there is no single blueprint of content and language integration’. Lasagabaster and Sierra (2010) and Llinares, Morton, and Whittaker (2012) usefully distinguish CLIL from existing bilingual models, highlighting conceptual and contextual variants, such as length of exposure to the language, the linguistic level of learners, content as a subject discipline or as thematic interest, and the extent to which a CLIL program is more content-oriented or language-oriented. Moreover, a rapidly growing practitioner-led movement of teaching subject or thematic studies through a language which is not the learners’ first has tended to focus on an additional European Language as the vehicular language—usually English—with two major consequences. First, there was a plethora of small-scale classroom pilot studies by CLIL teachers to experiment with different approaches to language and subject learning in an attempt to demonstrate that neither the language nor the subject would ‘fall behind’—yet often without an articulated theoretical foundation. Second, CLIL research agendas were fractured, implicating a range of different perspectives from applied linguistics and educational theories drawing on diverse fields such as second language acquisition and language learning, cognitive processing and meaning making or concept formation, functional linguistics, neurosciences, and discourse theories. The theoretical basis for CLIL had not yet evolved; instead it used an eclectic selection of findings from research in related settings, usually from Canadian immersion classrooms and Second Language Acquisition studies, to justify practices rather than problematize integrated learning—in some senses, a necessary step in an organic process. During the last three decades, as English increasingly became the CLIL vehicular language, the notion of learning a subject and language simultaneously extended to the fields of English as a Second Language (ESOL) and English as an Additional Language (EAL). Whilst some countries developed CLIL in languages other than English, a renewed interest in content-based language learning, task-based learning, and communicative principles came to the fore ‘ideally suited to a focus on communication, to the development of needed language skills through the interpretation, expression, and negotiation of meaning’ (Savignon 1991, 274). Subject teachers with little experience of teaching through an alternative language were required to integrate language tasks into their repertoire and language teachers were faced with adapting communicative tasks beyond lexical and grammatical practice (Coyle et al. 2010). Teaching to a syllabus organized according to pre-determined grammatical chronology was no longer appropriate, even in more language-oriented CLIL classes. At the same time, the subject dimensions were increasingly being explored in specific contexts (Gajo and Sierra 2002; Hanse 2000; Wolff 2005; Coyle and Baetens-Beardsmore 2007), yet without a shared understanding about the kind of classroom language required in a range of integrated settings. By 2004, the CLIL Compendium of experts was calling for a wider range of research-driven expertise to explore the multi-disciplinary and holistic features of CLIL. The need for more objective empirical data to substantiate results ‘widely acclaimed in CLIL but rarely achieved’ (Llinares et al. 2012, 215) was also reiterated by other researchers (Coyle and Baetens-Beardsmore 2007) demanding that CLIL develop its own research base building on pedagogic and theoretical influences presented in Figure 27.1. 354

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Figure 27.1

Pedagogical and Theoretical Influences on CLIL Classroom Language

Classroom Language in CLIL Four key strands that have impacted on the development of CLIL classroom language will now be considered.

From Communication to Interaction In line with Halliday’s (1975) view of language as an ‘instrument of social interaction with a clear communicative purpose’, debates about classroom language have been anchored in the concept of communicative competence for decades. Canale and Swain (1980) identified different contributory competences—grammatical, sociolinguistic, discourse, and strategic—that are needed to enrich classroom discourse. Research carried out by Savignon (1983), Hymes (1971), Canale and Swain (1980) and Bachman (1990), for example, emphasized the sociocultural component as an inseparable part of communicative competence. According to Schulz (2006, 254), however, communicative competence was neither realistic nor sufficient to fully develop classroom discourse. It is unrealistic because neither time nor instructional context is sufficient or appropriate to develop a meaningful and lasting level of proficiency. It is insufficient because short-lived, communicative survival skills are taught without intellectually challenging content. As the emphasis on classroom language shifted from controlled practice and repetition with a dominance of teacher talk to more communicative classroom activities, the importance of ‘interaction—of live, person-to-person encounters’ (Littlewood 1981) was increasingly researched. In Coyle et al.’s (2010) summary of Savignon’s (2004) principles for communicative language teaching, they highlight language as a tool for communication and the significance of using the language in order to learn. This echoes Schmidt’s (1983) conclusion that interactional competence was the main tenet of being able to communicate. 355

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Yet learners cannot communicate when they have nothing to communicate about nor a pedagogy to facilitate communication (Allwright 1984). Savignon (1991) acknowledged that the classroom as a social context for learning had been neglected. Interaction presupposes that learners have the appropriate communication skills to engage in encounters, the relevant linguistic skills to express meaning, and opportunities to participate in either a controlled or authentic discursive environment (Long 1996). Seedhouse (1996) suggested serious flaws with the communicative orthodoxy, bringing into question the limits of genuine or natural communication that could be generated in a classroom. In CLIL settings, the potential for genuine communicative interaction as a means to acquire new knowledge and learning is paramount.

Focus on Form and Focus on Meaning Tensions between focus on meaning and focus on form have been debated since applied linguistics came into being (Llinares et al. 2012) and are pertinent to CLIL where attention has to be paid to both language and content development. It is well documented in immersion settings (e.g., Swain 2000 and Lyster 2007) that a focus on meaning enables learners to develop overall communicative competence but with identifiable linguistic gaps. Effective communication requires a move away from de-contextualized focus on form to a focus on meaning constructed through ‘discourse rich’ environments (Genesee 1994, 1). Lyster (2007) emphasizes ‘noticing’ and language awareness as fundamental to ‘restructuring linguistic inter-language representations’ to proceduralize more target-like representations in classrooms where both language and content are targeted. His counterbalanced approach argues for the systematic integration of form-focused and meaning-focus activities, where the salience of language features enables learners to ‘process input for comprehension of subject matter as well as restructuring their representations of the target language through noticing and awareness activities’ (2007, 133). According to Swain (2000), whilst SLA in the 1980s was dominated by the concept of the input hypothesis focusing on ‘comprehensible input’ (Krashen, 1985), the development of the output hypothesis (Swain 1985) was a process involving negotiating meaning through ‘pushed’ output. This has implications for language as a processing tool involving four functions (Kowal and Swain 1997): the noticing function (Izumi 2002, 570), to trigger in learners a ‘deeper and more elaborate processing of form’ leading to a ‘more durable memory trace’; the hypothesizing-testing function, encouraging learners to experiment with language supported by teacher use of elicitations and clarification requests rather than recasts (Loewen 2002; Mackey 2002); the meta-linguistic function, whereby language is perceived as a mediating tool (Wertsch 1985) to enable learners to engage in ‘collaborative dialogue’ (Swain and Lapkin,1998) and where language is used externally and collaboratively to support problem solving and knowledge co-construction; and the fluency function, whereby producing language in a meaningful context through practice leads to increasing access to L2 knowledge. If thinking aloud mediates the internalization of new knowledge, to construct and de-construct knowledge and regulate human agency, then it follows that this impacts not only on how we perceive the role of language in any classroom, but also which language is used at particular points. As Swain and Lapkin (2000, 269) note, ‘to insist that no use be made of the L1 in carrying out tasks that are both linguistically and cognitively complex is to deny the use of an important cognitive tool’. However, the use of L1 as a cognitive and scaffolding tool invokes the use of code-switching and languaging as part of classroom talk. Drawing on work by Brooks and Donato (1994) and Swain and Lapkin (2000), Wannagat (2007) highlights the importance of L1 for ‘task involvement’. Macaro (2009) argues that excluding L1 from the communicative L2 classroom may also limit cognitive and meta-cognitive opportunities. Perhaps van Lier’s (1996) notion of 356

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creating a focus on language is more helpful and resonates with exploring language using in the classroom context since classroom interaction does not separate function from form (Tarone and Swierzbin 2009).

Meaning Making Over recent decades, across Europe, language learning approaches have become increasingly influenced by more general theories of learning, especially social constructivism (Bigge and Shermis 1998). There has been a significant move away from transmission models of teaching to a focus on learning and classroom interaction (e.g., group work and pair work to encourage problem solving and higher-order thinking). In the 1980s, the Language across the Curriculum (LAC) movement in the UK (Bullock 1975) targeted awareness-raising across both primary and secondary sectors that every teacher is a language teacher—albeit in the first language of learners. Other influences from L1 subject learning on CLIL can be attributed to an increasing interest in ‘the thinking curriculum’, including language for expressing higher-order thinking (McGuiness 1999). Anderson and Krathwold’s 2001 revision of Bloom’s Taxonomy, which identified four types of knowledge (factual, conceptual, procedural, and meta-cognitive), each demanding different types of language, cements classroom language as a fundamental requirement for cognitive engagement in the learning process. Given that subject discourse involves different types of knowledge construction, Veel and Coffin (1996, 194) propose that subject learning and the types of language that ‘embody that learning’ are explicitly linked and culturally rooted—that is, building scientific knowledge does not necessarily involve the same language as explaining historical time or biological recount. Llinares et al. (2012) argue that making explicit the way language works in CLIL subjects requires subject teachers to be aware of intuitive subject genres (i.e., how different types of explanations are embedded in subject discourse, such as how a scientific explanation may differ from a historical explanation) to enable them to intervene appropriately in the knowledge construction and linguistic skilling of learners (Morton 2010). This intervention impacts profoundly on classroom language.

Literacies Cummins’ (1979) seminal work on basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS) and cognitive academic language proficiency (CALP) has been highly influential in bilingual settings. Whilst BICS, or social language, focuses on language needed in everyday situations, CALP, or academic language, refers to the language needed for schooling, including more cognitively challenging literacy skills. Although not intended as an ‘either-or’, Cummins’ research demonstrated that social language is not sufficient for academic success and that an emphasis on academic language was required. This resonates with CLIL settings in which learners need to develop both social and academic language in order engage in the language for socializing and the language of schooling (Zwiers and Crawford 2011). According to Schleppegrell (2004), both are essential for effective dialogic and interactive learning. A link between academic language and literacies should also be highlighted—a point returned to later. Academic language proficiency cannot be achieved unless learners are literate in the broadest sense in the CLIL language—for example, having an awareness of the genres and registers that make up subject literacies. There are also links with Hornberger’s (2002) continua of biliteracy. Love (2009) shifts the emphasis onto subject teachers by advocating that an understanding of ‘literacy pedagogical content knowledge’—that is, how content knowledge is 357

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constructed through language and literacy—must be made transparent to learners. This implies fundamental understanding of text types, grammar, and vocabulary. According to Llinares et al. (2012, 16), the implications of literacies for classroom language are immeasurable since CLIL teachers will need to identify these genre and register features in the materials and activities they use, and highlight them for their learners. The main context in which they do this is through interaction in the classroom. Of particular importance are studies that demonstrate how particular kinds of classroom dialogue have profound effects on the nature of learners’ thinking (Wertsch 1979; Wells 1999; Mercer and Littleton 2007). Focusing on teacher-pupil dialogue (Mortimer and Scott 2003; Alexander 2008), exploratory talk, thinking aloud, and sharing ideas for collaborative learning demand classroom language. Whilst these studies have been conducted in first language classrooms, the implications for CLIL in terms of scaffolding for deeper learning are profound. In many contexts, CLIL has been heralded as a change agent, challenging traditional pedagogies. It is clear that research studies which promote dialogic approaches to learning, involving co-constructed content knowledge, will also demand specific language and literacy skills, which fundamentally challenge the dominance of teacher talk and the initiation-response-feedback (IRF) exchanges between learners and their teacher. Positioning CLIL in theoretical paradigms reveals its hybridity. As has been argued thus far, CLIL points to a dynamic interchange between linguistic and educational theoretical perspectives that cross both cognitive and social realms.

Classroom Language and Educational Linguistics The nature of classroom language in CLIL settings is as diverse as the contexts themselves, because the goals and outcomes of using and learning the language determine the ways in which the language itself is practiced and used. However, as García (2009, 211) notes, the propagation of CLIL responds to the growing need for efficient linguistic skills, bearing in mind that the major concern is about education, not about being bilingual or multilingual. As the previous sections have shown, CLIL in general, and classroom language in particular, is inextricably linked to a variety of theoretical underpinnings drawn from the field of Applied Linguistics and yet cannot, by definition, exist without recourse to pedagogic and educational theories. Therefore, if educational linguistics investigates holistically the broad range of issues related to language and education (Hult 2008, 12) and sits at the intersection of educational and linguistics (Spolsky 1974), CLIL would appear to fit into the broad definition of educational linguistics because in its entirety it is rooted in pedagogies which enable learners to learn both language and content together whilst acknowledging that classroom language (e.g., subject discourse, academic discourse, dialogic interventions) is at the core of the learning. Whilst much of the first part of this chapter has been about analyzing how CLIL classroom language has evolved, the second part will focus on research that has been carried out in what can be justified as informing the field of educational linguistics. According to Brumfit (1996, 12) when practices are informed by linguistic research but are not limited to it, then educational linguistics supports the study of language in ‘real-world situations where the problems and conventions are defined by non-linguists, whether the general public or language professionals’. He continues by suggesting that classroom research studies involving language need to be positioned in the field of (applied) linguistics, and they must also involve educational researchers and teachers, in order to provide an understanding of ‘the inevitable “messiness” of classroom and broader educational practice, in which so many agendas are competing for attention in limited space’ (1992, 12). 358

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Thus far, attention to CLIL classroom language has drawn on the relationship between language and cognition; the role of language as a socializing agent and learning tool, and language acquisition and learning. The next section will analyze some core research studies which situate CLIL classroom language in the field of educational linguistics and which identify future research agendas.

Core Issues and Key Findings Classroom Interaction for Language Learning and Language Using An important comparative study by Gajo and Serra (2002) into the teaching of mathematics through the first (Italian) and second language (French) of primary school pupils focused on the elaboration of verbal interaction in order to scaffold basic cognitive processing of input. They analyzed the language structures in both L1 and L2 and discovered differences between L1 and CLIL learner knowledge processing. Monolinguals appeared to rely more on informational knowledge (knowing what) and bilinguals used more operational knowledge (knowing how). These findings suggest that language used in more L1 transactional settings relied more on memorization, whereas in operational settings more verbal interaction appeared to take place between peers and teacher. Gajo and Serra (2002) also noted that teachers paid greater attention in the CLIL class to the language of mathematics and suggest that constant comprehension checks by the teacher result in higher levels of communication in the classroom. In Coyle’s (2011) study, the CLIL teachers, many of whom were language teachers, also focused almost exclusively on meaning, with constant comprehension checks and closed questions requiring only short answers from the learners. Dalton-Puffer’s study (2007) found that student discussions were carefully controlled, perhaps due to limitations in teacher language. Similarly, Nikula (2010) found that in CLIL lessons there was less variety in the teacher’s language and, according to Dalton-Puffer’s (2007) data, less humor. Smit (2010) argues, however, that possible limitations in CLIL teacher linguistic competence and confidence may lead to greater engagement in classroom discourse by learners, especially at tertiary level, since they feel more on an equal footing with their teachers. Maillat’s study (2010) reports that students engaged in richer interactions in CLIL lessons due to the ‘masking effect’ (i.e., where learners ‘hide’ behind the L2, allowing them to suspend their personal beliefs and take on alternative identities). Other studies suggest a lowering of CLIL learner anxiety in using the language (Nikula 2010; Maillat 2010) that goes beyond a lack of error correction with a tendency to use less formal language. De Graaf, Koopman, Anikina and Westhoff ’s study (2007) developed an analytic tool for language use in CLIL classrooms. Targeting CLIL content teachers, the study identifies indicators of effective classroom language: input that is at a (just) challenging level; meaning-focused processing, including explicit and implicit types of feedback; form-focused processing using recasts, confirmation checks, clarification requests and feedback; pushed output, facilitated through different interactive formats and enabling language practice with corrective language feedback; and strategic language use, especially developing compensation strategies to address comprehension and language production issues. The study confirms the need for content-oriented teachers to be made aware of the implicit and explicit linguistic implications of classroom language. It also suggests that all CLIL teachers need to understand at a deeper level the challenges of working towards language-rich classrooms. Initiation-response-feedback (IRF) interaction patterns between teachers and pupils are often criticized as limited and restrictive (van Lier 1996). Llinares et al. (2012) suggest that when feedback becomes ‘follow on’, a richer space for exploring meaning through dialogue is constructed. 359

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‘An alternative pattern occurs when, instead of making an evaluation of a student’s response, the teacher gives feedback to the student to prompt further elaboration’ (Mortimer and Scott 2003). Follow-on accompanied by contingent scaffolding (Gibbons 2002) suggests that when classroom language is integral to task planning, it becomes a means in itself for developing linguistic awareness and language use whilst constructing new knowledge. According to Alexander (2008, 30) learner understanding requires guided progressive questioning and discussion to ‘prompt, reduce choices, minimize risk and error and expedite “handover” of concepts and principles’. Dialogic classroom studies have thus far been mainly conducted in L1 classrooms. Llinares et al. (2012) note their relative absence in CLIL settings, suggesting that the potential for providing an ‘optimum environment’ (Haneda and Wells 2008) for developing dialogic CLIL classrooms remains to be investigated.

Integrating Language Learning and Content Learning The role of language in the CLIL classroom is increasingly under the microscope as it moves beyond language-oriented settings into wider learning contexts. Mohan and Beckett (2003) draw attention to the neglected role of language and discourse in content learning—in L1 as well as L2 settings. His study on grammatical scaffolding to support concept formation and causal explanations notes that the recasts required by specific CLIL sequences are not the same as those expected to support L2 in more general settings. Learners and teacher have to collaborate over the functional relation of language and subject meaning. This involves complex manoeuvres and semantic paraphrasing underpinned by what Mohan and Beckett (2003) calls causal lexico-grammar and grammatical metaphor, where through an ‘editing’ process speakers negotiate changes to the language to enhance the meaning—that is, interaction focuses on the relation between language and meaning, as in ‘to stop the brain aging we can use our bodies and heads’ being recast by the teacher as ‘yes we can prevent our brain from getting weak by being mentally and physically active’ (2003, 428). In other words, new ways of approaching classroom language are required, which draw on collective understanding from SLA research but which also differ from each other significantly. Gajo (2007, 568) calls for ‘precise reflection on the linguistic aspects of subject knowledge and on the role of discourse in the learning process’ as he suggests that discourse mediates and re-mediates subject and knowledge paradigms in specific ways. The knowledge paradigm involves both communication and authentication (Hanse 2000)—that is, the more opaque the discourse, the more information is needed from the language paradigm; the denser the discourse, the more support is needed from the subject paradigm. He emphasizes the need to re-conceptualize ‘communicative competence’ to make more explicit the interrelationship between subject knowledge and language knowledge. Other studies corroborate this stance. Mariotti’s (2006) study emphasizes the importance of negotiation sequences and, as previously stated, Lyster’s counterbalance approach provides ‘continual opportunities to process input for comprehension through noticing and awareness activities’ (2007, 133). The Language Triptych (Coyle and Baetens-Beardsmore 2007; 2010) was developed as a conceptual tool for developing a focus on language—especially aimed at subject teachers who may not have had any linguistic training and at language teachers who needed an alternative to grammatical chronology. The Triptych links three domains (knowledge, cognitive processing, and language) using content knowledge as a trigger for classroom planning from three perspectives: language of learning, language for learning, and language through learning. Language of and for are compatible with Snow’s content-obligatory and content-compatible language. Language of provides access to the core language that learners need in order to start to construct meaning of content—including 360

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lexis, key terms, and associated language structures. Language for ensures that related linguistic functions that allow learners to participate fully in task and use language to interact with others is accessible. Coyle’s language through takes a different direction from Gajo’s content-autonomous language. Instead it connects more with ‘follow-on’ language that enables learners to delve more spontaneously into meaning-making using unplanned language.

Linguistic Demands of Subject Genres and Literacies For Dalton-Puffer (2007) CLIL classroom language analysis concerns situating linguistic behavior in academic settings. Yet classroom language use in CLIL depends to a large extent on the education cultures associated with the subject discourse and pedagogies (Bonnet 2004; Whittaker and Llinares 2009). The degree to which learners are required to verbalize complex content depends on variables such as the cultural content of the subject and the traditions of the subject pedagogies embedded in particular contexts (Pessoa et al. 2007). Drawing on Systemic Functional Grammar, the Sydney School adopt a functional linguistics approach to investigating subject-specific genre clusters and literacies in science (e.g., Halliday and Martin 1993) and social subjects (e.g., Veel 1997). These provide an orientation to genre from the perspective of system and structure, and place genre within a general model of language and social context, resulting in genre analysis. These studies identify discursive language functions associated with different subject genres (e.g., chronicling, reporting, explaining, and arguing). Veel and Coffin (1996) emphasize the link between the types of language expected within subject parameters and the types of language that embody that learning. This goes far beyond the notion of subject-related lexis that often concerns CLIL teachers in the early stages and directs classroom discourse towards being subject-embedded, literacy-oriented, and culturally driven. Llinares et al.’s (2012) seminal study provides an in-depth analysis of the genres of science, geography, and history as school subjects. Their study develops a tool to enable a deeper understanding between teachers and their learners of the types of discourse needed to access the knowledge and cultural base of subject disciplines. Schleppegrell’s work (2006) also emphasizes the need to understand language functions of text to connect subject knowledge and the use of language so that ‘cognitive functions intrinsic to a subject become visible through a focus on genres’ (Llinares et al. 2012, 147). Schleppegrell (2004) also takes the view that language should be viewed as whole rather than separating meaning and form, advocating that a theory of language which is discourse- and meaning-based also promotes a focus on language as part of learning at the same time as new content is introduced. This view links with the trajectory from oracy to literacy that plays a significant role in subject learning in CLIL settings and which requires more specific targeted language goals (Dalton-Puffer 2007). Widening the arguments further and taking up a previous point, evolving views of literacy have particular relevance for CLIL classroom language. For example, Hornberger’s continua of biliteracy model plots the trajectory from oral to written language in line with Llinares et al. (2012); Martin-Jones and Jones (2000) suggest multilingual literacies to refer to ‘multiple ways in which people draw on, and combine codes of their communicative repertoires when they speak, sign and write’ (García 2009, 339); and pluriliteracy practices (García, Bartlett and Kleifgen 2007) moves towards an interrelated and flexible use of language built on a key principle of exploring and valuing hybridity. Whilst pluriliteracies have as yet had little influence on CLIL classroom language, and arguably CLIL contexts are not necessarily bilingual, nonetheless research suggests that the potential of classroom discourse as a discursive literacy tool is not yet fully conceptualized in CLIL settings. Morton’s study (2010) concludes that a focus on classroom genres 361

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might be a powerful tool in promoting the development of oral and written academic literacy in CLIL learners. An analysis on classroom language in CLIL has also to take account of which languages are used and when. Whilst code-switching is well researched in the field of bilingual education, in CLIL settings the emphasis is somewhat different. In most CLIL contexts, it is likely that the CLIL vehicular language is at a lower level than the first language of the learners. This raises the dilemma of language choice when dealing with understanding difficult subject concepts or even engaging in regular classroom ‘banter’. Extremes of practices range from prohibiting the use of any other language than the vehicular language to translating and emulating monolingual classrooms. Borrowing from recent studies on first and other language use in language classrooms (Levine 2003), Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain (2005) found that students code-switch when they are unable to express what they want to say in the L2, but also for ‘discourse related functions that contextualize the interactional meaning of their utterances’ (2005, 235). Macaro’s (2009) study in classrooms similar to CLIL suggests that code-switching could be a systemic, principled, and planned approach to language development, which acts a linguistic bridge between language learning and meaning-making. This aspect of classroom language in CLIL remains under-researched and contentious, built on the underlying fear that use of the first language will provide an ‘easy way out’ for reluctant learners and a safety net for CLIL subject teachers whose language skills are insufficiently advanced. In this section, a range of studies relating to the integration of language and subject learning and the intricate ebb and flow between linguistic demands related to academic literacies and subject understanding, and subject demands on discursive and linguistic progression, reveal theoretical tensions and complex interrelationships that have not yet been translated into the practitioners’ repertoire for enacting classroom discourse.

Research Approaches Curriculum content learning and language learning, which are still generally seen as two separate pedagogic issues should be consciously taken into account in an integrated way in classroom-based bilingual research. (Leung 2005, 4) Research approaches to classroom language in CLIL tend to fall into two categories. The first focuses on class-based research or action research usually carried out by teachers gathering data to validate the outcomes of adopting a CLIL approach. These studies are localized, qualitative, and tend to be unreported in academic literature, although sometimes they are disseminated through professional association websites and publications (e.g., Coyle, Holmes, and King 2009). The second consists of empirical or more substantial corpus-driven studies carried out by academic researchers. Whilst classroom discourse has been extensively researched, there are relatively few robust and rigorous studies within a CLIL context. Bonnet’s (2010) analysis of CLIL research in Germany identifies disparities in findings and weaknesses in current research design, which he suggests is applicable beyond the national context. According to Bonnet, some of the conclusive positive research about the effectiveness of CLIL is limited, and, in order to maximize the validity of the research, both micro and macro perspectives need to be taken into account. Ruiz de Zarobe and Catalan’s 2009 edition of Evidence from Research in Europe brought together 12 research studies and commentaries on the state of CLIL. Seven studies focused on linguistic aspects of CLIL (e.g., vocabulary, syntax, morphology) and only two on classroom language in

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relation to subject learning (communicative competence and analysis of the spoken word). These two seminal studies are presented as follows. Dalton-Puffer (2007) defends theoretical and methodological pluralism in approaches to her in-depth analysis of classroom discourse. She uses a multi-perspectival analytical framework involving speech acts, genre analysis, oral practices, discourse grammar, and conversation analysis. Her study, predominantly qualitative, focuses on naturalistic classroom interaction through audio-recordings of CLIL lessons to construct a corpus of 40 lessons transcripts. Some data were analyzed according to Tryadic Dialogue (Lemke 1990) for analyzing the importance of the ‘F’ move in knowledge construction; other data were analyzed for interaction patterns, which demonstrated the dominance of teacher-led whole class discussion. Teacher interviews were also conducted to gain insights into individual linguistic and professional circumstances and their impact on classroom approaches. Data also included field notes, teaching materials, and documents. The corpus had subsets focusing on differing analyses (e.g., 10 lessons were coded and quantified according to questioning activity); some transcripts were coded for occurrences of speech functions (e.g., defining, explaining, and hypothesizing); conversational analysis was used to interpret feedback and correction, especially using the CA repair schema as an analytical tool (van Lier 1988). Dalton-Puffer concludes that further research on ‘broadening and sharpening the theoretical basis of CLIL’ (2007, 297) is essential, especially focusing on more explicit academic language learning goals if CLIL potential is to be realized. A second multi-study by Llinares, Morton, and Whittaker (2012), The Roles of Language in CLIL, uses a trans-European 500,000-word corpus of CLIL secondary classroom data from Spain, Austria, Finland, and the Netherlands with an additional 200,000 words corpus from CLIL pre-school and primary settings. Using Cenoz’s (2009) Continua of Multilingual Education to enable linguistic, sociolinguistic, and school factors to combine in different ways, comparative data were situated along the continua. The researchers constructed a three-part analytic framework, which involves subject literacies, classroom interaction, and language development, adopted from work by Mortimer and Scott (2003). Based on systemic functional linguistic principles, it provides a rich description of CLIL classroom language and tools for further systematic research. Their findings provide classroom examples of interaction patterns leading to knowledge construction and dialogic exchange that promote meaning making and language development. These examples emphasize the role of genres and registers required for deep understanding of different academic subjects and the need for subject teachers to raise awareness of functional language as an essential element of learning. Coyle’s (2011) qualitative study on 23 CLIL secondary classrooms in the UK analyses classroom discourse using the LOCIT process (Coyle 2010). This innovative research approach involves learners and teachers as researchers; video-recorded lessons are analyzed by learners and their teacher independently for learning moments using digital tools (Coyle www.abdn.ac.uk/ locit). A comparison of edits from video recorded lessons facilitates dialogue between learners and teachers to enable shared understanding as to how learning takes place and the kind of classroom interaction that supports it. The process provides rich data using content analysis by those involved in dialogic intensions in CLIL classrooms. It also allows a meta-analysis of the data by external researchers to understand the types of discourse used in CLIL classrooms using Coyle’s Language Triptych (Coyle 2013). Findings report that there is a focus on language of and for learning but few incidents of language through learning. This reiterates the need for teachers to understand more about the interrelationship between discursive practices and knowledge construction in CLIL contexts.

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Current Debates Integration As indicated in the previous section, one of the major concerns involves the complexities of integrating subject and language learning across a range of settings where contextual variables come into play. Whilst particular attention has been paid to classroom language, an evolving understanding of the demands of integrating subject and language learning is resulting in increasing awareness of the significance of language in CLIL classrooms. Drawing on Gajo’s (2007) call for defining a ‘new communicative competence’ for CLIL, the quest to find ways to conceptualize the learning of language and the learning of subject knowledge through language from a holistic perspective remains.

Academic Discourse A second challenge concerns the role of academic discourse in CLIL, which focuses on the kinds of language needed for effective learning and the catalysts for developing the registers and genres of appropriate discourses (Meyer 2010). Current interest is increasing in investigating the role of pluriliteracies in CLIL across subjects and languages (European Centre for Modern Languages 2012). This questions interpretations of BICS/CALP that suggest that learners need basic interpersonal communication skills before they can develop academic proficiency. The sequential nature of language skilling is under the microscope, and building on the work of Morton (2010) and Whittaker and Llinares (2009) involves deeper exploration of literacy practices, including both oral and written literacy development in CLIL environments. Increasing attention is being paid to interaction in CLIL settings, yet the nature, development and enactment of integrated academic discourse remains open to debate. As Dalton-Puffer (2011, p. 193) affirms, ‘a genre focus might furnish the much sought after analytical tool that captures content and language integration’. She also notes that much more work is required, both conceptually and empirically, across different CLIL contexts so that notions of discourse functions and genres in CLIL classrooms can be ‘regarded as settled’. Debates around the nature of academic discourse also involve the role of using more than one language in the CLIL classroom. This issue is contentious because in some contexts using a language other than the CLIL vehicular language is perceived as inappropriate. The use of more than one language that is common to learners has not yet been widely debated as an overt pedagogic strategy. Concerns around the clarity of the motivations and procedures for using two languages need to be deliberated, otherwise ad hoc use, triggered by misunderstandings of integrated learning processes, may seriously affect learning outcomes. Increasingly, there is renewed interest in making explicit the language features in academic discourse, but in ways that diverge from more traditional linguistic appropriation, so that equal attention is paid to both focus on form and on meaning.

Cultural Implications Taking into account Coyle’s (2010) 4Cs Conceptual Framework for CLIL, the role of culture or cultures has been largely ignored thus far. Unpacking the role of cultures—ranging from classrooms and pedagogic traditions to sociocultural dimensions associated with different languages as well as the subjects disciplines and cultural alliances—that impact on different levels of classroom discourse has not yet been rigorously investigated. 364

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An Evidence Base Coyle and Baetens-Beardsmore’s 2007 call for the CLIL research agenda to connect and be connected, along with seven recommendations for establishing a rigorous research agenda, involves a rigorous re-evaluation of classroom language in CLIL. Bonnet (2010), too, calls for an integrated approach to CLIL research, which connects qualitative and quantitative paradigms with product, process, and participant-oriented perspectives. He suggests adapting a documentary method approach to analyze ‘interactional performance in order to reconstruct from this a generative deep structure that causes people’s actions’, in a space where functional-pragmatic analysis of language sits alongside a reflexive-emancipatory concept of subject competence. Approaches such as these could integrate complex notions of competence in two domains (i.e., subject matter knowledge and language). If a robust evidence base is the ‘paramount goal’ of CLIL research, Bonnet (2010) affirms that a focus on widening its scope through creating links to existing largescale qualitative studies and using quantitative instruments from other related fields is required, resulting in a ‘meta-analysis of CLIL research’.

Implications for Education Throughout this chapter the contextual variables associated with CLIL classrooms have been emphasised. How integrated learning happens will depend on micro and macro level factors. How discourse unfolds, likewise. Perhaps the greatest challenge is to harness this diversity for both the breadth and depth of its richness and contribution to the academic and professional fields in terms of how integrated learning happens (Dalton-Puffer 2011). The conditions for maximizing the benefits of classroom language depend on an accrued and dynamic shared understanding of pedagogic practices. They forefront the need for systematic teacher education that is tailored to the needs of teachers (i.e., a content-oriented teacher will not necessarily bring the same understanding of CLIL teaching as a language-oriented teacher; their discursive and cultural communities may have some commonalities but also some marked differences). Overcoming these differences and constructing a knowledge and skill base for CLIL that is built on the fundamental role of classroom discourse as both a sociocultural linguistic and pedagogic phenomenon is an essential task for teacher education. It could be argued that CLIL pedagogies are still in their infancy. An increasingly robust evidence base will be needed to support professional learning as well as professional expectations that CLIL teachers will carry out classroom research. Situating these challenges within the paradigm of educational linguistics is an exciting and necessary stage in the development of the transformative potential of CLIL to enrich the learning of young people, not only from a second language or additional language perspective, but also within the norms of learning through the first language. Educational linguistics is poised to play a major role in these developments if it can offer a communal space at the intersection of linguistic and pedagogic understanding for stakeholders (i.e., the learners, the teachers, teacher educators, and researchers). Collaboration in this space has the potential to yield pedagogic principles about the nature, appropriateness, and efficacy of classroom discourse. Current teacher education practices do not acknowledge the immense complexity of discourse, nor do they analyze or investigate the nature of classroom language, its role in concept formation, or its use to support the development of another language in CLIL classrooms. The implications for transforming approaches to tasks, activities, and interactions in CLIL classrooms are immeasurable and fundamental to 21st century learning. For this to be achieved, researchers are challenged to situate pedagogic and language study in the educational linguistics paradigm on both micro and macro levels, teacher educators are 365

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challenged to raise awareness of and address the multiplicity of discursive functioning, and teachers are challenged to rethink the nature of classroom language and experiment with its complexities from both pedagogic and linguistic perspectives to provide learners with greater transparency of ‘talking learning’ to understand better the complexities of classroom language (van Lier 1996, 203).

Further Reading Coyle, D., and Baetens-Beardsmore, H. (2007). International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism. Special Issue: Research on Content and Language Integrated Learning, 10(5). Coyle, D., Hood, P., and Marsh, D. (2010). Content and language integrated learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dalton-Puffer, C. (2007). Discourse in content and language integrated learning (CLIL) classrooms. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. Dalton-Puffer, C., Nikula, T., and Smit, U. (Eds.) (2010). Language use and language learning in CLIL classrooms. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. European Commission. (2002). D. Marsh. (Ed.) CLIL/EMILE The European dimension: Actions, trends and foresight potential. http://ec.europa.eu/languages/documents/doc491_en.pdf Llinares, A., Morton, T., and Whittaker, R. (2012). The roles of language in CLIL. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marsh, D., Maljers, A., and Hartiala, K. A.-K. (Eds.) (2001). Profiling European CLIL classrooms: languages opens doors. University of Jyväskylä, Finland & European Platform for Dutch Education, The Netherlands: University of Jyväskylä. Ruiz de Zarobe, Y., and Catalan, R. M. J. (Eds.) (2009). Content and language integrated learning evidence from research in Europe. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters.

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28 Heritage Language Education in the United States The Chinese Case Yun Xiao

The era of globalization has prompted the United States to realize that there is an unprecedented need for individuals with high-level proficiency in languages other than English (Brecht and Ingold 2002). Heritage languages (HLs) are hence recognized as a national resource to supply that shortage. As an immigrant country, the United States has a rich linguistic heritage, with over 140 non-English languages spoken by immigrant and indigenous peoples (Brecht and Ingold 2002). Data in the 2010 U.S. Census (Hoeftel et al. 2012) show that there is a total of over 309 million persons in the U.S. population, out of which over one-third reported their race and ethnicity as “minority.” Between 2000 and 2010, this group increased from 86.9 million to 111.9 million, representing a growth of 29%. Among them, the Hispanic and the Asian populations have grown over 43% each. Moreover, as of 2010, 12.7% of the total U.S. population is foreign-born (as compared with 10% in 2000), and 20.1% of the persons over age 5 speak a language other than English at home (as compared with 18% in 2000). Such increases reflect the United States’ historic immigration pattern and result in an increase in language diversity, a pattern that will likely continue (Shin and Kominski 2010, 11). Unlike the hard-won foreign language proficiency of English-speaking U.S. Americans, the reservoir of proficiency in languages other than English brought by the immigrant “minority” population to American soil is rich and ready to use. To preserve and tap it, an HL Initiative was launched in 1999, followed by a sweeping HL movement in research and education. However, the role of HLs in the nation’s security and prosperity is just beginning to be understood. HL education, which has operated outside of the formal education system, is just approaching the mainstream agenda. Likewise, HL research has not yet found a place in language acquisition theories (Lynch 2003). Recent HL studies have touched upon a range of issues by employing various theories such as first and second language acquisition, theoretical linguistics, applied linguistics, sociolinguistics, bilingualism theories, discourse analysis, and language socialization (e.g., Wong-Fillmore 1991; Valdés 2000; Fishman 1991; 2001; Peyton, Ranard, and McGinnis 2001; Brecht and Ingold 2002; Cummins 2005; Polinsky and Kagan 2007; Lo Bianco 2007; Wang 2007; Brinton, Kagan, and Bauckus 2008; He and Xiao 2008; O’Grady et al. 2011). The list is long and includes many related fields, but there is not a coherent approach on its own, and HL research from an educational linguistic perspective alone is hardly obtainable. So far, little is known about the issues and social factors that are associated with HL education in the U.S.; the effect of 370

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immigrant home backgrounds; and the impact of the social factors on HL maintenance, loss, and shift. Using data from studies on Chinese as a HL (CHL) and elsewhere, this chapter aims to shed light on the inquiry.

Definitions of Heritage Language and Classification of Heritage Language Speakers Heritage language has been associated with a variety of terms and definitions, depending on the context it is situated in or the perspective it is viewed from. It is called home language in bilingual education, non-English language in the English-speaking mainstream society, world/modern language in foreign language education, ancestral/ethnic language in immigrant/indigenous communities, and heritage language in relation to one’s family heritage. In the educational setting, HL is often defined by learner’s proficiency: A heritage learner is a student who is raised in a home where a non-English language is spoken, who speaks or at least understands the language, and who is to some degree bilingual in that language and in English (Valdés 2000). To reflect their language change, HL speakers are also defined as “people raised in a home where one language is spoken who subsequently switch to another dominant language” (Polinsky and Kagan 2007, 368). From various standpoints, these definitions capture the characteristics of HL speakers one way or another.

Heritage Language Education in the United States: Core Issues and Key Findings With evidence for recent CHL studies, this section will discuss some of the HL issues on debate, with a focus on its linguistic characteristics, variations, and advantages; language shift and attrition; and environment and prospects.

Linguistic Characteristics, Variations, and Advantages Data from CHL studies demonstrate a constellation of linguistic complexities in HL learners’ language skills, literacy, grammar, and discourse development, which leads to the claim that the HL speakers’ proficiency in general does not fit well into the ACTFL proficiency framework, in that they range from having only a few rudimentary words or phrases to having a solid command of speaking, listening, reading, and writing skills (Hendryx 2008). Some of them may have a smattering of speaking and listening skills but with marginal reading and writing abilities, and others may be fluent or nearly fluent in a Chinese dialect but have little knowledge of the standard Mandarin norm. Furthermore, Koda et al. (2008) report that CHL learners are sensitized to the structural properties of Chinese compound characters, which enables them to have better and faster development in the target literacy, and Ming and Tao (2008) note that CHL learners possess pre-existing Chinese grammatical knowledge that enables them to make fewer morphosyntactic errors and perform better in their written compositions. However, some researchers report that CHL proficiency and grammar knowledge are increasingly deteriorating and lost over time (Jia 2008; Jia and Barley 2008). In a study that investigates HL maintenance and loss among recent Chinese immigrants (n = 85) in New York City, Jia (2008) found that with an increasing exposure to English and a steady growth of English skills, HL skills continuously declined over the years, with reading and writing skills experiencing greater attrition than speaking skills. Similarly, using multiple tasks such as story retelling, multiple cloze test, and picture description (N = 36), Jia and Bayley (2008) found that the use of Chinese morphological marker –le by the participants declined as their length of residence in the United States increased. 371

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The author’s research studies (Xiao 2004; 2006; 2010) reveal that CHL learners possess skewed Chinese language abilities, with linguistic advantages over their non-heritage counterparts in some areas but not in others. By examining college beginning students’ performance in their semester-long achievement tests, an SAT II, and a writing task (HL = 20, non-HL = 18), Xiao (2004) found that CHL learners did significantly better than their non-HL counterparts in listening, speaking, grammar tests, and mid-term and final written exams but not in vocabulary quizzes, character writing, or reading. In a follow-up study, Xiao (2006) examined CHL learners’ Chinese syntactic development (CHL = 94, non-HL = 54) at three instructional levels (beginning, intermediate, and advanced) in two American universities. Through a 25-item grammaticality judgment test and a 6-item English-to-Chinese translation, the study found that CHL learners had a significantly higher group average than their non-HL counterparts in the grammaticality judgment test and also produced more acceptable sentences in the translation test across the three instructional levels. However, the CHL learners did not show advantages over their non-HL counterparts in the more complex discourse-oriented constructions in the translation test. This finding was further confirmed by Xiao’s (2010) subsequent study, in which learners’ Chinese written samples were collected over two consecutive semesters, out of which four of the data sets (CHL = 2, Non-HL = 2) were analyzed. The results showed that over developmental time the participants, heritage and non-heritage alike, consistently produced structurally simple and discursively loose SVO constructions, and CHL learners did not show meaningful advantages over their non-heritage counterparts. Furthermore, neither HL or non-HL learners showed notable changes in their target discourse features, although some progress was made by particular individuals or in particular features. Data presented in this section demonstrate that HL learners are characterized by a high level of linguistic variation with various advantages over their non-HL counterparts in the language classroom. In a country where language education has been about either teaching the English language to foreign language speakers or teaching foreign languages to English speakers, such HL linguistic complexities are no doubt a serious challenge to HL education and foreign language instruction as well.

Language Shift and Attrition Historically, HL speakers’ proficiency was viewed as an ethnic asset, needed for effective communication within families and communities, and fostered by family transmission and community maintenance efforts. Yet HLs are famously known to disappear or shift to the dominant language by the third generation (Fishman 1991). One typical example is that, despite the intense and persistent HL maintenance efforts by the Chinese-speaking community and its long history of Chinese community language schools in the U.S., a remarkable generational language shift is reported, in which 29.4% of the children (age 5–16) in the surveyed homes spoke English only at home by the second generation and 91.4% of them did so by the third generation (Alba et al. 2002). This observation is supported by findings from combined immigrant studies in New York and greater Los Angeles, which show that by the third generation, only 34.3% of the surveyed homes spoke a non-English language and 97% of the individuals preferred speaking English only at home. A further analysis concluded that among those of Mexican origin, the Spanish language “died” by the third generation, and all other languages died between the second and third generations (Rumbaut 2009). In contrast to the gradual shift among generations as indicated above, an “abrupt shift” in individual learners has been noted in U.S. American formal educational settings, which shows that HL learners typically acquire their home language at a young age and lose it after entering 372

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mainstream schools (Wong-Fillmore 1991; Bougie et. al. 2003, 349). Moreover, in order to gain acceptance, they typically drop their home languages and make English their primary language (Pease-Alvarez et al. 1991; Li 2003). The findings indicate that, in the U.S. American formal school system, HL learners are under societal pressure to assimilate and acculturate, which compels them to quit using their home languages, resulting in HL loss and shift. The macro and micro levels of HL shift discussed above—the generational language shift in ethnic communities and the individual shift in the American school system—are obviously failing the massive efforts and lofty goals of sustaining HLs as a national resource. Theorists of language ecology believe that “languages, like living species, evolve, grow, change, live, and die in relation to other languages and also in relation to their environments” (Hornberger 2003, 320). Accordingly, it makes urgent sense to examine the ecological environment where HLs are originated and situated, including the ideologies, social discourse, educational policies, and maintenance efforts. From this standpoint, I now turn to the consideration of issues related to the HL environment and prospects in the educational and home contexts in the U.S., with CHL as the example.

Environment and Prospects Although there is a strong social discourse of diversity and multilingualism in the U.S., few U.S. students receive long-term, articulated instruction in any foreign language (Brecht and Ingold 2002, 1). The ACTFL report (2010) shows that only 18% of the 50 million or so American public students are enrolled in foreign language courses, and most of them occur in grades 9–12 only. As stated in the report, although ample research studies continue to demonstrate that children learn languages best when they begin at a younger age, elementary students in the U.S. are in general not enrolling in language courses. The data indicate that, over time, a large number of HL speakers’ attainment achieved at home and ethnic communities is not continued or maintained in the school system. Take the CHL, for example: Data show there are over 200,000 CHL students currently enrolled in Chinese community language schools (see details below), but only 20,292 students of Chinese as a foreign language (CFL) enrolled in the American public school system in 2004–2005 and 59,860 in 2007–2008 respectively (8), out of which half were estimated to have HL background. The remarkably small Chinese enrollments in the American public schools suggest that, despite the decade-long HL campaign, the nation has not yet developed or implemented educational policies to maintain or preserve HL resources (Brecht and Ingold 2002). Then what hinders/harms HL maintenance in the U.S. American school system?

(1) The No Child Left Behind Act Among the many U.S. ideologies, processes, or policies that are blamed for harming multilingual development or HL maintenance, such as “de-ethnization and Americanization processes (Fishman 1966a),” “the anti-bilingual education acts” (Krashen 1996), “the one-nation one-language English-only US ideology” (Hornberger 2003), the No Child Left Behind Act (2001; NCLB, Public Law 107–110) is the most tangible agent that does the harm, reinforced by regulations, benchmarks, and standards (Hornberger 2003; Shin 2006; Lo Bianco 2007; Wang 2007; to name just a few). Through her observation of annual testing in reading and math for all students in grades 3 through 8 in the American public school system, Shin (2006) reports that, with an exclusive focus on English, NCLB assigns little value to the bilingual abilities of language minority students and requires schools to move these students into mainstream English-only classrooms as quickly as possible (127–128). Schools that do not demonstrate immigrant students’ rapid 373

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acquisition of English and continuous improvement in standardized test scores in math and reading (English-coded only) are subject to heavy penalties, such as state takeover or restructuring. As a result, many bilingual or foreign language programs, especially east-Asian languages such as Chinese, are eliminated. The above observations provide us invaluable information to understand why ethnic language attainment is dissipated in the American education system and why HL-English bilinguals are quickly converted to English-only monolinguals (Lo Bianco 2007).

(2) One Origin, Two Prospects Although “home” is the origin of the mother tongue—the language to which a child has the first exposure—that language’s prospect differs by the social context it is situated in. Due to the outstanding differences in input, home literacy resources, and access to the formal school system, the language that originates in a mainstream home can automatically develop into the first/societal language with uniform success, while a language that originates in an immigrant home evolves into a first/heritage language with high variation, loss, and shift. Ample studies show that while mainstream homes provide optimal input with rich literacy resources and activities in the dominant language, immigrant homes struggle to offer the needed HL literacy resources and activities (Xu 1999; Xiao 2008a; among others). Xiao (2008a) examined the home literacy environment of 127 CHL college students in three American universities and found that, compared to mainstream homes, the CHL home literacy environment was bleak— HL reading materials and literacy activities were, in most cases, inadequately constructed for its learning or development. Specifically, a large number of Chinese immigrant homes possessed zero to minimal HL reading materials; level-appropriate HL recreational literature readings, which are so abundant in the dominant language, barely existed in their homes. In addition, there is a lack of intergenerational continuity in the use of the mother tongue in the immigrant groups, and the family, far from being an exclusive sphere of mother tongue dominance, appears to be a meeting ground for two competing languages—the ethnic mother tongue and English (Fishman 1966b, 180–181). As a result, the first/societal learner language follows a universal learning timetable and achieves uniform success when the learner reaches adulthood (Bley-Vroman 1990), while the first/heritage learner language exhibits incomplete/partial linguistic knowledge when the learner relearns his HL in her/his adult life (Wiley 2008; Xiao 2008b). By examining the HL environment and prospects in the formal education system and at HL learner homes, this section shows that NCLB is the formidable agent that impedes the HL development in the American education system and that HL homes provide input and opportunities that are too insufficient to foster its growth. Moreover, compared with the first/societal language, the HL is an endangered species, according to language ecology theory (Hornberger 2003) and hence the calls for concerted efforts to maintain and sustain it—for which I now turn to the Chinese case.

Heritage Language Education in the U.S.: The Chinese Case Despite the many odds against HL development noted in the U.S. American education system and immigrant homes, the capacity of the Chinese language has been rapidly expanding in the United States in recent years. Chinese education at the grass-roots level has not merely quantitatively but also qualitatively taken on a role as a more significant pedagogical trendsetter than either its K–12 or collegiate counterparts (McGinnis 2008, 231). Using the language 374

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maintenance and sustainment framework of capacity, opportunities, and desire (Lo Bianco 2010), this section will describe and analyze some broad issues associated with the Chinese heritage language situation and prospects in the United States.

Capacity: Who Are the Chinese Speakers in the United States? Chinese speakers in the U.S. are a relatively new immigrant group, mainly made up of contemporary immigrants arriving around the turn of the 21st century. They can be divided into three groups based on their time of arrival. The first group arrived in the 1840 era, attracted by the California Gold Rush. By 1870, there were 63,199 Chinese living in the U.S., most of whom were Cantonese-speaking fishermen or laborers. Subsequently, there were two major waves: 1949–1980 and 1980-present, spurred by China’s takeover in 1949 and its economic reform starting in the late 1970s. By 1980, there were 812,178 persons of Chinese origin (0.36% of the U.S. population) living in the U.S., and by 2007, there were over 3.5 million, 1.15% of the U.S. total (Hoeffel et al. 2012) . In addition, the recent influx is characterized by the largest number of Mandarin speakers and students/scholars in history. Moreover, Chinese immigrants in the U.S. were historically highly concentrated, with 78% of the first group residing in California, mostly clustered in Chinatowns (Chang 2003). This pattern continues with the later groups. By 2010, over half of the Chinese immigrants in the United States resided in just two states: California and New York (McCabe 2012), where one finds the largest Chinatowns. California had the largest number of Chinese immigrants in 2010, with 577,745 individuals and 32.0% of the total Chinese population, followed by New York with 20.8% of the total. This congregation pattern is reflective of Chinese language education in the American school system, in which California had the largest number of Chinese enrollments in 2007–2008, followed by New York (American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages [ACTFL] 2010). Such coincidence suggests that the higher geographic concentration of the immigrant community is, the better HL maintenance and education it has. Empowered by advanced education and job skills, the contemporary Chinese immigrant community has been enjoying a rising socioeconomic status. Many of them have entered the U.S. American mainstream market and become successful professionals or entrepreneurs. Data from the 2008 American Community Survey show that Chinese immigrants, both male and female, have higher or much higher employment rates than the average of all foreign-born in the elite areas such as business, science, technology, education, and medicine. Such increasing socioeconomic status would automatically lead to their residential up-mobility and social network shift. It is anticipated that the role of Chinatowns as the Chinese ethnic boundaries will be watered down in the next generations, and the future Chinese-speaking community will be less geographically concentrated and gradually disperse to the wider mainstream community (Xiao 2011). Therefore, unlike their early pioneers who saw no future in the U.S. and prepared their children for Chinese language skills to return to their homeland, contemporary Chinese immigrants view America as a land of promise and prepare their children for the societal language and job skills. As suggested by Alba et al. (2002), such advantageous socioeconomic status is a major driving force for assimilation and counter-force for HL maintenance. In this section, I have touched upon the major characteristics of the Chinese speaker population in the U.S., such as the large number of new arrivals, their high geographic concentration, and rising socioeconomic status. While the former two drives HL maintenance, the latter drives assimilation and language shift. Together, they are exerting significant conflicting influences on the course of Chinese HL maintenance and education in the United States. 375

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Opportunities: What Is Behind the Expanding Chinese Language Education? (1) The Increasing Maintenance Efforts at All Levels Contrary to the constraints on non-English language instruction implicated by the NCLB Act in the American education system, Chinese as a community language has been unprecedentedly boosted by efforts from governments (i.e., U.S. and China), nongovernmental agencies (e.g., Asia Society and College Board), and grass-roots organizations. With the recent recognition as a “critical language” by the U.S. government, Chinese has become a major recipient for a series of significant initiatives from the U.S. government, such as the National Security Language Initiative (NSLI), the Foreign Language Assistance Program (FLAP), the Pipeline Flagship Programs, and the summer STARTALK program, to name just a few. Since 2002, nine K–16 Chinese Flagship Programs have been established, which “intend to change the way Americans learn languages through a groundbreaking approach to language education for students from kindergarten through college.” (Meanwhile, NSLI granted a seven-year funding plan to establish summer Chinese STARTALK programs.) Since its onset in 2007, tens of thousands of students and teachers across the United States have benefited. In summer 2012, 47 states participated in it, with 183 programs in operation. Meanwhile, the Chinese government has been joining forces with the U.S. government and lending significant support in funding, intelligence, and other resources. Since 2003, Hanban, The Chinese National Office for Teaching Chinese as a Foreign Language (has launched a number of initiatives, which include the Confucius Institutes and classrooms, Chinese Guest Teacher Program, Chinese Teacher Certification Scholarships, Chinese Language Learning Materials, and AP (Advanced Placement) Chinese Summer Institutes. These projects have brought not only Chinese teachers and learning materials to the U.S., but also American students and educators to China. In addition, Hanban has established the Chinese Education Services and Chinese testing centers in the U.S., which promote and supervise three standardized Chinese proficiency tests for American students: the YCT (Youth Chinese Test) for K–12 students, the BCT (Business Chinese Test) for business professionals, and the HSK (The Chinese Proficiency Test) for various levels of Chinese learners but mostly for college students. These efforts have been vigorously driving forward the Chinese HL maintenance and education in the United States.

(2) The Expansion of Chinese Community Education Chinese community education has been the centerpiece of the ethnic Chinese population for over 100 years. Data show that almost all U.S.-born Chinese children or young arrivals have some level of experience in Chinese community schools (Xiao 2008a), where they learn the heritage language and culture, make friends, and weave the ethnic fabrics. Although the ecological environment for Chinese immigrants goes up and down from time to time in the U.S., these schools stay strong, especially in recent years. Data show that the first Chinese heritage language school was established in San Francisco in 1886 (Liu 2010), with Cantonese as the major medium of instruction and classic written Chinese texts as the teaching materials. By the end of the 1920s, there were over fifty Chinese-language schools, with most of them in the western states (Chang 2003), which offered much longer teaching hours (after school and full days at the weekends) than the contemporary Chinese schools (2–3 hours per week at the weekends). However, they were, in general, independent of each other, with no interaction or collaboration with each other until 1994, when two non-profit organizations were established to serve and lead: NCACLS (National Council of Associations of Chinese Language Schools), which was established by 376

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immigrants from Taiwan, and CSAUS (Chinese School Association in the United States), established by people from China. Each of these two organizations has its own member schools and lends support to them in curricula development, mainstream communication, advocacy, and articulation. Under their leadership, the Chinese community schools have been rapidly expanding. By 1996, approximately 82,675 students were enrolled in 634 Chinese language schools across the country (Chao 1997). At the present time, there are 200,000 students enrolled in these schools. Specifically, NCACLS has close to 100,000 persons across 47 U.S. states, and CSAUS has over 100,000 students and 7,000 teachers across 43 U.S. states. Together, they cover all the major and medium metropolitan areas across the country. Nevertheless, the community Chinese schools are supported by grass-roots efforts and managed by volunteers and parents. They are not yet a full-fledged education system; they are marked with mini-operation (two to three hours per week), insufficient funding provision (makeshift classrooms and facilities), and out-of-date traditional teaching practices (instructors are mostly untrained volunteers) (Xiao 2008a). Unlike the formal education system, the community Chinese schools have no benchmarks or national/state regulations to follow or guide them, nor power to track or reinforce the academic standards. One hears many compliments about their contributions as well as many complaints about their teaching qualities. From her four-year-long observations, Wang (2004) reported that, in the Chinese community classrooms, students were asked to copy and memorize Hanzi over and over again, with the instruction seldom going beyond sentences. She concluded with an alarming message that “there was no sense of progress or achievement and students basically stay at the same level, unable to move forward in their HL proficiency or literacy” (368). Such observation is supported by the researcher’s decade-long mindful tracking of Justin, an 11-year-old U.S.-born second-generation Chinese immigrant child. The data show that Justin has had a rich but trying experience in his language development, which includes a sudden switch from a monolingual Chinese environment to a monolingual English environment at 2, a complete loss of his home language proficiency by 3, relearning his home language as a foreign language in weekend Chinese school by 5, being treated as a LEP student in the formal school system at 6, and remaining in a weekend Chinese class for English speakers only at the present time. For better insight, I am quoting Justin’s summary of his CHL learning experience obtained from my interview with him in summer 2012: I was pretty good in Chinese when I was 2–3 years old because everybody spoke Chinese, then I lost it when I went to preschool because everybody spoke English. When I was five, I started Chinese school. My teachers were very good, but I only learned “yi diandian (very little).” My teachers don’t talk Chinese in class, they only speak Chinese when teaching Chinese (characters or words). These data support the important role that the Chinese community language schools are playing in CHL maintenance, but as grass-roots efforts they need substantial support and improvement to meet the goals.

Discussion and Conclusion With large-scale and individual case data, this section examines issues and social factors associated with HL maintenance and education in the U.S. and the Chinese HL maintenance and education, in particular, which gives rise to a number of significant findings. 377

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(1) Mismatch Between Practices and Goals The present analysis reveals a serious mismatch between the mainstream educational practices and the national goals for HLs. On the one hand, the “non-English” HL proficiency is urgently needed by the nation, with the pressure of globalization and international competition looming large; on the other, the test-driven NCLB educational practices limit the “non-English” language instruction, with foreign language education underrepresented at grades 9–12 and minimal at elementary level in the American school system (ACTFL 2010). Due to the limited involvement of the U.S. school system, the daunting task of HL maintenance and education has been mainly left to community language schools, which are, however, grass-roots makeshift entities outside of the education system. Ironically, the reality well fits Fishman’s paradoxical observation (1966b, 394) that there are two large worlds of non-English languages in the United States: One is the officially recognized and supported world of “foreign language” instruction in non-ethnic high schools and colleges, and the other is the largely unrecognized and unsupported world of ethnic language maintenance efforts. These two worlds come together in the U.S. but do not meet.

(2) Immigrant Families’ Desire and Dilemma The evidence furnished in Fishman’s study reveals the alarming callousness towards the linguistic needs of multilingual children, who have no choice but are forced to act on whatever the environment dictates, and their parents never question or request that regular schools (pre-school, kindergarten, elementary school) offer Chinese classes. Instead, they view this as their family responsibility and fight the battle on their own. This is supported in Shin’s observation that first-generation immigrant parents exhibit a greater tendency to believe that schools are working in the best interest of their children and do not question, even though they are troubled by many of the school practices (2006). As passive participants, the immigrant families are constantly pulled in two competing directions: the de-ethnization and Americanization processes on the one hand, and the cultural-linguistic self-maintenance on the other (Fishman 1966a, 15), during which the same individuals and groups have to be simultaneously devoted to both.

(3) Community Language Schools and HL Learning HL learners’ linguistic experience in the community language school, as noted above, raises the longtime concerns for the teaching pedagogy and quality of these schools. Given the fact that they take in overwhelmingly more HL students than the mainstream school system, these schools are in fact the major player in HL maintenance and education. Thus, pedagogical advancement and up-to-date teaching methodologies are crucial. Instead of teaching the students with bits and pieces of Chinese in English, teachers should make use of the ethnic community and culture to create meaningful contexts for learners to use the language. Moreover, to fulfill its mission, the national HL campaign should reach this grass-roots level by bringing them the meaningful collaboration with the mainstream school system and sufficient support in funding, facility, and teacher training. Without the needed guidance and support, teaching quality concerns will linger, and these community language schools will remain “immigrant clubs” instead of well-structured educational institutions.

(4) Implications for HL Research and Pedagogy Scholarship provided in this chapter shows that, as in any new field of research, urgent advancement is needed in HL research methods, assumptions, and frameworks. First, instead of being easy to learn, HL loss is inevitable, and relearning it is difficult and costly. Next, there are two types 378

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of “home languages”: one originated in societal/dominant homes and the other in immigrant homes. Unlike the former, which enjoys optimal and sufficient input, rich literacy activities and materials, and compulsory home-school continuation, the latter suffers from mixed and insufficient input, limited literacy activities and materials, and inescapable home-school disconnection. In this thread, some of the assumptions/frameworks, which have been influential in the field but arguably treat HL as the societal first language, need to be further tested and reconsidered, such as (1) at preschool age, HL children do not lose their native language proficiency (Ou and McAdoo 1993, 252), (2) HLs are easy to learn (Krashen 1996), and (3) HL learners are exposed to optimal input (O’Grady et al. 2011). It is hoped that the next generation of HL research will not only integrate interrelated research perspectives for further investigation but also differentiate first/immigrant home language from the societal home language with the contextual factors taken into consideration. To counter the HL loss and shift, which starts as quickly as the second generation and as early as pre-school years, there need to be drastic responses from the U.S. American formal education system and better coordination of the government HL initiatives and government language policies. In addition, the field expects: • • • • •

starting non-English language learning as early as pre-school years; providing more level-appropriate HL reading materials; supporting the community language schools and parents, morally, financially, and pedagogically; recognizing qualified community language schools and granting them credit transfer status; and putting in place inter-institutional articulation among the various formal instructional settings where HL education is conducted, including K–12 public and private schools, heritage language schools, colleges and universities, and study abroad programs (McGinnis 1999).

Future Research The next generation of HL research is anticipated to employ interrelated disciplines and strive to improve the evidence base, with more longitudinal studies that assess the characteristics of HL learning in different settings—such as immigrant homes, classrooms, and social networks—on which the U.S. HL initiatives, language planning, and HL education should be grounded.

Further Reading Chinese as a Heritage Language: Fostering Rooted World Citizenry (2008), edited by Agnes Weiyun He and Yun Xiao. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai‘i, National Foreign Language Resource Center. Heritage Language Education: A New Field Emerging (2008), edited by Donna M. Briton, Olga Kagan, and Susan Bauckus. New York and London: Routledge. The Education of Language Minority Immigrants in the United States (2009), edited by Terrence G. Wiley, Jin Sook Lee, and Russell W. Rumberger. Bristol: Multilingual Matters.

Note 1 The Immigrant and Intergenerational Mobility in Metropolitan Los Angeles (IIMMLA) survey 2004– 2008 was conducted under the direction of Rubén G. Rumbaut, Frank D. Bean, Leo Chávez, Jennifer Lee, Susan K. Brown, and Louis DeSipio of the University of California, Irvine, and Min Zhou of the University of California, Los Angeles. Further information is available at www.russellsage.org/research/ Immigration/IIMMLA 379

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References Alba, R., Logan J., Lutz A., and Stults, B. (2002). Only English by the third generation? Loss and preservation of the mother tongue among the grandchildren of contemporary immigrants. Demography 39(3), 467–484. American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages [ACTFL]. (2010). Foreign language enrollments in K–12 public schools: Are students prepared to a global society? Alexandria, VA: American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages. Bley-Vroman, R. (1990). The logical problem of foreign language learning. Linguistic Analysis, 20, 3–49. Bougie, E., Wright, S. C., and Taylor, D. M. (2003). Early heritage-language education and the abrupt shift to a dominant-language classroom: Impact on the personal and collective esteem of Inuit children in Arctic Quebec. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 6(5), 349–373. Brecht, R. D., and Ingold, C. W. (2002). Tapping a national resource: Heritage languages in the United States. EDO-FL-02–02. 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Hofman, and R.G. Hayden (Eds.), Language Loyalty in the United States: The Maintenance and Perpetuation of Non-English Mother Tongues by American Ethnic and Religious Groups (pp. 392–411). London: Mouton and Co. Fishman, J. A. (1991). Reversing Language Shift: Theory and Practice of Assistance to Threatened Languages. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Fishman, J. A. (2001). 300-plus years of heritage language education in the United States. In J. K. Peyton, D. A. Ranard, and S. McGinnis (Eds.), Heritage Language in America: Preserving a National Resource (pp. 81–97). The Center for Applied Linguistics and Delta System Co. Inc. Fishman, J. A., and Hofman, J. E. (1966). Mother tongue and nativity in the American population. In J. A. Fishman, V. C. Nahirny, J. E. Hofman, and R.G. Hayden (Eds.), Language Loyalty in the United States: The Maintenance and Perpetuation of Non-English Mother Tongues by American Ethnic and Religious Groups (pp. 34–50). London: Mouton and Co. Friedman, D., and Kagan, O. (2008). Academic writing proficiency of Russian heritage speakers. In D. M. Briton, O. Kagan, and S. Bauckus (Eds.), Heritage Language Education: A New Field Emerging (pp. 181–198). New York and London: Routledge. He, A. W., and Xiao, Y. (Eds.) (2008). Chinese as a Heritage Language: Fostering Rooted World Citizenry. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai‘i, National Foreign Language Resource Center. Hendryx, J. D. (2008). The Chinese Heritage language learners’ existing linguistic knowledge and abilities. In A. W. He and Y. Xiao (Eds.), Fostering Rooted World Citizenry: Studies in Chinese as a Heritage Language (pp. 51–64). Hawai‘i: NFLRC, University of Hawai‘i Press. Hoeftel, E. M., Rastogi, S., Kim, M. O. and Shahid, H. (2012). The Asian Population: 2010, in 2010 Census Briefs, U.S. Census Bureau, U.S. Department of Commerce, Economics and Statistics Administration, March 2012. www.census.gov/prod/cen2010/briefs/c2010br-11.pdf Hornberger, N. (2003). Multilingual language policies and the continua of bi-literacy: an ecological approach. In N. H. Hornberger (Ed.), Continua of Bi-Literacy: An Ecological Framework for Educational Policy, Research, and Practice in Multilingual Settings (pp. 315–339). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Jia, G. (2008). Heritage language maintenance and attrition among first generation Chinese immigrants in New York City. In A. W. He and Y. Xiao (Eds.), Fostering Rooted World Citizenry: Studies in Chinese as a Heritage Language (pp. 189–204), Hawai‘i: NFLRC, University of Hawai‘i Press. Jia, L., and Bayley, R. (2008). The (re)acquisition of perfective aspect marking by Chinese heritage language learners. In A. W. He and Y. Xiao (Eds.), Fostering Rooted World Citizenry: Studies in Chinese as a Heritage Language (pp. 205–224). Hawai‘i: NFLRC, University of Hawai‘i Press. Koda, K., Zhang Y., and Yang, C. (2008). Literacy development in Chinese as a heritage language. In A. W. He and Y. 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Krashen, S. D. (1996). Under Attack: The Case Against Bilingual Education. Culver City, CA: Language Education Associates. The Language Flagship Program, National Security Education Program (NSEP), U.S. Department of Defense. www.thelanguageflagship.org/ Li, G. (2003). Literacy, culture, and politics of schooling: Counter-narratives of a Chinese Canadian family. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 34(2), 182–204. Liu, N. (2010). Chinese heritage language schools in the United States. Heritage Briefs. Center for Applied Linguistics. Retrieved from www.cal.org/heritage Lo Bianco, J. (2007). Emergent China and Chinese: Language planning categories. Language Policy, 6(1), 3–26. Lo Bianco, J. (2010). What insights into effective language development can we gain from language revival efforts? Presentation at the International Conference on Heritage/Community Languages. UCLA: The National Heritage Language Resource Center. Retrieved from www.cal.org/heritage Lynch, A. (2003). The relationship between second and heritage language acquisition: Notes on research and theory building. Heritage Language Journal, 1(1), 1–18. Retrieved from www.heritagelanguages.org McCabe, K. (2012). Chinese immigrants in the United States. In Migration Information Source. Retrieved from www.migrationinformation.org/USfocus/display.cfm?ID = 876 McGinnis, S. (1999). Articulation. In M. Chu (Ed.), Mapping the Course of the Chinese Language Field (pp. 331–344). Chinese Language Teachers Association Monograph #3. Michigan, Kalamazoo: Chinese Language Teachers Association, Inc. McGinnis, S. (2008). From mirror to compass: The Chinese heritage language education sector in the United States. In D. M. Briton, O. Kagan, and S. Bauckus (Eds.), Heritage Language Education: A New Field Emerging (pp. 229–242). New York and London: Routledge. Ming, T., and Tao, H. (2008). Developing a Chinese heritage language corpus: Issues and a preliminary report. In A. W. He and Y. Xiao (Eds.), Chinese as a Heritage Language: Fostering Rooted World Citizenry (pp. 167–188). Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai‘i, National Foreign Language Resource Center. O’Grady, W., Lee, O.-S., and Lee J. (2011). Practical and theoretical issues in the study of partial language acquisition. Heritage Language Journal, 8(3), 23–40. Ou,Y.-S. and McAdoo, H. (1993). Socialization of Chinese American children. In H. McAdoo (Ed.), Family Ethnicity: Strength in Diversity (pp. 245–270). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Pease-Alvarez, L., García, E. E., and Espinosa, P. (1991). Effective instruction for language-minority students: An early childhood case study. Early Childhood Research Quarterly, 6, 347–361. Peyton, J. K., Ranard, D. A., and McGinnis, S. (Eds.) (2001). Heritage Language in America: Preserving a National Resource. Center for Applied Linguistics and Delta Systems Co. Polinsky, M., and Kagan, O. (2007). Heritage languages: In the ‘wild’ and in the classroom. Language and Linguistics Compass, 1(5), 368–395. Rumbaut, R. G. (2009). A language graveyard? The evolution of language competencies, preferences and use among young adult children of immigrants. In T. G. Wiley, J. S. Lee, and R. Rumberger (Eds.), The Education of Language Minority Immigrants in the United States (pp. 35–71). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Shin, H., and Kominski, R. A. (2010, April). Language Use in the United States 2007: American Community Survey Reports. Retrieved from www.census.gov/hhes/socdemo/language/data/acs/index.html Shin, S. J. (2006). High-stakes testing and heritage language maintenance. In K. Kondo-Brown (Ed.), Heritage Language Development: Focus on East Asian Immigrants (pp. 127–144). Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. STARTALK (Start Talking). Retrieved on March 3, 2014. https://startalk.umd.edu/ Valdés, G. (2000). Introduction. In Spanish for Native Speakers. AATSP Professional Development Series Handbook for Teachers K–16 (Vol. 1, pp. 1–20). New York: Harcourt College. Wang, S. C. (2004). Biliteracy Resource Eco-System of Intergenerational Language and Culture Transmission: An Ethnographic Study of a Chinese-American Community. Unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Wang, S. C. (2007). Building societal capital: Chinese in the U.S. Language Policy, 6(1), 27–52. Wiley, T. G. (2008). Chinese “dialect” speakers as heritage language learners: A case study. In D. M. Briton, O. Kagan, and S. Bauckus (Eds.), Heritage Language Education: A New Field Emerging (pp. 91–106). New York and London: Routledge. Wong-Fillmore L. (1991). When learning a second language means losing the first. Early Childhood Research Quarterly, 6, 323–346. 381

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Xiao, Y. (2004). L2 acquisition of Chinese topic-prominent constructions. Journal of the Chinese Language Teachers Association, 39(3), 65–84. Xiao,Y. (2006). Heritage learners in foreign language classroom: Home background knowledge and language development. The Heritage Language Journal, 4(1), 47–57. Retrieved from www.heritagelanguages.org Xiao, Y. (2008a). Home literacy environment in Chinese as a heritage language. In A. W. He and Y. Xiao (Eds.), Fostering Rooted World Citizenry: Studies in Chinese as a Heritage Language (pp. 151–166). Hawai‘i: NFLRC, University of Hawai‘i Press. Xiao, Y. (2008b). Charting the CHL developmental path. In A. W. He and Y. Xiao (Eds.), Fostering Rooted World Citizenry: Studies in Chinese as a Heritage Language (pp. 259–266). Hawai‘i: NFLRC, University of Hawai‘i Press. Xiao, Y. (2010). Discourse features and development in Chinese L2 writing. In Mi. E. Everson and H. H. Shen (Eds.), Chinese Language Teachers Association Monograph Series:Vol. 4. Research among learners of Chinese as a foreign language (pp. 135–154). Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai‘i, National Foreign Language Resource Center. Xiao, Y. (2011). Chinese language in the United States: An ethnolinguistic perspective. In L. Tsung and K. Cruickshank (Eds.), Teaching and Learning Chinese in Global Contexts (pp. 181–196). New York: Continuum International Publishing Group. Xu, H. (1999). Young Chinese ESL children’s home literacy experiences. Reading Horizons, 40(1), 47–64.

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Historical Perspectives Since the beginnings of research on language learning and teaching, learner language analysis has been the natural starting point for researchers. Even though learner language has offered information on the language variants produced by learners, learner language has been researched to a great extent to describe the learning process. By examining learner language, researchers have aimed to discover what happens in language learning, on the one hand, and between different language pairs, on the other hand, as well as how this should be taken into consideration in language teaching. Ellis (2008) divides learner language research into four development phases: examination of the errors that learners make, development phases in learning, learner language variation, and pragmatic success. Actual theory-based learner language research had a strong start in the 1960s with error analysis, which had a natural foundation in that much attention had traditionally been paid to errors and how to correct them. Error analysis focuses specifically on analysing learner products, as opposed to earlier contrastive research, where the tendency was to explain learning by comparing the learner’s mother tongue and the target language and then predict problems in learning based on this comparison. The fundamental idea was that by analysing and classifying errors, one would be able to discover what happens in the learning process and how it proceeds (see Corder 1967; George 1972; Richards 1974). As a method of studies using error analysis, especially in the early decades, the theoretical framework has typically been the interlanguage theory. Interlanguage (Selinker 1972; see also Corder 1971) is the language learner’s language system, which is systematic and is governed by its own laws. Typical characteristics of interlanguage are implicit language knowledge, regularity, progress in phases, and variation (Ellis 1990). The interlanguage concept has been widely replaced by the concept of learner language, which is not tied to similar premises. For example, not all researchers consider variability as an inherent feature for interlanguage, and learning strategies responsible for interlanguage development are very controversial issues (Ellis and Barkhuizen 2005, 55). Error analysis proceeds in phases, from collecting the product to identifying, classifying, interpreting, and evaluating errors (Corder 1974; Ellis and Barkhuizen 2005). Research data can be collected from language spontaneously produced by learners, but due to the challenges related to 383

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the collecting process, completely spontaneous data is usually replaced with data that has been defined according to certain criteria and collected specifically for the purposes of the research. This data is first processed to find the errors based on grammatical rules and the rules of acceptability; then, performance errors (mistakes) are distinguished from actual competence errors (errors) when necessary (Corder 1967). Next, the detected errors are classified according to certain taxonomy. The classes may include omissions, additions, misformation, or misordering (Dulay, Burt, and Krashen 1982; James 1998). The reasons for these errors are sought through interpretations; Richards (1971) lists mother tongue interference (interference errors), overgeneralisation of the target language characteristics or the wrong kind of applications (intralingual errors), as well as creating hypotheses based on inadequate language skills (developmental errors) as background factors (for closer analysis, see Ellis 2008, 53–56). Finally, the errors are analysed from the point of view of successful communication and comprehensibility of the message. Even though error analysis has been much criticised, for example, for focusing specifically on what the learner does not know (and not on what the learner knows) and for unsystematic collecting of the background data in the studies, the method is still in use. Despite the limitations of this method, the study of errors has a practical significance to language pedagogy, since it reveals which features in language are difficult for a learner at certain levels. Without understanding the nature of the error, teachers are not able to focus on the difficulties and problematic issues in language acquisition. The latest applications of the method are its use in corpus-based learner language research: Several learner corpora—such as International Corpus of Learner English (Granger 2003)—have been annotated making use of error taxonomy. Research in the development phases of learning developed quickly alongside error analysis; the research was guided by the presumption that language proficiency changes through certain systematic phases and that second language development is at least partially similar to mother language acquisition (L2 = L1 hypothesis). When defining learning, the researchers have aimed to discover the point at which an expression appears for the first time and the point when it has been adopted so well that the learner is able to use it almost continuously in a manner appropriate to the target language. According to Ellis (2008, 68–69), the focus of the research is on obligatory use situations of linguistic elements (obligatory occasion analysis), target-like language use (target-like use analysis), and frequencies of linguistic elements (frequency analysis). In terms of development, changes in fluency, accuracy, and complexity during learning may be examined. The research objects and methods are closely related, because the linguistic elements examined are described according to development phases and the comparison made with target language instead of understanding that the learners’ product has its own system governed by its own laws (cf. Bley-Vroman 1983 for comparative fallacy). The development phases are described based on individual and small group data that is collected in longitudinal studies: language learners were observed for a certain time period (usually less than a year) in order to examine the development of their language proficiency (see, e.g., Wong-Fillmore 1979; Schumann 1978). Longitudinal studies have revealed that the development of L2 proceeds in certain similar learning phases and that these phases typically appear in a certain order, regardless of the learner or their mother tongue (e.g., confusing languages and semantic and grammatical simplicity are typical phenomena in the early phases of language learning). However, regardless of the learners’ general tendencies, the learners have their own learning paths and the pace of learning in particular varies according to the individual. This research tradition represents the meeting of two different research questions in language learning: What are the universal characteristics of language learning (e.g., cognitive processes of learning), on the one hand, and characteristics of individual variation (e.g., learning strategies, age, motivation), on the other hand? How can the effect that they have on learning be discovered? From the point of view of data use, research has 384

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proceeded more and more towards using authentic language data: Many case studies have been based on real speech or discourse material. In current studies based on vast corpora, research on individual variation and general tendencies are often combined. Even though much research aims to find general tendencies in language learning, it has not been able to ignore the vast and diverse variation in learner language. Using statistical analyses and manipulation tests, research has focused on the variation brought about by the mother tongue and target language as well as the social environment, on the one hand, and the variation among language learners and the product of one language learner, on the other hand. Variation in learner language has not been considered as an unusual phenomenon as such, since language contains natural variation in any case: language changes by idiolect, register, region, et cetera. The following models have been used to explain the variation present in learner language (Ellis 2008, 117–128): 1)

2)

3)

4)

According to the homogenous competence model, variation is a phenomenon that is a part of the performance, and not as such a characteristic of the learner’s systemic language knowledge. Variation presents itself as slips and performative errors, and the focus of research is intuitive knowledge of correct or possible expressions, and not actual language use. The sociolinguistic model emphasises the idea that the language user’s and learner’s competence inherently creates variation. Variation can be caused by the language itself (e.g., the abundant and varied cases in synthetic languages), social context of the language use (such as social status, age, or gender and the meaning of these factors in a language use situation) as well as internal variation of individual speakers or external variation of different speakers in terms of vocabulary, registers, and styles. The psycholinguistic approach emphasises the ability of the language learner to process L2 information. It has been observed, for example, that preparation input and the time used on the product affect the quality of the product and cause variation (e.g., Crookes 1989; Ochs 1979). In addition, language learners have the ability to monitor their product, or improve it by reducing errors or by selecting forms more appropriate to the context. The two latter factors are combined in the social-psychological model, according to which variation is created through the joint influence of psycholinguistic and sociolinguistic factors in institutional, social and other—such as ethnic—groups. Observations have been made, for example, of how people engaged in discussion adjust (or do not adjust) their language according to whether there are non-native speakers involved in the discussion (see Zuengler 1991).

Because language proficiency denotes not only the application of formal language knowledge in practice, but also situational language competence, there has been increasing interest in learner language pragmatics, or pragmatic competence. Pragmatic success is influenced by, for example, the learner’s mother tongue, transfer, and the learner’s status in the conversation. Learners can, for example, transfer the language use rules of their native language and home culture to the target language and culture, which can manifest itself as over- or under-politeness or in different practices of who is allowed to address whom and start a conversation. Based on the analysis of different interviews, role-play, and field situations, as well as introspective analysis, researchers have reached the conclusion that even if the formal language knowledge of the learners is good, they still have many problems with politeness as well as with producing requests, apologies, and refusals, especially from a pragmatic perspective. In addition, it has been noted that in communicative situations, the language learner is often not an equal participant and that their social status may change in the target society. It is therefore crucial to ask what kind of 385

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a status the conversation partners assign to someone whose language use is not native-like (see Kang and Rubin 2009). The previously described historical developments are not separate from each other methodologically or temporally. At present, none of these research traditions have entirely disappeared from SLA research.

Core Issues and Key Findings When researching second language acquisition, the object may be the product itself, the production process and, even more generally, how the overall learning process takes place. By researching the language produced by learners (the product), knowledge is accumulated on the simplicity vs. complexity, atypical frequencies and structures typical of the vocabulary, and other linguistic features of the learner language. Characteristics on the level of production, such as overgeneralisation, simplification, and avoidance strategies, are more difficult to study because they are not clearly visible in the product but require experimental methods and interpretation of the results. Characteristics explaining the products, however, may include, for example, the influence of L1 language and possible universals of the learner language (e.g., over-generalisation and simplification have been suggested as more or less universal characteristics of language learning, see e.g. Odlin 2002; Jarvis and Pavlenko 2008; Jantunen 2008), and this concerns research on the whole learning process. Vast international cooperation projects focusing on several languages are necessary in order to examine these factors in the future. When the restrictions of error analysis were acknowledged and, instead of studying the deficiencies in the language, the entire L2 product of the learner became the object of study, the realisation was made that errors are not merely deficiencies in language skills but rather are an essential and necessary part of language development. Based on this observation, researchers started to examine the learner’s language system as its own system, as the abovementioned interlanguage (Selinker 1972), which has its own typical features (Ellis 1990). As the interlanguage is not a perfect or stable system, new forms from both the external language environment as well as the language itself infiltrate it easily. This can be seen, for example, in over-presentation and irregular use of certain forms. Behind interlanguage there are the general learning and communication strategies that predispose towards oversimplification and overuse of expressions, on the one hand, but also avoiding certain expressions and negotiation of meaning of other expressions, on the other hand. Interlanguage can be characterised as mainly implicit language awareness; its users are not aware of its regularities. The central question in the research area of learner language is to discover the nature of the language development process in order to explain and predict the acquisition process. By examining interlanguage, researchers have discovered that language learners construct their language skills step by step and review certain phases during the process, but development does not by any means proceed in a linear manner towards a target language product resembling that of native language users of the language. Instead, it may include recession phases and the language may fossilise at times (or stabilize; see Long 2003) to a certain stage. This observation is very significant from a pedagogic point of view because it forms a basis for considering the order in which, for example, morphemes should be taught. On the other hand, great variation may take place in the language of one learner depending on the situation and the tasks; examining the variation in learner language has, in fact, been an essential phase in examining interlanguage. This variation is in part random, but it also exhibits signs of systematicity. For example, the odds for some certain forms appearing may be predicted according to how much time the speaker has for planning what they have to say and who the recipient is (see Tarone 1983; Preston 1996). Despite 386

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variation, the tendency is nevertheless that the learner proceeds phase-by-phase towards nativelike language. From a pedagogic point of view, it is even more significant that the phases of language acquisition of a certain language exhibit the same tendency for regularity of phases even on a general level as the language development of an individual. For example, the formation of different interrogative sentences is learnt in more or less the same order (e.g., Pienemann et al. 1988), regardless of the background of the language learner. Understanding the phases of the language development and the order of the phases may be a concrete aid in syllabus planning: what is taught, when, and in which order. However, recent dynamic approaches L2 development (cf. Larsen-Freeman 1997; de Bot et al. 2007) focus on patterns of variation that accompany developmental trends: The trajectory of L2 development is not necessarily straightforward. The development of different areas (e.g., vocabulary, syntax) of learner language can be examined through individual phenomena but on a more general level the development process can be seen in the development of language accuracy, fluency, and complexity, which includes the separate areas. Evaluation of language accuracy is based on the target language that the learner language is compared to: The closer the learner language is to the language spoken by native speakers, the more accurate it is. The studies focus mainly on grammatical issues; they examine, for example, the number of correct sentences, the share of target-language morphologic or lexical expressions, and self-corrections (see Crookes 1989; Ellis and Yuan 2005). The problem, however, is defining which variety of the native language should be used as the norm in each case. Furthermore, it is good to note that the concepts of “native language” and “native speaker” are arbitrary (Paikeday 1985), since native speakers also violate grammatical rules (Mulder and Hulstijn 2011, 491). Fluency, on the other hand, is related to the language production process. Automatisation of the language, reaction speed, corrections, breaks, and idiomacy of expressions, as well as nativelike usage, are seen as background issues. The methods focus either on measuring the speed of writing or speech or hesitation expressing non-fluent language, which can be examined through breaks or corrections, for example (see, e.g., Skehan and Foster 2008). Complexity, on the other hand, tells about the learner’s ability to use non-automatised language that is difficult and pushes the limits of the individual’s knowledge as well as command of complex linguistic structures. The phenomenon is related to many levels of language: The language can be approached from an interactive perspective, measuring, for example, the turns taken, or it can be measured from a lexical or grammatical perspective (the number of words, number of sentences, subordinate and coordinate relationships within sentences, or frequency of some grammatical feature, such as number of verb arguments; see, e.g., Yuan and Ellis 2003). Research on development areas is also significant in terms of language teaching and classroom conventions. Teacher planning, expressions and structures used by the teacher, guidelines for assignments, and the chance for students to plan their product—all of these are factors affecting the development of the students’ accuracy, complexity, and fluency (see Skehan and Foster 1997; Crookes, 1989; Tavakoli and Skehan 2005; Ellis and Yuan 2005; Rahimpour and Nariman-Jahan 2011; Skehan et al. 2012). On the other hand, task types, the students’ level of competence, and other external factors may also affect how advance planning, for example, influences the product. In recent decades, factors affecting the product and production process, especially crosslinguistic influence, have become an important research topic, in addition to the analysis of learner language characteristics. Mother tongue transfer has been an object of research for a long time. In its initial stages, source language was seen merely as a negative influence interfering with target language acquisition, whereas nowadays researchers believe that the mother tongue may have a positive as well as a negative effect. In addition, the influence is not limited to structural factors and the product, but the influence must always be examined on the level of language processing. 387

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One way to examine the effect of the source language is to examine the learner language products of learners of the same target language and speakers of a different source language and compare the general tendencies and probabilities visible in these products. Another way to compare the source and learner language is to look for statistically significant repetitions resembling the source language in the learner language. The research of interlingual influence is at its most effective when both methods are combined (Odlin 1989; Selinker 1992; Jarvis 2000). However, the influence of the source language is such a complex process that even though at present much of the research is done with non-English language data, and the vast learner language corpus data have opened up new possibilities, the nature of the process cannot yet be completely explained. There are many ways in which the source language may or may not have an effect.

Research Approaches According to Ellis and Barkhuizen (2005, 9–11), SLA research may be divided into three research paradigms: normative, interpretative, and critical analysis. The aim of the first is to test the general hypotheses of L2 acquisition objectively; interpretative analysis aims to understand and discover variables related to learning and their relations; and the last paradigm is interested in sociopolitical and ideological issues in language learning. Each of these has its own typical methods and data, even though the research paradigms are rarely seen in studies in a pure form. Normative research traditionally uses tests and questionnaires directed at vast groups of learners that are analysed, mostly quantitatively. Interpretative analyses are based on qualitative case studies, and the purpose of a study is not to generalise on a wide scale but “to describe and understand some aspect of L2 acquisition subjectively” (Ellis & Barkhuizen 2005, 10). Like interpretative research, at its most typical, critical analysis is also qualitative and is based on case studies. It aims to identify the sociopolitical conditions and power relations that hinder learners from acquiring target languages. The data used in the research vary greatly depending on the research questions. They can be divided roughly into three categories, according to Ellis and Barkhuizen (2005). Non-linguistic data describes the reactions of a language learner to a certain stimulus or tests their understanding and discovery of grammatical structures. This metalinguistic data helps access the language learner’s intuitive and introspective knowledge regarding language, but the data is not exactly suitable for examining learner language. Instead, different samples of the learners’ products are core material for the study of learner language. Examining the expressions produced by learners starts with collection and analysis of different elicited data. Collecting elicited data has been relatively simple, which has guaranteed this approach’s popularity for research purposes—true to this day. Elicited data can be divided into two groups (Corder 1981): Clinically elicited data have been assembled for a specific study, in which case they may be data compiled from tasks that strive to describe the language in a general way and are contextualised (e.g., shopping lists) or from tasks that are focused and aim to describe certain structures or linguistic phenomena (e.g., tasks that produce requests or grammatical forms). Experimental elicitation test data are most likely the best-known data used in language learning research. They typically consist of different fill-in-the-blank exercises (fill in words or sentences) or question-answer exercises, the purpose of which is to obtain as products those language features that the researcher is interested in. The weakness of both types of elicited data is considered to be that they do not represent the natural product of language learners. For this reason, researchers have turned to collecting data for the purpose of describing specifically the kind of language that language learners would produce in natural language use situations.

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More recent research data are usually extensive, and when compiling them one may take into consideration the fact that they would be suitable for research data for more than one study. These data have typically been written language data, but spoken language and recently also multimodal (e.g., video-recorded) data are increasingly used. The most extensive data are electronic corpus data, which at present are abundant. The most extensive and best-known data is International Corpus of Learner English (Granger 2003), which includes argumentative essays by advanced learners. So far, most corpora are indeed compilations of one text type and only contain products by advanced students. Similarly to elicited data, corpus data also have their own problems from the point of view of research: Even though corpora at present represent natural learner products, their data has not been produced entirely spontaneously, as the texts have usually been collected for a corpus either during classroom teaching or, for example, through online compilation. Like all instructors know, learners write using expressions that they master well or believe they master. Therefore it is not easy to access expressions that the learners do not fully master, which means that the corpus data, likewise any other learner data, do not reveal the whole picture of learner language and knowledge of a language. In addition, corpora only allow for indirect analysis of the learning process because it is only possible to make interpretations based on the data; it is not usually possible to ask the producer of the text why they have produced a certain expression or how they have come to a certain solution. In addition to, or in combination with, learner language data, it is of course possible to collect introspective reports and self-evaluations about the motives behind the product through interviews, forms, Script Logs (which are recording tools for research on the process of writing and which keep a record of all events on the keyboard), or think-aloud protocol. Such versatile combination of methods, however, is still quite rare.

New Debates To date, most of the research conducted has been such that cannot be used to carefully describe the development of learner language with reference to different levels. This is due to the fact that longitudinal studies have been made with very small sample sizes or that the method has been a so-called quasi-longitudinal study, which means that the informants have not been the same across different proficiency levels. With the current corpus methods, it would be possible to compile extensive data that contain texts by the same text producers in different phases of language learning. Ever larger corpora create the possibility for drawing better comparisons and collecting quantitative data on the different phases of learner language development. The lack of spoken data in comparison to written data is partially related to the abovementioned situation. Despite the fact that collecting spoken language data is challenging, obtaining this data is necessary for the needs of research; after all, spoken language is usually predominant in relation to the written variant in terms of communication purposes. Extensive spoken language data already exist to some extent, such as LINDSEI (Louvain International Database of Spoken English Interlanguage, Gilquin et al. 2010) and MICASE (Michigan Corpus of Academic Spoken English, Simpson et al. 2002), but they usually consist of discourses produced by English learners. Researchers should therefore strive to collect data more extensively in different languages. The latter is also true of learner language data and research on a wider scale, as they examine learner language and, through it, language learning. Considering the language situation in the world, it is natural that English language corpora are dominant and the research is focused largely on learning English and Indo-European languages.

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If we wish to examine language learning on a wider scale—for example, from the point of view of universal tendencies—the current distorted situation does not grant the possibility for this. It is therefore extremely important that both spoken and written data be collected from other widely spoken—and studied—languages, such as learner’s Chinese and learner’s Indian, but also less studied languages, such as Finno-Ugric languages. Examining smaller and less-studied languages challenges previous studies and may bring up features of learning and learner language that cannot be accessed through analysing current language data. For example, examining the learning of synthetic languages rich in morphology would be particularly rewarding in terms of learner language research. English, which is poor in morphology, does not reveal morphological and morphosyntactic problems. Even though analysis of morphological, morphophonological, and morphosyntactic characteristics has a strong basis in, for example, research in the synthetic Finno-Ugric languages, these characteristics have not been examined as extensively elsewhere—and whereas learner English has been examined greatly in terms of syntax and vocabulary, lexical research has not become popular in researching, for example, learning the synthetic Finnish language. In order to obtain a general description or a theoretical model regarding language learning, there is need to balance and increase research objects in different languages, on one hand from the point of view of selecting language phenomena to be examined and on the other hand from the point of view of researching registers and genres. The research in learning vocabulary is closely related to research in learning phraseology and lexical priming, which means the expected preferences for expressions from lexical and grammatical factors to stylistic and textual co-occurrences (see Hoey 2005 on lexical priming). Both are important from a pedagogic point of view: how the expressions should be taught in entities larger than one word so that learning and reception would become easier and faster and so that the learner product would become native-like faster. It is, however, questionable, whether the native-like performance is most learners’ goal in the first place and whether the appropriate model for language use comes from native speakers (Cook 1999). Research performed so far (e.g., Nesselhauf 2005) has shown that even extremely advanced students make abundant phraseological errors when producing collocations atypical of the target language. In examining priming and phraseology in learner language, there is also reason to move to a more abstract level than collocations: how language learners master the semantic associations of expressions, and what is the learners’ priming—or morphologic priming (the characteristics related to use of the conjugated forms of words in the core and context of an expression) in general regarding synthetic languages (see Jantunen and Brunni 2013). Transfer and lately cross-linguistic influence in a wider sense has possibly been the most examined phenomenon in language learning (see, e.g., Odlin 1989; Jarvis and Pavlenko 2008). There is still, however, ignorance regarding what is the significance of previously learnt languages in language learning. How can mother tongue transfer be seen in learning and what kind of role in learning and the product do second or third languages have? There is also a lack of extensive research data as to how language learning and learnt languages affect the use of the mother tongue; does learning other languages enrich one’s expressive repertoire, will it bring transfer to the mother tongue—and if so, what kind? Nowadays (in Europe) it is also important to start considering the applicability of the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages: Learning, teaching, assessment (Council of Europe 2001) as a tool for describing learner language. There is reason to determine how the framework, based on assessing active language proficiency, can be used to describe and assess the learner’s products and what kind of structural and lexical characteristics are represented at which level. In addition, there is reason to pay attention to the consistency of assessing the products: Are the 390

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assessment decisions made by different assessors consistent, and, if not, how and why are the assessments different? The last question is critical when the products are being assessed for vast language data such as corpora: How consistent must the assessments be in order to include the product in research data?

Implications for Education Currently one speaks of language acquisition and development instead of learning, and it is understood that only a small part of the processes are due to classroom-type education. In fact, the entire language system and language learning are seen, for example, in the Dynamic Systems Theory, as a chaotic, nonlinear process in constant change, where everything affects everything and the changes happening are due to both internal and external circumstances (Larsen-Freeman 1997; 2002; de Bot et al. 2007). For this reason, the traditional pedagogic key issues have become more important than ever: Does guided teaching help in acquiring some language features, and are there some teaching methods that are more efficient than others? How can all this be seen in the learner’s product? When and in what order do certain language features manifest themselves in the learner language and how do they become regular? The acquisition should be understood as a holistic phenomenon instead of clear-cut learning processes and teaching methods that would be functional to all language learners and all language learning situations. The complexity of language teaching and acquisition is added to by the fact that the L2 teaching field is vast and includes teaching children as well as adults, learning in classrooms, the internet, target-language countries, or environments with no contact with the target language. In addition, the learner may have an academic education or be illiterate. One of the great challenges of L2 pedagogy is to be able to offer the best possible teaching for all those who need it. In this task, the language user cannot be separated from the environment in which the learning takes place: learning is closely linked to sociocognitive thinking, and there is need for holistic theories connecting language, cognition, and interaction. Nowadays, learning environments and interaction are examined to a great deal, for example, negotiations of meaning, communication strategies, influence of the learning environment, and the teacher’s role in the teaching situation. With these research settings, researchers aim to discover how and through what kind of classroom practices it is possible to attain the aspired goals. Developing L2 pedagogy is one of the most significant reasons why we began to study learner language in the first place. When discussing teaching, its parallel concept, learning, must be defined. Has a certain linguistic phenomenon been learnt when it occurs in the language for the first time, or only after it has been used correctly in most cases? Research uses both definitions, but since the former is a somewhat unreliable meter, some researchers (see, e.g., Pienemann 1985) have defined the occurrence of a phenomenon in the learner language two times as the prerequisite for learning. When learning has been defined, it becomes possible to examine the order of learning phenomena, which—as stated previously—observes a certain order not only on an individual level, but also on a general level. In this manner, it is possible to discover a language learning theory or model for a certain language that could be used in producing teaching materials, teacher training, and developing assessment methods and equipment, as well as in concrete classroom situations. However, it is dangerous to generalise, for example, a certain model concerning English into a universal model, as language acquisition is affected by so many variables, such as the proximity of the source and target languages and whether they are related. On the other hand, we must keep in mind that language acquisition varies substantially also within one language: Individual learning strategies, learners’ backgrounds, learning contexts, teaching methods, et cetera, all affect how a language is acquired and how learning paths will develop. 391

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Language development and acquisition of language features in a certain order also helps in developing assessment methods, since the development process can be divided into levels according to phases, with certain language features occurring at each phase. An example of such a skill level description is the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages: Learning, teaching, assessment (Council of Europe 2001). Its primary purpose is to assist in comparing interpretations, but it also functions as an aid in assessment and producing teaching material on a national level. Language proficiency is described with the help of a six-step proficiency level scale, and it is thus the basis for the common language policies of the European Union. A similar interlingual assessment and comparison scale has not previously been in use. It is a great pedagogic challenge to apply the results of the development work and research knowledge in teacher training and study books. Researchers have long discussed, for example, phraseology and its significance in second language acquisition. The phraseological units used by learners and natives differ, and according to research even time spent in a target-language country does not automatically make these units consistent; awareness of phraseology must be made clear to the students through systematic teaching, which means a new type of approach to language (Meunier and Granger 2008; Nesselhauff 2005). Lewis (1993; 1997) approaches the topic from a pedagogic point of view and speaks of a so-called Lexical Approach, where the limits between vocabulary and grammar are shaken also in the teaching, and vocabulary is seen more as a lexicon that consists not only of words, but also of collocations, idioms, and institutional expressions. A similar new approach to language and its acquisition is Hoey’s (2005) lexical priming, where words are examined in their actual contexts of use and the focus is on their interactive relationship to lexical, grammatical, and semantic co-occurrences. Only awareness of this will help speakers develop into fluent, creative, and natural target-language speakers.

Further Reading Historical Corder, S. P. (1974). Error analysis. In J. P. Allen and S. P. Corder (Eds.), The Edinburgh Course in Applied Linguistics Volume 3: Techniques in Applied Linguistics (pp. 122–154). London: Oxford University Press. Odlin, T. (1989). Language transfer. Cross-linguistic influence in language learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Selinker, L. (1972). Interlanguage. International Review of Applied Linguistics, 10(3), 209–231.

Recent Ellis, R., and Barkhuizen, G. (2005). Analysing learner language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jarvis, S., and Pavlenko, A. (2008). Crosslinguistic influence in language and cognition. New York: Routledge. Meunier, F. and Granger, S. (2008). Phraseology in foreign language learning and teaching. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company.

References Bley-Vroman, R. (1983). The comparative fallacy in interlanguage studies: The case of systematicity. Language Learning, 33(1), 1–17. de Bot, K., Lowie, W., and Verspoos, M. (2007). A dynamic systems theory approach to second language acquisition. Bilingualism: Language and Cognition, 10(1), 7–21. Cook, V. (1999). Going beyond the native speaker in language teaching. TESOL Quarterly, 33(2) 185–209. Corder, S. P. (1967). The significance of learners’ errors. International Review of Applied Linguistics, 5(4), 161–170.

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Corder, S. P. (1971). Idiosyncratic dialects and error analysis. International Review of Applied Linguistics, 9(2), 147–159. Corder, S. P. (1974). Error analysis. In J. P. Allen and S. P. Corder (Eds.), The Edinburgh Course in Applied Linguistics Volume 3: Techniques in Applied Linguistics (pp. 122–154). London: Oxford University Press. Corder, S. P. (1981). Error analysis and interlanguage. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Council of Europe. (2001). Common European framework of reference for languages: Learning, teaching, assessment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Crookes, G. (1989). Planning and interlanguage variability. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 11(4), 367–383. Dulay, H., Burt, M., and Krashen, S. (1982). Language two. New York: Oxford University Press. Ellis, R. (1990). Instructed second language acquisition. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Ellis, R. (2008). The study of second language acquisition. 2nd edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ellis, R., and Barkhuizen, G. (2005). Analysing learner language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ellis, R., and Yuan, F. (2005). The effects of careful within-task planning on oral and written task performance. In Ellis, R. (Ed.) Planning and Task Performance in a Second Language (pp. 167–192). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. George, H. (1972). Common errors in language learning: Insights from English. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Gilquin, G., De Cock, S., & Granger, S, (2010). LINDSEI. Louvain international database of spoken English interlanguage. Louvain-la-Neuve: Presses Universitaires de Louvain. Granger, S. (2003). The International Corpus of Learner English: A new resource for foreign language learning and teaching and second language acquisition research. TESOL Quarterly, 37(3), 538–546. Hoey, M. (2005). Lexical priming: A new theory of words and language. London: Routledge. James, C. (1998). Errors in language learning and use: Exploring error analysis. London: Longman. Jantunen, J. H. (2008). Haasteita oppijakielen korpusanalyysille. Oppijankielen universaalit. In Eslon (Ed.), Õppijakeele analüüs: võimalused, probleemid, vadused. Tallinna ülikooli eesti filoloogia osakonna toimetised 10 (pp. 67–91). Tallinn: TLÜ kirjastus. Jantunen, J. H., and Brunni, S. (2013). Morphology, lexical priming and second language acquisition: A corpus-study on learner Finnish. In S. Granger, G. Gilquin, and F. Meunier (Eds.), Twenty Years of Learner Corpus Research: Looking Back, Moving Ahead. Corpora and Language in Use. Proceedings 1. (pp. 235–245). Louvain-la-Neuve: Presses universitaires de Louvain. Jarvis, S. (2000). Methodological rigor in the study of transfer: Identifying L1 influence in the interlanguage lexicon. Language Learning, 50(2), 245–309. Jarvis, S., and Pavlenko, A. (2008). Crosslinguistic influence in language and cognition. New York: Routledge. Kang, O., and Rubin, D. L. (2009). Reverse linguistic stereotyping: Measuring the effect of listener expectations on speech evaluation. The Journal of Language and Social Psychology, 28(4), 441–456. Larsen-Freeman, D. (1997). Chaos/complexity science and second language acquisition. Applied Linguistics, 18(2), 141–165. Larsen-Freeman, D. (2002). Language acquisition and language use form a chaos/complexity theory perspective. In C. Kramsch (Ed.), Language Acquisition and Language Socialization: Ecological perspectives (pp. 33–46). London: Continuum. Lewis, M. (1993). The lexical approach: The state of ELT and the way forward. Hove: Language Teaching Publications. Lewis, M. (1997). Implementing the lexical approach: Putting theory into practice. Hove: Language Teaching Publications. Long, M. I. (2003). Stabilization and fossilization in interlanguage development. In C. Doughty and M. Long (Eds.), The Handbook of Second Language Acquisition (pp. 487–536). Malden: Blackwell Handbooks in Linguistics. Meunier, F., and Granger, S. (2008). Phraseology in foreign language learning and teaching. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Mulder, K., and Hulstijn, J. (2011). Linguistic skills of adult native speakers, as a function of age and level of education. Applied Linguistics, 32(5), 475–494. Nesselhauf, N. (2005). Collocations in learner corpus. Studies in corpus linguistics 14. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Ochs, E. (1979). Planned and unplanned discourse. In T. Givón (Ed.), Syntax and Semantics Volume 12. Discourse and Semantics (pp. 51–80). New York: Academic Press. Odlin, T. (1989). Language transfer. Cross-linguistic influence in language learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 393

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Odlin, T. (2002). Language transfer and cross-linguistic studies: Relativism, universalism, and the native language. In R. Kaplan (Ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Applied Linguistics (pp. 253–261). New York: Oxford University Press. Paikeday, T. M. (1985). The native speaker is dead. An informal discussion of a linguistic myth with Noam Chomsky and other linguists, philosophers, psychologists, and lexicographers. Toronto & New York: Lexicography, Inc. Pienemann, M. (1985). Leanability and syllabus construction. In K. Hyltenstam and M. Pienemann (Eds.), Modelling and Assessing Second Language Acquisition. Multilingual Matters 18 (pp. 23–75). Clevedon: British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. Pienemann, M., Johnston, M., and Brindley, G. (1988). Constructing an acquisition-based procedure for second language assessment. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 10(2), 217–243. Preston, D. (1996). Variationist perspectives on second language acquisition. In R. J. Bayley and D. R. Preston (Eds.), Second Language Acquisition and Linguistic Variation (pp. 1– 45). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Rahimpour, M., and Nariman-Jahan, R. (2011). The effects of planning on writing narrative task performance with low and high EFL proficiency. English Language Teaching, 4(1), 120–125. Richards, J. (1971). A non-contrastive approach to error analysis. ELT Journal, 25(3), 204–219. Richards, J. (Ed.) (1974). Error analysis: Perspectives on second language acquisition. London: Longman. Schumann, J. (1978). The pidginization process. A model for second language acquisition. Rowley: Newbury House. Selinker, L. (1972). Interlanguage. International Review of Applied Linquistics, 10(3), 209–231. Selinker, L. (1992). Rediscovering interlangue. London: Longman. Simpson, R. C., Briggs, S. L., Ovens, J., and Swales, J. M. (2002). The Michigan corpus of academic spoken English. Ann Arbor, MI: The Regents of the University of Michigan. Skehan, P. and Foster, P. (1997). Task type and task processing conditions as influences on foreign language performance. Language Teaching Research, 1(3), 185–211. Skehan, P. and Foster, P. (2008). Complexity, accuracy, fluency and lexis in task-based performance: A meta-analysis of the Ealing research. In S. Van Daele, S. Housen, F. Kuiken, I. Vedder (Eds.), Complexity, Accuracy, and Fluency in Second Language Use, Learning, and Teaching (pp. 207–226). Brussels: University of Brussels Press. Skehan, P., Xiaoyue, B., Ojan, L., and Wang, Z. (2012). The task is not enough: Processing approaches to task-based performance. Language Teaching Research, 16(2), 170–187. Tarone, E. (1983). On the variability of interlanguage systems. Applied Linguistics, 4(2), 143–163. Tavakoli, P. and Skehan, P. (2005). Strategic planning, task structure and performance testing. In R. Ellis (Ed.), Planning and Task Performance in a Second Language (pp. 239–273). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Wong-Filmore, L. (1979). Individual differences in second language acquisition. In C. Filmore, D. Kember, and W. Wang. (Eds.), Individual Differences in Language Ability and Language Behavior (pp. 203–228). New York: Academic Press. Yuan, F., and Ellis, R. (2003). The effects of pre-task planning and on-line planning on fluency, complexity and accuracy in L2 monologic oral production. Applied Linguistics, 24(1), 1–27. Zuengler, J. (1991). Accommodation in native-non-native interactions: Going beyond the “what” to the “why” in second-language research. In H. Giles, J. Coupland, and N. Coupland (Eds.), Contexts of Accommodation: Developments in Applied Sociolinguistics (pp. 223–244). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Ethics and Politics in Educational Linguistics

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30 “Who Gets to Say?” Political and Ethical Dilemmas for Researchers in Educational Linguistics Kristen H. Perry and Christine A. Mallozzi

If the participant and the researcher belong to different cultures, it is possible that both ethics and the research process will mean something different to each.1

Introduction: Who Says What Is Ethical? In this chapter, we explore ethical and methodological issues of applying discourse analysis in research involving language learners. Our interest in this specific topic is grounded in the many methodological challenges and ethical dilemmas we faced as we attempted to analyze narratives of adult refugees. This chapter does not represent an exhaustive review of the field; instead, we seek to raise and describe important issues. Historically, federal ethical guidelines for research emerged out of concerns regarding certain research studies and practices that were highly problematic from human rights standpoints (Brinkmann 2010; Cameron et al. 1993; Christians 2000; Denzin 2010; Howe and Moses 1999; Lincoln 2005). In addition to being sparked by particular unethical research studies, these guidelines were also shaped by social, cultural, historical, and political worldviews, specifically those of the global West/North. This viewpoint represents a utilitarian perspective that was grounded in Enlightenment thinking (Christians 2000; Howe and Moses 1999), ultimately asserting that a single set of moral considerations (i.e., respect for persons, beneficence, and social justice) could guide all inquiry. These ethical guidelines have been codified in the Belmont Report, federal guidelines, and various institutions’ Institutional Review Boards (IRBs) or Research Ethics Boards (REBs)2; they emphasize informed consent, privacy/confidentiality, and accuracy, and oppose deception in research. Thus, under typical scenarios, the determination of what is ethical is primarily a top-down approach, guided by externally imposed guidelines and oversight processes. Researchers who engage in qualitative research, however, have long questioned the applicability of these ethical guidelines in situated research, particularly that which involves participants across linguistically, culturally, and/or ethnically diverse populations (e.g., Brinkmann 2010; Christians 2000; Denzin 2010; Howe and Moses 1999; Perry 2007; 2011). Most relevant to this chapter are scholars’ arguments that (a) culture shapes understandings of research and ethics (e.g., Koulouriotis 2011), and (b) that ethics is a dialogic, rather than prescriptive, process.3

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No chapter can possibly cover every ethical issue that may occur in research. However, there are several common ethical issues that researchers involved in educational linguistics may face. Like other types of qualitative researchers, those conducting discourse analysis with language learners may face issues of power relationships, such as Who makes decisions regarding the research study? How will participants be represented? or even Who determines what is ethical? Additionally, educational linguistics naturally invites ethical questions related to language. When researching communities in which the researchers’ and participants’ language proficiencies differ, difficult questions may arise, including: Which language should be used for data collection and/or analysis? Which participants should be included? Should translators be used, and, if so, how? How will differences in meaning be recognized and accounted for?

The Macro-Microethics Continuum How can researchers in educational linguistics address ethical issues, especially given the critiques of many researchers, who argue that research ethics have been externally imposed and therefore are inappropriate? Rather than wholly rejecting existing ethical models, scholars increasingly offer distinctions between codified ethical rules and the ethical decisions made in the moment of actually conducting research. For example, Guillemin and Gillam distinguish between macroethics and microethics. Macroethics, or what they also call procedural ethics, represent the rules that must be followed to satisfy external regulations. In contrast, microethics, or what they term ethics in practice, refer to “the ‘ethically important moments’ in doing research—the difficult, often subtle, and usually unpredictable situations that arise in the practice of doing research.”4 Kubanyiova (2008) similarly draws upon Haverkamp’s distinction between virtue ethics, or the researcher’s ability to “discern ethically important situations and make ethical decisions,” and what Haverkamp names as ethics of care, or ethics that “recognize the relational character of research.”5 Thus, according to Kubanyiova, decision-making in situated research requires a careful balance between macroethical principles, ethics of care, and virtue ethics. In answer to the question of who determines what is ethical, the construct of microethics suggests that the researcher, perhaps in consultation with participants, determines ethical behavior based on the context of the research. From a microethical perspective, a researcher’s ethical competence and ethical reflexivity are also crucial, involving the “researcher’s willingness to acknowledge the ethical dimension of research practice, his or her ability to actually recognize the ethical dimension when it comes into play, and his or her ability to think through ethical issues and respond appropriately.” 6 Recognition of the ways in which research and ethics are culturally situated is crucial, as Koulouriotis argued based on her study of three education researchers working with non-native English-speaking participants. As she found, “all the researchers touched on the potential disparity between how REBs conceptualized ethical research conduct and how ethics and the research endeavor were perceived in participants’ own cultures.”7 For example, researchers and institutions typically interpret macroethical principles to mean that participants’ identities should be protected, which leads to research practices designed to ensure anonymity. However, potential participants may not view individual privacy as important—indeed, as Perry found, some Sudanese refugees associated name-changing with the oppressive northern Sudanese regime, which often forced Southerners to change their names to something Islamic. Given potential disparities, researchers need to engage in culturally reflexive inquiry (Gildersleeve 2010; Palmer 2010), which is predicated on cultural competence, “a critical disposition that is related to the researcher’s ability to accurately represent reality in culturally complex communities.”8 Matters of microethics and macroethics are complex in research on the culturally saturated site of discourse. 398

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What Counts as Discourse? Defining discourse is not just interesting fodder for theoretical discussions of ontology and epistemology; these matters direct methodologies and, thus, have a bearing on research ethics. Definitions of discourse vary both within and across fields of study (Bové 1995; Mills 2004); thus, concepts about discourse cannot be blindly taken across disciplinary borders. However, we draw inspiration from an exchange between Corcorran9 and Potter10 in discursive psychology literature that identified analyses’ focus on what discourse is doing compared to what discourse means. Because different epistemological approaches toward discourse necessarily will shape research approaches, we describe ethical issues that may arise in considering what discourse means and does in the following sections.

Who Says What Discourse Means? Discourse can be studied for the objects, ideas, events, and more that it describes, as a system through which meaning is communicated. Gee’s theory distinguishes Discourse and discourse, though both are inextricably linked.11 Big “D” Discourse is defined as behavior, values, ways of thinking, clothes, food, customs, perspectives; that is to say, big “D” Discourse encompasses the ways of being in the world to achieve a certain meaning or identity. Little “d” discourse, termed language-in-use, is the specific linguistic bits one uses in attempts to construct that intended meaning or identity. Both can be analyzed for meaning. Meaning is a primary consideration in educational linguistic research; as a result, researchers must consider ethical issues in relation to meaning and who determines it. Research involving linguistically diverse communities represents a challenge, because language and culture—and accompanying meanings—may not be shared by the researcher and the participants in a study. As Bell argued, “We may not understand the story that our participants are telling us, or we may think we understand and impose on their story an interpretation that reflects our own assumptions.”12 As Janusch similarly noted,13 The perils of traversing lines between meaning and interpretation are tricky under the best of circumstances, and no matter how much we may think we know about what someone really means by what they say in another language, we are always working in the uncharted territory of “third places.” (Kramsch 1993) That is, meaning does not entirely belong to either the researcher or the participant, but rather is negotiated in the space between. The focus on discursive meaning would include attempts to understand language and language behavior. In Australia, Arciuli, Mallard, and Villar studied the use of linguistic “fillers” found in many languages, such as “um” and “like.” Although different fillers have varied lexical status, these utterances were considered signs of disfluent speech of native-language speakers, and even signs of lying, but Arciuli, Mallard, and Villar found that not all “ums” and “likes” are equal in meaning and that these fillers may simply be signs of the speaker’s cognitive overload.14 Reasons for cognitive overload are many, of which lying is only one. For a language learner not yet adept at the language in focus, the cognitive overload can be significant. If assigning meanings to even the simplest of utterances is contentious with a native speaker, a discursive linguist’s meaningmaking techniques used with native speakers may be less reliable with a language learner speaking under added cognitive strain. The norms of a first language scaffold the acquisition of secondlanguage discourse, producing both oral and written discourse heavily influenced by the native 399

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language.15 Therefore, even if discourse analysis concentrates at the macro-linguistic level (e.g., narratives) and sets aside micro-linguistic markers (e.g., fillers), analysis that does not account for first language influence and assumes non-native language norms marginalizes the language learners’ discourse. Further, a person may construct discourse in L1 in a similar way as he or she constructs discourse in L2, but just because two people have the same L1, even acquired in similar ways, does not mean each person will use their L1 similarly nor their L2 similarly.16 Attempts to essentialize analyses or findings simply or mostly based on people’s native or non-native languages is not only ill-advised, it is ethically questionable. The language used in data collection and analysis (e.g., whether or not to interview and interact with participants in their home language or in a different language, such as English) can be a difficult ethical and methodological decision for researchers, particularly when researcher and participants do not share the same first language. Palmer emphasized the importance of trying to achieve conceptual equivalence in developing and testing interview or survey questions to “ensure that wording and language are presented so as to ensure full understanding of terms, concepts, and meanings,” although much meaning still can be quite literally lost in translation.17 These decisions may still be difficult even when researchers and participants share a language. Li, for example, examined Chinese international students’ experiences in Canada in two different studies. Although Li and the participants shared Chinese as a first language, she initially interviewed her participants in English: However, when I read through the first two transcripts, I realized that those simple English sentences could not possibly contain the complex and sophisticated ideas, thoughts, and feelings that I knew they wished to convey. When we later switched to the Chinese language, our conversations flowed freely and lasted longer. It was more work for me to translate the conversations from Chinese to English, but it was a more authentic and meaningful experience for us all.18 Li’s experience seems to suggest that conducting research in participants’ first language (or, perhaps, language of greatest comfort/fluency) may make the most sense, both methodologically and ethically. Other researchers have found the opposite to be true. For example, in her study of researchers working with English learners, Koulouriotis described that one of her participants discovered that by conducting the research in English she was helping the participants to realize their ability to make themselves understood beyond their grammar or pronunciation. Although she admitted that conducting interviews in English required intensive listening and much work on the part of the researcher, she was surprised to learn that through participating in research, participants felt a sense of pride and accomplishment.19 Indeed, Koulouriotis’ finding echoes Perry’s own experience: In her study of refugees in Kentucky, 12 out of 13 interviewees declined the use of a translator, many of whom said they wanted the opportunity to practice English. Nevertheless, Li’s concerns about sacrificed meaning still exist, and an ethical dilemma may occur between the desire to honor participants’ choices (and perhaps help to empower their nascent abilities) and the desire for accurate, valid data. In order to mitigate some of these dilemmas, Li emphasizes “the importance of working alongside research participants in order to co-construct their life stories in another language.”20 Decisions about translators may also present ethical dilemmas; even when translators are used, meanings may not necessarily be shared. According to Baird, cultural congruence between research 400

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participants and the selected interpreters is important “to accurately translate and interpret social cultural patterns as well as language.”21 Indeed, one challenge Perry faced was convincing her IRB that a university-approved French speaker from France would not suffice as a translator, because that person would not understand West African French dialects and cultural issues. Cultural congruence, however, will not solve all dilemmas related to meaning. Janusch, for example, explained that her Chinese interpreters had to translate complex concepts in addition to words, “for which there was perhaps no direct translation across the two cultures.”22 With respect to meaning, ethical issues also may exist related to bias or partiality. In their educational research with refugees, Turner and Fozdar found that partiality became an issue for them in two senses of the word—as incompleteness and as bias. The authors acknowledged that ethnographic understandings are always incomplete or partial. However, they also found that differences in education levels and English fluency among participants led to partiality in their analyses, “since it is tempting to give greater weight to more sophisticated and articulate opinions.”23 Not all researchers view this incompleteness or partiality as necessarily a problem, however, and this may be particularly true for those who view discourse as doing something as opposed to representing a more static meaning.

Who Says What Discourse Is Doing? Discourse can be also studied for the work that it performs and how descriptions of the world are built and maintained as fact (or not) (Foucault 1972 [1971]). Understanding what discourse is doing entails focusing on “discourse for its performative quality rather than using it as a simple pathway to events and objects in the world.”24 Through discourse, understandings and positions are established, invoked, challenged, masked, and disregarded, shaping the world in turn. Big “D” Discourse as the ways of being in the world allows one to enact a certain cultural identity. Little “d” discourse, or the language markers in use, are involved in pulling off this specific way of being. For example, a person relocated to the U.S. can enact big “D” discourse (e.g., dress like an “American”) and little “d” discourse (e.g., adopt English as an “American” language) to communicate “American” ideas as an “American.” Determining what discourse is doing in a particular data sample may present similar ethical and methodological challenges as determining what that data sample means. If the meaning of a given discourse is contested, understanding what that discourse is doing may be even more problematic, particularly to a linguistic or cultural outsider. The consideration of silence in discourse represents one methodological and ethical challenge that linguistic researchers may face in working with language learners. Similar to the point made by Arciuli, Mallard, and Villar that no linguistic marker, no matter how small, can be blindly assigned a meaning, silence as an absent presence is also complex in discourse analysis for what it does. So often the topic of silence with learners of other languages is that the people are silenced (i.e., stifled in their opportunity to use their voice, marginalized), but silence within discourse can also be seen as an agentive action, as in people using silence strategically or even unconsciously. Based on the premise that the spoken word can lull researchers into a potentially misleading sense of security, Mazzei offered a methodology to discursively analyze silences. Hers was a project to “challenge the limits of spoken words in search of that which was unspoken” among teachers who were “‘research subjects’” but “not passive participants to which a barrage of one-way questions was directed.”25 Mazzei developed a process for listening (while reading and not reading transcripts) to learn how to hear “silent speech.”26 Like hearing the rests of music or white space of poetry, Mazzei’s process of listening for layers of meaning revealed an absent presence. 401

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Mazzei illustrated that silences are often present when the speaker assumes the listener knows what he means; in short, why voice something that is already understood? “Silences provide both form and substance to the text,”27 perhaps indicating who the speaker thinks is alike enough to think the same way the speaker does. Those silences may functionally name who is Other and who is Same. However, in a research project in which participants are co-researchers (e.g., action research), how does one ethically engage in the task of exploring the silences that structure their interactions? When a silence might be that which the speaker is unready to investigate or acknowledge, who gets to choose the silences that are worthy and safe (or unsafe) to examine in an ethical manner so as to not prompt harmful conditions? The co-researcher arrangement might denote mutual agreement of process so that even bringing up the examination of silences can be problematic. The complexities are exacerbated when a language learner is engaging in a mutual research process. What counts as a silence for a native speaker might be quite different for a language learner. That absence of voice may be a case of not having the words for a concept, not wanting to commit a cross-cultural gaffe, or an assumed comprehension in a cross-language conversation where, in fact, there is not understanding. Instead of viewing the doing of discourse as a potential methodological pitfall, Farquhar and Fitzsimons show the possibilities inherent in being lost in translation. Although being lost in translation implies both “the contingency of language and our inability to fully encapsulate otherness within our frame of reference,” it also may be an opportunity rather than a limitation: The phrase “lost in translation” brings together both openness to new ideas and a willingness to embrace multiplicity. We explore the idea of being “lost” as a commitment to engaging in a journey, to finding new meanings and trajectories, and to embracing destinations that are tentative and negotiable.28 In viewing discourse and meaning as dialogic, Farquhar and Fitzsimon’s perspective reflects Denzin’s29 emphasis on the dialogic nature of ethics. Viewing research and ethics as dialogic means involving the researched community in decision-making regarding the research design, data collection and analysis, ethical dilemmas, and the ways in which findings and participants are represented. Translators, too, would be involved in the same way, carefully selected from community representatives and therefore treated as participants or co-researchers themselves. However, while translators may be fluent in both languages and competent as interpreters, they still may need additional research training. For example, based upon her use of community-identified Dinka translators in her research, Baird realized that interpreters needed training to “have investment in the study and understand the methodology so that there is full agreement about exactly how data will be collected and why certain protocols must be followed,”30 such as respecting the confidentiality of other participants and accurately interpreting participants’ statements and not summarizing or adding personal comments. Baird also suggested that IRB processes be amended to include certification for translators, just as other research staff members are certified. Translators could also participate in research training in discourse analysis, so that they may understand the continuum of discourse and be better prepared to support discourse analyses that focus on what language may be doing. The research context is complicated largely due to who is involved, a matter inseparable from the associated data.

Whose Data Is It? One ethical dilemma faced by many qualitative researchers, including those who engage in discourse analysis with language learners, involves questions of who “owns” data in a study. The 402

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question of data ownership may be threaded throughout the research design, data collection, analysis, and research presentations. Mosselson, for example, described her dilemma: Critical theorists, including myself, question the ethics of this decision: my decision, my design, my questions, and ultimately, my interpretations and analysis of the participants’ voices. Recognizing the inherent power dynamic in these choices, however, I argue, leads a researcher to think more reflexively about the research and the data.31 Depending on the research design and the researcher’s epistemological and ethical perspectives, decisions about the research may (a) be made entirely by the researcher, with little (if any) consultation of participants, (b) be completely shared with participants, or (c) fall somewhere between. Similarly, data may be perceived to be owned by the researcher, owned by the participants, or jointly shared. In certain research designs, such as computer-mediated communication (CMC) studies in which researchers and participants are distanced from each other in one way or another, power relationships may be hierarchical, with researchers holding all or most of the power in a study. In such cases, data are likely viewed as belonging entirely to the researcher. In studies in which power relationships tend to be less hierarchical and instead are distributed or shared, participants might be involved in all or most of the entire research process, beginning with asking research questions and developing the research design, and extending throughout data analysis and publication or other representation of findings. Thus, the data and resulting findings are likely to be perceived as co-owned between participants and researchers or as belonging entirely to participants. Negotiation within data-gathering itself may also occur: for example, Kirova and Emme wonder, based upon their research with child participants, “Are all interviews equally controlled by the researcher? Is there any room to negotiate power relationships . . .?”32 As Kirova and Emme’s question implies, if researchers view participants as fundamental stakeholders who have contributed substantially to all or most stages of the process, the researcher is likely to view data as belonging, at least in part, to participants. Because research involving language learners often involves language differences between researcher and participants, power considerations related to data are also likely to involve decisions about language. For example, if the researcher perceives that she owns the data, she is likely to make decisions about the language of the study—including the language used in data collection, data analysis, and written or oral presentations of the research—based upon her own language proficiency(ies) and/or by the availability of translators. Similarly, selection of translators may not be assumed to be an ethical issue and may simply be selected for the sake of convenience or to satisfy institutional requirements. However, this perspective may lead to difficulties with other ethical dilemmas related to meaning. In contrast, if the researcher perceives that data ownership is in the hands of participants, she may be more likely to negotiate data/language decisions with participants. Researchers who view data as shared or as owned by participants also may be more likely to be aware of the potential for linguistic hegemony in research, particularly in multilingual or post-colonial contexts. For example, Phillipson (2009) notes that most research is published in English, even in countries where English is not a dominant or official language. Still, the language is not the only consideration. How discursive data is shared is a concern with methodologies such as computer-mediated conversation analysis and other analyses of online content, reported exchanges in public sources (e.g., newspapers, policy papers), especially because people can appear so far removed from the data gathering itself.33 Bowker and Tuffin outlined the benefits and drawbacks of using CMC to gather and discursively analyze data from marginalized people.34 Although they focused on disabled persons, some 403

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points were applicable to language learners. Technologies may enable or assist data to be included in cases when face-to-face data gathering is impossible, unlikely, or prohibitive (e.g., people feel insecure speaking face-to-face). CMC allows people to produce data at a pace that suits them rather than on the researcher’s timetable. However, the inability to respond to visual and social context cues affects how Discourse can be analyzed. Different CMC (e.g., oral in lieu of written communication) and procedures (e.g., use of translators) may be necessary because of factors such as literacy levels or language experience. These pluses and minuses are not the same as ethical considerations, which Bowker and Tuffin argued have not been adequately addressed by bodies such as the American Psychological Association or IRBs in CMC matters such as informed consent, security and identity issues, and other regulations. For the most part, this type of data gathering is considered naturalistic and beyond the scope of IRBs. Although IRB regulations typically are assumed not to apply to research in CMC, this does not mean that ethical issues are non-existent. Researchers still must consider principles related to respect, beneficence, and social justice. For example, while typical notions of vulnerability may not apply (i.e., vulnerability to coercion or abuse in the research situation), the ways in which language learners are described or discussed may be unjust, unethical, or otherwise provide opportunities for potential harm to the population. In analysis of CMC, researchers may be more likely to view the community as abstracted data, not as individuals. Thus, power issues may be given little attention in CMC, if they are even considered at all. However, we argue that, as with all qualitative data, power relationships are nevertheless an important consideration related to the data in CMC. For example, Black, in her ethnographic study of ELLs’ participation in online fanfiction groups, raised the ethical issues of analyzing works and interactions voluntarily made public as part of an online community. Although Black considers publishing work to the community (which can be accessed by anyone) as implicit permission for others to analyze, as a researcher she seeks consent when concentrating on an individual’s specific work and when identifiers are accessible.35 Determinations about who “owns” research data cannot be prescribed. Rather, these determinations must be carefully made by researchers as they consider their proposed methods and their potential data sources, perhaps in ongoing consultation with research participants.

Who Decides How People Are Represented? As we alluded in the previous section, power considerations in educational linguistics include the ways in which individuals—both participants and researchers—are present and represented in research. Doná suggested that “representation can refer to ‘speaking of ’—constructing accounts and writing texts—or it can mean ‘speaking for’ advocating and mediating” (2007, 220).36 Ethical issues in this category may be related to: (a) how researchers conceptualize the nature of the researched community, including the researcher’s own relationship to the researched community, (b) how vulnerability is perceived, and (c) how the researched community is described in research representations.

What Is the Researcher’s Relationship to the Researched? In her work with refugees, Doná draws on Christensen and Prout’s research involving children to identify four possible ways of representing individuals in research. According to Doná, researched populations are positioned as: Objects when their “lives and experiences are investigated from the perspective of others . . . As ‘objects’, they have no power over the creation or production of knowledge about them”; 404

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Subjects when “their involvement in the research process is limited to that of respondents who answer questions developed by others, and where they have very limited power over the research process apart from deciding what information to convey or retain”; Social actors capable of making sense of their lives and research, “when they are in dialogue with the researcher and inform the content of the research process not simply as respondents to pre-determined questions but as informants knowledgeable about their experiences”; and as Participants and co-researchers when they are “involved, informed, consulted, and heard, within the new social sciences methodologies that see research as a co-production of knowledge (Christensen and Prout 2002).” 37 The ways in which researchers themselves are represented within a research study are connected to larger debates about a researcher’s status as an “insider” or “outsider” in the researched community. These debates typically focus on whether an “outsider” can truly understand the research context and the community or whether an “insider” can truly distance herself enough for data and findings to be considered valid. More recent scholarship, however, questions this debate. Gildersleeve notes, for example, that “insider-outsider debates tend to rely on static notions of culture,”38 while Parker Webster and John suggest that the debates rely on Eurocentric thinking: These dilemmas involve interrelated dualistic relationships embedded in the western academic tradition, namely (a) the notion of insider and outsider in terms of ethnographic research in general and critical ethnographic research in particular; and (b) the notion of “the academy” and the power relations between coloniser/theoriser/knowledge producer and Indigene/theorised/knowledge receiver.39 This sort of dualistic thinking may be less helpful than considering a researcher’s potential relationship with the community as a continuum, in which various research participants may view the researcher in different ways. For example, in Perry’s own research with Sudanese refugees, participants often introduced her—a European-American—to other community members by referencing the two years she had lived in southern Africa: “She lived in Africa, so she understands.”40 Perry’s prior experiences allowed her to knowledgeably converse about African cultures and certain customs, which differed from participants’ experiences with most other Americans. Thus, participants treated Perry as neither a full member of the Sudanese community nor a full outsider; rather, they appeared to view her relationship with them as somewhere in between— indeed, the children in one family granted her “auntie” status.41 Another ethical issue related to the researcher’s own position relative to the research community involves the potential for “Othering” the researched community (Bott 2010; Lahman, Mendoza, Rodriguez, and Schwartz 2011; Mosselson 2010)—that is, depicting the researched community as somehow fundamentally different or even exotic. “Inevitably,” Bott argued, “we begin to identify/disidentify, like/dislike, familiarize/otherize and this impacts our representations of them in relation to ourselves.”42 Researchers advocate for both researcher reflexivity and dialogue with participants to avoid ethical pitfalls related to representations of participants (Bott 2010; Doná 2007; Kirova and Emme 2007; Koulouriotis 2011; Li 2011; Mosselson 2010; Palmer 2010; Smith 2009). Ethical considerations of power relationships in research with linguistically or culturally different communities must be grounded in learning as much as possible about the community of study, both through extensive reading and “by spending extended time in the community developing cultural competency and building relationships.”43 405

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Who Determines Vulnerability? Decisions about how to represent the researched may connect with the researcher’s perspective on participants’ vulnerability. The researcher’s view of participants on the object-co-researcher continuum (Doná 2007; Christensen and Prout 2002) will shape decision-making around this issue. Macroethical principles typically categorize entire groups (e.g., pregnant women, children, or non-native speakers of English) as vulnerable. As a result, IRBs hold the power to determine vulnerability based upon a priori categories and require researchers to put additional safeguards in place for those individuals. In some instances, university IRBs may even restrict research. For example, Perry found that some U.S. IRBs explicitly stated that non-English speakers should be excluded from research, while others required language proficiency assessments for potential participants or the use of institutionally approved translators in the informed consent and data collection processes. While such decisions are well intentioned toward protecting individuals from harm, making decisions on behalf of others is paternalistic and may be itself ethically murky.44 Indeed, Prior warned that, when researchers assume that participants are powerless and need the researcher to give them a voice, they run the risk of theoretical imperialism.45 Understanding the researched population as more than objects or subjects requires a nuanced understanding of vulnerability. As Perry noted, vulnerability is not inherent in a given individual but rather is a relationship between the nature of the participant, the nature of the study, and the nature of the context in which the research is conducted.46 Moreover, because vulnerability is not the same thing as incompetence, Lahman et al. suggest viewing participants as “competent and capable yet vulnerable.”47 If individuals are viewed as social actors, participants, or co-researchers, it makes less sense to conceptualize vulnerability as a priori categories that must be checked off. Instead, researchers must think carefully about the ways in which participants may (or may not) be vulnerable, given the study and the context—and, more importantly, involve participants in discussions of vulnerability, the ways in which potential vulnerabilities may be mitigated, and the ways in which dilemmas emerging from “ethically important moments” will be resolved.48 For example, participants may negotiate whether or not to use their real names or a pseudonym.49 Naming one’s self and others is an optimal site for examining discourse and the ethical matters of analyzing that discourse. One aspect of the nature of the research context that may influence participants’ level of vulnerability is the language in which data are gathered. That is, interviewing participants in a second language, in which they may feel less competent or less able to express their ideas clearly, may increase vulnerability. Comparing data from five-year-old foreign language learners of English and native English speakers, Garcia and Trillo examined the personal function of discourse,50 meaning Halliday’s categorization on discourse related to the thinking, feeling, perceiving of our personal world.51 This personal function of language includes giving information about one’s self, family, friends, possessions, feelings, and thoughts, and Garcia and Trillo found it was the most common language function for both sets of five-year-olds. Garcia and Trillo also found that the English language learners tended to use their first language when talking about themselves and others in their world, and they surmise “that the children’s interest in speaking about their personal world cannot be satisfied in the L2” beyond self-talk such as singing songs, reciting rhymes, counting, or other low-demand linguistic tasks.52 More demanding tasks, such as bragging, a frequent reason for language use with both ELLs and non-native speakers in the study, happened most often using speakers’ L1. Garcia and Trillo theorized that the children did not see their L2 as sufficient for doing the work of speaking about themselves in meaningful ways. Leaders in discourse analysis (e.g., Goffman 1981; Fairclough 1989) have examined naming others with pronouns. Using pronouns inserts people into speech, and opens opportunity to 406

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position those people. Drawing on data from persons with learning difficulties, Yates and Hiles demonstrated the inconsistencies in using pronouns to talk about one’s actions and the position one holds in self-described social worlds. Specifically, first-person I and fourth-person you (a pronoun used to imply a generalized everybody) shift according to activities and context; thus, I and you are not stable in language—they shape discursive interactions and likely deviate from language rules acquired through formal foreign language lessons.53 Pronouns are among the function words that show how the individual or thing fits into the communication and the constructed world from which the communication stems and help researchers make informed analyses about how a participant sees the world and the participant’s place in it; pronouns are part of the “who-doing-what”s that discursively create socially situated identities and practices.54 A note from feminist movements reinforces the importance of language in naming one’s self and one’s world. In reaction to histories of others speaking for women (e.g., through voting, preferred masculinized language) and pressure for women to use language that signaled their lesser status,55 feminist researchers established the need to interview women as a way to remedy “centuries of ignoring women’s ideas altogether or having men speak for women”56 and social and conventional sciences’ egregious “gynopia”,57 meaning the inability to see women. This risk of being discursively and effectually erased is a type of colonization to which ELLs are already vulnerable. Analyzing the way people speak about themselves and others is useful in understanding how that person sees the world and his role in it; however, analyzing pronoun use in discourse is valuable only if the speaker’s worldview is given primacy and not subsumed by the researcher’s worldview. This includes the researcher gaining a sense of what it means to talk about one’s self or other people in the speaker’s culture and language. Positioning a person to speak about certain people or things may be risky if frowned upon in their home culture. Indeed, even framing the speaker’s world as us/them, me/you, he/she/it may be inappropriate as they may be foreign concepts in the speaker’s worldview. As Foucault reminds readers, the categorization of people, animals, and concepts is not natural or universal but discursively situated, politically charged, and thus of an ethical concern.58 Vulnerability is a matter that clearly goes beyond a priori categories and may involve considerations of language and understanding important cultural issues. Because discourse analysis attends both language and culture, researchers will need to consider the ways in which the research may position participants as vulnerable during both data collection and analysis. While macroethical research principles address vulnerability in one specific way, the issues we have raised in this section may help researchers attend to microethical issues of vulnerability in their work.

Discussion: What Is Missing? As described in the introduction, many qualitative researchers have challenged macroethical principles as being too prescriptive or being inappropriate for qualitative research designs. Indeed, it is true that these principles are grounded in quantitative, biomedical paradigms of research.59 While the macroethical guiding principles of respect for persons, beneficence, and justice still apply in discourse analysis and other qualitative designs,60 it is true that these principles provide a framework that is, perhaps deliberately and necessarily, vague. Instead of asking whether or not the prescribed ethics are appropriate, it may be more fruitful to consider the nature of macroethical principles as applied in given research contexts. Indeed, as Koulouriotis notes, members of different communities may interpret these principles differently through their own cultural lenses.61 The questions we have raised in this chapter will, we hope, enable educational linguists to better navigate the macro-micro ethical continuum. Researchers, perhaps in collaboration with 407

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the researched community, can consider who determines: (a) meaning and/or what discourse is doing, (b) the ownership of data, and (c) how people will be represented within the study. Ultimately, as researchers and participants negotiate these questions, they are also addressing questions of (d) who determines what is ethical in a given study. As we conducted the literature review for this chapter, we also experienced moments of discomfort, as we saw the ways in which language learners were treated or ignored in ethical/ methodological decision-making and in research reports. The relevant issues were often being discussed relative to research with children, the disabled, or people with learning difficulties. Indeed, as Perry found in her study of research universities’ IRBs, language learners are frequently lumped together with others who are deemed incompetent, such as the developmentally disabled.62 Equating adult language learners with children or developmentally delayed adults, or as otherwise lacking, is inappropriate. Language learners may be more vulnerable than native speakers in certain research contexts, but vulnerability must not be conflated with incompetence. While the literature that we consulted does raise important issues, we argue that language learners deserve to be considered in their own right—their unique contexts, experiences, and perspectives deserve ethical and methodological discussion, too. The field appears to be missing a substantive discussion related to ethics and educational linguistics with respect to discourse analysis, and specifically discourse analysis with language learners. The limited ethical and methodological literature that our search did turn up, however, was either so broadly generalized as to be too vague or else was too specific in describing the microethical and methodological dilemmas related to an individual researcher’s own work. Also, our literature search repeatedly yielded pieces from the field of discursive psychology, highlighting the lack of literature on ethics of discourse analysis in education. The wealth of methodological literature on discourse analysis in education evidences researchers’ recognition of the situated challenges of enacting specific research processes, such as the many forms of discourse analysis. Yet the absence of attention to the ethical concerns of this methodology raises the question of researchers’ blind love of their methodology, preventing them from seeing the potential risks. Alternatively, perhaps discourse analysts in education feel the literature on general research ethics is sufficient to cover their specific methodology, but at once the field seems to be professing the importance of describing discourse analysis only insofar as it can be portrayed as a non-ethical matter. Also lacking is the presence of non-native speakers in the ethical literature on research focused on them. We became increasingly uneasy at the pattern of native speakers discussing non-native speakers, especially as we specify that language learners can range from being objects to co-researchers in research.63 It would seem that when it comes to discussion of ethics, the voices of language learners are virtually non-existent in the literature, indicating perhaps that they are relegated to object position more than we researchers would like to admit.

Notes 1. Joanna Koulouriotis, “Ethical Considerations in Conducting Research with Non-native Speakers of English,” TESL Canada Journal 28, no. 5 (2011): 3. 2. Clifford G. Christians, “Ethics and Politics in Qualitative Research.” In Handbook of Qualitative Research (2nd ed.), eds. Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2000), 133–155. 3. Norman K. Denzin, The Qualitative Manifesto: A Call to Arms ( Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2010). 4. Marilys Guillemin and Lynn Gillam, “Ethics, Reflexivity, and ‘Ethically important moments’ in Research.” Qualitative Inquiry 10, no. 2 (2004): 262. doi:10.1177/1077800403262360 5. Magdalena Kubanyiova, “Rethinking Research Ethics in Contemporary Applied Linguistics: The Tension between Macroethical and Microethical Perspectives in Situated Research,” The Modern Language Journal 92, no. 4 (2008): 504. doi:10.1111/j.1540–4781.2008.00784.x 408

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6. Guillemin and Gillam, “Ethics, Reflexivity, and ‘Ethically important moments’ in Research,” 269. 7. Koulouriotis, “Ethical Considerations in Conducting Research with Non-native Speakers of English,” 10–11. 8. Raychelle Harris, Heidi M. Holmes and Donna M. Mertens, “Research Ethics in Sign Language Communities,” Sign Language Studies 9, no. 2 (2009): 112. doi:10.1353/sls.0.0011 9. Tim Corcorran, “Second Nature,” British Journal of Social Psychology 48, no. 2(2009): 375–388. doi:10.1348/ 014466608X349513 10. Jonathan Potter, “Contemporary Discursive Psychology: Issues, Prospects, and Corcoran’s Awkward Ontology,” British Journal of Social Psychology 49 (2010): 657–678. doi:10.1348/014466610X486158 11. James Gee, Social Linguistics and Literacies: Ideology in Discourses ( London: Falmer Press, 1990). James Gee, An Introduction to Discourse Analysis: Theory and Method ( London: Routledge, 2011). 12. Jill S. Bell, “Reporting and Publishing Narrative Inquiry in TESOL: Challenges and Rewards,” TESOL Quarterly 45, no. 3 (2011): 577. 13. Sandra Janusch, “Reality, Dysconsciousness, and Transformations: Personal Reflections on the Ethics of Cross-Cultural Research” TESL Canada Journal 28, no. 5 (2011): 85. 14. Joanne Arciuli, David Mallard, and Gina Villar, “‘Um, I Can Tell You’re Lying’: Linguistic Markers of Deception Versus Truth-telling in Speech,” Applied Psycholinguistics 31, no. 3 (2010): 397–411. doi:10.1017/ S0142716410000044 15. Jennifer Y. Kang, “On the Ability to Tell Good Stories in Another Language Analysis of Korean EFL Learners’ oral ‘Frog Story’ Narratives,” Narrative Inquiry 13, no. 1 (2003): 127–149. Jennifer Kang, “Producing Culturally Appropriate Narratives in English as a Foreign Language: A Discourse Analysis of Korean EFL Learners’ Written Narratives,” Narrative Inquiry 16, no. 2 (2006): 379–407. 16. Mary J. Schleppegrell and M. Cecilia Colombi, “Text Organization by Bilingual Writers: Clause Structure as a Reflection of Discourse Structure,” Written Communication 14, no. 4 (1997): 481–503. doi:10.1177/ 0741088397014004003 17. David Palmer, “‘Every Morning Before You Open the Door You Have to Watch for that Brown Envelope’: Complexities and Challenges of Undertaking Oral History with Ethiopian Forced Migrants in London, UK,” The Oral History Review 37, no. 1 (2010): 39. 18. Yi Li, “Translating Interviews, Translating Lives: Ethical Considerations in Cross-language Narrative Inquiry,” TESL Canada Journal 28, no. 5, (2011): 27. 19. Koulouriotis, “Ethical Considerations in Conducting Research with Non-native Speakers of English,” 7. 20. Li, “Translating Interviews, Translating Lives: Ethical Considerations in Cross-language Narrative Inquiry,” 25. 21. Martha B. Baird, “Lessons Learned from Translators and Interpreters from the Dinka Tribe of Southern Sudan,” Journal of Transcultural Nursing 22, no. 2 (2011): 121. doi:10.1177/1043659610395764 22. Janusch, “Reality, Dysconsciousness, and Transformations: Personal Reflections on the Ethics of Cross-Cultural Research,” 88. 23. Marianne Turner and Farida Fozdar, “Dependency, Partiality and the Generation of Research Questions in Refugee Education,” Issues in Educational Research 20, no. 2 (2010): 191. 24. Potter, Jonathan, “Contemporary Discursive Psychology: Issues, Prospects, and Corcoran’s Awkward Ontology.” British Journal of Social Psychology 49 (2010): 658. doi:10.1348/014466610X486158 25. Mazzei, Lisa A., “Silent Listenings: Deconstructive Practices in Discourse-based Research.” Educational Researcher 33, no. 2 (2004): 26. 26. Ibid., 31. 27. Mazzei, Lisa A., “Toward a Problematic of Silence in Action Research,” Educational Action Research 15, no. 4 (2007): 633. doi:10.1080/09650790701664054 28. Sandy Farquhar and Peter Fitzsimons, “Lost in translation: The power of language,” Educational Philosophy and Theory 43, no. 6 (2011): 653. doi:10.1111/j.1469–5812.2009.00608.x 29. Norman K. Denzin, The Qualitative Manifesto: A Call to Arms ( Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2010). 30. Martha B. Baird, “Lessons Learned from Translators and Interpreters from the Dinka Tribe of Southern Sudan,” Journal of Transcultural Nursing 22, no. 2 (2011): 116–121. doi:10.1177/1043659610395764 31. Jacqueline Mosselson, “Subjectivity and Reflexivity: Locating the Self in Research on Dislocation,” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 23, no. 4 (2010): 483. DOI: 10.1080/09518398. 2010.492771 32. Anna Kirova and Michael Emme, “Critical Issues in Conducting Research with Immigrant Children,” Diaspora, indigenous, and minority education 1, no. 2 (2007): 89. doi:10.1080/15595690701293710 409

Kristen H. Perry and Christine A. Mallozzi

33. Joan Mazur, “Conversation Analysis for Educational Technologists: Theoretical and Methodological Issues for Researching Structures, Processes and Meaning of On-line Talk,” in Handbook of Research for Educational Communications and Technology, ed. David Jonassen (New York, NY: Macmillan, 2004), 1073–1098. 34. Natilene Bowker and Keith Tuffin, “Using the Online Medium for Discursive Research about People with Disabilities,” Social Science Computer Review 22, no. 2 (2004): 228–241. doi:10.1177/0894439303262561 35. Rebecca W. Black, “Access and Affiliation: The Literacy and Composition Practices of English-Language Learners in an Online Fanfiction Community,” Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy 49, no. 1 (2005): 118–128. doi:10.1598/JAAL.49.2.4 36. Giorgia Doná, “The Microphysics of Participation in Refugee Research,” Journal of Refugee Studies 20, no. 2 (2007): 212. doi:10.1093/jrs/fem013 37. Pia Christensen and Alan Prout, “Working With Ethical Symmetry in Social Research with Children,” Childhood, 9, 477–497. 38. Ryan E. Gildersleeve, “Dangerously Important Moment(s) in Reflexive Research Practices with Immigrant Youth,” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 23, no. 4 (2010): 408. doi:10.1080/ 09518398.2010.492809 39. Joan Parker Webster and Theresa A. John, “Preserving a Space for Cross-Cultural Collaborations: An Account of Insider/Outsider Issues,” Ethnography and Education 5, no. 2 (2010): 178. doi:10.1080/1745 7823.2010.493404 40. Kristen H. Perry, “From Storytelling to Writing: Transforming Literacy Practices Among Sudanese Refugees,” Journal of Literacy Research 40, no. 3 (2008): 317–358. doi:10.1080/10862960802502196 41. Kristen H. Perry, “‘Lost Boys,’ Cousins and Aunties: Using Sudanese Refugee Relationships to Complicate Definitions of ‘Family,’” in Home-School Connections in a Multicultural Society: Learning from and with Culturally and Linguistically Diverse Families, eds. Malu Dantas and Peter Manyak (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2009), 19–40. 42. Esther Bott, “Favourites and Others: Reflexivity and the Shaping of Subjectivities and Data in Qualitative Research, Qualitative Research 10, no. 2 (2010): 160. doi:10.1177/1468794109356736 43. Valerie J. Smith, “Ethical and Effective Ethnographic Research Methods: A Case Study with Afghan Refugees in California,” Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics 4, no. 3 (2009): 60. doi:10.1525/jer.2009.4.3.59 44. Kristen H. Perry, “Ethics, Vulnerability and Speakers of Other Languages: How University IRBs (Do Not) Speak to Research Involving Refugee Participants,” Qualitative Inquiry 17, no. 10 (2011): 1–14. doi:10.1177/1077800411425006 45. Matthew T. Prior, “Self-preservation in L2 Interview Talk: Narrative Versions, Accountability, and Emotionality,” Applied Linguistics 32, no. 1 (2011): 60–76. doi:10.1093/applin/amq033 46. Perry, “Ethics, Vulnerability and Speakers of Other Languages: How University IRBs (Do Not) Speak to Research Involving Refugee Participants,” 1–14. 47. Maria K. E. Lahman, Bernadette M. Mendoza, Katrina L. Rodriguez and Jana L. Schwartz, “Undocumented Research Participants: Ethics and Protection in a Time of Fear,” Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences 33, no. 3 (2011): 309. doi:10.1177/0739986311414162 48. Guillemin and Gillam, “Ethics, Reflexivity, and ‘Ethically important moments’ in Research,” 261–280. 49. Kristen H. Perry, “‘I Want the World to Know’: The Ethics of Anonymity in Ethnographic Literacy Research,” in Developments in Educational Ethnography, ed. Geoffrey Walford (London: Elsevier, 2007), 137–154. 50. Ana L. Garcia, and Jesús R. Trillo, “Getting Personal: Native Speaker and EFL Pre-school Children’s Use of the Personal Function,” International Journal of Applied Linguistics 17, no. 2 (2007): 198–213. doi:10.1111/ j.1473–4192.2007.00146.x 51. Michael A. K. Halliday, An Introduction to Functional Grammar (2nd ed) ( London: Edward Arnold, 1994). 52. Garcia and Trillo, “Getting Personal: Native Speaker and EFL Pre-school Children’s Use of the Personal Function,” 208–209. 53. Scott Yates and David Hiles, “‘You Can’t’ but ‘I Do’: Rules, Ethics, and the Significance of Shifts in Pronominal Forms for Self-positioning in Talk,” Discourse Studies 12 (2010): 535–551. doi:10.1177/ 1461445610370128. 54. James Gee, An Introduction to Discourse Analysis: Theory and Method (London: Routledge, 2011), 30. 55. Robin Lakoff, “Language and Woman’s Place,” Language in Society, 2 (1973): 45–80. www.jstor.org/ stable/4166707 56. Shulamit Reinharz, Feminist Methods in Social Research ( New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 19. 410

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57. Shulamit Reinharz, “Feminist Distrust: Problems of Context and Content in Sociological Work,” in Clinical Demands of Social Research, eds. D. Berg and K. Smith ( Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 1985). 58. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences ( New York, NY: Vintage Press, 1970). 59. Perry, “Ethics, Vulnerability and Speakers of Other Languages: How University IRBs (Do Not) Speak to Research Involving Refugee Participants.” 60. Guillemin and Gillam, “Ethics, Reflexivity, and ‘Ethically important moments’ in Research.” 61. Koulouriotis, “Ethical Considerations in Conducting Research with Non-native Speakers of English.” 62. Perry, “Ethics, Vulnerability and Speakers of Other Languages: How University IRBs (Do Not) Speak to Research Involving Refugee Participants.” 63. Doná, “The Microphysics of Participation in Refugee Research.”

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Gee, James. Social Linguistics and Literacies: Ideology in Discourses. London: Falmer Press, 1990. Gee, James. An Introduction to Discourse Analysis: Theory and Method. London: Routledge (3rd ed.), 2011. Gildersleeve, Ryan E. “Dangerously Important Moment(s) in Reflexive Research Practices with Immigrant Youth.” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 23, no. 4 (2010): 407–421. doi:10.1080/0 9518398.2010.492809 Goffman, Erving. Forms of Talk. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981. Gregersen, Tammy S. “Nonverbal Cues: Clues to the Detection of Foreign Language Anxiety.” Foreign Language Annals 38, no. 3 (2005): 388–400. Gregersen, Tammy S. “Breaking the Code of Silence: A Study of Teachers’ Nonverbal Decoding Accuracy of Foreign Language Anxiety.” Language Teaching Research 11, no. 2 (2007): 209–221. doi:10.1177/ 1362168807074607 Guillemin, Marilys and Lynn Gillam. “Ethics, Reflexivity, and ‘Ethically Important Moments’ in Research.” Qualitative Inquiry 10, no. 2 (2004): 261–280. doi:10.1177/1077800403262360 Halliday, Michael A. K. An Introduction to Functional Grammar (2nd ed). London: Edward Arnold, 1994. Harris, Raychelle, Heidi M. Holmes, and Donna M. Mertens. “Research Ethics in Sign Language Communities.” Sign Language Studies 9, no. 2 (2009): 104–131. doi:10.1353/sls.0.0011 Howe, Kenneth R. and Michele S. Moses. “Ethics in Educational Research.” Review of Research in Education 24, no. 2 (1999): 21–59. Janusch, Sandra. “Reality, Dysconsciousness, and Transformations: Personal Reflections on the Ethics of Cross-Cultural Research.” TESL Canada Journal 28, no. 5 (2011): 80–90. Kang, Jennifer Y. “On the Ability to Tell Good Stories in Another Language Analysis of Korean EFL Learners’ oral ‘Frog Story’ Narratives.” Narrative Inquiry 13, no. 1 (2003): 127–149. Kang, Jennifer Y. “Producing Culturally Appropriate Narratives in English as a Foreign Language: A Discourse Analysis of Korean EFL Learners’ Written Narratives.” Narrative Inquiry 16, no. 2 (2006): 379–407. Kirova, Anna and Michael Emme. “Critical Issues in Conducting Research with Immigrant Children.” Diaspora, Indigenous, and Minority Education 1, no. 2 (2007): 83–107. doi:10.1080/15595690701293710 Koulouriotis, Joanna. “Ethical Considerations in Conducting Research with Non-native Speakers of English.” TESL Canada Journal 28, no. 5 (2011): 1–15. Kubanyiova, Magdalena. “Rethinking Research Ethics in Contemporary Applied Linguistics: The Tension between Macroethical and Microethical Perspectives in Situated Research.” The Modern Language Journal 92, no. 4 (2008): 503–518. doi:10.1111/j.1540–4781.2008.00784.x Lahman, Maria K. E., Bernadette M. Mendoza, Katrina L. Rodriguez, and Jana L. Schwartz. “Undocumented Research Participants: Ethics and Protection in a Time of Fear.” Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences 33, no. 3 (2011): 304–322. doi:10.1177/0739986311414162 Lakoff, Robin. “Language and Woman’s Place,” Language in Society 2, (1973): 45–80. www.jstor.org/ stable/4166707 Li,Yi. “Translating Interviews, Translating Lives: Ethical Considerations in Cross-language Narrative Inquiry.” TESL Canada Journal 28, no. 5, (2011): 16–30. Lincoln, Yvonna S. “Institutional Review Boards and Methodological Conservatism: The Challenge to and From Phenomenological Paradigms.” In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research (3rd Edition), edited by Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, 165–181. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2005. Mazur, Joan. “Conversation Analysis for Educational Technologists: Theoretical and Methodological Issues for Researching Structures, Processes and Meaning of On-line Talk.” In Handbook of Research for Educational Communications and Technology, edited by David Jonassen, 1073–1098. New York: Macmillan, 2004. Mazzei, Lisa A. “Silent Listenings: Deconstructive Practices in Discourse-based Research.” Educational Researcher 33, no. 2 (2004): 26–34. Mazzei, Lisa A. “Toward a Problematic of Silence in Action Research.” Educational Action Research 15, no. 4 (2007): 631–642. doi:10.1080/09650790701664054 Mills, Sara. Discourse. London: Routledge, 2004. Mosselson, Jacqueline. “Subjectivity and Reflexivity: Locating the Self in Research on Dislocation.” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 23, no. 4 (2010): 479–494. doi:10.1080/09518398.2010 .492771 Palmer, David. “‘Every Morning Before You Open the Door You Have to Watch for that Brown Envelope’: Complexities and Challenges of Undertaking Oral History with Ethiopian Forced Migrants in London, UK,” The Oral History Review 37, no. 1 (2010): 35–53. 412

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Parker Webster, Joan and Theresa A. John. “Preserving a Space for Cross-Cultural Collaborations: An Account of Insider/Outsider Issues.” Ethnography and Education 5, no. 2 (2010): 175–191. doi:10.1080/ 17457823.2010.493404 Perry, Kristen H. “‘I Want the World to Know’: The Ethics of Anonymity in Ethnographic Literacy Research.” In Developments in Educational Ethnography, edited by Geoffrey Walford, 137–154. London: Elsevier, 2007. Perry, Kristen H. “From Storytelling to Writing: Transforming Literacy Practices Among Sudanese Refugees.” Journal of Literacy Research 40, no. 3 (2008): 317–358. doi:10.1080/10862960802502196 Perry, Kristen H. “‘Lost Boys,’ Cousins and Aunties: Using Sudanese Refugee Relationships to Complicate Definitions of ‘Family.’” In Home-School Connections in a Multicultural Society: Learning from and with Culturally and Linguistically Diverse Families, edited by Malu Dantas and Peter Manyak, 19–40. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2009. Perry, Kristen H. “Ethics, Vulnerability and Speakers of Other Languages: How University IRBs (Do Not) Speak to Research Involving Refugee Participants.” Qualitative Inquiry 17, no. 10 (2011): 1–14. doi:10.1177/1077800411425006 Phillipson, Robert. “English in Globalization, a Lingua Franca or a Lingua Frankenstinia?” TESOL Quarterly 43, no. 2 (2009): 335–339. Potter, Jonathan. “Contemporary Discursive Psychology: Issues, Prospects, and Corcoran’s Awkward Ontology.” British Journal of Social Psychology 49 (2010): 657–678. doi:10.1348/014466610X486158 Prior, Matthew T. “Self-preservation in L2 Interview Talk: Narrative Versions, Accountability, and Emotionality.” Applied Linguistics 32, no. 1 (2011): 60–76. doi:10.1093/applin/amq033 Reinharz, Shulamit. “Feminist Distrust: Problems of Context and Content in Sociological Work.” In Clinical Demands of Social Research, edited by D. Berg and K. Smith. Beverly Hills, CA.: Sage, 1985. Reinharz, Shulamit. Feminist Methods in Social Research. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Schleppegrell, Mary J. and M. Cecilia Colombi. “Text Organization by Bilingual Writers: Clause Structure as a Reflection of Discourse Structure.” Written Communication 14, no. 4 (1997): 481–503. doi:10.1177/ 0741088397014004003 Smith, Valerie J. “Ethical and Effective Ethnographic Research Methods: A Case Study with Afghan Refugees in California.” Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics 4, no. 3 (2009): 59–72. doi:10.1525/jer.2009.4.3.59 Turner, Marianne and Farida Fozdar. “Dependency, Partiality and the Generation of Research Questions in Refugee Education.” Issues in Educational Research 20, no. 2 (2010): 183–197. Vandergriff, Ilona and Carolin Fuchs. “Humor Support in Synchronous Computer Mediated Classroom Discussions.” Humor 25, no. 4 (2012): 437–458. doi:10.1515/humor-2012–0022 Yates, Scott and David Hiles. “‘You Can’t’ but ‘I Do’: Rules, Ethics, and the Significance of Shifts in Pronominal Forms for Self-positioning in Talk.” Discourse Studies 12 (2010): 535–551. doi:10.1177/ 1461445610370128

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31 Education and Language Shift Leanne Hinton

Historical Perspectives Paul Garrett defines language shift as follows: In a case of language shift, a community of speakers effectively abandons, not necessarily consciously or intentionally, its use of one language in favor of another. The language that speakers cease to use (in at least some domains) is typically one that has served since time immemorial as their community’s vernacular and language of ethnic identity. Ultimately it may be lost altogether if it ceases to be acquired and used in everyday contexts by members of succeeding generations. Meanwhile, the language toward which the community is shifting is in most cases a language of wider communication or one that otherwise offers (or, at least, is perceived to offer) some significant advantage to those who speak it. Depending on the circumstances, that advantage may be sheer survival, socioeconomic advancement, politico-economic gain, social prestige, or some combination of these. (Garrett 2011, 515) It has always been clear that the language of education and the treatment of minority languages within the educational system play a big role in language shift. However, actual research into education’s role in language shift was paid little attention until some teachers, parents, and researchers began to question how children who come from a minority language environment could best learn English without getting behind in their general education. Related to this was the debate about whether students must leave their minority languages behind or whether bilingualism should be the goal—that is, can and should language shift be avoided? Research on education and language shift matured after the middle of the 20th century when bilingual education became important in the United States. Education, language education, linguistics, sociology, psychology and political science have all contributed to the question of the role of education in language shift. Important fields contributing to the study of education in language shift include studies of heritage language maintenance and attrition (Fishman 1966; Köpke, Schmid, Keijzer, and Dostert 2007; Lambert and Freed 1982; Pan and Gleason 1986; Weltens, de Bot, and van Els 1986), and debates about the benefits or negatives of bilingualism (Hakuta 1986), 414

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transitional vs. maintenance bilingual education (Crawford 1992; 2004), language death (Dorian 1981; 1992), language revitalization (Hinton and Hale 2001; Grenoble and Whaley 2006; McCarty and Zepeda 2006; McCarty 2013), politics of language (Crawford 2000), and human language rights (Skutnabb-Kangas 2000).

Core Issues and Key Findings Schools have always had a major effect on language shift, and often purposely and even aggressively promoted language shift, to the point where the process has sometimes been called “linguistic genocide” (Skutnabb-Kangas 2000). Research on education and language shift has deep roots in the national and international debate on minority issues and minority rights. We can only understand this through an investigation of how language policies for the schools relate to minority issues, and so we will focus on that here, from a historical perspective. First we will examine education and language shift in the case of American Indian boarding schools. We will then examine the history of educational language policy in general, and how it has affected language shift with regard to the “colonial languages”—those languages that have been part of the United States since colonial days, specifically German, French, and Spanish; and immigrant languages. Finally, we will focus on the other side of language and education: the engagement of education in reversing language shift.

American Indian Education and Language Shift There is no better example of what Skutnabb-Kangas calls “linguistic genocide” than the case of educational policies for the indigenous peoples of North America in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In 1892, Colonel Richard Pratt, the founder of the first Indian boarding school in the United States, was quoted in the Official Report of the 19th Annual Conference of Charities and Correction as follows: A great general has said that the only good Indian is a dead one, and that high sanction of his destruction has been an enormous factor in promoting Indian massacres. In a sense, I agree with the sentiment, but only in this: that all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man. (Prucha 1973, p. 260) From the time of the first arrival of Europeans on American soil, the Native Americans were seen as an obstacle to European hegemony over the land. Throughout much of the 19th century, actions toward Indians were increasingly harsh and the relationship increasingly bloody through the “Indian Wars” and massacres. But by 1880, the shock of the physical genocide of Native peoples was leading the more philanthropic factions of white Americans to argue for another way. The formation of a new approach was led by the Indian Rights Association, which sought “to secure the civilization of the two hundred and ninety thousand Indians of the United States . . . and to prepare the way for their absorption into the common life of our own people.” Colonel Pratt established the first Indian boarding school, with that goal, and this motto: “To civilize the Indian, get him into civilization. To keep him civilized, let him stay” (Pratt 2004 [1964]). Despite the fact that this was the most humanistic viewpoint of the time, today the boarding school era is seen as one of the grimmest chapters of American education. Children were forcibly taken away from their families for nine months each year, and often more, and put into boarding schools, where the express purpose was to remove them from their culture and prepare them for life in the trades and services. Typically these schools were militaristic and heartless in many ways. 415

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Language was only one of the cultural practices to be taken away at the schools, but it was a big one, and the notion that schools should eradicate the Native American languages was expressed frequently, even long before the schools themselves were established. The Indian Peace Commission of 1868 put it this way: In the difference of language today lies two-thirds of our trouble. . . . Schools should be established, which children should be required to attend; their barbarous dialects should be blotted out and the English language substituted. (Annual Report of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs for the Year 1868, p. 87.) This statement and others like it express what became the language policy of the Indian boarding schools. Over a hundred boarding schools existed at the height of the policy. The Indian Office required all instruction in the Indian schools to be in English, and children had to speak nothing but English, both inside and outside of the classroom. The Indian boarding school survivors have harsh memories of what happened if they broke this rule. Carol Hodgson recalls her friend Rose in their boarding school: Rose was strapped for speaking her language. This is a common practice in schools all over the place at the time. Her open hands were hit with a large thick leather strap, many times. I received the strap on several occasions, although not as harshly as Rose did . . . I did see many native children whose hands were strapped so long and hard that they were blistered for days, as though they had been burned with fire. (Hodgson 2000) But whether or not corporal punishment was involved, being sent to a school that taught everything in English, by teachers who had little understanding of how to help the children learn the language, was extremely frustrating to the children, and resulted in poor progress in their education. [Elsie] Allen understood and spoke to no one for most of the [first] year. “My stay at Covelo was not very fruitful because of the language barrier,” she wrote, “and I often cried at night with homesickness. (Allen 1972, quoted in Coleman 1993, 106) Elsie Allen never taught her Pomo language to her children, not wanting them to suffer like she did. She related her decision and its aftermath this way: Every night [at Covelo] I’d lay awake and think and think and think. I’d think to myself, ‘If I ever get married and have children I’ll never teach my children the language or all the Indian things that I know. I’ll never teach them that, I don’t want my children to be treated like they treated me. That’s the way I raised my children. Everybody couldn’t understand that, they always asked me about it in later years. (Hinton 1994, 176) While some students retained knowledge of their language despite years away from home, a decision, like Mrs. Allen’s, to not pass it on to their children was a common one. Others lost their language altogether, which, along with the long absences from their families, created a chasm in their relations with their home communities. 416

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A former Patwin student, Bill Wright, recounts: I remember coming home and my grandma asked me to talk Indian to her and I said, “Grandma, I don’t understand you,” . . . She said, “Then who are you?” (Bear 2008) The echoes of this indictment, “Who are you?” ring in the minds of many boarding school survivors and their descendants. “Linguistic genocide” is not too harsh a term for the boarding school policies of that era.

Multilingual United States and Early Schools While the majority of early settlers in North America were English, the United States was a multilingual country from the start, not only because of the hundreds of Native American languages, but also because a number of languages had colonized parts of the land that it incorporated. German was a strong language from colonial times, for example; the Louisiana Purchase brought French speakers under the American flag, and the Mexican-American War resulted in the incorporation of Spanish-speaking California and the southwest. Puerto Rico, a Spanish-speaking commonwealth of the U.S., was granted to the U.S. at the end of the SpanishAmerican War. Until the late 1800s, education was a much more locally run affair than it is today. During colony days, schooling was often up to the communities or families, and apprenticeships often took the place of formal education. With the formation of the nation, the constitution left the responsibility of education to the states, and the states themselves were often spotty in the provision of education, all the more so in the early settlements in the territories and contested lands. Thus, in colonial times and well into the 19th century, in areas where the home language was not English, schooling usually took place in the heritage language. German schools were especially noteworthy. Some of the most progressive educational techniques came out of colonial German Pennsylvania. Christopher Dock was one of the great schoolmasters of the prerevolutionary era, and his book Schul Ordnung (School Management), actually the very first U.S. American book on teaching methods, was published in 1770, for use in German schools in Ohio and Pennsylvania. For a full century it was used in its original German edition before finally being translated into English (see Dock and Brumbaugh 1959). The Germans in the U.S. were also pioneers in forerunners of public schools and, of course, kindergarten (a German word). They also produced some of the first bilingual schools. There was pressure from English leaders of the colony to assimilate the Pennsylvania Germans, but they resisted, in large part for the sake of maintaining their language. The Reformed Coetus of 1757 wrote: Now with regard to the schools, we can do little to promote them, since the directors try to erect nothing but English schools and care nothing for the German language. Hence, now as before, the Germans themselves ought to look out for their schools, in which their children may be instructed in German. (Wood 1942, 111) Wood writes that in 1834 an elementary education in German was available to most Pennsylvania German children, primarily under the control of the churches (Wood 1942, 112). 417

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Education and Language Policy in the 20th Century While English was always the primary language of government in the United States, it was never made the official language. Nevertheless, by the turn to the 20th century, strong nationalist feelings brought out by events leading to World War I and the perceived threat of immigration to jobs and the “American way” made English into the language of patriotism too. The Naturalization Act of 1906 was instrumental in mandating the knowledge of English in America. The Act required that all immigrants be able to speak English in order to become naturalized citizens of the United States. As Theodore Roosevelt put it in a letter to the president of the American Defense Society, which was read at a meeting in New York, January 5, 1919: There can be no divided allegiance here. We have room but for one flag, the American flag . . . We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, of American nationality, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding-house. (Dyer 1992, 134) Teaching English to immigrants and indigenous people can be seen as increasing inclusion of people who would otherwise not have access to many U.S. American resources and opportunities; yet policies with the goal of suppressing the heritage language of the student become a case of forced assimilation. Some of the school policies suppressing English were based on mistaken assumptions that people are incapable of bilingualism, but much more than that, the policies were a response to the Roosevelt credo that loyalty to any language other than English constituted disloyalty to our country. In the early 20th century, many laws were put into place that specifically forbade the option of teaching in any language but English. One of these was the Siman Act of Nebraska (107 Neb. 657, 1919), which stated in part, “No person, individually or as a teacher, shall, in any private, denominational, parochial or public school, teach any subject to any person in any language other than the English language.” A teacher in a parochial school, Mr. Robert Meyer, was the reluctant test case. He was fined for reading a German-language bible to a student. He took his case to the Supreme Court, who decided the law was unconstitutionally restrictive, basing their decision on the 14th Amendment, covering freedom of religion (U.S. Supreme Court 262 U.S. 390 (1923)). Nevertheless, many other state laws still remain on the books, mandating English as the language of instruction in all schools. While many laws were developed during the anti-German hysteria of World War I, they were not the first English-only laws, nor was German the only colonial language so targeted. Another colonial language was French, or various varieties of French endemic to North America. Louisiana, which was entirely French speaking before its acquisition by the young United States, enforced English as the sole language of education starting in 1915, and language advocates today mark that as the beginning of the decline of French in Louisiana. The outcome is similar to that of American Indian languages: Speaking French at school was forbidden and sometimes even harshly punished. This assimilation through education was highly effective. Within a few years, an entire generation had learned English and forgotten its French. Once they became adults, students from this period, whether out of shame or fear of marginalisation, taught their children little if any French. They became known as the lost generations. (Piccinin n.d.) 418

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In the late 1880s, Wisconsin and Illinois passed English-only instruction laws for both public and parochial schools. In 1896, when American businessmen wrested control of Hawai‘i from the Hawaiian monarchy, English was declared the language of instruction in the schools. After the Spanish-American War, English was declared “the official language of the school room” in Puerto Rico (Crawford 2000). Such laws continue to be made even up to the present time. In 2000, Arizona voters passed an initiative making it a law that all school instruction would take place in the English language (State of Arizona Proposition 203). The modern thrust is related to the “Official English” movement in the United States, whereby after Congress failed to make English the official language of the United States in the 1990s, many states themselves have worked to officialize English—often including new restrictive laws about school language as part of the bill.

Language Shift Without Laws English language education can reduce the heritage language capability of students even without repressive policies. For one thing, without education in their heritage language, they rarely become literate in their first language or learn how to talk about anything beyond household subjects. For another, either the parents or the children themselves tend to stop using their language at home once they enter the English-speaking school. In the 1990s, I collected several hundred linguistic autobiographies from college students whose families had immigrated to the U.S. from Asian countries. The vast majority of them report attrition in their heritage language. Two examples: I can still vaguely remember possessing a stunning comprehension of Mandarin before I started school, but now, it has mostly left me. Often, since I have such perfect examples of pronunciation and grammar before me, I can mentally play a wonderful copy of what I want to say; when it comes out of my mouth, though, I can hear a semi-terrible American accent distorting my words. Sometimes I put words in the wrong order, which gives my messages a much different meaning than what I originally intended. (Hinton 1999) Despite my parents’ constant efforts in preserving the use of Tagalog in our household, my older brother, my younger sister, and I still cannot communicate to our parents in “their” language. However, we can clearly understand every word that is communicated to us in Tagalog. I have discovered that the same holds true for many of my fellow Filipino-American friends. Some of them do not even understand a single word spoken to them in Tagalog. (Hinton 1999, P-4) The school also affects family language dynamics. The students often report parents shifting to English in the home, or themselves cultivating English-speaking friends, having English-language TV going at home, and using other strategies that replace the functions that would otherwise be done in the heritage language. Many students report that once their older siblings went to school, they started speaking English at home. Sometimes kindergarten and first-grade teachers sent notes home saying that the student was not proficient enough in English, and suggesting that the parents use English at home. However, it is often not the classroom but the playground that causes children to drop their heritage tongue, due to cruel comments from their Anglo-American peers. It was two heartless comments, from a group of small boys in my “white” neighborhood for me to want to deny my language let alone my culture, as well. How was I to react to a racist 419

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comment of “Ching chong chooey go back home to where you belong. You can’t even speak English right.” Sixteen small words which possessed so much strength and contained so much power caused a small, naive child to want to lose her heritage—to lose what made her. (Hinton 1999) The majority of students in this study express regret at not being more capable in their heritage language. Problems between the students and their relatives are expressed in many of the autobiographies. To [people of my parents’ generation] my command of the Korean language showed whether or not I was a true Korean or just a yellow-skinned boy without a cultural identity or pride. And did I resent that attitude. Whenever relatives would visit I’d always get the same show; first the initial looks of surprise, second the question (Don’t you know how to speak Korean?), and finally reprimands of shame and pity from anyone and everyone, even my younger, Korean-speaking cousins. The thing that bothered me the most was that I felt I could do so little about my problem. (Hinton 1999) To summarize this section, we see that education promotes language shift very strongly and effectively, through policies at the national, state and school levels, through school-induced ideologies expressed by teachers and peers, and through the students’ own internal strategies to learn and use English. But language shift comes at a heavy cost to family and community relations, cultural continuity, and ultimately to one’s sense of identity.

Education and Reversing Language Shift Since the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, with the claiming of minority rights and the concomitant rise of ethnic and cultural pride, we have seen an ever-increasing number of individuals and communities seeking to regain what they lost through language shift. Language revitalization has taken place in many venues—in families and communities, language clubs and friendship groups—but ironically, schools have been the most common venue, and sometimes been the most effective venue, for reversing the language shift that they themselves have wrought. Brian Barnett writes: In the past, Louisiana schools played a large role in the decline of Louisiana French and the fostering of negative attitudes toward these varieties. In fact, a slogan of the Council for the Development of French in Louisiana (CODOFIL) is L’école a détruit le français, l’école doit le restaurer (School destroyed French, school must restore it). (Barnett 2010, vii) As for American Indians, who have created some 35 tribal colleges and universities since the 1960s (McCarty 2013) and have also gained local control over some of their elementary and high schools, the responsibility of the education institutions is described as follows: Because language and culture are the lifeblood of a people, they must be visible; otherwise, they will die. It is, therefore, the responsibility of native institutions of education and the communities they serve to create a safe place for native languages and cultures to survive and thrive. (Nee-Benham et al. 2003, 168) 420

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In 1990, the U.S. government officially stated a new policy favoring language maintenance and revival—the Native American Languages Acts of 1990 and 1992. It is the policy of the United States to . . . preserve, protect, and promote the rights and freedom of Native Americans to use, practice, and develop Native American languages; . . . encourage and support the use of Native American languages as a medium of instruction in order to encourage and support—(A) Native American language survival, (B) educational opportunity, (C) increased student success and performance, (D) increased student awareness and knowledge of their culture and history, and (E) increased student and community pride; . . . recognize the right of Indian tribes and other Native American governing bodies to use the Native American languages as a medium of instruction in all schools funded by the Secretary of the Interior;. . . and encourage all institutions of elementary, secondary and higher education, where appropriate, to include Native American languages in the curriculum in the same manner as foreign languages and to grant proficiency in Native American languages the same full academic credit as proficiency in foreign languages. (Native American Languages Act 1990, section 104) It is notable that much is said in the act about education, including the encouragement of Native American languages as the languages of instruction in the schools. The language of this act is a complete turnaround from the school language policies during the boarding school era. Native Americans have fought for control over their own affairs, and control over their children’s education is one of the central issues. As McCarty writes, Although schooling for Native Americans is complicated and compromised by federal mandates and purse strings, it remains a crucial arena for the exercise of tribal sovereignty and linguistic and educational self-determination. As this section suggests, much of this revolves around the right (and the fight) to teach and maintain Indigenous languages. (McCarty 2013, 44) From the Native American Languages Act, we see that current national policy supports language revitalization in the schools and elsewhere, and even, after the 1992 act, provides some funding. More recently additional funding specifically for Native American immersion schools became available through the Esther Martinez Native American Languages Preservation Act of 2006. (Despite this, the nation also has conflicting policies, such as No Child Left Behind, that places barriers to the use of languages other than English in the classroom.) There are programs now to support all of the languages we have discussed in the first section of this paper—Native American languages, the colonial languages, and immigrant languages. The role of schools in language maintenance and revitalization ranges from small language classes to bilingual education to full-on immersion schools where children receive most or all of their instruction in the target language. Bilingual education was given government funding with the Bilingual Education Act of 1968 and mandated for schools with large non-English-speaking populations in 1975. Actually, the government interest in bilingual education was not for purposes of language maintenance, much less revitalization, but rather for the goal of English acquisition, and the mandate for bilingual education was a remedy to a lawsuit by a family who wanted their child to be taught English (U.S. Supreme Court 1979: Lau v. Nichols, 414 U.S. 563 (1974). A well-executed bilingual education program can do the job of keeping the students up with their education while learning English. But from the beginning, there has been a debate between 421

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the “transitional” model, where students only stay in the bilingual program as long as it takes to master English well enough to learn fully through English, vs. the “maintenance” approach, where the schools maintain a dual immersion system all the way, even through high school, if possible. (Crawford 2004; Skutnabb-Kangas 2000). A strong bilingual education program also supports not just the language but also the culture of the minority language group (Hornberger 1991). Most bilingual programs are of the transitional variety, which means that the whole realm of literacy and learned speech and vocabulary for the heritage tongue is missed. Nor have government funders and policy makers generally supported such a role for bilingual education. But many schools, including many privately funded ones, have very serious dual immersion programs all through elementary school and, in some cases, high school. The families who send their students to these dual immersion programs include those who want to keep their heritage language strong as well as families where English is their main language, but they want their children to enjoy the benefits of bilingualism. The Center for Applied Linguistics lists 422 dual immersion programs in the public schools as of December 2012. Many more, including private schools, are not listed. In the heyday of bilingual education, many American Indians and Alaska and Hawaiian Natives developed bilingual programs in their schools, and some of these programs still exist and thrive. Bringing the languages back into the education system that had excluded them before was a very important event that allowed some intergenerational healing from the boarding school era and gave a generation of students renewed pride in their languages and cultures. However, there were clear indications over time that for most communities, a bilingual education program was insufficient for language maintenance in cases where the language was disappearing at home and in the community (Hinton 2011). Thus, another movement began to gather steam: the full immersion school, or as some communities call them, “language survival schools.” With the understanding that children are learning English at home and in the community, the immersion school focuses entirely on the heritage tongue. Hawai‘i has been the most successful, with dozens of immersion schools and language nests (pre-schools and daycare centers) and the ability for a student to have the majority of his education take place in Hawaiian all the way through high school—and even through college if they enroll at the University of Hawai‘i. The schools educate the children in all the standard subjects, but also have strong components of Hawaiian history, culture, and traditional values. Courses in English literature and essay writing are given only in the high school years, so that they can succeed in English-language universities. Altogether these schools are not only successful in creating a generation of Hawaiian speakers, but also in creating a generation of self-confident people with a strong sense of identity, in great contrast to the soul-crushing system of the boarding school era. The colonial and immigrant languages also have their immersion schools, and in fact represent the great majority of such schools. The Center for Applied Linguistics (www.cal.org) keeps statistics on immersion schools in the United States, showing that they have grown over the last 40 years, from just one in 1973 to 450 in 2011. The actual number must be considerably larger, since I know of several that are not listed. The largest number of immersion schools are for Spanish (45%), followed by French (22%), Mandarin (13%), Hawaiian (6%), Japanese (5%), German (3%), and “Other Languages” (6%). Among the other languages are immersion schools for American Indian and Inuit languages; those named in the CAL website are Ojibwe,Yup’ik, Diné, Inupiaq, and Salish. In summary, we see that education has a powerful effect on language shift. American schools have been a successful tool to enact language shift to English in students, effecting language shift even when there is no overt policy. Yet we also see education playing an important role in language maintenance and revitalization. 422

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Research Approaches Education has been used as a tool for language shift by government, based not so much on scientific research as on assumptions and political goals. The early educational policies to promote language shift that are described above for the Native American boarding school era were not based on research at all, but rather on political thought, and a simple assumption that 24 hours per day of punishment for speaking any forbidden language will produce language shift. The actual studies of how language learning and language shift occur and the most successful ways to promote it were missing. The same is true in the early 20th century, although we see at that time the beginnings of research on bilingualism in children. These early studies claimed their bilingual subjects had below-normal intelligence, and the main debate was whether this finding was “nature” or “nurture.” Much of that research is based on intelligence tests (e.g., Goodenough 1926; Smith 1939), which were poorly administered with no regard for culture and social class, nor how well the child knew the language the test was being administered in—all of which we now know skews results. The political climate created by the Civil Rights Movement changed research on bilingualism drastically; firmer research methods show that, in fact, bilingualism is a cognitive advantage (Peal and Lambert 1962). It is really in the 1960s and beyond that we begin to see research affecting language policy in the schools. By the time the American preschool program Head Start was developed in 1964, research on how to teach English as a second language (ESL) had come up with kinder and gentler ways of teaching English to young children from non-English-speaking homes. The abandonment of the home language has not been a goal in Head Start, but studies show that it happens anyway (Fillmore 1991). In the researching of bilingual education theory and methodology, we see language maintenance and language shift being looked at for the first time (many studies are reviewed in Crawford 2004). Hot on the heels of this effort came research into language revitalization, which directly focused on ways to develop bilingualism and prevent or reverse language shift (for example, Grenoble and Whaley 2006; Hinton and Hale 2001).

New Debates Many of the new debates about education and language shift are still the old policy debates, and still political in nature, relating to debates about the status and rights of minority groups. Are we a “melting pot” where all people should aim at being part of a single mainstream culture? Or is cultural diversity desirable? Should we recognize minority cultural and linguistic rights? As for language, should we care whether language shift to English (as opposed to the maintenance of the heritage language in addition to knowing English) occurs in an English-dominant society? Should the United States promote bilingualism? What are the economic benefits of bilingualism? Can we afford to spend funds on helping people retain their heritage languages? What’s in it for the U.S.? Should bilingual education for maintenance play a role, or should it be strictly transitional? Or should bilingual education be abandoned altogether? Many of these debates involve fears about maintaining the hegemony of English. Is English being overrun by Spanish? They also revolve around immigration policies. Should illegal immigrants even be allowed to go to school? Should we spend money on English language classes for immigrants? Should taxpayers pay for bilingual services? Is there something unpatriotic about allowing people to have bilingual ballots or make an oath of allegiance in another language? Will maintaining a heritage tongue reduce loyalty to the United States? There are also issues such as whether language policy should treat indigenous languages differently from immigrant languages. As the Native languages of the land, should indigenous languages have a special status? 423

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While these are not really debates within research, they are addressed frequently within the writings of researchers, and in many ways stimulate research. For example, one debate is whether children will receive as good an education and perform as well in immersion schools as in English-language schools. Will children do better in school when they are educated in a way that takes into account and even celebrates their heritage culture and language than in schools that denigrate or ignore it? How much English should there be in a language survival school? Is dual immersion as effective for language maintenance as full immersion in the heritage language? Do full-immersion language revival schools prepare their students sufficiently for lives within an English-majority society? Can schools actually reverse language shift? Can language revitalization expand from the school to families and communities? Will children be able to maintain the use of their language into adulthood after going to a language survival school? What areas of language use are missing from a language that is used primarily in the education system? What are the roles of family and community in minority language maintenance and revitalization, and how should the schools relate to the family and community roles? One area of research that needs enhancing is long-term studies of how school policies and teaching theories and methods play out in language shift and maintenance/revitalization. What are the long-term outcomes for heritage language students who attend school programs that promote heritage languages, compared to schools that focus only on English? And within each type of program, what conditions, theories, methods, and philosophies appear to affect the outcomes? Outcomes in student performance in each of these situations need more study—are there some scenarios that allow students to learn and perform better than others? Do some scenarios lead to more or less success in higher education, and careers? Do some scenarios lead to better mental health than others? Long-term outcomes in language maintenance vs. shift are also important, especially after students leave the school system. What is the difference in the long run between students who were in language maintenance/revitalization programs vs. students whose schooling did not support their heritage languages? Do the students whose language was supported still use their language? Do they make family and career choices that are different from students whose language was not supported? Do they carry on their language to the next generation, either by using it at home or sending the children to schools that support the language?

Implications for Education We know that people are capable of knowing and using more than one language, and we see that the education system plays a large role in whether people grow up as bilinguals or not. Currently, we have much better ways to help non-English-speaking students learn English than the bluntforce approaches of the past (though the resources are not sufficient), but as Skutnabb-Kangas writes: ESL [must be seen] as just one part of a necessary holistic language learning goal, namely bilingualism or multilingualism, where obviously both parts should be discussed and planned together. There is a practical exclusion of mother tongue or primary language-related concerns in almost all evaluations of allegedly bilingual education programmes in ‘core English Countries’ (countries where native speakers of English are a majority). In most evaluations of minority education results in English and maths dominate and results in the mother tongues of minorities are footnoted, if they exit at all. Concentrating on one of the languages is obviously legitimate, but only if it happens with the understanding that the other languages in the students’ repertoire are equally important and the development of all 424

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of them have to be taken properly into consideration for sound pedagogical methods to be found. (2000, xxii) She goes on to say “one of the basic linguistic human rights of persons belonging to minorities is—or should be—to achieve high levels of bi- or multilingualism through education” (2000, 569). Pockets of the United States have taken enough local control of their education systems to maintain or revitalize their languages within the schools, but they have to battle to do so, because the nation as a whole is still divided on minority language rights. The main goal of education throughout most of the nation is still to promote language shift to English, through policy or neglect, and to think of bilingualism only as something that some people might achieve through foreign language education in high school and college. Dual immersion and language survival schools show us the way to a better approach.

Further Reading Lily Wong Fillmore’s article, “When Learning a Second Language Means Losing the First,” (Fillmore 1991) is a study of over 1000 homes in the United States where a language other than English is spoken. She cites the Head Start preschools as the main place where language shift begins, and discusses the problems that develop within families as the children cease to speak their heritage languages. Communication is hampered and the transmission of important values is interrupted within the families, with the ensuing social problems this situation can bring. She argues that children should be fully stabilized in their first language before English is introduced. The most important book directly relating to education and language shift is Tove Skutnabb-Kangas’ blockbuster Linguistic Genocide in Education—or Worldwide Diversity and Human Rights? (2000) She lays out the situation for minority languages and the ways they are lost within the usual educational practices, and she discusses and argues against the ideological, political, and economic reasons nation-states suppress minority languages. She brings out arguments for Linguistic Human Rights and goes on to present strong models of bilingual and multilingual education that support the languages of minority groups in English-dominant countries of the west.

References Allen, E. (1972). Pomo basketmaking: a supreme art for the weaver. In V. Brown (Ed.). Naturegraph, 7–16. Healdsburg, CA. Annual Report of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs for the Year 1868. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office. Anzaldúa, G. (1987). Borderlands/La Frontera: The new Mestiza. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute. Barnett, C. B. (2010). French immersion teachers’ attitudes toward Louisiana varieties of French and the integration of such varieties in their classroom: A quantitative and qualitative analysis. PhD dissertation, Indiana University at Bloomington. Bear, C. (2008). American Indian boarding schools haunt many. Retrieved from www.npr.org/templates/story/ story.php?storyId=16516865 Center for Applied Linguistics [Website]. n.d. Retrieved from www.cal.org Coleman, M. C. (1993). American Indian children at school, 1850–1930. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Crawford, J. (1992). Hold your tongue: Bilingualism and the politics of English Only. Reading, MA: Addison-Welsey. Crawford, J. (2000). At war with diversity: U.S. language policy in an age of anxiety. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Crawford, J. (2004). Educating English learners: Language diversity in the classroom. Los Angeles: Bilingual Educational Services. 425

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Crystal, D. (2000). Language death. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Dock, C., and Brumbaugh, M. G. (1959). Excerpts from Schulordnung (School Management) and selections from A Hundred Necessary Rules of Conduct for Children. Association of Mennonite Elementary Schools. Dorian, N. C. (1981). Language death: The life cycle of a Scottish Gaelic dialect. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Dorian, N. C. (Ed.) (1992). Investigating obsolescence: Studies in language contraction and death. Cambridge University Press. Dyer, T. G. (1992). Theodore Roosevelt and the idea of race. LSU Press. (See also The Theodore Roosevelt Web Book. Retrieved from www.theodoreroosevelt.org/tr%20web%20book/tr_cd_to_html280.html) Esther Martinez Native American Languages Preservation Act. (2006). Retrieved from http://thomas.loc.gov Fillmore, L. W. (1991). When learning a second language means losing the first. Early Childhood Research Quarterly, 6 , 323–246. Fishman, J. A. (1966). Language loyalty in the United States: The maintenance and perpetuation of non-English mother tongues by American ethnic and religious groups. Janua Linguarum: Series major, 21. The Hague: Mouton. Garcia, O. (Ed.). (1991). Focus on bilingual education: Essays in honor of Joshua A. Fishman on the accoasion of his 65th birthday. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Garrett, P. B. (2011). Language socialization and language shift. In A. Duranti, E. Ochs, and B. Schieffelin (Eds.), The handbook of language socialization (pp. 515–535). Retrieved from http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1002/9781444342901.ch22 Goodenough, F. (1926). A new approach to the measurement of intelligence of young children. Journal of Genetic Psychology, 33, 185–211. Grenoble L. A., and Whaley, L. (2006). Saving Languages: An introduction to language revitalization. Cambridge University Press. Hakuta, K. (1986). Mirror of language: The debate on bilingualism. New York: Basic Books. Hinton, L. (1994). Flutes of fire: Essays on California Indian languages. Berkeley: Heyday Books. Hinton, L. (1999). Involuntary language loss among immigrants: Asian-American linguistic autobiographies. In Language in our time: Georgetown University round table in Language and Linguistics (pp. 203–252). Hinton, L. (2011). Revitalization of endangered languages. In K. Austin and J. Sallabank (Eds.), Handbook of endangered languages (pp. 291–311). Cambridge University Press. Hinton, L., and Hale, K. (2001). The Green book of language revitalization in practice. San Diego: Academic Press. Hodgson, C. M. (2000). When I go home I’m going to talk Indian. Retrieved from www.twofrog.com/ hodgson.html Hornberger, N. (1991). Extending enrichment bilingual education: Extending typologies and redirecting policy. In O. Garcia (Ed.), Focus on bilingual education: Essays in honor of Joshua A. Fishman on the accoasion of his 65th birthday (pp. 215–234). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Köpke, B., Schmid, M. S., Keijzer, M., and Dostert, S., (Eds.) (2007). Language attrition: Theoretical perspectives. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Lambert, R. D., and Freed, B. F. (Eds). (1982). The loss of language skills. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Lau et al, v. Nichols et al. Certiorari to the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. 414 U.S. 563 (1974). McCarty, T. L. (2013). Language planning and policy in Native America: History, theory, praxis. Bristol, UK:Multilingual Matters. McCarty, T. L., and Zepeda, O. (2006). One voice, many voices: Recreating indigenous language communities. Tempe: Arizona State University Center for Indian Education. McConvell, and Flory, M. (2007). Introduction: Language shift, code-mixing and cariation. Australian Journal of Linguistics, 25(1), 1–7. Myers-Scotton, C. (1997). Duelling languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Native American Languages Act. (1990). Retrieved from http://thomas.loc.gov Nee-Benham, M. K. A., and Mann, H. (2003). Culture and language matters: Defining, implementing, and evaluating. In M. K. A. Nee-Benham and W. J. Stein (Eds.), Renaissance of American Indian Higher Education: Capturing the dream, 167–191. Nee-Benham, M. K. A., and Stein, W. J. (2003). (Eds.) The renaissance of American Indian Higher Education: Capturing the dream. Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers. Pan, B. A., and Gleason, J. B. (1986.). The study of language loss: Models and hypotheses for an emerging discipline. Applied Psycholinguistics, 7, 193–206. Peal, E., and Lambert, W. E. (1962). The relation of bilingualism to intelligence. Psychological Monographs, 76(27), 1–23. 426

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Piccinin, H. (n.d.). From repression to preservation of the French language. In Encyclopedia of French cultural heritage in America. Retrieved from www.ameriquefrancaise.org/en/article-431/From_Repression_to_ Preservation_of_the_French_Language.html Prucha, F. P. (Ed.). (1973). Americanizing the American Indians: Writings by the “Friends of the Indian” 1880–1900 (pp. 260–271). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pratt, R. H. (2004 [1964]). Battlefield and classroom: Four decades with the American Indian, 1867–1904. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Skutnabb-Kangas, T. (2000). Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human rights? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Smith, M. (1939). Some light on the problem of bilingualism as found from a study of the progress in mastery of English among pre-school children of non-American ancestry in Hawaii. Genetic Psychology Monographs, 21(2), 119–284. State of Arizona, Proposition 203 (2000). An initiate measure amending title 36, Arizona Revised Statutes, by adding chapter 28.1; Amending Section 43-1201, Arizona Revised Statutes; relating to the medical use of marijuana; providing for conditional repeal. Weltens, B., de Bot, K., and van Els, T. (Eds.). (1986). Language attrition in progress: Studies on language acquisition. Dordrecht, NL: Foris Publications. Wood, R. (Ed.). (1942). The Pennsylvania Germans. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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32 Looking Back, Sideways, and Forward Language and Education in Multilingual Settings María E. Torres-Guzmán and Ester J. de Jong

Introduction With more than 6,000 languages distributed over 200 nations, multilingualism continues to be the norm in the world today. Following Wildsmith-Cromarty (2009), multilingualism needs to be defined broadly, acknowledging that some situations may call for the oral knowledge of more than one language, for the knowledge of more than one literacy, and for understanding what multiple languages mean to others. In this chapter, we will trace the historical developments in our conceptualizations of multilingualism and education in the United States. To organize our discussion, we apply a tri-part framework. The macro sociopolitical (Ricento 2000) refers to “events and processes” at the national and global level that serve as a backdrop to the role of linguistic and cultural diversity in schools. In particular, by focusing on the conceptualization of the relationships between language, culture, race, and poverty, we can understand the flows of local, national, and international events and how they reflect different sociocultural contexts of multilingualism. The onto-epistemological (Barad 2007) refers to the nature of knowledge and also to knowing as being, as “we know because we are of the world” (185). We use this lens to show how our collective views of multilingualism have evolved over time. Lastly, our analysis highlights the images and metaphors the different historical periods embodied in the media, scholarly work, and in everyday language. We begin each historical period by presenting the localized experiences of the individual bilingual learner. Through the vignette and the three lenses, we will explore the flows of understanding of language, learning, and multilingualism in schools in order to understand the theoretical and research tasks of the present and the future. We realize that any attempt to distinguish the historical periods is necessarily arbitrary in nature. Moreover, we do not propose linearity, as there are traces of each of the periods in the others; oftentimes they co-exist. Acknowledging the different multilingual threads in United States history, this chapter specifically explores the conceptual construction and reconstruction of multilingualism in K–12 schools from post-World War II to the present.

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Period I: From ‘Sink or Swim’ to the Dawn of a New Era Vignette The child who used multiple languages in his/her everyday life was still in a situation in the world known as ‘sink or swim,’ which had characterized public education for immigrant children and adults since the early 1900s (Higham 1955; Berroll 1995; Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004). The child entered an all-English environment that made little room for the different languages and cultural experiences that the child brought to school. Educational and social statistics show that only some children succeeded in American life, while the majority failed schooling, even when learning the language and assimilating into the dominant culture (Perlmann 1990). The period immediately following World War II was dominated by the Cold War and the competition with the then-Soviet Union as well as an internal shift in racial relations. The need to respond to the USSR military program and the launching of Sputnik into space in 1957 fueled the idea that the United States needed to effectively develop its own human resources and the notion that national defense required the development of foreign languages amongst the nation’s school children. During this era, poverty was put forth as the dominant explanatory variable of underachievement of certain groups of children as it was tied to patterns of English language use and parents’ socialization practices that disadvantaged children in school (1953 Puerto Rican study of New York [Morrison 1958]). Oscar Lewis’ Five Families: Mexican Case Studies in the Culture of Poverty (1959), Glazer and Moynihan’s (1963) Beyond the Melting Pot: The Negros, Puerto Ricans, Jews, Italian, and Irish of New York City, and the 1966 Coleman Report (Coleman 1968) firmly reinscribed the culture of the home and poverty as the main explanatory variables for school achievement. These studies were significant in shaping federal program responses, such as the Economic Opportunities Act of 1964 and Title I of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965, established to provide compensatory economic and educational services for those living in poverty. By extension, educational solutions focused on alleviating the deficits in the home through compensatory programs. While race, ethnicity, and language were integrally interwoven with poverty, these factors were viewed as subordinate and merely implicated.

Conceptualizing Bi/Multilingualism (Language, Mind, and Society) Behaviorist conceptualizations of language and language acquisition came under severe critique during this period and were replaced by cognitive views of language development. Chomsky’s work stressed the internal, innate mechanisms of language acquisition (Mitchell and Myles 1998). With his framework (and influenced by earlier work by De Saussure), it was an idealized, native speaker whose ‘competence’ (idealized grammar) rather than performance (actual use of the language) stood at the center of linguistic research. Influenced by these cognitive approaches to language and language acquisition, bilingualism was viewed as a characteristic of the individual. Bilinguals were individuals acquiring two monolingual systems and bilingual acquisition was researched as the systematic and separate development of specific linguistic features of each language system. Early scholarly works on multilingualism used only one term for both bilingualism and multilingualism (Haugen 1970; Weinrich 1953). The centrality of the native-speaker, monolingual norm, as an integral part of the definition of bilingualism, was particularly evident in the treatment of and attitudes toward code-switching—that is, the use of both languages within or between sentences. Code-switching was considered an

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indicator of immaturity of both linguistic systems. In schools, bilingual children who simultaneously used both languages were seen as being linguistically confused and, possibly, cognitively delayed. In a similar vein, cultures were viewed as belonging to unique, bounded groups from exotic lands whose means of communication was not English. It was assumed that there was a one-toone relationship between language choice and national identity. Having one standard or national language was a precondition for political, social, and economic cohesion and national identity. In the United States, speaking English and giving up the language of your home country within three generations continued as a key marker of successful assimilation for immigrants (Hawley 1948; Jaffe 1954; Handlin 1959).

Conceptualizing Diversity Through Assimilation As the one-way nature of (im)migration shifted, the traditional intergenerational pattern of language shift was challenged. Research focus on language use across generations was directly associated with the need to explain the persistence of Spanish-speaking groups, particularly, as in the southwest or on the east coast they appeared to retain their mother tongue beyond the third generation. Lopez and Staton-Salazar (2001) proposed that what was happening was that because a large number of Mexicano immigrants arrived during the Mexican Revolution of the 1910, by the 1960s a “third generation” was coming of age. In California alone, only 20% of the Latino state population at the time was foreign-born, and two thirds of the population was school-age children. Cuban refugees also raised the need for language maintenance in education, giving rise to the establishment of the first two-way bilingual program, as they had hopes of returning to their homeland someday. Samora (1962) and Sanchez (1962) proposed that language, race, poverty, and annexation were complicating factors related to assimilation. Another perspective was represented by Fishman’s Language Loyalty: Its Functions and Concomitants in Two Bilingual Communities (1964), which proposed that language maintenance was a sign of identity and resistance (Blanton 2012).

Discourses In the early post-War period, the prevailing view of multilingualism was still enacted within the construct of the ‘one nation, one language’ ideology and with the expectation of group assimilation. The 1950s and early 1960s challenged these traditional patterns as air travel and the opening of immigration brought new movements into major U.S. cities. Large enclaves of poverty stressed the schools’ capacity to educate their children. Resistance to annexation, poverty, and race were perceived as slowing down assimilation and the learning of English among the Spanish-speaking groups, in particular. The discourses of cultures of poverty, annexation, and the hyphenated construction of Americans (Mexican-American, Puerto Rican-American, etc.) began to signal race in an era that was to be dominated by racial strife and resistance.

Historical Period II: Rights to Language and Culture The second historical period of multilingualism attention shifts to language as an important mediating factor in school success, and bilingual education emerges as an important educational intervention.

Vignette When a child entered school during this period, the child would be more likely to encounter a teacher who knew his/her language and culture, although sometimes it sounded a little different 430

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from that of the child’s home. In this classroom, students were also likely to talk about how their native language facilitated the learning of English. As Rosana and Alicia explain, Alicia:

Porque cuando iba a la otra escuela, alla por la escuela M. por alla, por las montañas. en el norte-no aprendí nada, nada de inglés, porque todo era en inglés. Rosana: Bueno eso es porque no aprendiste nada de inglés porque todo era en inglés. Para aprender 1os dos idiomas tiene que ser un salón bilingüe Alicia: !Como éste! [English Translation] Alicia:

Because when I was going to the other school. that one over . . . M school, the one by the mountains, in the north—didn’t learn any English at all, because everything was in English. Rosana: Well, that’s why you didn’t learn any English is because everything was in English. To learn two languages you have to be in a bilingual classroom. Alicia: Like this one! (Shannon 1995, 189–190) In the bilingual classroom, some books were in the students’ native language, as was the language of instruction part of the time. Language use in the classroom was highly bilingual— teachers switched languages with frequency, sometimes using a preview/review method, sometimes using books in English while teaching in the native language of the children, and sometimes separating the two languages by subject matter or group of learners (Legarreta 1979). The Immigration Act of 1968 abolished the quota system that had privileged Western and Northern European immigrants since 1924. It opened U.S. borders for entry of people from around the world, which resulted in a significant increase in immigrants, particularly from Latin America and Asia. The force of the Civil Rights Movement and the War on Poverty gave impulse to many community groups organizing at local and national levels for employment rights, for education, and for recovery of culture and customs. Rodolfo “Corky” Gonzales wrote his famous poem, Yo soy Joaquin (1967), while Cesar Chavez launched the grape and secondary boycotts nationally. Within the Hispanic community, leaders met to construct a national agenda to reclaim their rights. Youth, in general, were in the streets, experiencing a world of counter-culture and joining the growing protests to end the Vietnam War, the riots in Detroit, Watts, and other neighborhoods. The anti-establishment discourse found expression anywhere from the flower child to the Young Lords, Black Panthers, and the Weathermen. The 1973 Wounded Knee confrontation was an expression of and gave attention to the conditions of the Native American. National conversations about systemic discrimination and inequalities in U.S. society took place, and within this context language emerged as a new focus. The vignette above illustrates what would become a central tenet in the field of bilingual education during this period—that children speaking a minoritized language at home needed a strong foundation in their native language in order to support cognitive development and learning of English. These ideas were supported by the court system and through federal policies. Many communities constructed legal strategies for securing that their children’s native language would be part of the education reforms for their children. Landmark court cases such as Keyes v. Denver Public School No. 1 (1973), Aspira v. New York City Public Schools (1974), Morgan v. Hennigan in Boston, MA (1974), Milliken v. Bradley in Detroit (1974), and Lau v. Nichols (1974) 431

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and the subsequent U.S. Office of Civil Rights’ Lau Remedies identified students with limited English proficiency as a separate group under the law, warranting a special program. In addition, Title VII of the ESEA (the Bilingual Education Act of 1968) was a federal grant-in-aid program that supported bilingual educational approaches in order to develop a qualified teaching cadre, to develop appropriate materials, and for evaluation and research. These legal and federal policy developments supported a period of innovation in bilingual and English as a second language approaches (Wiese and García 1988). A proliferation of bilingual models emerged, including transitional bilingual education (TBE), where the goal was to transition the child as quickly as possible, as well as maintenance-oriented programs, which had as a goal the use of the child’s language for academic purposes beyond learning English (Baker 2006).

Conceptualizing Bi/Multilingualism (Language, Mind, and Society) Scholarship on bilingualism advanced the notion that bilingualism was beneficial and argued for the central role of the native language for academic achievement and English acquisition for bilingual children (Cummins 1981). The structural view of language was challenged by the notion of communicative competence, and the ethnography of communication prioritized the social context of language use and the role of individual and social variables on language acquisition (Hymes 1977; Labov 1966; 1972). Cognitively, the research of this period posited that the bilingual mind is qualitatively different from the monolingual mind and called for viewing bilinguals as uniquely different from monolinguals (Grosjean 1989). Numerous studies conducted during this period demonstrated the cognitive advantages of bilingualism (for reviews, see Adesope, Lavin, Thompson, and Ungerleider 2010; Bialystok 2000; Cook 2008). The bilingualism/intellectual inferiority construct was replaced with one that stressed the multilingualism/cognitive benefits link. Moreover, following the functional views of bilingualism, the phenomenon of code-switching, the use of both languages within (intrasentential) or across (intersentential) sentences, received significant attention and was reframed from a deficit (or as a sign of linguistic confusion) to a systematic, rule-governed, and functional system (Gumperz & Hernandez-Chavez, 1971; Poplack 1980). Jim Cummins is one of the foremost scholars during this period to define bilingualism and its role in schools. Cummins proposes a tri-part framework to explain school failure for bilingual children: the BICS/CALP distinction, the Interdependence Hypothesis (or, the Common Underlying Proficiency), and the Threshold Hypothesis (see Cummins 2001 for an overview). Briefly, the interdependence hypothesis posits that skills learned in one language transfer to the other language. In particular, Cummins argued that features associated with the language of school, or cognitive academic language proficiency, transferred. The latter was less supported through a shared context and took longer for students to acquire and demonstrate on traditional standardized reading and math tests used in school to document achievement. Cummins’ theory became critical in the bilingual debates as it helped explained why bilingual education worked and why it was necessary to ensure equal educational opportunity: Bilingual children need a strong foundation in their first language in order to be able to perform at the same or better levels than their English-only counterparts on English tests. Cummins’ original framework, particularly his distinction between BICS and CALP, has been extensively criticized (Edelsky et al. 1983; Martin-Jones and Romaine 1986; MacSwan 2000; and Rolstad 2005), informing important new directions in conceptualizing bilingualism in terms of identity, power relationships, and ideologies. It is useful to remind ourselves that Cummins’ theory arose out of and is (re)inscribed in “the stigmas of compensatory programs in which the native language of the student is seen as a deficit to overcome” (Hakuta 1985, 229). It is important 432

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to acknowledge Cummins’ work as playing a critical role in orienting the field towards more additive-oriented bilingual education program types that made sure the foundation in the native language was cultivated.

Conceptualizing Language and Cultural Variation During this period, we observed the disentanglement of poverty from language and culture and a more independent treatment of the role of language, language variation within and across languages, cultures, and cultural identity in schools. Variation in culture and language was associated with historical patterns of migration. Torres-Trueba, Guthrie and Au (1981) proposed the concept of covert/overt cultural forms and cultural repertoires to explain group differences. Later, Suarez-Orozco (1987) used Ogbu’s original distinction between voluntary immigrants and involuntary immigrants to differentiate between the success and failure in schooling of different groups. Sociolinguistic differences, identities, and proficiencies of the learner became points of departure for teaching the standard variety of a language. Teaching was also oriented to variation and/ or features of English in Spanish and vice versa (borrowing, calques, and code-switching), which were initially conceptualized as native/second language interference and associated with lessthan-native standards. In addition to calling for the reconsideration of teaching methodologies in native, second, and foreign language teaching (Jacobson 1970; Valdes and Garcia-Moya 1976), there was a call for the integration of community forms of speech—for example, Southwest Spanish within Mexican Spanish. A flurry of ethnoculturally specific materials from government-funded centers began to enter the classrooms, facilitated by the increased presence of technology (e.g., VALE and other computer programs for children). The discussion of linguistic variation and code-switching advocated a stance that considered the relative proficiency in the native language and the second language a more valid measure than the proficiency in either language. This bilingual perspective led to new considerations on how to measure language proficiency and its associated eligibility and exit criteria for children participating in bilingual programs. Despite the criticism of monolingual assessment models for bilingual children, criteria for eligibility and exit continued to rely on language proficiency tests based on standard varieties of a language. Summary of discourses: Several metaphors characterized this complex period. On the one hand, the civil rights discourse emphasized the rights of ethnic communities to use and maintain their native languages. While the relationship between bilingualism and poverty was confounded in the major theories taking hold during this period, there were nuanced notions of language variation, cultural differences, and language proficiency. The deficit/difference and nature/nurture metaphors are stressed by the discourse of equal educational opportunity, particularly specialized instruction that emphasized the unique contributions of different languages and cultures. Moreover, within this period, studies began to nuance and decouple language from culture as well as race, granting primacy to language. This led to the creation of multiple communities of multilingual practices (i.e., TESOL, bilingual, second, and foreign language education).

Period III: Language Separation and Academic Rigor The communities of linguistically minoritized groups began to diversify in significant ways during the 80s and the 90s. This period is characterized by a strengthening of maintenance bilingual education programs (such as two-way immersion), on the one hand, and dominant English educational policies and ideologies, on the other. 433

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Vignette As the child looks around the bilingual classroom, s/he looks for cues on the doorway, on the chalkboard, and in other places to see which language they will be working in today. The child is not worried because the teachers will most likely understand him/her. Even when they do not understand, the teachers are likely to be open to different forms of communication—sometimes the teacher uses gestures or pictures to give the child an entry to the meaning of the sounds coming out of his/her mouth and sometimes a peer helps by translating. Even when the teacher understands what the child says, s/he is guided by the designated language of the day that is visible in the color of the markers on the chart paper. If they are red, for example, s/he knows that the morning will be in the language other than English and the monolinguals in that language as well as the bilinguals will most likely participate and lead in almost all the activities presented to them. If the letters are in blue, it is likely that the teacher will have to ask classmates who are bilingual to help out their monolingual peers in English. If the child wants to do independent reading, the color of the letters on the tags, in blue or red, will also indicate which language is used within the book. Sometimes s/he can find the same book in either the red- or blue-tagged shelves, but not all the books can be found in the two languages. While the teacher is bound to one language or the other, depending on the structure of the day and/or the week, the students are encouraged to use all the resources, including language, at their disposal for learning (Perez 2004). The opening of immigration policies of the 60s gave rise to new diversification. Among the Latino groups alone, they came from all the 21 countries that speak Spanish, and the total number of Spanish-speaking rose to a high of 16% of the total population by the first decade of the 21st century. Furthermore, the Chinese community grew exponentially, from 0.6% in the 1980s to 4.5% in 2000 (U.S. Census Bureau 2010). The racially or culturally mixed population went from 0.6% in the 80s to 1.5% in 2000. In addition, the 2000 U.S. Census showed that the settlement pattern of new immigrants changed from the previous conglomeration in the metropolitan cities to areas that had never before experienced large number of immigrants, like North Carolina, Georgia, and Nevada. The world’s understanding of language and, simultaneously, bi/multilingualism, currently flows from a strong, socially grounded perspective even when, politically, the United States’ policies are embedded in narrow re-interpretations of the purpose of schooling for bilingual children and are biased toward English language learning and practices that emphasize discrete, low-level skills (de Jong, Arias, and Sánchez 2010). In response to the critiques from the English-only movement and in an effort to distinguish effective and less effective programs, scholarship tries to identify features of effective bilingual programs (e.g., Garcia 1988; Mace-Matluck 1990; Miramontes, Nadeau, and Commins 1997; Brisk 2006). Politics and the perceived controversy surrounding bilingual education programs by those supporting English-only approaches make the term ‘bilingual education’ unpopular. Within the silencing of the term ‘bilingual education,’ the umbrella of dual language education (DLE) emerges to refer to these strong (i.e., maintenance-oriented) forms of bilingual education (Lindholm-Leary 2005; Torres-Guzman et al. 2005; Garcia and Kliefgen 2010). DLE refers to programs that aim for bilingualism and biliteracy, academic achievement, and cross-cultural competence and is associated with consistent, positive program outcomes (Howard, Sugarman, and Christian 2003; Lindholm-Leary 2005; Lindholm-Leary and Howard 2008). The possibility and desirability of integrating minoritized language group children with mainstream children in the project of bilingualism and cross-cultural practices has allowed dual language programs, particularly two-way immersion programs, to be viewed as a mainstream educational enterprise with academic rigor that meets district and state standards. 434

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Interestingly, DLE has emphasized the importance of keeping the two languages in the program separate for instruction in response to past ad-hoc code-switching practices, the inconsistencies of language policies in programs from grade to grade, and in an effort to protect the status of the minority language for instruction against the societal hegemony of English—as exemplified in our vignette. Within bilingual programs, particularly dual language education programs, languages are separated structurally based on the beliefs that children need explicit contexts for using the second language they are learning and that the presence of the two languages at the same time will permit the students to fall back on their native languages as a crutch. The separation of the languages permits the development of a one-language-rich environment in each of the languages, as the range of use of the language of instruction can be fully expressed by teachers and students (Thomas and Collier 2003; Rolstad 2005). A very different strand of research also develops during this period as more English language learners (ELLs) are placed in English-only classrooms, whether specialized ESL or mainstream. A re-focusing on effective English teaching has emerged (e.g., through scaffolding practices; Echevarria, Vogt, and Short 2007) and the role of content as a vehicle for meaningful ways to improve language learning. This research has been important to both the ESL as well as bilingual education communities as it has proposed to respond to the needs of improving language learning in the continua of language education programs—from Sheltered English to Dual Language Education programs. Research has particularly focused on vocabulary and literacy development (August et al. 2005, among others) and the notion of academic English has been appropriated by mainstream scholars. Within this construct, knowledge becomes school text in English, that is, the print associated with knowledge of the academic register, and the object is to capture and measure what is already known through tests (Goodman and Goodman 1990; Menken 2008).

Conceptualizing Bi/Multilingualism (Language, Mind, and Society) The definitions of bilingualism have moved from a set of characteristics of the individual to an embedded social process where individuals and groups engage interactionally within their sociocultural circumstances. Moving away from a strict emphasis on decontextualized cognitive strategies and processes, language and culture have been increasingly conceptualized as social constructs (Cole 1996; Lantoff 2000; Moll 1990; Rogoff 2003)—that is, as shared meanings emerging from and living into norms through language and other social practices. The issues of power and language status and the role of ideology have been explicitly considered (Herriman and Burnaby 1996; Galindo and Vigil 2000; King 2000; Ricento 2000; Wiley 2000; Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004, among others) within a language-reflects-society perspective (Gafaranga 2005). The most innovative studies were those that focused on macro-meso-micro situations. In these studies, the focus has been not only on how language policies and planning occur within the political and ideological context, but also on how such policies have been reflected in school policy and in communities and homes, and, most importantly, in an individual’s everyday personal experiences and in how the individual has perceived languages opening/ constraining possibilities and choices they have made (Hornberger 2007; Martínez-Roldán and Malavé 2004). The sociocultural approach has generated research on the relationship of identity and language, and provided a new lens on language and literacy development and its implications for education. As the realities of the multilingual lives of children and their teachers have received 435

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greater attention, the emerging narratives have brought a proliferation of topics to the field, including how teachers have brought their linguistic and cultural experiences to bear on teaching and how the experience of children in classrooms and communities has moved beyond bilingualism to multilingualism. This has also brought attention to the formal acquisition of heritage languages and to three or more languages in schools (Cenoz 2003; Hoffman 2001; Clyne 1997).

Conceptualizing Diversity Examining language and culture in schools has gone from a deficit construct (i.e., “the culture and the language (which is limited) of the children does not help them in school”) to a more positive, holistic perspective in which language is a cultural resource children bring into the classroom (Mercado 2005). Continuing to build on the notion of languages and cultures as a resource, Gonzalez, Moll and Amanti (2005), Mercado and Moll (1997), Olmedo (2002, 2005), and Mercado (2005) have noted that privileging the resources of the home, the family, and the community in schools creates spaces within educational institutions that can trigger a change in the relationship of children from linguistically and culturally different communities to school learning. Concomitantly, the theory of social capital (Portes 1998) has built on the funds of knowledge to describe the network of resources that families possess within a broader relational system and to identify how schools can augment and enrich the network minoritized linguistic children may need to achieve academic success. Beyond the understanding of ways of knowing associated with particular communities and bringing them into the school, Zentella (2005) has proposed them as strengths schools can build on. In the context of sociocultural theory, group identity has been explored as part of the social community in which an individual participates, thus making it possible to explore differences in identities associated with the different languages spoken (Norton Pierce 1995; McKay and Wong 1996) and the different cultural practices inherited as well as constructed within the social norms of the group (Lave and Wenger 1991). Culture has been situated in the agentic construction of identity. Nieto (1992) has examined culture critically, pushing beyond the celebratory nature of surface culture and bringing into bilingual education a discussion of what a critical and culturally relevant pedagogy has meant for children. Culture is seen as fluid and self-constructed while situated in the traces of collective norms constructed within communities of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991).

Summary of Discourses Multiplicities of discourse metaphors have continued during this period. The ‘language and culture as resource’ metaphor continues in the dual language education movement, acquiring economic, educational, linguistic, cultural, cognitive, as well as political dimensions (Ricento 2000). This discourse helps decouple the language and culture from poverty, as bilingualism, particularly in dual language education, is seen as positive for all students—those that are mainstream and those that are linguistically minoritized. It stresses the social construction of language and culture and is grounded in the metaphors of equity, quality, and accessibility. The accountability movement, anti-immigrant sentiments and policies, on the other hand, co-opt the educational opportunity metaphor from the 1970s and flip it upside down to imply that the way to economic and educational success is through a homogenized approach (in English) to common standards. 436

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Period IV: Language and Identities Re-Imagined for the Future Vignette The child goes into a classroom in which the language is indicated by the color of the print and, even when s/he does not know the language of instruction, s/he has friends that help him/her out as many of the children speak either, or both, languages of instruction. Some children also speak other languages in their homes and communities, so there is always an opportunity to learn a few words in other languages that are not the medium of instruction. In other words, the child is in a learning situation in which they can use all the linguistic and cultural resources at their disposal. The teacher, at times, helps the child understand how to use language and cultural strategies, such as code-switching, translanguaging, collaborative structures, and the like. Both English speakers who are learning the minoritized language as well as children who recently emigrated from another country are learning peers—sometimes enacting the power and authority in relation to their use of a language to enact the world of the classroom, sometimes in a less-knowing but participatory way. There are times when the child even invents new ways, as the tasks s/he must accomplish leave wiggle room for creativity. The curriculum is designed so that the children, with whatever language they enact, are cued into which one is appropriate in the moment—sometimes the language in which s/he feels more confident is privileged, but not always. Thus, the teacher pays attention to the linguistic proficiencies of the children when partnering. The best thing is that all of this is constantly negotiated in spite of there being rules within which the negotiation takes place. But even the rules are pliable at times. Lastly, the child does not have to choose between one and/or another person’s expressed heritage culture, as some people come from a variety of legacies and they negotiate the expressions of self in spaces that make the child comfortable in changing positions. S/he can decide to stand in a hybrid position, for example, embracing both the majority and minoritized language and cultural ways, and even propose new ways that embody both. The world has moved into a new social order, where the revolutions of communication, transportation, and the markets are recognized as constantly changing. Through new means of communication and the ongoing news channels, individuals can know instantly what is happening to family, friends, and strangers in far-away lands. The functioning of the markets has weakened the prominence of government within countries. Privatization, new collaborative policies by international bodies such as the G8 and G20 summits, and collective responses like the Indignados and the Occupy Wall Street movements have emerged. Emergent countries, like Brazil and China, grow exponentially, infringing into and competing with the dominant Western economies. The differences between the rich and the poor widen worldwide and transnational living increases. The 9/11 attack gave rise to justify both the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars which, in turn, reflected the prominence of industries’ reliance on petroleum. A discourse of fear has been constructed at the broader macro sociopolitical level as a response to 9/11 and has resulted in the demonization of the Arab, Iranian, and Venezuelan spheres of influence. A strong green movement has spread the discourse of the impending doom of climate change and global warming while at the same time giving rise to alternative living and new green economies. The process of internationalization has implied learning the language and culture of the markets, resulting in the continued spread of English globally and the creation of a need for multilingual schooling.

Conceptualizing Bi/Multilingualism and Learning: The Post-Turn In today’s world, postmodernist, poststructuralist, and postcolonialist theoretical frameworks decenter the concepts of language, identity, and culture and propose a complex, dynamic relationship among 437

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them (Heller 2007; Lewis, Enciso, and Moje 2007; Mcnamara 2011). The power/knowledge (Foucault 1984) relationship is viewed as not outside of the individual but of the individual, constructed with and through both language and identity. Multilingualism is viewed within a framework where boundaries within and across languages become more fluid and less fixed, and in which languages and identities are entangled with situated moments in time while at the same time encoding their historical trajectories (BaquedanoLópez 2004). Multilingualism stresses the multiplicity of language use (García and Beardsmore 2008) across diverse contexts, and the varied ways in which we use multiple languages to “negotiate a sense of self within and across a range of sites [in which more than one language is used] at different points in time,” and as a “tool through which a person gains access to—or is denied access to—powerful social networks that give learners the opportunity to speak” (Weedon, cited in Norton 2010, 350–351). Research shifts towards multilingualism and plurilingualism, as these concepts reflect more closely the lived and negotiated lives of individuals today, particularly in urban areas (Pennycook 2010), in transcultural living (Guerra 2007), and in transfonterizo existence (de la Piedra and Araujo 2012). Furthermore, how we interpret the ways people speak out of and into their realities begins to question the traditional goal of becoming a native-like speaker and raises more pragmatic goals for language learning (Franceschini 2011; Hall et al. 2006). The narratives of multilingual subjects (Pavlenko and Blackledge 2004; Kinginger 2004) lead us to consider the role of performance. Language conceptualized as discourse also becomes the tool through which individuals differentiate the self from others through the symbolic uses of multiple languages (Kramsch 2010) and semiotic processes (Bucholtz and Hall 2004; Mendoza-Denton and Osborne 2010). Such language use is analyzed beyond their linguistic systematicity and functionality to include their use as communicative tools to negotiate meaning in particular contexts. Multiple labels for this phenomenon have been generated in recent scholarship—translanguaging, flexible bilingualism, polylingualism, plurilingualism, codemeshing, heterolingualism, and metrolingualism (all cited in Blackledge and Creese 2010).

Variation at the Center Variation is at the center, not because the individual is the unit of analysis but because each meaningful segment of communication can be an enactment of agency, of performance, of symbolisms, or all of them, within a precise moment in time and space. According to Bucholtz and Hall (2004), “among the many resources [an individual has] for the cultural production of identity, language is the most flexible and pervasive” (369). Using the concept of identity as social production, the Critical Race and the Latina/feminist tradition have theorized on the issues of erasure and silence of historically non-mainstream groups. They connect access and denial to the power of speaking of children in schools to the reproduction of the status quo. They describe the survival strengths of the communities from which the children come as resources for negotiating the culture of power in everyday life, including new hybrid ways (Delgado Bernal 2001), and for the counter purpose of thriving (Castillo and Torres-Guzman 2013). They see the concepts of hybridity and third space within learning (Gutierrez 2008) as moving beyond the confinement of space and what actually exists in an imaginative and creative process in which rigorous, expanded, and transformative learning occurs while nurturing the child’s multilingual subjectivities (Engestrom and Sanino 2010; Fitts 2009; Gutierrez 2008). The new ideas of this period are in stark contrast with current educational policy and practices, which are primarily focused on national standardization, testing, and accountability through No Child Left Behind (Menken 2008) and Common Core Standards. 438

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Looking Ahead There are two debates within multilingualism in education that we feel are particularly important. They both emerge from how one conceptualizes the presence of more than one language within one body in real life—and the implications for education (de Jong 2011). The first debate is centered primarily around whether the language learner’s and the school’s aims ought to be to increase the individual’s language repertoires for functioning within their environments and for specific purposes (social interaction, work-related language skills) or to insist that their language repertoire be developed to be native-like and include formal literacy skills (Larsen-Freeman and Long 1991; Cenoz and Genesee 1998; Ellis and Larsen-Freeman 2006; Wildsmith-Cromarty 2009; Ortega 2013). This debate particularly challenges research on second language acquisition grounded in the notion of the ideal, monolingual, ‘native speaker.’ Scholars have begun to recognize and unmask the long-standing ideological bias embedded in the monolingual construction of multilinguality as it has been framed within second language research (Ortega 2013). Considering the learning of a second language within a multilingual framework raises questions about how to account for the role of multilingual experiences in our globalized and ever-changing world. In addition, the more positive and holistic way of understanding multilingualism raises questions about the language teaching/learning programs that are based on monolingual assumptions. The second debate is around the issues of the processes of teaching/learning through multiple languages, acknowledging the diversity in forms, functions, and purposes in the lives of multilingual learners. This debate originated within bilingualism and bilingual education research and, while still scant, has a growing body of knowledge. Focusing on multilingual teaching and learning processes, studies have considered multilingual issues in curriculum and pedagogy (de Jong 2011), bilingual assessments (Gotardo and Mueller 2009; Páez and Rinaldi 2006; Shohamy 2006; Oller et al. 2007), and language flexibility in instruction (Garcia and Beardsmore 2008; Creese and Blackledge 2010). The conversation about linguistic flexibility is captivating as it reflects the lived realities of multilingual learners and raises important questions about the role of multilingual flexibility and subjectivity in largely rigidly fixed and monolingual institutions, such as schools. From an educational and teacher education perspective, it remains a central question how to best incorporate the ever-changing language patterns, including those stemming from bilingual norms of bi/multilingual communities, while ensuring offerings of sophisticated language models to expand the students’ audience and access to monolingual resources (Martinez, Torres-Guzman, and Martinez-Roldan 2013). Given that formal language-in-education policies move beyond individual patterns and aim at group and community language practices, the conceptualizations of linguistic policies in relationship to context and flexibility will be important (Ricento and Hornberger 1996; Garcia, Skutnabb-Kangas, and Torres-Guzman 2006; TorresGuzman and Gomez 2009; Mcnamara 2011). These debates are productive and fruitful in moving the field forward in transdisciplinary ways with multilingual and contextualized perspectives. They continue to raise unexplored questions such as the following, and we offer them as an invitation for further research and scholarship: •

How does desiring the silencing of bilingualism among second language learners function to keep/maintain/produce smooth social relationships within schools for all children, within the field, or in society? Answers to such questions might give us better understandings of what a multilingual perspective in second language acquisition might require and its possible consequences for research and practice. 439

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•

• • •

•

How do power/knowledge relations and practices produce the multilingual subjectivities as children venture to learn in and through multiple languages and constantly navigate the process of creating self and new knowings through multiple languages? How are multilingual subjectivities created as linguistically and culturally hybrid forms in the process of producing social performances? How do multilingual classrooms reconstruct the discourse-material relationship in the recognition of homes as resources while moving away from essentializing? How do multilingual classrooms reconcile building on the strengths and pedagogies of the home that turn deficits into strengths when living in a hybrid, third space and reconsidering the agentic nature of language? How is multilingualism itself an almost already third space that frees the individual to “learn a new definition of language, a new definition of human beings in the world” (Becker 1984, 220)?

Concluding Reflections In this article, we aimed to understand the multiple levels in which multilingualism was manifest— from the macro societal circumstances, to the flows of minoritized and immigrant communities, and to the micro classroom interactive processes across time. As scholars explore more closely some of the postmodernist, poststructuralist, and postcolonial theoretical constructs, and as they challenge some of the concepts by giving primacy to their diverse and unique epistemologies (Delgado Bernal 2001; Calderón et al. 2013), new questions will be raised and old questions will be reframed. Pragmatically, though, the pushbacks on the ‘post’ theories need to be present in these explorations as even when we adjust to a more situated, multileveled, dynamic understanding of our everyday practices, we must understand the material consequences on everyday people. As the saying goes, we must not throw out the baby with the bathwater. We must also understand that we will encounter the (re)emergence and (re)inscription of resistance, as we engage in the possibilities of currently unthinkable imagined futures.

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33 Addressing Dialect Variation in U.S. K–12 Schools Julie Sweetland and Rebecca Wheeler

Introduction Variation is a built-in design feature of language. Individual speakers vary their style to achieve a diverse set of communicative and interpersonal ends; social groups have distinctive ways of using language that reflect their history and culture. Just as variation is inherent in language, language is an inalienable part of the process of schooling. Most teaching and learning happens through language, and imparting socially valued ways of using language to students has traditionally been one of the primary objectives of schooling. Yet language variation, especially the nature of regional and social dialects, is neither well-understood nor productively addressed in school contexts. Despite a robust theoretical and descriptive literature on regional and cultural dialect variation, and decades of calls for its application in primary and secondary education, knowledge about dialect diversity is insufficiently incorporated into existing curriculum, instruction, and assessment in K–12 settings in U.S. schools. In broad strokes: The history of scholarship on this topic has moved, in the decades since its emergence in the late 1960s, from defining and documenting the problems, to describing potential solutions, to implementing and empirically evaluating those solutions. From this literature emerge three key themes. First, a research-based view on language variation and linguistic pluralism remains little known by educators and is rarely integrated into pedagogical practice in schools. Second, predominant approaches lacking a basis in sociolinguistic research have a negative impact on the schooling experience and outcomes of children who speak a stigmatized dialect. Third, when pedagogical approaches reflecting a research-based view on language variation are adopted, student experiences and outcomes are improved. After a survey of the field’s evolution, and the key findings of the scholarship, this chapter identifies several promising lines of inquiry that are likely to capture the efforts of educational linguists interested in dialect variation in years to come, including situated, engaged scholarship in partnership with students, teachers, and schools. This emerging scholarship suggests that the ‘theory of change’ that has implicitly governed sociolinguistic interventions—that the best way to catalyze change in schools is for language scholars to provide information on dialect variation—is inadequate to the task of creating widespread reform. New directions, such as creative community engagement initiatives; extended, ‘problem-posing’ partnerships with teachers; and ethnographic 446

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inquiries into language with primary and secondary learners hold great promise for ensuring that more productive approaches to sociolinguistic diversity are adopted in K–12 settings. An overview of tried-and-true and innovative research methods is included, and recommendations for further reading are suggested.

Historical Perspectives Modern study of the connections between U.S. education and social or regional dialects dates to the 1960s, when new ways of analyzing language variation grew out of research traditions in regional dialectology, contact linguistics, and historical linguistics. The emergence of the educational-linguistic line of inquiry in a decade known for social change is not a coincidence. Sociolinguistic research programs that were framed and implemented as the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts were passed in the United States reflected a national interest in contributing to social equity through education, where language plays a key role. Many of the seminal linguistic studies describing the systematic, patterned nature of language variation in African American communities—such as Labov et al.’s (1968) study of “Non-Standard English of Negro and Puerto-Rican Speakers in New York City,” and Wolfram’s (1969) Sociolinguistic Description of Detroit Negro Speech—were funded by the U.S. Department of Education, and the stated objective of the research was to address racial disparities in reading outcomes. The descriptive nature of these early works—cataloguing and analyzing the phonological, morphosyntactic, lexical, and discourse-level features that distinguish African American Vernacular English (AAVE) from other varieties of American English—were based on the hypothesis that teachers could neither understand nor help to solve reading failure among Black students until they adequately understood their language. The resulting rich descriptions of the language varieties spoken by adults in Black communities across the nation also constituted a strong empirical rebuttal to the public and scholarly discourse of the time, in which widespread reading failure among minorities was attributed, in linguistic terms, to the ‘verbal deprivation’ assumed to characterize Black family settings, or to presumed deficiencies, constraints, and limitations of the dialect itself. The “dialect interference” hypothesis (Wolfram and Whiteman 1971) emerged as an alternative, linguistic explanation for low literacy attainment among African American children, positing that the vernacular was so structurally divergent that acquisition of oral and written communication in Standard English was necessarily hindered to some degree. Proving or disproving the existence of dialect interference quickly became a hot topic for research, with at least 50 studies published in the 1970s alone—many of them in journals of psychology or literacy research. Much of this work was experimental in nature and focused squarely on reading. Studies demonstrated, at first, a seemingly obvious point—that the phonology of a child’s dialect influences children’s pronunciation of reading materials—and then, a more critical finding: Dialect-related pronunciations in oral reading do not indicate a failure to decode the printed word (Baratz 1969; K. S. Goodman 1965; Labov 1967). As a result, one of the earliest concrete instructional recommendations resulting directly from sociolinguistic research was that reading teachers and reading assessments should distinguish dialect pronunciations from miscues. Another pedagogical innovation that followed from the dialect interference hypothesis was what came to be called the ‘contrastive analysis’ approach—essentially, conscripting foreign-language teaching methods into the service of teaching spoken and written Standard English grammatical forms to speakers of stigmatized dialects (Crowell and Kolba 1974; Feigenbaum 1970; Stewart 1970). Extending this approach to second dialect acquisition, teachers led students to compare and contrast the grammatical forms of their heritage dialect with the corresponding structures of Standard English, in support of adding Standard English features to their linguistic repertoires. More recent work has updated the ‘bidialectal 447

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approach’ as developed in the 1970s by integrating their key insights with contemporary instructional approaches—a development to which we return below. Dialect interference studies had their limits—both methodologically and in terms of their implications. While the influence of dialect on oral pronunciation was well documented, research into the role of dialect in reading comprehension led to few clear conclusions (Harber and Bryen 1976). Moreover, the line of inquiry could not account for educational disparities that went well beyond literacy. Its narrow focus on the transfer of discrete linguistic features from speech to print ignored a much broader setting: the social context of dialects. By the mid-1970s, these limitations led most scholars to conclude that the role of dialect in educational inequity had at least two distinct dimensions: one related to the structural differences between student language varieties and those used in school settings and printed materials, and one related to the social evaluation of stigmatized dialects. Research into language attitudes soon documented that school personnel, like members of the general public, tend to have negative attitudes towards regional and social vernaculars, and positive attitudes towards Standard English. Studies also showed that these negative attitudes have a direct impact on student outcomes by biasing teachers’ assessments of student performance in both informal and formal evaluations. Thus, matched-guise studies demonstrated that negative language attitudes systematically lowered teachers’ ratings of the abilities, potential, and actual performance of vernacular speakers. In the matched guise technique (Lambert, Hodgson, Gardner, and Fillenbaum 1960), research subjects rate speakers or writers various scales of aptitude, achievement, likeability, or intelligence. Because, in fact, apparently different speakers are the same individual in different ‘guises’ of dialect use (with the best studies carefully controlling other types of variability), the resulting ratings reveal the subjects’ associations with the language variety. Investigating whether teacher expectations formed on the basis of student dialect in turn affected the teacher’s assessment of student performance, research found that teachers, like the general public, associate stigmatized dialects with lesser intelligence and aptitude (O. Taylor 1973; Tucker and Lambert 1969; Williams, Whitehead, and Miller 1972). And analyses of standardized test instruments demonstrated that instruments designed to diagnose language disorders, measure intelligence or aptitude, and assess curricular mastery and achievement routinely yielded biased assessments against vernacular speakers as they inappropriately included dialect features in questions or scoring procedures (Labov 1976; Wolfram 1983). The recognition that teachers’ attitudes played a significant, mediating role in the relation of dialect to school outcomes has supported a long and rich tradition of practitioner-oriented publications and teacher outreach. Collections of sociolinguistic articles aimed at raising teacher awareness appeared alongside the first rigorous descriptions of Black language (Baratz and Shuy 1969; Fasold and Shuy 1970). Sociolinguistic research and activism influenced professional organizations of language arts instructors, with its strongest expression represented by a resolution affirming “Students’ Right to Their Own Language” (Conference on College Composition and Communication 1974), and has remained an influence since. Both the National Council of Teachers of English and the International Reading Association endorse the proposition that students’ dialects can and should be respected in the classroom, and the learning standards and curricula supported by these organizations reveal a sociolinguistic influence in their emphasis on teaching language as communication. Such recognition of sociolinguistic principles reflects the efforts of linguists to engage with educators and illustrate the significant impact of sociolinguistics on the ‘state of the art’ of language arts instruction (Smitherman 1999). Through engagement in professional teaching organizations and publications practitioner-oriented journals, sociolinguists have articulated and disseminated a core set of insights relevant to teachers. 448

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Much of the major research through the 1970s had a decidedly quantitative, experimental cast—informed, as it was, by variationist linguistics on the one hand, and by reading psychology, on the other. As the qualitative style of discourse analysis known as ethnography of communication took hold in sociolinguistics, more naturalistic studies of dialect use in communities and schools began to appear, following the lead of early work on communicative patterns in vernacular communities (Kernan-Mitchell 1971; Smitherman 1977; Watson-Gegeo and Boggs 1977). Shirley Brice Heath’s (1983) seminal work Ways with Words inspired further research into cultural ‘mismatches’ between home and school contexts (Fordham and Ogbu 1986). For instance, one ethnographic study found that the narratives of Black primary students tended to be more ‘topic associating’ than their white peers’ ‘topic-centered’ stories at sharing time—and that the teacher’s response to and misunderstanding of this difference led to decreased learning opportunities for African American students (Michaels 1981). As scholars developed more detailed questions about the applications of cultural mismatch research, the emphasis shifted to investigating possibilities for productively incorporating those differences into academic instruction to make school curricula more congruent with students’ cultures (Au and Kawakami 1985; Delpit 1995). Accordingly, culturally relevant pedagogy studies emerged as a refinement of the problem space claimed by cultural mismatch studies, shifting the focus from documenting the challenges that lay in difference to one of finding pedagogical possibilities in the unique features of vernacular linguistic repertoires. Carol Lee’s (1993 et passim) insightful work illustrating how the African American discourse practice of signifying, or speaking with innuendo and double-meanings, could be used in literacy instruction reinvigorated exploration of how to approach the vernacular as a resource rather than a problem. Arnetha Ball (1992; 2000) extended this approach to African American discourse patterns into the realm of writing. In 1996, the public controversy surrounding the Oakland Unified School District’s resolution acknowledging ‘Ebonics’ as the primary language of its African American students renewed and reinvigorated scholarship on dialects in education, and also, ultimately, served to reorient the field from rhetorical appeals to practical, evidence-based solutions (Baugh 2000; J. R. Rickford 1999. The dialect awareness approach (Wolfram 1999) gained renewed urgency and relevance, as it represented a fully developed curriculum on language variation suitable for use in K–12 schools and in educational outreach in local museums and libraries. Other scholars turned to existing scholarship, much of it obscure, published only for local audiences in mimeograph form and hence forgotten, in order to compile and corral the empirical evidence in favor of pedagogical approaches that take the vernacular into account (J. R. Rickford and Rickford 1995; J. R. Rickford, Sweetland, and Rickford 2004). Approaches that updated and extended drill-based contrastive analysis methods regained visibility within the field, with model programs such as Academic English Mastery Program (Los Angeles Unified School District 1999) inspiring the development and evaluation of similar efforts to address dialect diversity in the classroom by both affirming the value of the vernacular and teaching Standard English through experiences designed to heighten students’ metalinguistic awareness (Brown 2009; Sweetland 2006; Wheeler 2005). Scholars interested in cultural congruence took yet another approach to the issue of ‘Ebonics in the classroom,’ illustrating how skillful African American teachers drew strategically on their own cultural and linguistic repertoires to build rapport, model academic expectations, and engage students (Bohn 2003; Boone 2003), or how African American rhetorical styles could form the basis of an academically rigorous curriculum for postsecondary students (Richardson and Jackson 2004). In short, efforts of academic linguists and scholars in allied fields have yielded 50 years of academic inquiry, research, and practical applications to address social and regional dialects in school settings. And yet, on-the-ground application of this work remains incomplete. 449

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Core Issues and Key Findings The first finding of note is that a research-based view of language variation and its educational implications remains confined largely to the academy. One of the most consistent observations in the scholarly literature is that a research-based view on language variation and linguistic pluralism remains little known by educational practitioners and is rarely integrated into the system at any level, whether in policy or practice. New teacher preparation programs do not typically integrate information about sociolinguistic diversity (CCCC Language Policy Committee 2000; Richardson 2003). The Common Core State Standards, a curricular framework which will represent a powerful influence on curriculum and instruction nationwide in the years to come, make even less mention of sociolinguistic diversity than previous iterations of voluntary national standards for what students should know and be able to do. Curricula centrally focused on sociolinguistic awareness have been adopted in other English-speaking nations—such as the United Kingdom and Australia—but sporadic efforts to introduce more scientific language study into U.S. primary and secondary curricula have not been successful (Lord and Klein 2010). Within classrooms, the dominant, status quo response to dialect diversity remains much as it has always been—an approach characterized by sociolinguists as “eradicationist,” reflecting the public’s socialized, underlying presumption that stigmatized dialects are academic, and even moral, deficits. Eradicationist responses to vernacular varieties seek to correct, and indeed to expunge, vernacular features from students’ oral and written language. A second, related theme in the scholarly literature on language variation in education is that approaches lacking a basis in sociolinguistic research have a negative impact on the schooling experience and outcomes of children who speak a stigmatized dialect. Concerned linguists have objected to the status quo of ‘linguistic subordination’ (Lippi-Green 2012) on both theoretical and empirical grounds. Theoretically, it is indefensible: Research incontrovertibly shows that every language variety is equal in its structural capacity to meet the communicative needs of its speakers; in linguistic terms, there are no “lesser tongues.” Practically, it is counterproductive: Principles of language acquisition suggest that unrelenting correction of learners’ language is likely to hinder, rather than accelerate, students’ linguistic development (Krashen 1982), a finding also borne out in studies addressing harsh, haphazard correction of dialect (Fogel and Ehri 2000; Piestrup 1973; Wheeler 2006). In practice, unfortunately, such correctionist approaches are widespread. A consonant finding, replicated regularly for more than four decades, is that negative attitudes toward stigmatized dialects in general and African American English in particular persist. One of the most recent studies found that 85% of the pre-service teachers surveyed held misconceptions and negative attitudes toward AAVE (Champion, Cobb-Roberts, and Bland-Stewart 2012). Even when teachers can explicitly articulate research-based understandings of dialect diversity, linguistic equality, and linguistically informed classroom approaches, dialect prejudice and traditional deficit assumptions have been shown to persist in classroom practice (Wheeler 2010). Given the relationship of teacher expectations to student performance, negative attitudes toward student language are likely to have a negative impact on student achievement—a hypothesis borne out in the continuing underachievement of speakers of stigmatized dialects. The third major set of findings is more hopeful: When pedagogical approaches reflecting a research-based view on language variation are adopted, teacher attitudes as well as student experiences and outcomes are improved. While the development and evaluation of classroom interventions is not as robust as one might expect given the long and intense interest of linguists in educational issues, there is a remarkably uniform body of literature documenting the impact of teacher training and pedagogical approaches that take the vernacular into account. A selection of these empirical studies of sociolinguistic interventions is presented below. 450

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Impact of language awareness experiences on teacher attitudes. There have been a number of notable efforts to implement and evaluate efforts to ameliorate the attitudes of educators and others toward student language. Such studies, which typically use a pre- and post-test design to assess the impact of sociolinguistic training for teachers, have demonstrated that uninformed and negative attitudes toward stigmatized dialects are at once difficult to change, and yet amenable to change (Pietras and Lamb 1978; Sweetland 2010) Impact of sociolinguistic approaches to reading instruction. Several interventions (Leaverton 1973; J. R. Rickford and Rickford 1995) tested the impact of beginning reading materials written in the vernacular and found such materials to be effective, if politically tricky to implement. These studies built on the pioneering work of William Labov, who first addressed the relationship of AAVE to reading achievement almost forty years ago (Labov 1967) and continues to make a contribution to the teaching of reading by integrating variationist methods with error analysis, pinpointing specific areas where a young reader’s phonological system may give rise to difficulty in decoding (Labov 2003). Research has also demonstrated that building on vernacular discourse styles or speech acts can be a highly effective technique for supporting reading comprehension (Au and Kawakami 1985; Champion 2003; Lee 1993; 2007; Meier 2008; A. E. Rickford and Rickford 2007). Impact of contrastive analysis exercises to teaching spoken and written Standard English. Contrastive analysis has emerged as a highly effective technique for improving Standard English mastery among AAVE speakers. Taylor (1989) contrasted the student learning outcomes of traditional teaching practices and contrastive analysis in two freshman English classrooms. After 11 weeks, students taught with traditional methods used 8.5% more vernacular features in writing. The class using contrastive analysis used 59.3% fewer African American vernacular features. In a study with elementary aged learners, Fogel and Ehri (2000) found that children taught with traditional methods showed at best a 1% increase in their command of Standard English forms, while students taught with explicit examples of grammatical differences nearly doubled their Standard English performance. Sweetland (2006) evaluated the outcomes of a ten-week elementary language arts curriculum which integrated sociolinguistic research with contemporary language arts pedagogy, using multicultural children’s literature to teach about regional and social language variation, and incorporating contrastive analysis exercises into the writing process. Among the findings: Elementary students who were taught grammar using contrastive analysis as an editing technique demonstrated greater skill in Standard English than counterparts taught using traditional methods of writing instruction, and also demonstrated growth in several traits of effective writing, including content quality, organization, author’s voice, sentence fluency, and conventions. Wheeler and Swords (2010) developed a contrastive analysis and code-switching curriculum to address the serious and persistent racial disparities in literacy outcomes that Swords had observed in her elementary classroom—with the result that according to statewide standardized tests, African American students soon equaled or outperformed their white peers in academic achievement (Wheeler 2005; 2008; Wheeler and Swords 2006). With such consistent results from smallscale studies, the U.S. Department of Education recently awarded major funding for a formal codification and validation of contrastive analysis instructional methods (Craig 2010).

Current Discussion In partnership with teachers, sociolinguists continue to develop classroom materials to respond to dialectal diversity in U.S. classrooms. Increasingly, concerned linguists have begun to engage students directly—perhaps representing an awareness of the exciting possibilities inherent in involving learners in the construction of linguistic knowledge. Engaging school-age learners in exploring 451

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language as an object of study is a lively and innovative area of research. Some projects maintain a distinct “linguistics is for kids” feel, involving students in data collection and analysis and focusing on intriguing language puzzles or phenomena (Denham 2010; Denham and Lobeck 2005; Y. Goodman 2003; Reaser 2006). Others adopt more critical approaches—encouraging students to grapple with issues of language and power, and approaching work with students with an explicit goal of achieving greater equity and social justice (Alim 2004; Chisolm and Godley 2011; Christensen 2011; Godley and Minnici 2008). Both approaches also reflect a shifting emphasis in applied language variation research, from “linguist observing” or “linguist prescribing” to “linguist partnering.” Existing studies have uniformly found that students are keenly interested in language phenomena, can conduct fairly sophisticated analyses with appropriate guidance and support, and demonstrate measurable shifts in their ways of thinking and talking about language after even limited exposure to linguistic methods and research. More engaged research is needed to further build the field’s knowledge base in how best to approach language study with K–12 learners. A related strand of research that is emerging is a newly refined and focused attention to the language varieties spoken by young children. This line of work is a necessary and welcome corrective to the previously unquestioned practice of directly applying descriptive work based on research with adolescents and adults to assessment and application with young children. Examples of recent, in-depth studies of child language include studies of the development of African American English in young children (Craig and Washington 2006; Green 2011) and comprehensive studies of the use of narratives among African American children (Champion 2003). Meanwhile, research on language variation among diverse adolescents has evolved to more closely consider how language use intersects with the development of identity and school engagement. Increasingly, ethnographic techniques are being applied to document a fuller picture of young people’s ways with words, following adolescents beyond the school walls into their communities in order to learn how language is used to create, maintain, and contest individual and group identities (Alim 2004; Hill 2009; Paris 2011).

Research Approaches In keeping with the largely descriptive nature of linguistics in general and variationist sociolinguistics in particular, much of the research on language variation in classroom contexts has concerned itself with systematically describing the divergent dialect features that appear in student speech or writing. For instance, researchers have investigated the extent to which divergent dialect features found in speech transfer systematically to writing (Cronnell 1979; Terry 2006). In such research, analysts are careful to apply the principle of accountability (Labov 1970), noting all occurrences and non-occurrences of a given variable—that is, noting both the standard and vernacular variants, not only the vernacular forms. This type of coding yields frequency rates of variable vernacular usage, and can also lend itself toward more powerful statistical analysis of the linguistic and social influences on variation. An unintended consequence of this method is that it tempts researchers to focus on the linguistic features most amenable to frequency counts— typically phonological and morphosyntactic features—leaving discourse-level linguistic resources such as speech acts or organization of text underanalyzed in comparison. Some work has extended descriptive accounts of variation by correlating vernacular usage with school outcomes of interest. This type of correlational study dates back to the earliest forays of variation studies in education (Labov 1972) and has been productively extended more recently by scholars interested in determining predictive measures to identify students who would benefit from early interventions (Craig, Connor, and Washington 2003). Research in this vein first builds a quantitative index of vernacular usage (known as a Dialect Density Measure) for individual 452

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children, and then follows cohorts of young vernacular speakers longitudinally, correlating dialect density with outcomes in language and literacy development. Along with documenting linguistic features, linguists have documented language attitudes toward diverse dialects in educational contexts. Language attitude surveys have been commonly used, but these have the limitations of all self-reported methods. The matched guise technique has been extended to the evaluation of student work, such as writing samples, in educational linguistic studies, and in some studies, the single speaker/multiple guises protocol has been abandoned in favor of designs in which listeners are randomly assigned to experimental conditions. Quantitative techniques of eliciting and analyzing language attitudes are complemented by a variety of qualitative techniques, which are less frequently employed but have the virtue of focusing on language use in context. Discourse analysis methods, in which spontaneously occurring talk in classroom settings is analyzed with particular attention to metalinguistic commentary, have also been used to investigate language attitudes and related practices in schools. Ethnographic techniques have been applied to document a fuller picture of young people’s ways with words, following children and adolescents throughout the course of their daily lives to better understand their linguistic practices and their implications for education (e.g., Lucas and Borders 1994). Researchers have become aware of the need for building greater support or the incorporation of language variation research into curriculum, instruction, and assessment. Quasi-experimental curriculum studies—in which a sociolinguistic intervention is implemented with students and evaluated on one or more areas of impact—is a research approach critical to building greater support for the incorporation of language variation research into curriculum, instruction, and assessment. Studies in this vein have ranged from experimental designs that test the effects of simple treatments administered in brief instructional periods of an hour or less, to fully-developed curricula implemented in school settings over a period of weeks, months, or even years (Fogel and Ehri 2000; Simpkins and Simpkins 1981; Taylor 1989).

New Debates The most pressing issue related to language variation in educational contexts is the limited uptake and application of research findings. Despite vibrant scholarly contributions illustrating the power of sociolinguistic approaches to transform diverse classrooms, dialect variation is not routinely recognized as a key issue in mainstream educational reform considerations. This ‘blind spot’ is all the more visible to linguists given the education sector’s pervasive and increasing attention to the racial disparities in academic performance—an area of concern that, ostensibly, language variation research can illuminate. A shared, sustained, and purposeful research agenda is required to move the state of the art past lamentation and into implementation. Many fields—such as engineering and public health— have devoted considerable energy of late to elaborating a theory and practice of knowledge translation. This turn in the applied and social sciences has not kept apace in sociolinguistics. Given that translation theory originated in applied linguistics, this is an oversight all the more striking, and we hope, all the more readily remedied with respect to scholarship on language variation in educational contexts. While concerned sociolinguists have maintained an active and impressive agenda of traditional dissemination activities, a more careful consideration of the process and conditions by which research is integrated into practice are urgently necessary for sociolinguistic research to be applied at scale, with fidelity, in diverse classrooms. In developing such a framework, the role of learning standards (Reaser 2010) and the nature of effective teacher professional development (Charity Hudley and Mallinson 2011; Mallinson and Hudley 2010) are ideal starting places. Additionally, in order to make a compelling case to educators in the contemporary 453

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climate of school accountability, studies that demonstrate the link between sociolinguistic approaches and student achievement are much needed.

Implications for Education With metronomic regularity, report after report alerts us anew to persistence of the racial disparities in educational outcomes, disparities that in the 1960s motivated the U.S. Department of Education to support pioneering studies on the educational implications of language variation. As these disparities remain entrenched in our nation’s classrooms, so do the associated human and societal costs of schooling experiences that fail to allow learners to fulfill their academic potential. Research into the nexus of dialect variation and schooling has amply illustrated that rethinking the approach to dialect in assessment and instruction offers a promising direction in the search for practical, evidence-based solutions. The reasons for inequities in educational outcomes are multiple and complex, and are certainly not limited to sociolinguistic factors. We do know, however, that educators’ responses to student language variation play an important role in perpetuating persistent educational gaps. Accordingly, teacher preparation and professional development should include not only basic facts about language variation, but also significant preparation for applying knowledge about dialect diversity to classroom instruction. Positive dispositions toward student dialect should be among the major goals of teacher preparation for sociolinguistic diversity. However, such improved attitudes should not be the ultimate goal, and might not even be the best first goal. Some evidence suggests that changes in practice may precede, and accelerate, improvements in teachers’ attitudes and beliefs (Blake and Cutler 2003; Mallinson and Charity Hudley 2010; Sweetland 2010; Wheeler 2010). For this reason, adopting curricula and instructional frameworks that integrate sociolinguistic research is an important next step for school systems seeking to align classroom practice with evidence-based responses to dialect diversity. It is also important for educational decision-makers at multiple levels to consider whether and how current assessment practices allow for systematic bias against speakers of stigmatized dialects— an issue first raised by sociolinguists in the 1970s (O. L. Taylor and Payne 1983; Wolfram 1986). Historically, misdiagnosis of dialect differences as language disorders has contributed to unnecessary assignment of African American children to special education services (Seymour, Bland-Stewart, and Green 1998; Stockman 2000). At the level of classroom assessment, teachers who are unfamiliar with AAVE grammatical patterns conflate and confuse dialect influence with other sources of derivations from print, with at least two undesirable consequences: Student performance is assessed below actual level of accomplishment, and opportunities to adjust instruction to include systematic attention to the differences between the vernacular and the standard are missed (Wheeler, Cartwright, and Swords 2012). Recently, valid and reliable assessments of language development that take research on language variation into account have become commercially available (Seymour, Roeper, and de Villiers 2003). While this advance is significant, there is still much room for improvement in terms of the adoption and implementation of dialect-fair assessment.

Further Reading Language in the Inner City, by William Labov, compiles the major pieces of foundational variationist research into ‘Black English Vernacular’ emerging from the federally funded projects alluded to at the outset of this article. It includes ‘The Logic of Nonstandard English,’ a seminal essay that forcefully articulates the sociolinguistic response to the deficit perspective on dialect and was a tremendously influential call to action at the time of its publication. 454

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For years, the classic introduction to the ‘language of Black America,’ Geneva Smitherman’s Talkin and Testifyin first appeared in 1977 as a richly written, highly accessible presentation of language variation concepts that, as one commentator has observed, “took sociolinguistic theory to the people.” Dialects in Schools and Communities, now in its second edition (Adger, Wolfram, and Christian 2007), offers a thorough overview of sociolinguistic research and recommendations regarding dialect diversity in classroom context. Malik Goes to School: Examining the Language Skills of African American Students from Preschool to Fifth Grade (Craig and Washington 2006) synthesizes and summarizes a decade of highly technical descriptive and experimental work, much of it emerging from the questions and methods of speech language pathology—yet it is written in a fairly accessible style that makes it a resource suitable for both researchers and practitioners in language disorders, education, and related professions. Black Communications (Meier 2008) illustrates how skillful literacy teachers might build on the linguistic assets of AAVE speaking children, through specific reading comprehension strategies and other practical teaching techniques for children in the primary grades. African American, Creole, and Other Vernacular Englishes in Education: A Bibliographic Resource (Rickford, Sweetland, Rickford, and Grano 2013). Compiling most of the relevant research from the past half century, this volume includes more than 1600 references on education in relation to vernacular varieties of English, with accompanying abstracts for more than one third of them.

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Lambert, W., Hodgson, R., Gardner, R., and Fillenbaum, S. 1960. Evaluational reactions to spoken language. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, 60(1), 44–51. Leaverton, L. 1973. Dialectal readers: Rationale, use and value. In J. Laffey and R. Shuy (Eds.), Language differences: Do they interfere? (pp. 114–126). Lee, C. 1993. Signifying as a scaffold for literary interpretation: The pedagogical implications of an African American discourse genre. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Lee, C. 2007. Culture, literacy, and learning: Taking bloom in the midst of the whirlwind. New York: Teachers College Press. Lippi-Green, R. 2012. English with an accent (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. Lord, C., and Klein, S. 2010. Linguistics and educational standards. In K. Denham and A. Lobeck (Eds.), Linguistics at school: Language awareness in primary and secondary education (pp. 76–90). New York: Cambridge University Press. Los Angeles Unified School District. 1999. Linguistic Affirmation Program: Program Overview and Instructional Framework. Los Angeles: Los Angeles Unified School District. Lucas, C., and Borders, D. G. 1994. Language diversity and classroom discourse. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Mallinson, C., and Charity Hudley, A. 2010. Communicating about communication: Multidisciplinary approaches to educating educators about language variation. Language and Linguistics Compass, 4(4), 245–257. Meier, T. 2008. Black communications and learning to read: Building on children’s linguistic and cultural strengths. New York: Teachers College Press. Michaels, S. 1981. “Sharing time”: Children’s narrative styles and differential access to literacy. Language in Society, 10(3), 423–442. Paris, D. 2011. Language across difference: Ethnicity, communication, and youth identities in changing urban schools. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Piestrup, A. M. 1973. Black dialect interference and accommodation of reading instruction in first grade Monographs of the Language Behavior Research Laboratory, No 4. University of California, Berkeley. Pietras, T., and Lamb, P. 1978. Attitudes of selected elementary teachers toward non-standard black dialects. Journal of Educational Research, 71(5), 292–297. Reaser, J. 2006. The effect of dialect awareness on adolescent knowledge and attitudes. PhD dissertation, Duke University, Department of English. Reaser, J. 2010. Developing sociolinguistic curricula that help teachers meet standards. In K. Denham and A. Lobeck (Eds.), Linguistics at school: Language awareness in primary and secondary education (pp. 91–105). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Richardson, E. 2003. Race, class(es), gender, and age: The making of knowledge about language diversity. In G. Smitherman and V. Villanueva (Eds.), Language diversity in the classroom: From intention to practice (pp. 40–66). Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Richardson, E., and Jackson, R. L. (Eds.) 2004. African American rhetoric(s): Interdisciplinary perspectives. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Rickford, J. R. (1999). Using the vernacular to teach the standard. In J. R. Rickford (Ed.), African American Vernacular English: Features, evolution, educational implications. (pp. 329–345). Oxford: Blackwell. Rickford, A. E., and Rickford, J. R. 2007. Variation, versatility, and Contrastive Analysis in the classroom. In R. Bayley and C. Lucas (Eds.), Sociolinguistic variation: Theories, methods, and applications. (pp. 276–96). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rickford, J. R., and Rickford, A. E. 1995. Dialect readers revisited. Linguistics and Education, 7(2), 107–128. Rickford, J. R., Sweetland, J., and Rickford, A. E. 2004. African American English and other vernaculars in education: A topic-coded bibliography. [Bibliography]. Journal of English Linguistics, 32(3), 230–320. Rickford, J. R., Sweetland, J., Rickford, A. E., and Grano, T. 2013. African American, Creole, and other vernacular Englishes in Education: A bibliographic resource. Abington, Oxon: Routledge. Seymour, H., Bland-Stewart, L., and Green, L. 1998. Difference versus deficit in child African American English. Language, Speech, and Hearing Services in Schools, 27(2), 97–109. Seymour, H., Roeper, T., and de Villiers, J. 2003. Diagnostic evaluation of language variety—screening test. San Antonio, TX: The Psychological Corporation. Simpkins, G., and C. Simpkins 1981. Cross cultural approach to curriculum development. Black English and the education of Black children and youth: Proceedings of the national invitational symposium on the King decision (pp. 221–240). Detroit, Center for Black Studies, Wayne State University. Smitherman, G. 1977. Talkin and testifyin: The language of Black America. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. 457

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Smitherman, G. 1999. CCCC’s role in the struggle for language rights. College Composition and Communication, 50(3), 349–376. Stewart, W. 1970. Foreign language teaching methods in quasi-foreign language situations. In R. Fasold and R. Shuy (Eds.), Teaching Standard English in the inner city (pp. 1–19). Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics. Stockman, I. 2000. The new Peabody Picture Vocabulary Test-III: An illusion of unbiased assessment? Language, Speech, and Hearing Services in Schools, 31(4), 340–353. Sweetland, J. 2006. Teaching writing in the African American classroom: A sociolinguistic approach. PhD dissertation, Stanford University. Sweetland, J. 2010. Fostering teacher change: effective professional development for sociolinguistic diversity. In K. Denham and A. Loebeck (Eds.), Linguistics at school: Language awareness in primary and secondary education (pp. 161–174). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, H. 1989. Standard English, Black English, and bidialectalism: A controversy. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, Inc. Taylor, O. 1973. Teachers’ attitudes toward black and nonstandard English as measured by the language attitude scale. In R. Shuy and R. Fasold (Eds.), Language attitudes: Current trends and prospects (pp. 174–201). Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Taylor, O. L., and Payne, K. T. 1983. Culturally valid testing: A proactive approach. Topics in Language Disorders 3(3): 8–20. Terry, N. (2006). Relations between dialect variation, grammar, and early spelling skills. Reading and Writing: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 19(9), 907–931. Tucker, G. R., and Lambert, W. E. 1969. White and Negro listeners’ reactions to various American English dialects. Social Forces, 47(4), 463–468. Watson-Gegeo, K. A., and Boggs, S. T. 1977. From verbal play to talk-story: The role of routine in speech events among Hawaiian children. In S. Ervin-Tripp and C. Mitchell-Kernan (Eds.), Child discourse (pp. 67–90). New York: Academic Press. Wheeler, R. 2005. Contrastive analysis and codeswitching: How and why to use the vernacular to teach Standard English. In K. Denham and A. Lobeck (Eds.), Language in the schools: Integrating linguistic knowledge into K–12 teaching. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Wheeler, R. 2006. “What do we do about student grammar—all those missing ‘-ed’s and ‘-s’s?” Using comparison and contrast to teach Standard English in dialectally diverse classrooms. English Teaching: Practice and Critique, 5(1), 16–33. Wheeler, R. 2008. Becoming adept at code-switching. Educational Leadership, 65(7), 54–58. Wheeler, R. 2010. Fostering linguistic habits of mind: Engaging teachers’ knowledge and attitudes toward African American Vernacular English. Language and Linguistics Compass, 4(10), 954–971. Wheeler, R., Cartwright, K., and Swords, R. 2012. Factoring AAVE into elementary reading assessment and instruction. Reading Teacher 65(6): 416–425. Wheeler, R., and Swords, R. 2006. Code-switching: Teaching Standard English in the urban classroom. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English. Wheeler, R., and Swords, R. 2010. Code-switching lessons: Grammar strategies for linguistically diverse writers. A FirstHand curriculum. Portsmouth, NH: FirstHand Heinemann. Williams, F., Whitehead, J., and Miller, L. 1972. Relations between language attitudes and teacher expectancy. American Education Research Journal, 9(2), 263–277. Wolfram, W. 1969. A sociolinguistic description of Detroit Negro speech. Washington DC: Center for Applied Linguistics. Wolfram, W. 1983. Test interpretation and sociolinguistic differences. Topics in Language Disorders, 21–34. Wolfram, W. 1986. Black-White dimensions in sociolinguistic test bias. In M. B. Montgomery and G. Bailey (Eds.), Language variety in the South: Perspectives in black and white (pp. 373–385). Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press. Wolfram, W. 1999. Repercussions from the Oakland Ebonics controversy: The critical role of dialect awareness. In C. Adger, D. Christian, and O. Taylor (Eds.), Making the Connection (pp. 53–60). McHenry, IL: Center for Applied Linguistics and Delta Systems. Wolfram, W., and Whiteman, M. F. 1971. The role of dialect interference in composition. Florida FL Reporter, 9(1–2), 34–38.

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Abb, E. F. 172, 183 Abdi, K. 214, 220 Abedi, J. 347, 348 Aboshiha, P. 110, 114 Ackerman, K. 341, 348 Adams, S. B. 206 Adesope, O. O. 432, 440 Adger, C. T. 455 Adler, A. 289, 300 Adorno, T. W. 252 Agger, B. 252, 258 Agha, A. 241, 247 Agnihotri, R. K. 88, 90 Aguilera, D. 163, 169 Ahearn, L. 168, 169 Aikman, S. 28, 34 Ajayi, L. 294, 296, 298 Alarcón, F. 220 Alatis, J. E. 2, 4 Alba, R. 239, 245, 247, 248, 372, 375, 380 Alderson, J. C. 340, 341, 348 Alexander, M. 191, 194 Alexander, R. J. 358, 360, 366 Alfaro, E. C. 200, 206 Alim, H. S. 452, 455 Allan, R. 303, 305, 309 Allen, E. 416, 425 Allen, J. R. 281, 285 Allen, L. 182, 269, 273 Allwright, D. 318, 319, 320, 322, 323 Allwright, R. L. 319, 320, 322, 323, 356, 366 Al-Mamly, M. 347, 349 Aloni, N. 198, 206 Althusser, L. 178 Altwerger, B. 441 Alvarez, D. 245, 247 Alvine, L. 53, 59 Alwasilah, C. 235 Amanti, C. 27, 34, 69, 77, 96, 97, 102, 436, 442 Ambrosio, A. L. 198, 206 Amin, N. 107, 113, 290, 292, 298 Anast Seguin, C. 198, 206 Anderson, J. N. 346, 348

Anderson, L. W. 357, 366 Angelova, M. 316, 317, 320, 321, 323 Anh, D. T. K. 294, 298 Anikina, Y. 359, 367 Anna Kirova, A. 409 Antonek, J. L. 290, 294, 295, 297, 298 Antón, M. 328, 329, 330, 332, 335, 336, 341, 348 Anzaldúa, G. 75, 76, 425 Ao, X. 277, 285 Apple, M. 193, 194 Araujo, B. 438, 441 Arciuli, J. 399, 401, 409, 411 Arias, M. B. 434, 441 Arnett, K. 329, 338 Arnot, M. 246, 250 Aronin, L. 89 Aronowitz, S. 92, 102 Artigal, J. M. 123, 125, 129 Artiles, A. J. 145–56 Ashton-Warner, S. 256, 258 Athanases, S. Z. 75, 76 Atkinson, P. 56, 59 Attinasi, J. 67, 78 Auerbach, E. 96, 102, 254, 255, 258 August, D. 139, 142, 155, 244, 245, 247, 435 Au, K. (also K. H.) 25, 37, 433, 445, 449, 451, 455 Au, T. K. F. 214, 220 Avenia-Tapper, B. 343, 350 Avgerinou, M. 171, 173, 181 Bachman, L. (also L. F.) 125, 129, 339, 340, 348, 355, 366 Bachmeier, R. J. 153, 156 Backhaus, S. 220 Badger, R. 266, 274, 314, 324 Badstübner-Kizik, C. 179, 181 Bae, S. 241, 249 Baetens-Beardsmore, H. 354, 366, 367 Bagno, M. 92, 93, 98, 99, 101, 102 Bailey, B. 241, 247 Baird, M. B. 400, 402, 409, 411 Baker, A. 271, 273 Baker, C. 83, 90, 140, 142, 143, 432, 440 459

Name Index

Baker, K. A. 440 Balcazar, F. E. 206 Baldauf, R. B. 38, 48 Balderrama, M. V. 198, 206 Bale, J. 213, 221 Ball, A. (also A. F.) 449, 455 Ball, S. J. 44, 47 Balser, J. 175, 182 Baltodano, M. 258, 259 Bámaca, M. Y. 200, 206 Bamberg, M. 51, 54, 56, 57, 59 Bamford, A. 172, 182 Bamgbose, A. 84, 85, 90 Banerjee, J. 339–48 Bang, M. 158–69 Baquedano-López, P. 239, 241, 242, 243, 247, 438, 440 Barad, K. 428, 440 Baratz, J. 447, 448, 455 Barber, H. 18, 20 Barbules, N. 258, 259 Barbules, N. C. 259 Bard, E. 12, 18 Barkhuizen, G. 58, 59, 383, 388, 392, 393 Barkin, F. 441 Barlett, L. 101 Barletta, L. M. 156 Barlow, M. 302, 310 Barnard, R. 273 Barnett, C. B. 420, 425 Barratt, L. 108, 113 Barry, A. M. 172, 182 Barry, B. 72, 76 Bartlett, L. 99, 101, 102, 139, 142, 237–47, 361, 367 Bartolomé, L. I. 199–200, 206 Barton, D. 99, 102 Basham, C. 214, 215, 221 Bastürkmen, H. 270, 273 Batalova, J. 237, 250 Bauckus, S. 221, 370, 380 Baugh, J. 449, 455 Bauman, R. 59 Bauman, Z. 93, 102 Bax, S. 13, 18 Bayley, R. 11, 22, 371, 380 Bean, F. 239, 247 Bean, F. D. 379 Bear, C. 417, 425 Beardsmore, H. B. 438, 439, 442 Beaudrie, S. 214, 220, 221 Becker, A. L. 132, 136, 142, 440 Becker, F. 318, 319, 320, 321, 324 Beckett, G. 360, 368 Behney, J. 16, 20 Behney J. 13, 22 Bekerman, Z. 45, 47, 87, 90 460

Bellassen, J. 280, 285 Bell, J. S. 399, 409, 411 Beltramo, A. 442 Belz, J. 329, 335 Benjamin, W. 252 Benke, E. 107, 113 Benson, P. 175 Benson, C. 31, 34 Benson, P. 110, 113 Bering, K. 173, 182 Berkley, A. 247 Berk, R. 259 Bernardini, S. 307, 309 Bernat, E. 106, 108, 113 Bernstein, B. 51, 59, 239, 243, 247 Berrol, S. C. 440 Berry, A. 207 Berryman, M. 163, 169 Bertenshaw, N. 13, 19 Betto, F. 199, 207 Bhabha, H. (also H. K.) 69, 76, 99, 102, 138, 142 Bialystok, E. 123, 129, 440, 432 Biber, D. 301, 310 Bigelow, M. 1–4, 245, 251 Bigge, M. 357, 366 Billmayer, F. 172, 182 Bishop R. 163, 169 Björklund, S. 119–29 Blackledge, A. 76, 138, 139, 140, 142, 143, 429, 435, 438, 439, 440, 441, 444 Black, P. 341, 346, 349 Black, R. (also R. W.) 54, 59, 410, 411 Blake, R. 454, 455 Bland-Stewart, L. 450, 455 Blanton, C. K. 430, 440 Blell, G. 175, 182 Bley-Vroman, R. 374, 380, 384, 392 Blommaert, J. 23, 24, 29, 31, 34, 137, 142, 241, 247 Bloome, D. 96–7, 99, 102, 103 Bland-Stewart, L. 454, 457 Blumenfeld, H. K. 13, 18 Blyth, C. 329, 334, 335 Boediono, W. 233, 235 Boers, F. 13, 20 Boggs, S. T. 449, 458 Bohn, A. 449, 455 Bok, Derek 233 Bonacina, F. 43, 47 Bond, J. T. 34 Bonfiglio, T. P. 140, 142 Bonnet, A. 361, 362, 365, 366 Boone, P. 449, 455 Borders, D. G. 453, 457 Borg, C. 93, 102 Borg, M. 266, 270, 273 Borg, S. 263–7, 269–74, 292, 296, 298, 305, 310, 333, 335

Name Index

Bornat, J. 50, 59 Bortoni, S. M. 97, 98, 102 Boticki, I. 283, 287 Bott, E. 405, 410, 411 Bougie, E. 373, 380 Boulton, A. 301–10 Bourdieu, P. 2, 4 Bourque, J. 338 Bové, P. A. 399, 411 Bowker, L. 310 Bowker, N. 403, 404, 410, 411 Bowles, M. 11, 15, 19 Brady, B. 108, 115 Braine, G. 107, 111–14 Brandt, D. 100, 102 Bransford, J. D. 179, 182 Braun, S. 307, 310 Brecht, R. D. 370, 373, 380 Breen, M. P. 265, 273 Breyer, Y. 308–10 Briggs, S. L. 394 Brindley, G. 339, 349, 394 Brinkmann, S. 397, 411 Brinton, D. (also D. M.) 220, 221, 370, 380 Brisk, M. E. 434, 441 Brittain, C. M. 199, 207 Britzman, D. 297, 298 Broadfoot, P. (also P. M.) 341, 342, 343, 349 Bronfenbrenner, U. 207 Brooks, F. B. 356, 366 Brown, D. D. 252, 259 Brown, D. W. 449, 455 Brown, E. 207 Brown, J. 292, 298 Brown, J. D. 11, 14, 19 Brown, S. 346, 347, 351 Brown, S. K. 239, 247, 379 Brownlie, S. 332, 338 Brubaker, B. 283, 286 Brumbaugh, M. G. 417, 426 Brumfit, C. 2, 4 Bruner, J. 52, 59, 153, 155 Brunni, S. 383–93 Brutt-Griffler, J. 59, 109, 114, 210, 218, 221 Bryen, D. N. 448, 456 Brysbaert, M. 13, 22 Buchmann, M. 291, 298 Bucholtz, M. 52–3, 59, 438, 441 Buchori, M. 230 Buehl, M. 266, 273 Bullock, A. 357, 366 Bullough, R. V. 321, 323 Burdine, S. 302, 310 Burgess, J. 268, 273 Burgess, S. 279, 287 Burmark, L. 179, 182 Burnaby, B. J. 435, 442

Burnard, L. 307, 310 Burns, A. 269, 270, 273 Burt, M. 384, 393 Busch, D. 266, 269, 273, 315, 320, 324 Butler, Y. G. 107, 114 Butzkamm, W. 334, 335 Cabaroglu, N. 266, 273 Caffery, J. 83, 91 Calderhead, J. 264, 273 Calderón, C. 440, 441 Caldwell, J. A. W. 334, 335 Callahan, L. 106, 114 Callahan, R. 148, 156 Cameron, D. 397, 411 Cameron, L. 137, 143, 246, 249, 304, 311 Cammarata, L. 290, 292, 294, 295, 298 Canagarajah, S. (also S. A.) 24, 34, 54, 59, 69, 76, 77, 140, 142, 226, 229, 234, 235, 246, 247, 253, 255, 259 Canale, M. 125, 129, 340, 349, 355, 366 Candlin, C. 305, 311 Capps, L. 51, 61, 145, 154, 156 Carless, D. 348, 349 Carlsen, C. 345, 350 Carlson, M. T. 442 Carney, R. N. 175, 177, 179, 182 Carreira, M. 214, 215, 221 Carreiras, M. 18, 20 Carrell, P. L. 245, 247 Carr, S. C. 346, 349 Carson, J. E. 245, 247 Carspecken, F. 257, 259 Carter, J. B. 180, 182 Carter, R. 311 Cartwright, K. 454, 458 Casanave, C. P. 229, 235 Castellotti, V. 329, 332, 330, 335 Castilho, A. T. De. 99, 102 Castillo, M. 438, 441 Castro, D. 150, 156 Catalan R. M. J. 362, 366, 368 Cazden, C. B. 25, 34, 52, 59, 240, 247 Celic, C. 141, 142 Celik, M. 328, 336 Cenoz, J. 86, 90, 126, 127, 129, 363, 366, 436, 439, 441 Cervatiuc, A. 41, 49 Chacón, C. 107, 114 Chalhoub-Deville, M. 14, 16, 18, 19, 343, 349 Chamberlayne, P. 50, 59 Chambers, A. 302, 310 Chambers, G. 336 Champion, T. 450, 451, 452, 455 Chan, D. H. L. 281, 286 Chan, M. K. M. 279, 285 Chang, I. 375, 376, 380 461

Name Index

Chao, T. H. 377, 380 Chao, Y. R. 279, 285 Chapelle, C. 11, 14, 16, 18, 19, 339, 342, 349 Chapin, J. R. 207 Chapman, K. 290, 293–6, 298 Chappell, S. 68, 77 Charity Hudley, A. 454, 456, 457 Charles, M. 305, 310 Chaudron, C. 11, 14, 19 Chavez, C. 431 Chávez, L. 379 Chavez, M. 329, 331, 336 Chen, H. 337 Chen, H.-C. 285 Chen, L. 288 Chen, X. 279, 285 Cheng, A. 442 Cheng, L. 340, 341, 346, 349 Cheung, A. 139, 144, 244, 250 Cheung, H. 284, 285 Cheung, Y. L. 107, 114 Chimbutane, F. 31, 34, 44, 47 Chinen, G. K. 217, 221 Chisolm, J. S. 452, 456 Chiu-Ching, R. T. 207 Cho, H. 292, 295, 300 Chomsky, N. 429 Chow, B. W.-Y. 279, 287 Christensen, C. 152, 155 Christensen, L. 452, 456 Christensen, P. 404–6, 410, 411 Christian, D. 83, 90, 123, 130, 139, 143, 248, 434, 442, 455 Christians, C. G. 397, 408, 411 Chung, K. K. H. 283, 285 Cincotta-Segi, A. 41, 43, 47 Cirino, P. 153, 156 Clachar, A. 228, 235 Clahsen, H. 18, 20 Clandinin, D. J. 202, 207 Clark, C. 264, 273 Clark, E. 108, 114 Clark, I. 347, 349 Clark, R. 311 Clarke, A. 207 Clarke, M. 290, 291, 294, 295, 298, 299 Clarke, M. A. 314, 324 Clewell, B. 70, 77 Candlin, C. 308, 312 Clinton, K. 100, 102 Clouse, H. H. 230, 236 Clyne, M. G. 436, 441 Cobarrubias, J. 39, 47 Cobb-Roberts, D. 450, 455 Cobb, T. 303, 310 Cobo-Lewis, A. B. 444 Cochran-Smith, M. 198, 201, 207, 208 462

Coffin, C. 357, 361, 369 Cohen, A. D. 80, 90, 442 Cohen, L. 344, 349 Cohen, P. 456 Coia, L. 207 Colello, S. M. G. 99, 102 Cole, M. 99, 103, 153, 155, 192, 194, 435, 441 Coleman, H. 84, 89, 90 Coleman, J. 429, 441 Coleman, M. C. 425 Collier, V. (also V. P.) 42, 49, 83, 87, 91, 144, 243–4, 250, 435, 445 Collins, J. 33, 36 Collins, S. 207 Colombi, M. C. 220, 409, 413 Comenius, J. A. 174, 182 Commins, N. 434, 444 Connelly, F. M. 202, 207 Connelly, M. 207 Connor, C. M. 452, 456 Conrad, S. 307, 308, 310 Conroy, M. 306, 310 Considine, D. M. 172, 182 Cook, V. 11, 19, 328, 329, 336, 390, 392, 432, 441 Coombe, C. 347, 349 Cooper, R.L. 38, 46, 47 Copeland, S. R. 152, 155 Corcorran, T. 409, 411 Corder, S. P. 10, 19, 383, 384, 392, 393 Cormier, M. 338 Correa, M. 215, 221 Corson, D. 42, 46, 47 Cosentino de Cohen, C. 70, 77 Coulter, C. 66, 67, 71, 77 Coulthard, M. 97, 103 Coupland, D. B. 275 Cowan, J. 340, 349 Cowell, A. 165, 169 Cowie, N. 296, 298 Cox, M. I. P. 257, 259 Coyle, D. 353–67 Crago, M. 160, 169 Craig, H. K. 451, 452, 455, 456 Crawford, J. 141, 142, 212, 221, 415, 419, 422, 423, 425 Crawford, M. 357, 369 Creese, A. 76, 139, 140, 142, 438, 439, 440, 441 Creswell, J. 15, 19 Crockett, M. D. 272, 273 Cronnell, B. 452, 456 Crookes, G. 11, 19, 255, 260, 314, 324, 385, 387, 393 Crowell, S. 447, 456 Cruz, M. E. A. 99, 102 Crystal, D. 426 Csépes, I. 345, 348, 351

Name Index

Cuadrado, J. 157 Cuellar, D. 149, 156 Cummings, V. 245, 251 Cummins, J. 74, 77, 83, 90, 123–5, 129, 130, 137, 141, 142, 220, 221, 243–5, 247, 357, 367, 370, 380, 432, 441 Curtin, M. 214, 221 Curtiss, D. C. 172, 182 Cutler, C. 454, 455 Cycowicz, Y. M. 176, 182 Dahlan, K. H. A. 230 Dailey-O’Cain, J. 3, 327–8, 368 Dale, E. 174, 182 Dale, J. A. 199, 207 Dallow, P. 171, 172, 175, 179, 182 Dalton-Puffer, C. 353, 354, 359, 361, 363–7 Dance, J. 166, 169 Darder, A. 258, 259 Dardjowidjojo, S. 225, 234, 235 Darling-Hammond, L. 152, 155 Das Gupta, J. 39, 47 Davies, A. 109, 112, 114 Davies, B. 51, 59 Davis, A. 191, 194, 267, 273 Davis, B. 308, 310 Davis, K. A. 28, 34, 35, 40, 47 Day, E. M. 123, 130 Dean, R. 176, 182 De Assis-Peterson, A. A. 257, 259 Debes, J. L. 171, 172, 182 Debose, C. 189–91, 194 De Bot, K. 210, 221, 387, 391, 392, 414, 427 De Cock, S. 393 Decoo, W. 306, 310 DeFrancis, J. 276, 285 De Graaff, R. 359, 367 De Jong, E. J. 428–41 De Kanter, A. A. 440 De la Campa, J. C. 329, 336 Delamont, S. 56, 59 De la Piedra, M. T. 438, 441 Delgado-Bernal, D. 438, 440, 441 Delgado-Gaitan, C. 93, 102 Deloria, V. Jr. 167, 169 De los Heros, S. 45, 47 Delpit, L. 449, 456 DeLuca, C. 346, 349 Demas, E. 76 De Mejía, A. 121, 130 Denham, K. 452, 456 Denzin, N. K. 397, 408, 409, 411 De Oliveira, L. C. 75, 76, 107, 108, 114, 115 Derwing, T. M. 107, 114 DeSipio, L. 379 De Valenzuela, J. S. 152, 155 Deville, C. 343, 349

De Villiers, J. 454, 457 Dewantara, Ki Hajar 230, 233 Diab, R. L. 271, 273 DiCamilla, F. J. 328, 329, 330, 332, 335, 336 Dickson, P. 329, 336 Diependaele, K. 13, 22 Diffley, F. 10, 21 Dijkstra, B. 272, 274 Djiwandono, I. 231, 235 Dochy, F. 346, 350, 351 Dock, C. 417, 426 Doelker, C. 172, 182 Dogancay-Aktuna, S. 108, 115 Doná, G. 404, 405, 406, 410, 411 Donato, R. 290, 298, 356, 366, 368 Donitsa-Schmidt, S. 345, 350 Dorian, N. (also N. C.) 71, 77, 415, 426 Dorman, J. P. 346, 349 Dorn, S. 152, 155 Dorner, L. 249 Dörnyei, Z. 11, 12, 15, 18, 19 Dostert, S. 414, 426 Draper, J. B. 212, 221 Dressler. R. 217, 221 Drieghe, D. 13, 19, 22 Drury, J. E. 18, 22 Ducar, C. 214, 215, 218, 221 Duda, R. 303, 310 Duff, P. (also P. A.) 11, 14, 16, 18, 19, 54, 59, 242, 248, 290, 291, 293, 294, 298, 327, 332, 336, 337 Duffy, J. 192, 194 Dulay, H. 384, 393 Duranti, A. 168, 169, 239, 240, 248 Durkheim, E. 252 Dussias, E. 12, 13, 19 Dussias, P. 13, 19 Duyck, W. 13, 19, 22 Dyer, T. G. 418, 426 Dyson, A. 152, 155 Early, M. 54, 61 Eastman, L. 255, 257, 259 Eberlein, J. K. 178, 182 Echevarria, J. J. 435, 441 Edelenbos, P. 345, 349 Edelsky, C. 432, 441 Eden, G. 281, 287 Ediger, A. 11, 14, 20 Edstrom, A. 329, 336 Edwards, J. (also J. R.) 66, 76, 77, 92–3, 102 Edwards, P. 153, 156 Ehri, L. 450, 451, 453, 456 Eisdorfer, C. 207 Eisenstein-Ebsworth, M. 268, 273 Ekbatani, G. V. 346, 349 Elkins, J. 171, 173, 180–2 Ellert, M. 13, 19 463

Name Index

Ellis, N. (also N. C.) 11, 13, 19, 21, 330, 336, 439, 441 Ellis, R. 163, 170, 270, 273, 313, 314, 322–4, 328, 336, 383–8, 392–4 Ellsworth, E. 256, 258, 259 Ellwood, C. 329, 336 Ely, C. M. 328, 336 Emme, M. 403, 405, 409, 412 Enciso, P. 257, 259, 438, 441, 443 Enemoh, P. A. C. 176, 182 Engestrom, Y. 438, 441 Ennemoser, M. 173, 182 Ennser-Kananen, J. 1–4, 291, 293, 298 Enright, M. K. 342, 349 Epstein, A. S. 34 Epstein, I. 82, 90 Erickson, F. 27, 34, 97, 102 Erickson, G. 207, 346, 349 Ericson, J. 171, 173, 181 Eriks-Brophy, A. 160, 169 Erikson, E. 289 Erstad, O. 100, 102 Espinosa, P. 381 Esposito, J. 191, 194 Etherington, S. 268, 273 Evans, M. A. 179, 182 Everson, M. E. 276, 278, 279, 285, 287 Extra, G. 83, 90 Fabricio, B. 200, 208 Faez, F. 108, 109, 114 Fairclough, M. 218, 220, 221 Fairclough, N. 194, 234, 235, 406, 411 Falchikov, N. 346, 349 Falchi, L. 156 Faltis, C. 3, 65–77 Fan, K. 277, 285 Fan, M. H.-M. 285 Faraco, C. A. 98, 101, 102 Farhady, H. 10, 20 Farley, R. 239, 248 Farquhar, S. 402, 409, 411 Farrell, T. S. C. 269–71, 273, 274 Farr, F. 308, 310 Fasold, R. 448, 456 Fathman, A. (also A. K.) 214, 215, 221, 313, 324 Fauziah bte Yaakub, N. 310 Feigenbaum, I. 447, 456 Feiman-Nemser, S. 291, 298, 316, 324 Feistritzer, C. E. 70, 77 Felser, C. 13, 19 Feng, Z. 281, 285 Ferguson, C. 67, 77 Ferguson, G. 243, 248, 328, 332, 333, 334, 336 Ferreira, A. T. B. 99, 104 Feurle, G. 180, 182 Fichtner, F. 290, 293–6, 298 464

Figueroa, A. M. 239, 241, 242, 243, 247 Filippatou, D. 177, 182 Fillenbaum, S. 448, 456 Fillmore, L. W. 423, 425, 426 Finch, A. 346, 350 Finegan E. 310 Fisher, D. (also D. L.) 175, 180, 181, 183, 346, 349 Fisher, L. 294, 299 Fishman, J. A. 67, 77, 89, 138, 142, 162, 163, 164, 168, 169, 210, 221, 370, 372–4, 378, 380, 414, 426, 441 Fitts, S. 438, 441 Fitzgerald, L. M. 208 Fitzsimons, P. 402, 409, 411 Fives, H. 266, 273 Fleck, C. 9, 20 Flecken, M. 13, 19 Flores, B. 441 Flores d’ Arcais, G. B. 281, 285 Flores, N. 69, 77, 140, 141, 143 Flory, M. 426 Flowerdew, L. 309 Fogel, H. 450, 451, 453, 456 Foley, D. 26, 34 Folke, C. 200, 208 Folkes, A. 256, 260 Fordham, S. 449, 456 Fortune, T. W. 121, 124, 125, 129, 130 Foster, P. 322, 323, 324, 387, 394 Foucault, M. 411, 438, 441 Fozdar, F. 401, 409, 413 Franceschini, R. 333, 336, 438, 441 Franchetto, B. 99, 102 Francis, D. J. 343, 350 Frankenberg, E. 146, 157 Frankenberg-Garcia, A. 307, 308, 310 Franquiz, M. 198, 207 Frazer, E. 411 Freebody, P. 255, 259 Freed, B. F. 414, 426 Freeman, D. 2, 4, 265, 273, 289, 290, 298, 313–16, 321, 323, 324 Freeman, M. 57, 59 Freeman, R. 28, 34, 42, 45, 47, 48 Freire, P. 2, 4, 93, 102, 198, 199, 202, 207, 252, 253, 256, 258, 259 Frenck-Mestre, C. 13, 19 Frey, B. B. 346 Frey, N. 175, 180, 181, 183 Frey, W. 155 Friederici, A. D. 18, 21 Friedman, D. 14, 19, 182, 380 Frost, L. 160, 162, 166, 169 Fuchs, C. 413 Fukuda, T. 81, 90 Fulcher, G. 345, 350 Fuller, J. 329, 332, 336

Name Index

Furman, N. 276, 285 Gabrielatos, C. 308, 309, 310 Gabriele, A. 245, 248 Gadsden, V. 56, 61, 96, 101, 102 Gafaranga, J. 435, 441 Gajo, L. 354, 359, 360, 367 Galindo, R. 435, 441 Gal, S. 138, 143, 248 Gándara, P. 147, 155, 211, 221 Gan, S.-L. 308, 310 Gao D.-G. 279, 285 Gao, J. 277, 285 Gao, X. 271, 273 Garcia, A. L. 406, 410, 411 Garcia, D. L. 217, 223 García, E. (also E. E.) 149, 156, 381, 432, 442, 445 García, O. 3, 28, 32, 33, 34, 36, 40–3, 48, 67, 69, 75, 77, 78, 83, 88, 90, 132–43, 156, 211, 218, 221, 245, 246, 247, 248, 358, 361, 367, 426, 434, 438, 439, 442, 444 García-Moya, R. 433, 445 García-Ramírez, M. 200, 206, 208 García Sánchez, I. M. 243, 246, 248 Gardner, D. 147, 156 Gardner, M. F. 279, 285 Gardner, R. (also R. C.) 16, 21, 448, 456 Gardner, S. 341, 351 Garrett, B. 243, 248 Garrett, P. (also P. B.) 414, 426 Gaskell, D. 303, 310 Gass, S. M. 1, 2, 9–22 Gaudelli, W. 296, 298 Gavioli, L. 308, 310 Gee, J. (also J. P.) 52, 59, 60, 92, 93, 95, 99, 102, 151, 156, 192, 194, 253, 259, 409, 410, 412 Geeraerts, D. 79, 90 Geertz, C. 24, 34 Genesee, F. 120, 122–5, 127, 130, 139, 244, 248, 250, 292, 298, 339, 350, 356, 367, 439, 441 Georgakopoulou, A. 54–7, 59, 60 George, H. 383, 393 Gerber, M. 153, 156 Gerfen, C. 13, 19 Gessner, I. 180, 183 Ghahremani-Ghajar, S. 254–5, 259 Ghia, E. 17, 20 Gianelli, M. C. 124, 130 Giauque, G. S. 328, 336 Gibb, A. C. 157 Gibbons, P. 360, 367 Gibson, M. A. 237, 238, 245, 248 Gijbels, D. 346, 350, 351 Gildersleeve, R. E. 398, 410, 412 Gillam, L. 398, 408–12 Gill, D. 231 Gillon Dowens, M. 18, 20

Gilmore, P. 25, 34, 36 Gilquin, G. 301, 310, 389, 393 Giorgis, C. 53, 60 Girard, B. J. 342, 348, 350 Giroux, H. A. 92, 93, 102, 252, 256, 258, 259 Glanz, C. 84, 85, 87, 88, 91 Glas, A. 177, 183 Glass, G. V. 46, 49, 244, 250 Glass, R. D. 199, 207 Glatthorn, A. A. 25, 34 Glazer, N. 429, 442 Gleason, J. B. 414, 426 Godfroid, A. 12, 13, 20 Godley, A. J. 452, 456 Goffman, E. 51, 60, 406, 412 Gogolin, I. 80, 90 Golan, S. E. 207 Goldberg, D. 276, 285 Goldenberg, C. 139, 143 Goldman, S. 154 Golombek, P. 58, 60, 108, 114, 265, 290, 292, 294, 295, 299 Golombek, R. 274 Gomez, J. 439, 445 Gómez, M. C. 155 Gonzalez, N. 24, 27, 34, 69, 77, 96, 97, 102, 242, 248, 436, 442 Gonzalez, R. C. 431, 442 Gonzalez, S. V. 217, 223 Gonzalez, T. 145–55 Goodenough, F. 423, 426 Goodman, K. S. 435, 442, 447, 456 Goodman, Y. 435, 442, 452, 456 Goo, J. 16, 21 Gorter, D. 83, 86, 90, 210, 221 Gotardo, A. 439, 442 Goto Butler, Y. 244, 248 Götz, S. 307, 310 Gougenheim, G. 301, 311 Gounari, P. 283, 286 Graff, H. (also H. J.) 95, 102, 192, 194 Granath, S. 305, 311 Granger, S. 384, 389, 392, 393 Grant, N. 69, 77 Grasso, S. 329, 336 Graue, M. E. 350 Gray, J. 294, 295, 299 Green, A. 342, 350 Green, J. 25, 34 Green, L. 452, 454, 456, 457 Greeno, J. 153, 156 Grefenstette, G. 306, 311 Gregersen, T. S. 412 Grenfell, M. 99, 100, 103 Grenoble L. A. 415, 423, 426 Gries, S. 301, 310 Grinberg, J. 70, 77 465

Name Index

Grin, F. 42, 47 Grogger, J. 238, 248 Grosjean, F. 218, 221, 432, 442 Grossman, L. 321, 324 Guan, C. Q. 281, 286 Guerra, J. 438, 442 Gugler, M. F. 18, 21 Guillemin, M. 398, 408–12 Gullberg, M. 13, 21 Gumperz, J. (also J. J.) 25, 34, 240, 248, 432, 442 Guo, T. 337 Gustafsson, J. 346, 349 Guthrie, G. 25, 37, 433, 445 Gutiérrez, K. 99, 103, 150, 151, 156, 438, 442 Gutierrez, R. 166, 169 Guzzardo Tamargo, R. 13, 19 Habermas, J. 253, 254, 259 Haertel, G. D. 200, 208 Hafner, C. 305, 311 Hahne, A. 18, 20, 21 Hahn, T. 200, 208 Hajjaj, A. H. 332, 336 Hakuta, K. 244, 248, 414, 426, 432, 442 Hale, K. L. 168, 415, 423, 426 Hallet, W. 180, 183 Halliday, M. A. K. 98, 103, 355, 361, 367, 410, 412 Hall, J. K. 438, 442 Hall, K. 438, 441 Hall, L. A. 299 Hamilton, M. 99, 102 Han, A. 445 Han, Z. 314, 324 Handlin, O. 430, 442 Haneda, M. 360, 367 Haniford, L. C. 342, 348, 350 Hanse, P. 354, 360, 367 Haque, E. 41, 47 Harber, J. R. 448, 456 Hardy, C. 99, 103 Harré, R. 51, 59 Harris, R. 75 77, 409, 412 Harrison, B. 164, 169 Harrison, C. 349 Harry, B. 150, 156 Hartford, B. S. 108, 115 Hartiala, A. 368 Hartsuiker, R. J. 13, 19, 22 Harvey, J. 317, 320, 321, 324 Harvey, P. 411 Hasselgreen, A. 345, 350 Hatch, E. 10, 11, 20, 313, 314, 323, 324 Hatta, M. 230 Hattie, J. 341, 350 Haugen, E. 38, 47, 429, 442 Hawley, F. 430, 442 Hayes, D. 107, 110, 111, 114 466

Hayes, E. B. 278, 286 Hayward, W. G. 279, 287 He, A. (also A. W.) 248, 370, 380 He, B. 279, 285 He, X. 328, 336 Heath, B. 449 Heath, S. B. 24, 25, 26, 29, 34, 35, 92, 94, 95, 96, 99, 103, 192, 194, 242, 248, 456 Hecke, C. 3, 171–81, 183 Heger, H. K. 207 Heller, M. 28, 35, 73, 74, 77, 138, 143, 241, 248, 438, 442 Hellwig, K. 175, 182, 183 Helness, H. 345, 350 Hemmer, L. 148, 156 Hemphill, F. C. 197, 207 Hendry, H. 368 Hendryx, J. D. 371, 380 Hennessy, S. 257, 259 Henning, G. 11, 20 Henze, R. 28, 35 Herder, J. G. 137–8 Herdina, P. 137, 143 Hermes, M. 158–69 Hernandez-Chavez, E. 432, 442 Hernández-León, R. 237, 248 Herriman, M. 435, 442 Heston, M. L. 208 Heugh, K. 79–90 Hickey, M. 163, 169 Hicks, J. H. 212, 221 Hidalgo, N. 245, 248 Higareda, I. 154 Higgins, C. 50–60 Higham, J. 429, 442 Hiles, D. 410, 413 Hill, J. 73, 77, 248 Hill, K. 345, 348, 350 Hill, K. D. 452, 456 Hill, R. 32, 35, 44, 45, 47, 48, 126, 130 Hills, M. 285 Hinton, L. 4, 159, 160, 163, 165, 167–9, 414–26 Hird, B. 265, 273 Hirvela, A. 305, 307, 312 Hodgson, C. M. 416, 426 Hodgson, R. 448, 456 Hoeftel, E. M. 370, 375 Hoey, M. 303, 311, 390, 392, 393 Hoffman, C. 436, 442 Hoffman, C. M. 212, 222 Hoffman, G. 67, 78 Hofman, J. E. 380 Hofman, R. 272, 274 Holdaway, J. 245, 247, 249 Holland, D. 289, 290, 298, 299 Holliday, A. 107, 110, 114 Holmes, B. 362, 367

Name Index

Holmes, H. M. 409, 412 Holowinsky, I. Z. 200–2, 208 Hong, W. 283, 288 Hood, P. 366, 367 Hopkins, M. 155, 243, 248 Hopson, R. K. 33, 36 Horii, S. Y. 313–23 Horkheimer, M. 252 Hornberger, N. (also N. H.) 1, 2, 4, 25, 26, 28, 30, 31, 33, 35, 36, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 45–7, 49, 75, 76, 77, 89, 140, 143, 211, 215, 219, 221, 240, 244, 248, 249, 357, 367, 373, 374, 380, 422, 426, 435, 439, 442, 444 Horwitz, E. K. 267, 269, 274, 315, 324 Houghton, S. 107, 114 Housen, A. 13, 20 Howard, E. (also E. R.) 83, 90, 434, 434, 442, 443 Howe, K. R. 397, 412 Hu, H. 346, 349 Huang, B. 276, 286 Huang, H. 282, 286 Huang, S. Y. 255, 259 Huang Chi-Ling, 337 Huber, R. 177, 183 Hudelson, S. 441 Hudley, C. 453, 454, 457 Huerta, T. M. 199, 207 Huettig, F. 13, 20 Huguet, A. 109, 115 Hull, G. 12, 96, 99, 100, 103 Hulstijn, J. 14, 20, 387, 393 Hult, F. M. 1, 2, 4, 5, 42, 43, 47, 367 Hyltenstam, K. 10, 20 Hymes, D. 1, 23–6, 28, 29, 33–5, 97, 98, 99, 103, 240, 247, 249, 355, 367, 432, 442 Hyslop-Margison, E. J. 199, 207 Ilieva, R. 107, 108, 111, 114 Inbar-Lourie, O. 108, 114, 115, 290, 292, 299, 345, 347, 350 Indefrey, P. 13, 21 Ingold, C. W. 370, 373, 380 Ingram, E. 11, 20 Irvine, J. (also J. T.) 138, 143, 248 Ives, D. 53, 60 Izadinia, M. 289, 291, 293, 294, 295, 297, 299 Izumi, S. 356, 367 Jackson, A. Y. 442 Jackson, P. 264, 274 Jackson, R. L. 449, 457 Jacobson, R. 433, 443 Jacquemet, M. 140, 143 Jaffe, A. (also A. J.) 28, 35, 430, 433 James, C. 384, 393 Jamieson, J. 342, 349 Jang, E. E. 341, 350

Janssens, S. 346, 351 Jantunen, J. H. 383–93 Janusch, S. 399, 409, 412 Järvikivi J. 13, 19 Jarvis, S. 386, 388, 390, 392, 393 Jazadi, I. 225, 235 Jefferson, G. 240, 250 Jegerski, J. 217, 222 Jenkins, J. 109, 114, 234, 235 Jennings, L. 199, 207 Jensen, L. 215, 217, 222 Jernudd, B. 39, 47 Jessner, U. 137, 143 Jia, G. 371, 380 Jia, L. 371, 380 Jiang, N. 11, 20 Jiang, P. 307, 311 Jiang, X. 282, 283, 284, 286, 288 Jie, D. 23, 24, 29, 34 Jilbert, K. 441 Jin, H.-G. 283, 286 Johansson, S. 307, 310, 311 John, T. A. 405, 410, 413 John, V. P. 25, 34, 240, 247 Johns, T. 302, 303, 305, 308, 309, 311 Johnson, A. S. 299 Johnson, D. (also D. C.) 20, 30, 33, 35, 38–48 Johnson, E. (also E. J.) 41, 48 Johnson, J. 146, 157, 176, 183 Johnson, K. 58, 60 Johnson, K. A. 292, 294, 295, 299, 300 Johnson, K. E. 263, 264, 265, 270, 274, 313–16, 321, 323, 324 Johnson, M. K. 179, 182 Johnson, R. K. 119, 120, 122, 123, 125, 130 Johnston, B. 163, 169, 294, 300 Johnston, M. 394 Jones, B. 140, 143 Jones, G. 308, 312 Jones, K. 89, 361, 368 Jones, W. R. 81, 90 Jordan, C. 27, 37 Jordan, S. R. 108, 114, 290, 292, 294, 295, 299 Jørgensen, J. N. 76, 140, 143 Joseph, M. 31, 35 Juzwik, M. (also M. M.) 53, 55, 59, 60, 61, 299 Kachru, B. B. 106, 112, 114, 226 Kagan, D. 263, 264, 269, 270, 274 Kagan, O. 214, 220 221, 221, 370, 371, 380, 381 Kalyuga, S. 278, 286 Kamanā, K. 159–60, 163, 164, 168–70 Kamhi-Stein, L. 113 Kane, M. 342, 350 Kang, J. (also J. Y.) 409, 412 Kang, O. 386, 393 Kanno, Y. 242, 249, 291, 293, 294, 296, 299 467

Name Index

Kao, H. S. R. 279, 285 Kaplan, R. B. 38, 48 Kasinitz, M. J. H. 239, 249 Kattan, S. 242, 247 Kauffman, J. M. 153, 156 Kavale, K. A. 153, 156 Kawakami, A. 449, 451, 455 Ke, C. 276, 281, 284, 286 Keijzer, M. 414, 426 Kelly, G. A. 344, 350 Kelly, J. G. 200, 208 Kemmis, S. 46, 48 Kernan-Mitchell, C. 449, 456 Kern, R. G. 227, 267, 269, 274 Kettemann, B. 305, 311 Keys, C. B. 206 Kharma, N. N. 332, 336 Kibler, A. 332, 336 Kieffer, M. J. 343, 350 Kilgarriff, A. 306, 311 Kim, M. O. 380 King, K. (also K. A.) 1, 2, 5, 28, 35, 210–20, 246, 249, 435, 443 King, L. 362, 367 King, P. 309 Kinginger, C. 54, 55, 60, 438, 443 Kirkpatrick, A. 332, 333, 338 Kirova, A. 403, 405, 412 Kirschner, P. J. 303, 311 Kleifgen, J. (also J. A.) 77, 136, 143, 156, 361, 367, 434, 442 Kleiman, A. B. 92, 93, 94, 95, 97, 103 Klein, R. 146, 157 Klein, S. 450, 457 Klingner, J. (also J. K.) 149, 150, 151, 153, 156 Kloss, H. 38, 39, 48 Kluth, P. 176–7, 183 Klyen, T. 445 Knight, B. A. 269, 275 Knox, J. 269, 270, 273 Koda, K. 284, 286, 371, 380 Kolba, E. 447, 456 Ko, M. 255, 259 Kominski, R. A. 370, 381 Kondo-Brown, K. 214, 220, 222 Kontra, E. H. 347, 350 Koopman, G. J. 359, 367 Köpke, B. 414, 426 Kormos, J. 347, 350 Korthagen, F. A. J. 199, 207 Kotenbeutel, C. 276, 286 Koulouriotis, J. 397, 398, 400, 405, 407, 408, 409, 411, 412 Kowal, M. 356, 367 Kowalski, K. 176, 183 Koyama, J. (also J. P.) 237–46, 248 Koymen, S. B. 243, 249 468

Kozleski, E. B. 148, 152–5 Kramsch, C. 140, 143, 246, 249, 328, 329, 335, 336, 399, 438, 443 Krashen, S. (also S. D.) 83, 88, 90, 123, 124, 130, 139, 143, 224, 234–6, 244, 249, 328, 336, 356, 367, 373, 379, 381, 384, 393, 450, 456 Krathwold, R. 357, 366 Krauss, M. 159, 168, 169 Kress, G. 96, 103, 172, 178, 183 Kroll, B. 245, 247 Kroskrity, V. 138, 143, 250 Kubanek-German, A. 345, 349 Kubanyiova, M. 272, 274, 398, 408, 412 Kubota, R. 107, 114 Kuehn, P. A. 245, 247 Kuhl, J. 173, 182 Kulm, G. 197, 207 Kumaravadivelu, B. 112, 114, 267, 274 Kurihara, Y. 267, 274 Kushner, M. I. 155 Kyratzis, A. 243, 249 LaBoskey, V. (also V. K.) 198, 207, 208 Labov, W. 51, 54, 60, 67, 77, 98, 103, 185–8, 190, 192, 194, 249, 432, 443, 447, 448, 451, 452, 454, 456 Lachicotte, W. Jr. 289, 290, 298, 299 Lado, R. 328, 336 Ladson-Billings, G. 97, 103 Lahman, M. K. E. 405, 406, 410, 412 Lai, C.-Y. 284, 285, 286 Lakoff, R. 410, 412 Lamb, C. 328, 337 Lamb, P. 451, 457 Lambert, R. D. 414, 426 Lambert, W. (also W. E.) 11, 20, 74, 77, 120, 130, 133, 134, 143, 246, 249, 423, 426, 448, 456, 458 Lamie, M. J. 267, 272, 274 Lange, D. L. 293, 299 Langellier, K. M. 52, 61 Lan, S.-W. 107, 114 Lantoff, J. 435, 443 Lantolf, J. (also J. P.) 14, 20, 53, 61, 329, 336 Lapkin, S. 119, 120, 126, 131, 329, 332, 333, 338, 356, 369 Larsen-Freeman, D. 137, 143, 246, 249, 304, 311, 387, 391, 393, 439, 441, 443 Lasagabaster, D. 107, 114, 354, 367 Lau, L. 346, 352 Laurén, C. 123, 130 Lave, J. 291, 299, 436, 443 Lavin, T. 432, 440 Lazaraton, A. 11, 14, 17, 20 Leaverton, L. 451, 457 LeCompte, M. D. 16, 23, 24, 29, 30, 35, 36, 163, 169, 208 Leder, N. 9, 20 Lee, C. 32, 108, 112, 278, 286, 346, 349, 449, 451, 457

Name Index

Lee, E. 51, 54, 60 Lee, H. 368 Lee, H.-C. 311 Lee, I. 114 Lee, J. 237, 239, 251 Lee, J. S. 213, 215, 222, 379, 381 Lee, J. F. K. 350 Lee, O.-S. 381 Lee, T. S. 35 Leech, G. 310 Leeman, J. 210–20, 222 LeFever, G. B. 153, 156 Legarreta, D. 431, 443 Leggett, E. L. 25, 34 Lemke, J. L. 363, 368 Lenz, P. 345, 351 Leonard, W. 32, 35, 166, 169 Leong, C.-K. 279, 286 Le Page, R. B. 138, 143 Lesaux, N. K. 148, 156, 343, 350 Leung, C. 344, 350 Levine, G. S. 329, 330, 331, 332, 334, 335, 337, 368 Levine, M. 200, 208 Levin, J. R. 175, 177, 179, 182 Lewis, C. 257, 259, 438, 443 Lewis, G. 140, 143 Lewis, J. 456 Lewis, M. 392, 393 Lewis, O. 443 Li, D. 210, 221 Li, G. 373, 381 Li, J.-L. 288 Li, S. 16, 20 Li, T. 279, 286 Li, W. 288, 335, 443 Li, Y. 284 Li, Yi 412 Liang, X. 329, 337 Liao, J. 338 Liao, X. 276, 286 Liddicoat, A. J. 79–91 Liebscher, G. 3, 327–37, 368 Lightbown, M. 46, 48, 266, 269, 274, 314, 324, 315, 324 Lim, H.-W. 107, 108, 110, 114, 293, 294, 299 Lim, P. C. P. 269–71, 273 Lin, A. 48, 107, 114 Linan-Thompson, S. 153, 156 Lincoln, Y. S. 397, 412 Lindholm-Leary, K. J. 121, 123, 130, 139, 143, 244, 248, 249, 434, 443 Link, H. 75, 76, 77, 140, 143 Linn, D. 148, 156 Liou, I. 111, 114 Lipovsky, C. 107, 115 Lippi-Green, R. 109, 112, 115, 188, 194, 450, 457 Little, M. E. R. 218, 222

Littlemore, J. 305, 311 Littleton, K. 358, 368 Littlewood, W. 329, 337, 355, 368 Liu, D. 307, 311 Liu, J. 108, 109, 115 Liu, N. 376, 381 Liu, W.-R. 288 Liu, Y. 280–3, 286, 291, 294, 295, 298, 299 Liu, Y.-B. 281, 286 Liu, Y. J. 155 Livingstone, D. W. 252, 259 Llinares, A. 16, 354, 356–61, 363, 364, 366, 368, 369 Llosa, L. 215, 217, 222, 343, 350 Llurda, E. 3, 105–13, 115, 292 Lobeck, A. 452, 456 Lo Bianco, J. 370, 373, 374, 375, 381 Lockard, L. 161, 170 Loewen, S. 11, 20, 270, 273, 356, 368 Logan J. 380 Lomawaima, K. T. 149, 156 Lonergan, J. 174, 183 Long, M. H. 329, 337, 356, 368, 439, 443 Long, M. I. 386, 393 Looi, C.-K. 283, 287 Lopez, D. E. 430, 443 López-Reyna, N. A. 150, 156 Lord, C. 450, 457 Lorge, I. 312 Lortie, D. 265, 266, 274 Losen, D. 155 Loughran, J. 208 Love, K. 357, 368 Low, F. 310 Lowenthal, L. 252 Lowie, W. 392 Lu, J. 279, 286 Lucas, C. 453, 457 Lucas, T. 70, 77 Luce, T. 146, 156 Luchesi, D. 98, 103 Lucko, J. 246, 249 Luebbers, J. B. 290–2, 294, 295, 297, 299 Luke, A. 199, 200, 208, 255, 259 Luning, R. J. 164, 169 Luo, M. 280, 287 Lusin, N. 276, 285 Lutz A. 380 Lynch, A. 215, 222, 370, 381 Lyster, R. 123, 126, 130, 292, 299, 317, 324, 356, 360, 368 Lytle, S. 198, 208 Ma, L. P. F. 109, 115 Ma, Q. 271, 273 Macaro, E. 328, 329, 330, 332, 333, 335, 337, 338, 356, 368 MacDonald, M. 266, 269, 274, 314, 320, 324 469

Name Index

Macedo, D. 192, 194 Mace-Matluck, B. J. 434, 443 Macharey, P. 178 Mackey, A. 1, 11, 12, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 356, 368 Macnamara, J. 443 MacSwan, J. 432, 443 MacWhinney, B. 283, 286 Madison, D. S. 44, 48 Mäenpää, T. 127, 129 Maffi, L. 161, 162, 169 Mahboob, A. 107, 108, 111, 113, 115 Mahoney, K. 46, 49, 244, 250 Maillat, D. 359, 368 Majer, J. 329, 332, 337 Major, R. C. 277, 287 Makoni, S. 69, 76, 77, 140, 143, 210, 218, 221, 235 Malagon, M. C. 441 Malavé, G. 435, 443 Malherbe, E. G. 81, 91 Maljers, A. 368 Mallard, D. 399, 401, 409, 411 Mallinson, C. 453, 454, 456, 457 Mallozzi, C. A. 397–408 Malone, M. 347, 350 Mangunwijaya, Y. B. 230 Manion, L. 344, 349 Mann, H. 426 Mantero, M. 294, 299 Marcuse, H. 252 Mård-Miettinen, K. 3, 119–29 Marian, V. 13, 18 Marin, A. 164, 169 Mariotti, C. 360, 368 Markee, N. 11, 21, 314, 324 Marks, H. M. 200–1, 208 Marquez, P. 217, 223 Marshall, B. 349 Marsh, D. 366, 367, 368 Marsh, J. 99, 103, 354 Martel, J. 289–99, 321, 324 Martínez, G. 212, 213, 215–17, 218, 222 Martínez, P. 439, 443 Martínez-Roldán, C. 435, 439, 443 Martin-Jones, M. 28, 30, 35, 36, 89, 240, 241, 248, 249, 361, 368, 432, 443 Martin, J. R. 361, 367 Martin, P. 335, 443 Martohardjono, G. 245, 248 Marx, Karl 252 Masgoret, A.-M. 16, 21 Matsuda, A. 229, 236 Matsuda, K. 229, 236 Matsumura, S. 11, 21 Mattheoudakis, M. 271, 274 Maturana, H. 132, 143

470

Matz, R.D. 34 Mauranen, A. 307, 311 Mawhinney, H. 292, 299 Mayo, P. 93, 102 May, S. 28, 32, 35, 36, 41, 42, 44, 45, 47, 48, 72, 78, 126, 130, 163, 169 Mazur, J. 409, 412 Mazzei, L. A. 401, 402, 409, 412, 442 McAdoo, H. 381 McAlpine, L. 160, 169 Mcbridge-Chang, C. 279, 287 McCabe, K. 375, 381 McCarten, J. 311 McCarthy, M. 302, 305, 307, 309, 311 McCarty, T. L. 23–37, 40–2, 46, 48, 68, 78, 83, 91, 119, 130, 149, 156, 159, 163, 164, 168, 169, 170, 218, 222, 415, 420, 421, 426 McConvell, P. 83, 91, 426 McCormick, D. E. 290, 298 McDermott, R. 154 McDonough, K. 11, 21, 318–24 McDowell, L. 346, 347, 351 McGhee, B. D. 155 McGinnis, S. 220, 284, 287, 370, 374, 379, 381 McGraw, I. 283, 287 McGroarty, M. 241, 249 McGuiness, C. 357, 368 McKay, S. (also S. L.) 46, 47, 236, 436, 443 McKinney, M. 53, 60 McLaren, P. 252, 253, 256, 258, 259 McMillan, B. 328, 333, 337 McNamara, T. 345, 348, 350, 438, 439, 443 McNeill, A. 108, 115 McSwan, J. 139, 143, 244, 249 McTaggart, R. 46, 48 McTighe, J. 202, 209 McWhorter, J. 161, 170 Mead, M. 36 Medgyes, P. 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 113, 115, 116 Medoza-Denton, N. 444 Meek, B. 28, 29, 36 Meek, B. A. 166, 170 Mehan, H. 150, 156, 245, 247 Meier, T. 451, 455, 457 Menard-Warwick, J. 55, 58, 60, 290, 292, 293, 294, 299 Mendoza, B. M. 405, 410, 412 Mendoza-Denton, N. 241, 249 Menke, M. R. 129, 130 Menken, K. 33, 36, 40–3, 46, 48, 69, 78, 343, 350, 435, 438, 444 Mercado, C. 436, 444 Mercer, N. 257, 259, 358, 368 Merriam, S. B. 208 Mertens, D. M. 409, 412 Messing, J. 32, 36

Name Index

Mesthrie, R. 249 Met, M. 122, 123, 124, 125, 130 Meunier, F. 392, 393 Meyer, A. S. 13, 20 Meyer, O. 364, 368 Meyer, R. 418 Meza, M. 249 Michaels, S. 52, 60, 449, 457 Mignolo, W. 139, 143 Mikos, L. 177, 183 Miller, E. R. 58, 60 Miller, I. K. 322, 324 Miller, J. 289, 290, 292, 297, 298, 299 Miller, L. 448, 458 Mills, S. 412 Milton, M. 265, 273 Minett, J. W. 279, 287 Ming, T. 371, 381 Minnici, A. 452, 456 Miramontes, O. 434, 444 Mirhosseini, S.A. 254–5, 259 Mishler, E. G. 56, 57, 60 Mistar, J. 225, 236 Mitchell, R. 429, 444 Mitchell, W. J. T. 173, 179, 180, 183 Mittlmeier, J. 176, 183 Mohan, B. 360, 368 Mohanty, A. 43, 48, 83, 84, 91 Mohapatra, S. 250 Mohatt, G. 27, 34 Moje, E. 257, 259, 438, 443 Moline, S. 175, 183 Mollaei, F. 284, 287 Mollenkopf, J. H. 249 Moll, L. (also L. C.) 27, 34, 69, 77, 96, 97, 102, 248, 435, 436, 442, 444 Montrul, S. 216, 222 Moore, D. 329, 330, 335, 337 Moore, E. 52, 60 Moore, R. 31, 36 Morales, S. 445 Morgan, B. 33, 36, 173, 183, 290, 291, 293, 294, 299, 300 Morgan, M. 188, 194 Morgan-Short, K. 13, 14, 18, 21, 217, 222 Morrison, J. C. 429, 444 Morrison, K. 344, 349 Morrison, T. 168, 170 Morrow, R. A. 252, 259 Mortatti, M. R. L. 93, 94, 103 Mortimer, E. F. 358, 363, 368 Mortimer, K. 42, 43, 48 Morton, T. 294, 295, 299, 357, 361, 364, 366, 368 Moses, M. S. 397, 412 Mosley, M. 256, 260, 299

Mosselson, J. 403, 405, 409, 412 Moss, P. A. 342, 344, 348, 350 Motha, S. 107, 115, 292, 294, 299 Mousavi, E. S. 296, 299 Moussu, L. 107, 108, 109–13, 115 Moynihan, D. 429, 442 Mueller, J. (also J. L.) 439, 442 Mueller, J. L. 18, 20 Muhammad, K. G. 66, 78 Mukherjee, J. 307, 308, 310, 311 Mulder, K. 387, 393 Muller, C. 148, 156 Mullock, B. 107, 115, 265, 274 Munro, M. J. 107, 114 Myers-Scotton, C. 426 Myford, C. 15, 22 Myles, F. 429, 444 Nadeau, A. 434, 444 Nariman-Jahan, R. 387, 394 Nassaji, H. 315, 320, 324, 329, 336 Neal, R. 147, 155 Nee-Benham, M. K. A. 420, 426 Nelson, C. 58, 60 Nelson, G. 208 Nemtchinova, E. 108, 112, 115 Nespor, J. 264, 274 Nesselhauf, N. 390, 392, 393 Newman, K. 108, 115 Ng, J. 269, 274 Nicholas, S. (also S. E.) 29, 31, 32, 36, 37 Nichols, J. 165, 169 Niederhaus, C. 176, 183 Nieto, S. 198, 208, 436, 444 Nijakowska, J. 347, 351 Nikula, T. 359, 366, 368 Niu, R. 271, 274 Nolan, C. 246, 249 Norman, J. 279, 287 Norris, J. 12, 16, 17, 21 Norton, B. 53, 54, 58, 60, 61, 242, 249, 290, 294, 299, 438, 444 Norton Peirce, B. 53, 61, 436, 444 Numrich, C. 265, 270, 274 Nunan, D. 11, 21, 225, 236, 328, 337 Ochs, E. 51, 61, 145, 154, 156, 240, 385, 393 Odlin, T. 386, 388, 390, 392, 393, 394 Ogbu, J. 193, 194, 238, 249, 449, 456 O’Grady, W. 370, 379, 381 Oguro, S. G. J. 329, 334, 337 Ojan, L. 394 Okazaki, T. 283, 287 O’Keeffe, A. 301, 308, 309, 311 ÓLaoire, M. 89 Oliver, R. 265, 273

471

Name Index

Oller, J. W. 340, 351 Oller, K. D. 439, 444 Olmedo, I. M. 436, 444 Olsson, P. 200, 208 O’Malley, M. 348 Ong-Dean, C. 148, 156 Orellana, M. F. 243, 248, 249 Orfield, M. 146, 156 Ormsby-Teki, T. 163, 170 Ortega, L. 12, 14, 16, 17, 20, 21, 313, 314, 323, 324, 439, 444 Ortiz, A. A. 150, 155 Osborne, D. 444 Ostler, N. 231, 236 O’Sullivan, Í. 309, 311 Ota Wang, V. 200, 208 Otcu, B. 141, 143 Otheguy, R. 245, 248 Otsuji, E. 140, 143 Ouane, A. 84, 85, 87, 88, 91 Ousley, D. 296, 298 Ou, Y.-S. 381 Ovens, J. 394 Pacek, D. 107, 116 Packard, J. L. 278, 287 Páez, M. 439, 444 Pahl, K. 99, 101, 103 Paige, R. M. 293, 299 Paikeday, T. M. 387, 394 Pajares, F. 263, 264, 266, 274 Palmer, A. 125, 129 Palmer, D. 398, 400, 405, 409, 412 Palmer, J. 150, 155 Paloma, V. 206 Pal, R. 43, 48 Pan, B. A. 414, 426 Pan, W. 280, 287 Panda, M. 43, 48 Panofsky, E. 178, 183 Papa, R. 164, 169 Papageorgiou, S. 341, 348 Paquette, J. 80, 91 Paran, A. 108, 114 Parekh, B. 72, 73, 78 Paris, D. 31, 36, 452, 457 Parker, A. 162, 170 Parker Webster, J. 413 Park, G. 110, 111, 116, 200, 290, 291, 292, 294, 300 Park, J. S-Y. 241, 249 Park, M. 152, 155 Pascual-Leone, J. 176, 183 Pascual y Cabo, D. 219, 222 Pash, D. 242, 250 Passeron, J. C. 2, 4 Patrick, D. 28, 36 Patton, M. Q. 208 472

Pavlenko, A. 52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 59, 61, 138, 143, 290, 292, 294, 295, 300, 386, 390, 392, 393, 429, 435, 438, 444 Payne, K. T. 454, 458 Peacock, M. 265, 269, 274 Peal, E. 423, 426 Pearson, B. Z. 444 Pease-Alvarez, L. 242, 249, 373, 381 Pease-Alvarez, P. 242, 251 Pedraza, P. 67, 78 Peirce, B. N. 253, 259 Penfield, S. D. 165, 170 Peng, G. 279, 287 Peng, Z. 280, 287 Pennington, M. C. 139, 143 Pennycook, A. 9, 69, 73, 76, 77, 78, 81, 91, 137, 140, 143, 190, 192, 194, 233, 234, 235, 236, 253, 259, 260, 438, 444 Penuel, W. 300 Perez, B. 434, 444 Perez Huber, L. 441 Perfetti, C. A. 277, 281, 283, 286, 287 Perkins, D. D. 200, 208 Perkins, D. V. 200, 208 Perlmann, J. 239, 250, 429, 444 Perry, K. H. 397–408, 410, 411, 413 Pessoa, S. 361, 368 Peter, L. 160, 170 Peterson, E. E. 52, 61 Peterson, P. L. 264, 273 Peterson, R. E. 256, 260 Petrovic, J. E. 73, 78 Pettersson, R. 172, 183 Peyton, J. K. 220, 370, 381 Phelan, A. 207 Phillips, S. (also S. U.) 25–7, 36, 97, 103, 242, 250 Phillipson, R. 40, 44, 48, 68, 73, 78, 107, 116, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 236, 253, 258, 260, 403, 413 Phipps, S. 265, 267, 269, 270, 271, 274 Pica, T. 1 Piccinin, H. 418, 427 Pienemann, M. 387, 391, 394 Pierson, H. D. 346, 349 Piestrup, A. M. 450, 457 Pietras, T. 451, 457 Pike, K. 24, 36 Pinnegar, S. 321, 323 Pinson, H. 246, 250 Placier, P. 270, 274 Plonsky, L. 15, 16, 17, 20, 21 Poehner, M. E. 341, 351 Pojanapunya, P. 107, 111, 116 Polinsky, M. 219, 222, 370, 371, 381 Polio, C. 10, 11, 16, 19, 21 Polio, C. G. 332, 336 Polio, C. P. 327, 332, 337

Name Index

Pollatsek, A. 13, 21 Pollock, F. 252 Poplack, S. 432, 444 Porte, G. 16, 18, 21 Porter, J. 76 Portes, A. 69, 78, 238, 239, 250, 436, 444 Potowski, K. 217, 218, 222 Potter, J. 409, 413 Pou, A. 179, 183 Poveda, D. 52 Pratt, C. R. 415 Pratt, R. H. 427 Preston, D. 386, 394 Prilleltensky, I. 208 Prior, M. T. 410, 413 Probyn, M. 333, 337 Prout, A. 404–6, 410, 411 Prucha, F. P. 415, 427 Prusak, A. 295, 297, 300 Puk, T. 205, 208 Pumfrey, P. D. 177, 182 Punti, G. 246, 249 Py, B. 329, 337 Pynte, J. 13, 19 Qi, H. C. 152, 155 Quadros, S. 252–8 Rabin, L. 215, 216, 222 Rahimpour, M. 387, 394 Ramanathan, V. 28, 29, 33, 36, 87, 91 Ramani, E. 31, 35 Ramírez, J. D. 138, 144 Rampton, B. 31, 36, 44, 48, 93, 103, 241, 250, 411 Ranard, D. A. 220, 370, 381 Rankin, J. 318, 319, 320, 321, 324 Ranta, L. 317, 324 Raschka, C. 333, 337 Rastogi, S. 380 Ratha, D. 237, 250 Rausch, M. K. 157 Ravitch, D. 343, 351 Rayner, K. 13, 21 Razfar, A. 260 Rea-Dickins, P. 341, 351 Reagan, T. G. 73, 78 Reaser, J. 452, 453, 457 Redden, E. 269, 275 Reichle, E. D. 13, 21 Reinharz, S. 410, 411, 413 Reis, D. S. 107, 108, 109, 111, 116, 292, 294, 295, 300 Rennut, M. 68, 78 Reppen, R. 309 Reves, T. 106, 109, 116 Rex, L. 59, 61 Reyhner, J. (also J. A.) 158, 161, 166, 170

Reynolds, J. F. 249 Rhoten, D. 162, 170 Riasati, M. J. 284, 287 Ribeiro, V. M. 101 Rice, J. 255, 260 Ricento, T. 17, 30, 33, 36, 38–46, 48, 49, 73, 78, 213, 222, 361, 428, 435, 436, 439, 444 Richards, J. (also J. C.) 46, 49, 105, 116, 233, 265, 273, 274, 383, 384, 394 Richardson, C. 163, 169 Richardson, E. 185–93, 266, 267, 272, 449, 450, 457 Richardson, K. 411 Richardson, V. 264, 270, 271, 274 Riches, C. 244, 250 Rickford, A. E. 449, 451, 455, 457 Rickford, J. (also J. R.) 42, 49, 188, 189, 194, 449, 451, 455, 457 Riessman, C. K. 52, 57, 58, 59, 61, 145, 156 Rieu, E. V. 208 Riggenbach, H. 11, 14, 20 Rinaldi, C. 439, 444 Rios-Aguilar, C. 211, 221 Ritter, S. 157 Rivera, M. 343, 350 Rivers, D. 107, 114 Roach, K. 165, 169 Robbins, C. 456 Roberts, J. 266, 273 Roberts, L. 12, 13, 19, 21 Robertson, D. 12, 18 Robertson, M. 155 Roberts, P. 199, 208 Rocha-Schmid, E. 3, 92–101, 103, 256, 258, 260 Roche, M. 257, 260 Rodgers, T. (also T. S.) 46, 49, 105, 116, 233 Rodriguez, K. L. 405, 410, 412 Rodriguez, T. L. 292, 295, 300 Roeper, T. 454, 457 Rogers, R. 256–8, 260 Rogers, T. 346, 349 Rogoff, B. 150, 156, 435, 444 Rohsenow, J. (also J. S.) 281, 287, 333, 337 Rolin-Ianziti, J. 332, 338 Rolstad, K. 46, 49, 139, 143, 244, 249, 250, 432, 435, 444 Romaine, S. 432, 443 Roman, L. G. 44, 49 Román-Mendoza, E. 215, 216, 222 Romero-Little, M. E. 30, 36 Römer, U. 305, 307, 311 Rommers, J. 13, 20 Roosevelt, T. 418 Rosaldo, R. 24, 36 Rossi, S. 18, 21 Rothman, J. 219, 222 Rothstein, M. 182 473

Name Index

Rowsell, J. 99, 101, 103 Roy-Charland, A. 182 Rubin, D. L. 386, 393 Rubin, J. 231, 236 Rueda, R. 148, 154, 155 Ruiz de Zarobe, Y. 362, 366, 368 Ruiz, N. T. 150, 156 Ruiz, R. 39, 49, 78, 156 Rumbaut, R. (also R. G.) 69, 78, 238, 239, 247, 250, 372, 379, 381 Rumenapp, J. C. 260 Russell-Pinson. L. 308, 310 Rymes, B. 240, 241, 242, 243, 247, 250, 251 Saavadra, C. 76 Sacks, H. 240, 250 Sadeghi, S. 254, 255, 260 Saer, D. J. 81, 91 Sagarra, N. 13, 19, 21 Said, S. B. 235 Saint-Aubin, J. 182 Saito, H. 11, 21 Salazar, J. J. 148, 154, 155 Salazar, M. C. 197–208 Saleebey, D. 201, 208 Salomon, G. 177, 183 Sambell, K. 346, 347, 351 Samimy, K. (also K. K.) 59, 106, 109, 114, 116, 267, 271, 274, 275 Samora, J. 430, 444 Samson, J. F. 148, 156 Sanchez, G. I. 430, 444 Sánchez, M. T. 434, 441 Sandhu, P. 50–9, 61 Sanino, A. 438, 441 San Miguel, G. 66, 78 Sanz, C. 14, 21 Sarason, S. B. 201, 208 Sarroub, L. K. 252–8 Sato, M. 13, 19 Saunders, W. M. . 123, 130, 139, 143, 244, 248 Savignon, S. J. 34, 354, 355, 356, 368 Saxena, M. 240, 249 Schachter, J. 10, 11, 21 Schapiro, S. 199, 208 Scheffler, P. 309, 311 Schegloff, E. A. 240, 250 Schensul, J. J. 16, 23, 24, 29, 30, 35, 36, 208 Scherling, T. 176, 183 Schieffelin, B. (also B. B.) 25, 36, 240, 250 Schiffman, H. F. 38, 49 Schilder, H. 174, 183 Schleppegrell, M. (also M. J.) 258, 260, 343, 351, 357, 361, 368, 369, 409, 413 Schlesinger, A. 72, 76, 78 Schmid, C. L. 42, 49 Schmid, M. S. 414, 426 474

Schmidt, R. 355, 369 Schneck, P. 172, 183 Schneider, E. W. 231, 232, 236 Schneider, G. 345, 351 Schoorman, D. 255–6, 260 Schuckall, H. F. 176, 183 Schugurensky, D. 93, 103, 199, 208 Schultz, J. 97, 102 Schultz, K. 12, 96, 99, 100, 103 Schulz, M. 178, 184 Schulz, R. (also R. A.) 268, 274, 355, 369 Schumann, J. 384, 394 Schutz, P. 295, 296, 300 Schwan, S. 173, 184 Schwartz, A. 216, 222 Schwartz, J. L. 405, 410, 412 Schweers, C. 268, 273 Schwerdtfeger, I. C. 173, 174, 180, 184 Scott, P. 358, 363, 368 Scribner, S. 99, 103, 192, 194 Sealey, A. 305, 311 Seedhouse, P. 329, 332, 338, 356, 369 Seidlhofer, B. 106, 112, 116, 307, 311 Seidl, M. 178, 180, 181, 184 Seliger, H. W. 11, 22 Selinker, L. 10, 22, 383, 386, 388, 392, 394 Seltzer, K. 141, 142 Selvi, A. F. 108, 111, 116 Seneff, S. 283, 287 Sercombe, P. 337 Sercu, L. 300 Sergent, W. K. 279, 287 Serra, C. 354, 359, 367 Sexton, D. M. 297, 300 Seymour, H. 454, 457 Sfard, A. 295, 297, 300 Shahid, H. 380 Shanahan, T. 139, 142, 244, 245, 247 Shannon, S. M. 242, 251, 431, 445 Shapson, S. M. 123, 130 Sharifian, F. 112, 116 Shei, C. 306, 312 Shen, H. H. 276–85, 287 Shen, X.-N. S. 277, 287 Shepard, L. 348 Shermis, S. 357, 366 Shifrer, D. 148, 156 Shimahara, N. K. 200–2, 208 Shin, H. 255, 260, 370, 381 Shin, S. (also S. J.) 213, 215, 222, 268, 274, 373, 381 Shohamy, E. 11, 22, 40, 42, 43, 45, 48, 49, 88, 91, 439, 445 Short, D. J. 435, 441 Showalter, D. 146, 157 Showstack, R. E. 217, 222 Shuy, R. (also R. G.) 26, 36, 448, 455, 456

Name Index

Shuy, R. G. Siegel, A. 11, 22 Siegel, J. 256, 257, 260 Siegel-Hawley, G. 146, 157 Sierra, J. (also J. M.) 107, 114, 354, 367 Siford, H. 311 Silberstein, S. 245, 247 Silva-Corvalán, C. 214, 222 Silva, R. V. M. 99, 103 Silverstein, M. 250 Silwal, A. 250 Silzer, P. J. 230, 236 Simmons, A. B. 157 Simon-Maeda, A. 51, 54, 60, 295, 300 Simons, H. 193, 194 Simons, J. 173, 179, 184 Simpkins, C. 453, 457 Simpkins, G. 453, 457 Simpson, J. 83, 87, 91 Simpson, R. C. 389, 394 Şimsek, M. R. 332, 338 Sinclair, J. 97, 103, 301, 302, 306, 308, 309, 312 Singleton, D. 89, 244, 250 Siok, W. T. 281, 287 Siyanova-Chanturia, A. 12, 21 Skehan, P. 387, 394 Skiba, R. J. 148, 157 Skutnabb-Kangas, T. 28, 34, 45, 49, 68, 73, 78, 82, 83, 90, 91, 119, 130, 161, 162, 168, 170, 415, 422, 424, 425, 427, 439, 442 Slavin, R. 139, 144, 244, 250 Smit, U. 359, 366, 369 Smith, A. M. 347, 350 Smith, C. P. 199, 207 Smith, L. 163, 164, 170 Smith, M. 423, 427 Smith, V. J. 410, 413 Smitherman, G. 189, 194, 448, 449, 455, 457 Sneddon, J. 232, 236 Snodgrass, J. G. 182 Snow, M. A. 123, 125, 128, 130 Snyder, T. D. 212, 222 Soares, M. 93, 101, 103 Solano-Flores, G. 155 Song, S. 271, 275, 280, 282, 286 Song, S. Y. 263–72 Sorace, A. 12, 18 Souza, A. L. S. 99, 103 Spack, R. 229, 236 Spada, N. 46, 48, 266, 269, 274, 314, 315, 324 Spanoudis, G. 347, 351 Spindler, G. 25, 36 Spinks, J. A. 281, 287 Spinner, P. 13, 22 Spolsky, B. 1, 2, 5, 26, 36, 38, 39, 49, 166, 170, 358, 369 Spradley, J. 29, 36

Sritikus, T. 36 Stafford, T. 175, 184 Stake, R. E. 344, 351 Staton-Salazar, R. D. 430, 443 Steele, F. 206, 209 Steele, N. 168 Steinberg, S. 188, 194 Steinhauer, K. 14, 18, 21, 22 Stein, S. J. 25, 36 Stein, W. J. 426 Stern, H. H. 230, 234, 236 Stewart, W. 447, 457 Stibbards, A. 205, 208 Stiggins, R. 346, 351 Stocker, K. 250 Stockman, I. 454, 458 Stoker, K. 54, 60 Stokes, S. 172, 184 Strange, M. 146, 157 Street, B. (also B. V.) 24, 28, 35, 36, 45, 92–4, 96, 99, 100, 103, 192, 194, 242, 250, 254, 260 Stritikus, T. 30, 36 Stroud, C. 72, 78 Struyven, K. 346, 351 Stuart, C. 291, 293, 294, 296, 299 Stubbs, M. 5 Stults, B. 380 Suarez-Balcazar, Y. 200, 201, 206, 208 Suárez-Orozco, M. 238, 250, 433, 445 Sugarman, J. 83, 90, 434, 442 Sugiharto, S. 3, 224–36 Sullivan, A. L. 148, 152, 157 Sullivan, M. 165, 169 Sumardi, M. 225, 235, 236 Sun, J. 283, 287 Sun, V. 288 Suryaningrat, S. 233 Svetics, I. 9, 20 Swain, M. 80, 90, 119, 120, 122, 123, 125, 126, 129, 130, 131, 313, 324, 329, 332, 333, 338, 340, 349, 355, 356, 366, 367, 369 Swales, J. M. 394 Sweetland, J. 446–55, 457, 458 Sweller, J. 311 Swierzbin, B. 320, 324, 357, 369 Swords, R. 451, 454, 458 Sydorenko, T. 15, 17, 22 Sylvan, C. E. 136, 140 Szustak, A. 338 Tabachnick, B. R. 291, 300, 321, 324 Tabouret-Keller, A. 138, 143 Tadmor, U. 231 Takeuchi, S. 284 Takeuchi, T. 288 Tan, A. G. 212, 222 Tang, Y. 243, 249 475

Name Index

Tan, L. H. 281, 287 Tan, M. 271, 275, 292, 300 Tao, H. 371, 381 Tarone, E. 11, 22, 313, 314, 320, 324, 357, 369, 386, 394 Tatto, M. T. 275 Tauli, V. 39, 49 Tavakoli, P. 387, 394 Tavares, A. C. R. 99, 104 Taylor, D. M. 380 Taylor, H. 451, 453, 458 Taylor, J. 303, 312 Taylor, L. 347, 351 Taylor, M. 207 Taylor, O. L. 448, 454, 458 Taylor-Ritzler, T. 200, 208 Teasdale, A. 344, 350 Tedick, D. (also D. J.) 121, 124, 125, 130, 198, 290, 292, 294, 295, 298 Tefera, A. 145–55, 157 Terrazas, A. 237, 250 Terry, N. 452, 458 Terzi, S. B. 95, 96, 104 Tharp, R. 27, 37 Thijs, A. 272, 275 Thomas, J. 309 Thomas, M. 22 Thomas, W. (also W. P.) 42, 49, 83, 87, 91, 144, 243–4, 250, 435, 445 Thompson, G. 304, 312 Thompson. P. 305, 311 Thompson, T. 432, 440 Thoms, J. 332, 338 Thorndike, E. 312 Thurstun, J. 308, 312 Thwaite, A. 265, 273 Tian, L. 329, 330, 332, 333, 337, 338 Tidwell, D. L. 208 Tilaar, H. A. R. 229, 233 Timperley, H. 341, 350 Timutimu, N. 163, 170 Todd, D. M. 200, 208 Tollefson, J. W. 40, 42, 43, 46, 49 Tomlinson-Clarke, S. 200–2, 208 Toohey, K. 29, 37, 240, 250 Torres, R. D. 258, 259 Torres-Guzmán, M. E. 28, 34, 428–40, 442, 443, 445 Torres-Trueba, H. 433, 445 Trejo, S. 238, 248 Trent, S. C. 150, 155 Tribble, C. 308, 312 Trickett, E. J. 200, 208 Trillo, J. R. 406, 410, 411 Trofimovich, P. 11, 21 Troseth, E. 245, 248 Troudi, S. 347, 349 476

Trueba, H. T. 25, 37 Tsagari, D. 339–48, 351 Tsai, C. 277, 287 Tsui, A. B. M. 61, 289, 290, 294, 300 Tuck, E. 16, 170 Tucker, B. V. 165, 170 Tucker, G. R. 448, 458 Tucker, R. (also R. G.) 120, 130, 217, 221, 368 Tuffin, K. 403, 404, 410, 411 Turnbull, M. 328, 329, 330, 332, 333, 335, 337, 338 Turner, C. E. 341, 351 Turner, M. 401, 409, 413 Tyne, H. 301–10, 312 Tyson, A. 10, 21 Uchida, Y. 290, 291, 293, 294, 298 Uggen, M. 13, 20 Uhrig, K. 108, 115 Ullman, M. 13, 14, 18, 21 Umaña-Taylor, A. J. 200, 206 Unamuno, V. 332, 338 Ungerleider, C. 432, 440 Uriarte, M. 155 Urmston, A. 266, 275 Üstünel, E. 329, 332, 338 Valdés, G. 67, 74, 78, 210, 212, 215, 217–19, 222, 223, 370, 371, 381, 433, 445 Valdés-Fallis, G. 67, 78 Valdés Kroff, J. 13, 19 Valdez Pierce, L. 348 Valdman, A. 11, 22 Valencia, R. 68, 78 Valenzuela, A. 73, 78, 80, 91, 238, 250 Van Assche, E. 13, 19, 22 Van den Berg, E. 272, 275 van der Meij, H. 329, 338 Van der Rijt, J. 346, 351 Van Deusen-Scholl, N. 213, 223 Van de Watering, G. 346, 351 Van Els, T. 414, 427 Van Leeuwen, T. 172, 178, 183 Van Lier, L. 2, 5, 125, 130, 246, 250, 329, 338, 356, 359, 363, 366, 369 Vanneman, A. 197, 207 VanPatten, B. 217, 223 Varela, F. 132, 143 Varenne, H. 154 Varghese, M. 294, 295, 300 Vásquez, C. 317, 320, 321, 324 Vásquez, O. A. 242, 249, 251 Vaughn, S. 153, 156 Veel, R. 357, 361, 369 Vélez-Rendón, G. 290, 292, 294, 295, 296, 300 Velez, V. N. A. 441 Veracini, L. 160, 170 Vera, M. 168

Name Index

Vergara, M. 18, 20 Vandergriff, I. 413 Verity, D. 296, 300 Verspoos, M. 392 Vigil, J. 435, 441 Villa, D. 215, 218, 223 Villar, G. 399, 401, 409, 411 Villegas, A. M. 198, 208 Vinogradov, P. 245, 251 Vitanova, G. 53, 61 Vogt, K. 345, 351 Vogt, L. A. 27, 37 Vogt, M. E. 435, 441 Vryan, K. D. 289, 300 Vygotsky, L. S. 99, 104, 330, 338 Wade-Woolley, L. 284, 287 Waitoller, F. 147, 155 Walberg, H. J. 200, 208 Waldinger, R. 239, 250 Waldrip, B. G. 346, 349 Waletzky, J. 51, 54, 60 Walker, C. L. 124, 125, 130, 198 Walker, G. L. R. 276, 278, 281, 288 Wallat, C. 25, 34 Wall, D. 340, 346, 348, 351 Walsh, S. 109, 116 Walters, F. S. 346, 351 Wang, D. 332, 333, 338 Wang, F. 289–98 Wang, J. 284, 286, 287 Wang, L. 287, 311 Wang, M. 283, 286 Wang, M. C. 200, 208 Wang, R. 280, 287 Wang, S. C. 215, 221, 370, 373, 377, 381 Wang, T. 255, 259 Wang, W. S.-Y. 279, 287 Wang, X. 341, 349 Wang, Y. 282, 286 Wang, Z. 394 Wannagat, U. 356, 369 Warhol, L. 30, 36 Warriner, D. S. 31, 37, 241, 251 Warwick, P. 257, 259 Washington, J. A. 452, 455, 456 Waterhouse, M. 256, 257, 260 Waters, M. C. 249 Watkins-Goffman, L. 245, 251 Watson-Gegeo, K. A. 449, 458 Watson, K. 206, 209 Watson Todd, R. 107, 111, 116 Weber, Max 252 Webster, J. P. 405, 410 Weidenmann, B. 173–5, 181, 184 Weinrich, U. 429, 445 Weir, C. 13, 18

Weise, A.-M. 30, 36 Weis, L. 193, 194 Wells, G. 358, 360, 367, 369 Weltens, B. 414, 427 Welvaert, M. 13, 22 Wenden, A. L. 346, 351 Wenger, E. 289, 291, 299, 300, 436, 443 Wengraf, T. 50, 59 Wen, X. 286 Wertheim, M. 162, 170 Wertsch, J. 55, 61, 300 Wertsch, J. V. 356, 358, 369 Westhoff, G. 359, 367 Westwood, P. 269, 275 Wette, R. 58, 59 Whaley, L. 415, 423, 426 Wheeler, R. 446–54, 458 White, E. J. 18, 22 White, G. 266, 274, 314, 324 Whitehead, J. 209, 458 Whiteman, M. F. 447, 458 Whittaker, R. 354, 361, 363, 364, 366, 368, 369 Widdowson, H. G. 106, 116 Wiese, A. M. 432, 445 Wiggins, G. 202, 209 Wildcat, D. R. 167, 169 Wildsmith-Cromarty, R. 428, 439, 445 Wileman, R. E. 173, 184 Wiley, T. (also T. G.) 42, 49, 210, 213, 218, 219, 223, 374, 381, 435, 445 Wiliam, D. 349 Wilkinson, C. Y. 155 Willett, J. 242, 251 Williams, C. 75, 78, 140, 144 Williams, F. 448, 458 Williams, J. 346, 352 Willis, J. 306, 312 Wilson, F. 13, 22, 190 Wilson, W. H. 159–60, 163, 164, 168–70 Wilson, W. J. 194 Winke, P. 12, 15, 17, 20, 22 Winters-Evans, V. 191, 194 Witt, D. 244, 248 Wode, H. 277, 288 Wolcott, H. F. 23, 29, 37 Wolfe, P. 160, 170 Wolff, D. 354, 369 Wolfram, W. 447, 448, 449, 454, 455, 458 Wolfson, N. 1 Wong-Fillmore, L. 370, 373, 381, 384, 394 Wong, K. F. 215, 217, 223 Wong, L. H. 283, 287 Wong, O. C. 285 Wong, S. C. 436, 443 Woodley, H. H. 3, 69, 77, 132–43, 211 Wood, R. 417, 427 Woods, D. 265, 273, 275 477

Name Index

Woolard, K. A. 241, 250, 251 Wortham, S. (also S.E.F.) 31, 33, 37, 54, 56, 57, 59, 61, 145, 240, 241, 247, 251, 299 Worthman, C. 257, 260 Wright, B. 417 Wright, S. C. 380 Wright, W. E. 42, 49, 211, 218, 223 Wu, S. 283, 286 Wu, Y. 283, 288 Wyman, L. T. 28, 31, 32, 34, 37 Xiao, X. 279, 288 Xiao, Y. 215, 217, 223, 276, 285, 370–80, 382 Xiaoyue, B. 394 Xie, Q. 346, 352 Xu, F. 292, 299 Xu, H. 374, 382 Xu, L. 277, 287 Xu, P. 280, 281, 288 Xu, T. 279, 288 Xu, Y. 291, 294, 295, 298, 299 Yamauchi, L. A. 164, 169 Yang, A. 346, 352 Yang, C. 380 Yanow, D. 42, 49 Yates, S. 410, 413 Yavuz, F. 332, 338 Yearwood, R. R. 197, 206, 209 Ye, F. 281, 286 Yeh, S.-L. 288 Yandell, B. 11, 22 Yi, L. 291, 295, 300, 409 Yim-mei Chan, E. 207 Yin, B. 281, 285 Yin, J.-H. 276, 284, 288, 345

478

Yin, M. 352 Yitzhaki, D. 43, 49 Yoon, H. 305, 307, 312 Yoshimoto, B. 283, 287 Yoshioka, J. G. 82, 91 Young, R. 11, 14, 20, 22, 254, 260 Young, T. J. 109, 116 Yu, B. 329, 337 Yuan, F. 284, 288, 387, 393, 394 Yule, G. 11, 22 Yun, X. 283, 288 Zainuddin, H. 255–6, 260 Zakharia, Z. 141, 143 Zeichner, K. 209, 291, 300, 321, 324 Zembylas, M. 295, 296, 300 Zentella, A. C. 240, 242, 251, 436, 445 Zepeda, M. 150, 156 Zepeda, O. 30, 36, 415, 426 Zhang, H. 280, 288 Zhang, J. 277, 279, 282, 288 Zhang, P. 279, 288 Zhang, T. 288 Zhang, Y. 380 Zhao, G. 282, 284, 286, 288 Zhao, X. 329, 338 Zhao, Y. 284, 286 Zhong, Y. 279, 287 Zhou, J. 279, 288 Zhou, M. 237, 238, 239, 250, 251, 379 Zhu, S. 277, 287 Zhu, Y. 283, 288 Zimiles, H. 176, 183 Zuengler, J. 385, 394 Zúñiga, V. 237, 248 Zwiers, J. 357, 369

Index

Page numbers in italic format indicate figures and tables. academic discourse 229, 242, 364 Academic English Mastery Program 449 academic language: CLIL and 357–8; literacy and 244–5 action research projects 318–19 African American Language (AAL) 189, 193 African American Vernacular English (AAVE) 185, 187–9, 191, 447, 450, 451 American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages 212, 371, 375 American Indian education 415–17 anti-immigration discourse 68–9, 71 apprenticeship of observation 265, 266 Aspira v. New York City Public Schools (1974) 431 assessment literacy 345–7 basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS) 137, 243, 357, 364, 432 beliefs, assumptions, and knowledge (BAK) 265, 314 bilingual education: as advocacy for language diversity 73–5; case study of 27–8; core issues 136–8; description of 132; ethnographic analysis of 31; history of 133–6; implications for education and 141–2; language handicap and 81; language shift and 421–2; marginalized students and 83; multilingual education and 41–2; nature of language and 67–8; new debates about 139–41; one-way and two-way 135; other types of 135; polydirectional 136; research approaches 138–9; support for 25–6 Bilingual Education Act (BEA) 25, 67, 421 bilingualism: circumstantial 69, 71; conceptualizing 429–30, 432–3, 435–8; dualities in 140–1; dynamic 246; elective and transitional 74; elite and folk 82, 83; language separation and 433–5; societal 120; subtractive and additive 74, 134 bilingual students 67, 70, 81–2 Black students 186, 187, 193, 447 Brazil: language theorists in 101; literacy and language issues in 94–7; school curriculum issues 98–9

British National Corpus 307 Brown v. Topeka, Kansas Board of Education 25, 148 character/word acquisition 282 Children In and Out of School (Gilmore and Glatthorn) 25 Children of Immigrants in Schools (CIS) study 245 Chinese characters: by handwriting 280–2; learning to read and write 277–9; types of 277 Chinese community education 376–7 Chinese grammar system 279–80 Chinese L2 education: Chinese writing system and 276–82; conclusion about 285; future directions for 283–4; introduction to 276; problems in 282–3 Chinese language education 375, 376 CHL learners 371–2 chronosystem 201, 204 Civil Rights: language in the era of 66–7; language revitalization since 420 classroom-based assessment 341, 345 classroom discourse 253, 257, 355, 361 classroom language: in CLIL 355–8; core issues 359–62; current debates about 364–5; educational linguistics and 358–9, 365–6; introduction to 353; research approaches 362–3 classroom observations 111, 343, 344, 345 classroom practices: beliefs about 268–9; SLA research and 313, 318, 320, 322 code-switching: CLIL and 362; defined 67–8; patterns of 97; primary language use and 328–33; studies related to 240; teacher and learner 331; see also bilingualism cognitive academic language proficiency (CALP) 137, 243, 357, 432 cognitive processing 330, 359, 360 collective remembering 55 Common Core State Standards 450 Common European Framework of Reference for Languages: Learning, teaching, assessment 390 communicative competence 340, 355, 356 community language schools 378, 379 479

Index

computer assisted language learning (CALL) 283 computer-mediated communication (CMC) 403, 404 Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC) 186 content and language integrated learning (CLIL): classroom language in 355–8; core issues 359–62; current debates about 364–5; educational linguistics and 358–9, 365–6; evolution of 353–5; immersion programs and 127; introduction to 353; purpose of 353; research approaches 362–3 content-based language teaching (CBLT) 271 context, teacher identity and 291, 295 contextualized language 243 contrastive analysis approach 447, 451 corpora 302–9, 389 corpus planning 38, 39 corrective feedback 317, 318, 320 Covarrubias v. San Diego Unified School District 147 critical analysis 93, 110, 388 Critical Language-Policy (CLP) 40 critical learning 282, 284 critical pedagogy 254–6, 257–8, 283–4 critical thinking 257, 258 cultural ecological theory 238 cultural educational landscape, evolution of 146 cultural identity 216–17, 293, 420, 433 cultural implications, CLIL and 364 Culturally Responsive Education: A Discussion of Lau Remedies II (Cazden and Leggett) 25 cultural mismatch research 449 culture: discourse and 436; language and 433 Culture and the Bilingual Classroom (Trueba, Guthrie, and Au) 25 curriculum: critical pedagogy integration in 255; immersion and non-immersion 122; literacy and language concept in 94–9; need for balanced 282–3; vernacular language and 98–9 curriculum mapping 198, 202–6 data analysis 9–10, 403 data collection: in dominant language 87; language teachers 316; language used in 400; language variation 452; learner language 388–90; narrative 54–5; ownership issues 402–4; primary language use 332–3; for teacher beliefs 269–70; teacher identity 294 “data driven learning” learning (DDL) 302, 303, 307 decontextualized language 243, 244 deficit thinking 68–9 developmental bilingual education 135, 138, 139 development phases of learning 384 dialect awareness approach 449 dialect interference studies 447–8 dialect variation see language variation Diana v. State Board of Education 147 digital learning 283 digital literacies 100 diglossia 67, 74 480

digraphia 281, 283 discourse analysis 397–403, 406–8, 449, 453 disruptive experience 202, 205, 206 diversity, conceptualizing 430, 436 dominant language 67, 73, 80, 82–3, 86–7, 374 dual immersion programs 74, 121, 422, 424, 425 dual language education (DLE) 434, 435 dynamic bilingualism 135, 141, 246 ecological theory: curriculum map and 202–6; elements of 200–1; humanizing pedagogy and 201–2 Economic Opportunities Act of 1964 429 education: classroom language and 365–6; corpora and 307–9; critical pedagogy and 258; English education in Indonesia and 234–5; ethnography and 33–4; heritage languages 219–20, 370–9; immigrants and 245–6; Indigenous languages and 166–8; language assessment and 347–8; language in society and 136–7; language shift and 420–2, 424–5; language variation and 454; learner language and 391–2; learning disabilities and 154; linguistic marginalization and 89; literacy and language and 100; LPP and 44–6, 418–19; narrative approaches and 58–9; NNEST and 112–13; primary language use and 333–5; second language and 168, 323; teacher beliefs and 272; teacher identity and 296–7; see also bilingual education educational inequity 79, 201, 343, 448, 454 educational outcomes 84, 89, 138, 148, 454 educational policies: exosystem and 201, 204; heritage languages and 211, 218, 373; learning disabilities and 147 ’effect sizes 11, 16, 17 Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) 25, 429 emergent bilinguals: with disabilities 152; disproportionality of 147–9; instructional interventions for 151–2; research approaches on 149–52 emergent outcomes 205, 206 “emic” perspective 24, 55, 344 English as a foreign language 253, 267, 290 English as an additional language (EAL) 87, 344, 354 English education in Indonesia: 224–36 English language: cultural awareness and 254–5; as imposed foreign language 253 English language learners (ELLs) 202, 205, 206, 343, 435 error analysis 383–4, 386 Ester Martinez Act 160 Esther Martinez Native American Languages Preservation Act of 2006 421 ethical and methodological issues: data ownership issues and 402–4; discourse analysis and 399–402; introduction to 397–8; macro-microethics continuum and 398, 407–8; participants’

Index

vulnerability and 406–7; researchers and researched populations and 404–5 Ethiopia, multilingual system in 85 ethnographic analysis 30, 31 ethnographic interviews 29–30 ethnographic techniques 452, 453 ethnography 23–43; of literacy 242 Ethnography and Language in Educational Settings (Green and Wallat) 25 event-related potentials (ERP) 12, 13 exosystem 201, 204 exploratory practice 319, 320, 322 eye-tracking, benefit of 12–13, 17 family literacy programs 93, 96, 101, 255 first languages, new debates about 139–40 Five Families: Mexican Case Studies in the Culture of Poverty (Lewis) 429 focus on form and meaning 356–7 foreign language: English language as imposed 253; immersion program 121, 167; learning and teaching 129, 173, 179, 180, 181, 316; primary language use and 327–35 formative assessments 341, 348 functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) 12, 13, 14 Functions of Language in Classroom (Cazden, John, and Hymes) 25 Funds of Knowledge for Teaching project 27 German Foreign Language Teaching Methodology 174 globalization: bilingual education and 134; Indonesia educational system and 233; non-English HL proficiency and 378 grammar teaching, beliefs about 268–9 Guadalupe Organization Inc. v. Tempe School District No. 3 147 handwriting of Chinese characters 280–2 heritage language education: Chinese case 374–7; description of 210; implications for education and 219–20, 378–9; No Child Left Behind Act and 373–4; pedagogical needs and 215–16; see also bilingual education heritage languages: defined 210, 218, 371; HL initiative and 370–1; importance of 370; language diversity and 74; language policy and 40; reading materials in immigrant families 374; speakers classification of 371; students 213–16; youth language practices and 32 home literacy environment 99, 374 humanizing pedagogy: conclusion about 206; curriculum map and 202–6; ecological theory and 201–2; elements of 199–200; introduction to 197–8 human rights 68, 73, 425

Iconology technique 178–9 identities, language and 437 identity formation: emotions’ role in 295–6; language practices and 137–8 identity shaping practice 291–2 images: effects of 177; use of 174 immersion education: defined 120; effects of 127; features and aims 120–2; history of 119–20; implementation of 129; implications for education and 128–9; Indigenous languages and 167; introduction to 119; models of 163; new debates about 126–7; one-way and two-way 121; research approaches 122–6, 163–4; students with special needs in 123; see also bilingual education Immersion Teacher Handbook, The (Snow) 125 immigrants: Chinese 375; desire and dilemma of 378; heritage language students as 213, 214; language abilities of 66 immigrants and education 243–5 Immigration Act of 1968 431 inclusive education movement 152 Index of Irian Jaya Languages: A Special Bulletin of Irian Jaya (Silzer and Clouse) 230 India, bilingual education in 84 Indian Rights Association 415 Indigenous languages: core issues 161–2; decline in use of 231; history of 158–61 Indigenous peoples 31, 132, 159, 161, 167, 370 Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) 147, 148 initiation-response feedback (IRF) 359–60 inner-city children 185, 186 input hypothesis 124, 356 in-service teachers: beliefs of 267–8; certificate program for 128; training for 308 Institutional Review Boards (IRBs) 397, 404, 406 interdependence hypothesis 432 International Corpus of Learner English (Granger) 389 international language classrooms, critical pedagogy in 254–5 International Reading Association 448 Internet as a surrogate corpus 306–7 interpretative analyses 388 Invisible Culture, The (Philips) 25 job discrimination 108, 112 K–12 schools 428, 449 Keyes v. Denver Public School No. 1 (1973) 431 L2 teaching see second language acquisition (SLA) language: of Black America 189; communicative competence 340; conceptualizing 433; discourse and 436; identities and 437; negative attitudes toward 448; rights to culture and 430–2; shift and attrition 372–3; in society and education 136–7; verbal and visual 176 481

Index

language advocacy: around human rights 68; as a critical issue 70–5; dimensions of 70–1; history of 65–70; introduction to 65; in the new era 69–70; orientation in 71–5; teacher education and 75–6 language and literacy policy 28, 39–46 language assessment: core issues 341–3; history of 340–1; implications for education and 347–8; introduction to 339; new debates about 345–7; purpose of 339; research approaches 343–4 language attitude surveys 453 language awareness experiences 451 language deficit 66, 106 language discrimination 98, 101, 211 language diversity: heritage languages and 74; language socialization and 26–7; marginalized students and 84; monolingual views about 69; weak and strong orientation and 73–5 language education: description of 132–3; ethnographers’ role in 33–4; language policies and 41 language endangerment 31, 32, 33 Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Vernacular (Labov) 185, 454 language learning and teaching: classroom interaction for 359–60; CLIL and 357; content learning and 360–1; corpora and 301–9; ethnography of 42–3; identity research in 53–4; language policy’s role in 39; relationship between SLA and 315; teacher beliefs about 263–4; use of imagery for 176; see also learner language language learning outcomes see learning outcomes Language Loyalty: Its Functions and Concomitants in Two Bilingual Communities (Fishman) 430 language planning and policy (LPP): core issues 40–2; education practitioners and 33; history of 38–40; ideology and theory and 166; implications for education and 44–6, 418–19; language shift and 415; new debates about 43–4; reactionary or liberatory 253; research approaches 42–3; unitary 69–70 language revitalization: documentation theory and 165–6; growth in 160; research approaches 164; schools’ role in 32 language shift: core issues 415–20; defined 414; history of 414–15; implications for education and 424–5; new debates about 423–4; research approaches 423; reversing 420–2; without laws 419–20 language socialization: immigrants and education and 242–3; linguistic diversity and 26–7 language teachers: beliefs of 263–72; identity issues 289–97; language assessment and 347; second language acquisition and 313–23 Language Triptych 360, 363 language variation: core issues 450–2; history of 447–9; implications for education and 454; 482

introduction to 446–7; new debates about 453–4; research approaches 452–3 Lau v. Nichols 25, 147, 431 learner language: core issues 386–8; history of 383–6; implications for education and 391–2; language development process and 386–7; new debates about 389–91; research approaches 388–9; variation in 384–5 learners: academic language proficiency and 357–8; corpus use and 304–5, 307; discourse analysis with 397–403, 407; ethical considerations and 408; involvement in assessment 346; multilingualism and 439; participants’ vulnerability and 406; with special needs 346–7; see also students learning disabilities (LD): disproportionality issue and 147–9; educational policies and 147; evolving educational landscape and 146; visual material and 176–7 learning outcomes: corpus use and 304; primary language use and 331, 332; teacher identity and 296 learning phraseology 390 lexical priming theory 303, 390 life history narratives 55 Life in Classrooms (Jackson) 264 Likert-scale survey 269 linguistic anthropology, immigrants and education and 240–2 “linguistic genocide” process 415, 417 linguistic imperialism 44–5, 224, 226–9, 231, 234 literacy: academic language and 244–5; assessment 345–7; digital 100; ethnography of 242; linguistic demands of 361–2; programs 93, 94, 96, 101, 255, 256 literacy and language: core issues 94–9; history of 92–3; implications for education and 100; introduction to 92; new debates about 99–100; parental involvement and 101; research approaches 99 literacy instruction 271, 283–4, 449 literate culture, resistance to 95–7 local languages, preservation of 230–2 LOCIT process 363 Logic of Non-Standard English, The (Labov) 67 macroethics 398 maintenance bilingual education 133, 141, 415 marginalized students: bilingual education and 83; debates about 88; language diversity and 84 matched guise technique 448, 453 maximal position 329–30 mental corpus theory 303 mesosystem 200–1, 203 meta analyses 16–17, 139 Mexican immigrants, studies related to 238–9 microethics 398 microsystem 200, 203 Migrant Education Program 245

Index

Milliken v, Bradley in Detroit (1974) 431 minority groups and students: language advocacy and 68; language and diversity and 70; language shift and 415, 423; narrative style 52 minority languages: language policy and 41–2; marginalization of 40, 43; promotion of 45 “mirroring” technique 334 Monographs on Research Methodology 11 monolingual education 80, 81, 84, 86, 128 monolingual habitus 82, 87 Morgan v. Hennigan in Boston, MA (1974) 431 mother tongue education 85, 211, 212 multilingual education: language policy and 41–2; linguistic marginalization and 89; monolingual habitus and 82; multiple 136 multilingualism: conceptualizing 428–30, 432–3, 435–8; functional 126; language and culture and 430–2; language and identities and 437; language policies and 45; sink or swim era 429 narrative approaches: core issues 52–4; history of 50–1; implications for education and 58–9; introduction to 50; new debates about 56–8; research approaches 54–6 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) 197 National Council of Associations of Chinese Language Schools (NCACLS) 376, 377 National Council of Teachers of English 448 national education 224, 229–30, 233 national language policies: English hegemonic force and 225, 226, 234; language education and 41; multilingualism and 45; see also language planning and policy (LPP) National Security Language Initiative (NSLI) 376 Native American Languages Act 421 native languages 139–40, 231, 433 native speakerism 107 native speaker/non-native speaker (NS/NNS) status 292–3 native teachers (NESTs) 106, 107 Naturalization Act of 1906 418 nature of language, questions about 67–8 New Language Policy Studies 33 New Literacy Studies 99, 100, 192, 244 No Child Left Behind Act 67, 141, 147, 163, 342, 373–4 non-dominant language 73, 80, 82, 132 non-native English teachers (NNESTs): attitudes of 109; implications for education and 112–13; invisibility of 105; new debates about 111–12; self-esteem issues 112 normative research 388 NS/NNS dichotomy 292–3 Official Bilingualism 41 one nation-one language ideology 79–80, 430

orality and writing 94 output hypothesis 124, 356 participant observation 27, 29, 30, 55, 344 participants’ vulnerability 406–7 pedagogical corpora 307–8 personal biographies 291 pictures: research on 176–7; role of 174 pinyin system 276, 278, 281, 283 PISA survey 176 plurilingualism 140, 438 positioning theory 51 power relationships 27, 254, 258, 403, 405 practice shaping identity 291–2 pragmatic success 385–6 pre-service teachers: beliefs of 265–7; learning experiences for 198, 201, 202, 205, 206; SLA and 315; training for 308–9 prestigious bilingual education 133, 134 primary language use: core issues 328–9; history of 327–8; implications for education and 333–5; introduction to 327; new debates about 329–32; research approaches 332–3 pronouns, use of 406–7 psycholinguistically oriented research 216 qualitative research 14–15, 87, 397, 398 quality education 82, 191, 229, 230 quantitative research 14, 86, 87, 110, 138 racism 187, 188, 190, 191, 193 reading and writing 95, 96, 186, 277–9 reading failure 187, 190, 447 reading materials 282, 374, 451 recruiting process 108 recursive dynamic bilingualism 135 reflective writing 270, 316, 321 reliability, language assessment and 341, 342 replication and reporting 16 researched populations 404–5 researcher reflexivity 56, 58, 405 Research Ethics Boards (REBs) 397 Response to Intervention (RTI) 152–3 Rintisan Sekolah Berstandar International (RSBI) 224, 229, 230 “sandwich technique” 334 Scaffolded Teacher Speech Model 334 school curriculum see curriculum schools: family language dynamics in 419–20; language and diversity in 32, 70; language shift issues in 415, 424; linguistic imperialism in 228–9; structure vs. agency in 43–4 script simplification 279 second language acquisition (SLA): growth in 211, 213; history of 9–11, 313–14; immersion education and 123, 124; implications for education and 323; ongoing issues 14–17; 483

Index

recommendations for practice 17–18; teachers’ beliefs and 266 segmented-assimilation theory 238–9 self-study methodology 321 settler-Indigenous dialectical structure 160 “Sisyphean Challenge” 197, 206 small stories 55, 56, 57 social capital theory 436 sociocultural theory 330, 436 sociolinguistic approaches 216–17, 451 sociolinguistics, immigrants and education and 239–40 South Africa, bilingual education in 85 special education: developments in 152–4; emergent bilinguals and 148–9 speech events 97, 240 Standard English 447, 449, 451 STARTALK program 376 statistical power, effect sizes and 17 student learning: chronosystem and 204; exosystem and 204; language assessment and 342; mesosystem and 203; microsystem and 203 students: grammar teaching and 268–9; heritage language 213–16; language variation issues 446–54; literate culture and 95–7; native and non-native teachers and 107–8; with special needs 123; visual literacy training for 177; see also learning disabilities (LD) students of color 197–8, 201, 206 Students’ Right To Their Own Language (SRTOL) 186 subject genres 361–2 submersion experience 202, 205, 206 task-based learning 284, 354 teacher beliefs: about classroom practices 268–9; about grammar teaching 268–9; assumptions about 264; future directions about 270–2; history of 264–5; implications for education and 272; introduction to 263; nature of 263–4, 272; primary language use and 332; in-service and pre-service 266, 267 teacher education and teaching: corpora and 301–9; implications for 272; language advocacy and 75–6; narratives’ role in 58–9 Teacher Education Research Initiative (TERI) 297 teacher identity: core issues 290–3; cultural dimension of 293; history of 289–90; implications for education and 296–7; introduction to 289; new debates about 295–6; research approaches 53, 293–5

484

teachers: cognition research 264; language policy action research and 45–6; language policy power and 41; visual material use by 176–8; see also humanizing pedagogy Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL) 290, 314 teaching material 128 TESL program 265, 266 test use, language assessment and 342–3 threshold hypothesis 125, 432 top-down language policies 30, 33, 43, 397 traditional language education see language education training: pre-service and in-service 266, 308; teacher 266, 267, 347, 378, 391, 392; visual literacy 173–8, 180–1 transitional bilingual education 133, 134 translanguaging 32, 75, 140–1, 437, 438 translators, use of 400–3 Triptych links 360 two-writing system 281 unitary language 69–72 United States: evolving educational landscape in 146; heritage language education in 218–19, 370–9; Indigenous revitalization in 159–61, 163; multilingual 417 University of Denver’s Teacher Education Program (TEP) 201 validity, language assessment and 341–2 vehicular language 354, 362 verbal reporting 12, 15 vernacular language 98–9, 185, 188 vernacular speakers 448, 453 virtual position 328, 329, 330, 333 visual literacy: core aspects of 172–3; defined 171–2; development of 177; educational linguistics and 173–9; impact of 180, 181 visual skills 278, 279 visual-world paradigm 13 Vocabulary Guideline for the Chinese Proficiency Test, The (Liu and Song) 282 vulnerability, participants’ 406–7 washback studies 340–1 Ways With Words (Heath) 25, 26, 449 youth, academic language and literacy among 244–5 youth language practices 31, 32, 193