WRIGHT, BOUN y GARCÍA (2015) The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education

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The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education

Blackwell Handbooks in Linguistics This outstanding multi‐volume series covers all the major subdisciplines within linguistics today and, when complete, will offer a comprehensive survey of linguistics as a whole.

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The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education Edited by

Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García

This edition first published 2015 © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc, except Chapter 27 © 2010 Information Age Publishing, Inc Registered Office John Wiley & Sons, Ltd, The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK Editorial Offices 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148‐5020, USA 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK For details of our global editorial offices, for customer services, and for information about how to apply for permission to reuse the copyright material in this book please see our website at www.wiley.com/wiley‐blackwell. The right of Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García to be identified as the editors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, without the prior permission of the publisher. Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book are trade names, service marks, trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and editors have used their best efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. It is sold on the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services and neither the publisher nor the author shall be liable for damages arising herefrom. If professional advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought. Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data The Handbook of bilingual and multilingual education / Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García – First Edition.    pages  cm. – (Blackwell handbooks in linguistics)   Includes bibliographical references and index.   ISBN 978-1-118-53349-9 (hardback) 1.  Multilingualism–Study and teaching–Handbooks, manuals, etc.  2.  Education, Bilingual–Handbooks, manuals, etc.  3.  Multicultural education–Handbooks, manuals, etc.  I.  Wright, Wayne E. editor.  II.  Boun, Sovicheth, editor.  III.  García, Ofelia, editor.   P115.2.H35 2015  404′.2071–dc23 2015000030 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Cover image: Anneliese Everts, The Children’s Game, c. 1955 (detail). Private Collection / Bridgeman Images. Set in 10/12pt Palatino by SPi Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India 1 2015

Dedications To my dear wife Phal Mao, and our beloved children Jeffrey Sovan, Michael Sopat, and Catherine Sophaline Wright (Wayne E. Wright) To my mother Sivantha By and my father Saing Hak Chea (Sovicheth Boun) Para Ricardo, Eric, Raquel y Emma, y por un futuro de nietos bilingües (Ofelia García)

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments xi Notes on Contributors xiii 1  Introduction: Key Concepts and Issues in Bilingual and Multilingual Education 1 Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García Section 1 Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

17

2  Egalitarian Bi/multilingualism and Trans‐semiotizing in a Global World 19 Angel Lin 3  Bilingualism and Creativity: An Educational Perspective 38 Anatoliy V. Kharkhurin 4  Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education 56 Guadalupe Valdés, Luis Poza, and Maneka Deanna Brooks 5  Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education 75 Viv Edwards 6  Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education: Conflict, Struggle, and Power 92 Laura A. Valdiviezo and Sonia Nieto 7  A Synthesis of Research on Bilingual and Multilingual Education 109 Colin Baker and Gwyn Lewis 8  Researching Bilingual and Multilingual Education Multilingually: A Linguistic Ethnographic Approach 127 Angela Creese, Adrian Blackledge, with Arvind Bhatt, Carla Jonsson, Kasper Juffermans, Jinling Li, Peter Martin, Anu Muhonen, and Jaspreet Kaur Takhi 9  Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity: Bilingual Education and Indigenous Language Revitalization in French Polynesia 145 Mirose Paia, Jim Cummins, Isabelle Nocus, Marie Salaün, and Jacques Vernaudon

viii Contents 10 Language Policy and Planning in Education Terrence G. Wiley 11 Language Rights Tove Skutnabb‐Kangas

164 185

Section 2  Pedagogical Issues and Practices in Bilingual and Multilingual Education

203

Practices and Pedagogies for Bilingualism and Multilingualism

203

12 Programs and Structures in Bilingual and Multilingual Education 205 Nelson Flores and Hugo Baetens Beardsmore 13 Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education 223 Ofelia García and Li Wei 14 Multiliteracies, Pedagogies, and Academic Literacy 241 Madhav Kafle and Suresh Canagarajah 15 Language Assessment: Past to Present Misuses and Future Possibilities 253 Elana Shohamy and Kate Menken 16 Teacher Education and Support 270 Anne‐Marie de Mejía and Christine Hélot 17 Parent and Community Involvement in Bilingual and Multilingual Education 282 M. Beatriz Arias School Levels and Special Populations

299

18 Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners 301 Eugene E. García and Amy M. Markos 19 Primary School Bilingual Education: Pedagogical Issues and Practices 319 María Estela Brisk, Ester J. de Jong, and Meredith C. Moore 20 Secondary Bilingual Education: Cutting the Gordian Knot 336 Christian Faltis and Frank Ramírez‐Marín 21 Bi/Multilingual Higher Education: Perspectives and Practices 354 Christa van der Walt 22 Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities and Exceptionalities 372 Teddi Beam‐Conroy and Patricia Alvarez McHatton 23 Bilingual Deaf Education 391 Timothy Reagan 24 Bilingual‐Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples 409 Tiffany S. Lee and Teresa L. McCarty 25 Nonformal Bilingual Education 428 Lesley Bartlett and Monisha Bajaj Section 3  Global Dimensions of Bilingual and Multilingual Education 26 A Dual Language Revolution in the United States? On the Bumpy Road from Compensatory to Enrichment Education for Bilingual Children in Texas Deborah K. Palmer, Christian E. Zuñiga, and Kathryn Henderson

447

449

Contents  ix 27 Global Dimensions of Bilingual and Multilingual Education: Canada Thomas Ricento 28 Minority Languages, State Languages, and English in European Education Jasone Cenoz and Durk Gorter 29 Contested Notions of Bilingualism and Trilingualism in the People’s Republic of China Anwei Feng and Bob Adamson 30 Bilingual Education in Japan: Slow but Steady Progress Akie Tomozawa and Junko Majima 31 Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity: Education for Multicultural Children in South Korea Jin Sook Lee 32 Striving for Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia Wayne E. Wright and Sovicheth Boun 33 Bilingual and Multilingual Education in Brunei and Malaysia: Policies and Practices Gary M. Jones 34 Multilingual Education in South Asia: The Burden of the Double Divide Minati Panda and Ajit K. Mohanty 35 “Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth”: Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa Sinfree Makoni and Busi Makoni 36 A Panoramic View of Bilingual Education in Sub‐Saharan Africa: Reorienting the Lens for the Future Leketi Makalela 37 Language Education in Mexico: Access, Equity, and Ideology Peter Sayer and Mario López Gopar 38 Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America Luis Enrique López 39 Multilingual Education across Oceania Joseph Lo Bianco 40 Language, Conflict, and Social Change: Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa Zeena Zakharia 41 Bilingual and Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics: The Case of Latvia Gatis Dilāns and Brigita Zepa

461 473 484 495 506 517 531 542 554 566 578 592 604 618 632

Index 645

Acknowledgments

We wish to sincerely thank Danielle Descoteaux, Senior Acquisitions Editor for Wiley‐Blackwell, for her vision, for her invitation to edit a handbook on bilingual and multilingual education, and for her helpful suggestions and expert advice as we shaped its structure, scope, and content. Julia Kirk, Senior Project Editor for Wiley‐Blackwell, provided us with tremendous support, kept us motivated throughout the long process, and ensured smooth communication between the chapter contributors, the publisher, and ourselves. We also express our deep gratitude to Stephen Curtis for his excellent copyediting work. In addition, we thank the many others at Wiley‐Blackwell who worked behind the scenes. The final draft of the handbook was completed and submitted while our lead Editor, Wayne E. Wright, was a faculty member in the Department of Bicultural‐ Bilingual Studies, College of Education and Human Development, at the University of Texas at San Antonio (UTSA), and Co‐Editor Sovicheth Boun was a doctoral candidate in Culture, Literacy, and Language at UTSA. We wish to thank Robert Milk, former Chair of the Department of Bicultural‐Bilingual Studies at UTSA, and Betty Merchant, Dean of the College of Education and Human Development, for their support and encouragement from the beginning of this process, and also to current department chair Belinda Flores for her enthusiastic support. The college and department approved a Faculty Development Leave for Wright, which proved to be highly beneficial at the beginning stages of the development of this handbook. We thank UTSA graduate research assistants Yeng Yang and Matthew Kraft for their assistance with proofreading and formatting the final drafts of several chapters. We also thank Maryann Santos de Barona, Dean of the College of Education, and Phillip VanFossen, Head of the Department of Curriculum and Instruction at Purdue University who likewise proved very supportive by providing Wright a course release during his first semester at Purdue which enabled him to focus on proofreading and finalizing the page proofs prior to publication. Also at Purdue, we express our gratitude to graduate research assistant Alsu Gilmetdinova for her help with indexing. Finally, we wish to thank all of the outstanding scholars who contributed their wealth of knowledge and expertise on bilingual and multilingual education and who made this handbook possible.

Notes on Contributors

Bob Adamson is Chair Professor of Curriculum Reform and Head of Department of International Education and Lifelong Learning at Hong Kong Institute of Education. His research covers language policy, curriculum studies, and comparative education and his most recent book is Trilingualism in Education in China: Models and Challenges (2015, with Anwei Feng). M. Beatriz Arias is Vice President and Chief Development Officer of the Center for Applied Linguistics and Associate Professor Emerita, Arizona State University. She is author and editor of several books and numerous articles addressing language policy, bilingual education, school desegregation, and equity for Latino students. She is co‐editor of the book Implementing Educational Language Policy in Arizona. Hugo Baetens Beardsmore is Emeritus Professor at the Dutch and French Universities of Brussels. He is a consultant on bilingual education for the European Commission, the Council of Europe (Language Education Policy in Ireland and the Val d’Aoste, Italy), Brunei, the Basque Country, Catalonia, California, Abu Dhabi, and Kazakhstan. Monisha Bajaj is Associate Professor of International and Multicultural Education at the University of San Francisco. She is the editor of the Encyclopedia of Peace Education and author of Schooling for Social Change: The Rise and Impact of Human Rights Education in India (winner of the Jackie Kirk Outstanding Book Award of the Comparative and International Education Society), as well as numerous articles. Colin Baker is Emeritus Professor at Bangor University. His 17 books and over 60 articles on bilingualism reveal specific interests in language planning and bilingual education. His best‐known book, Foundations of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism (2011, 5th edn.), has been translated into Japanese, Spanish, Latvian, Greek, Vietnamese, and Mandarin. Lesley Bartlett is Associate Professor of Education Policy Studies at University of Wisconsin, Madison. She specializes in anthropology and international and

xiv  Notes on Contributors comparative education. Her books include: Teaching in Tension: International Pedagogies, National Policies, and Teachers’ Practices in Tanzania (2013, with Fran Vavrus); Refugees, Immigrants, and Education in the Global South: Lives in Motion (2013, with Ameena Ghaffar‐Kucher); Additive Schooling in Subtractive Times: Bilingual Education and Dominican Immigrant Youth in the Heights (2011, with Ofelia García), and The Word and the World: The Cultural Politics of Literacy in Brazil (2010). Teddi Beam‐Conroy is Associate Professor of Bilingual and ESL Education at Heritage University in Seattle, WA. In addition to 20 years as a bilingual classroom teacher, she was the Bilingual/ESL Gifted and Talented Teacher Consultant for the Northside Independent School District in San Antonio, TX for 12 years. Adrian Blackledge is Professor of Bilingualism in the School of Education, and Director of the MOSAIC Centre for Research on Multilingualism, University of Birmingham. His recent publications include The Routledge Handbook of Multilingualism (2012, with Marilyn Martin‐Jones and Angela Creese), Multilingualism, A Critical Perspective (2010, with Angela Creese), and Discourse and Power in a Multilingual World (2005). Sovicheth Boun is Visiting Assistant Professor of TESOL at the State University of New York, Fredonia. He was a Lecturer in Applied Linguistics in the Department of Bicultural‐Bilingual Studies at the University of Texas at San Antonio, and a Lecturer in English at the Institute of Foreign Languages of the Royal University of Phnom Penh in Cambodia. His research interests include language ideologies, language teacher identities, global spread of English, and bi‐/multilingual education for linguistic minority students. María Estela Brisk is Professor of Education at the Lynch School of Education, Boston College. Her research and teacher‐training interests include bilingualism, bilingual education, methods of teaching literacy and specifically writing, and preparation of mainstream teachers to work with bilingual learners. Dr. Brisk is the author of six books and multiple articles and chapters. Maneka Deanna Brooks is Assistant Professor at Texas State University where she is engaged in teaching and research about literacy. Her primary research focus is on the reading practices of bilingual and bidialectical adolescents. Suresh Canagarajah is the Edwin Erle Sparks Professor of Applied Linguistics and English at Penn State University. He teaches World Englishes, language socialization, and teaching and research in composition. His latest publication is Literacy as Translingual Practice: Between Communities and Classrooms (2013). Jasone Cenoz is Professor of Research Methods in Education at the University of  the Basque Country, UPV/EHU. Her research focuses on multilingual

Notes on Contributors  xv education, bilingualism and multilingualism. She has published a large number of articles, book chapters, and books, and the award‐winning monograph Towards Multilingual Education (2009). Angela Creese is a founding member of the MOSAIC Centre for Research on Multilingualism, University of Birmingham, and Professor of Educational Linguistics. Her research and teaching interests cross‐reference anthropology, sociolinguistics, and education. She uses linguistic ethnography to investigate ideologies and interactions in educational and other social settings. Her research publications cover urban multilingualism, language ecology, multilingual ethnography, language education, and social identities. Recent publications include Multilingualism: A Critical Perspective (2010, with A. Blackledge) and The Routledge Handbook of Multilingualism (2012, with M. Martin‐Jones and A. Blackledge). Jim Cummins is Professor Emeritus in Ontario Institute for Studies in Education at the University of Toronto. His research focuses on literacy development in educational contexts characterized by linguistic diversity. He is the author of Identity texts: The Collaborative Creation of Power in Multilingual Schools (2011, with Margaret Early) and Big Ideas for Expanding Minds: Teaching English Language Learners across the Curriculum (2015). Ester J. de Jong is Professor in ESOL/Bilingual Education at the University of Florida, Gainesville. Her research interests include bilingual education, language policy, and teacher preparation. Her work has focused on two‐way immersion education, mainstream teacher preparation for working with bilingual learners, and policy appropriation. Anne‐Marie de Mejía is Professor at the Center for Research and Professional Development in Education at Universidad de los Andes, Bogotá, Colombia. Her recent publications include Forging Multilingual Spaces (2008), Empowering Teachers across Cultures (2011, with Christine Hélot), and Bilingüismo en el Contexto Colombiano (2011, with Alexis López and Beatriz Peña). Gatis Dilāns is Assistant Professor and Director of the Centre for Applied Linguistics at Ventspils University College, Latvia. He has investigated societal bilingualism in the former Soviet republic of Latvia, and has published and reviewed articles about the topic. His current research is focused on second and foreign language acquisition. Viv Edwards is Professor of Language in Education at the University of Reading. She is editor of the international journal, Language and Education, and for the New Perspectives in Language and Education series from Multilingual Matters. She has published very widely in the area of learning and teaching in multilingual classrooms.

xvi  Notes on Contributors Christian Faltis is the Dolly and David Fiddyment Endowed Chair in Teacher Education, Director of Teacher Education, and Professor of Language, Literacy, and Culture at University of California, Davis. He received his PhD in Bilingual Education from Stanford University. His research interests are bilingual learning in academic contexts, immigrant education, and critical arts‐based learning. Anwei Feng is Professor of Education and Head of School of Education in the University of Nottingham Ningbo China. His research areas include bi/multilingual education, and intercultural studies in education. Recent publications include English Language across Greater China (2011) and Bilingual Education in China: Practices, Policies and Concepts (2007). Nelson Flores is Assistant Professor in Educational Linguistics at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education. His research merges critical social theory and critical applied linguistics to develop a political economy of language and racialization. He received his PhD in Urban Education from the CUNY Graduate Center. Eugene E. García is Professor Emeritus of Education at Arizona State University (ASU). He served as Vice President and Dean at ASU before assuming emeritus status. He continues to do research in areas of bilingual development and the ­education of bilingual children, particularly those living in families from immigrant backgrounds. Ofelia García is Professor in the PhD Program in Urban Education at The Graduate Center, The City University of New York. She has been Professor of Bilingual Education at Columbia University’s Teachers College and Dean of the School of Education at Long Island University. She is Associate General Editor of The International Journal of the Sociology of Language. Her extensive publications can be found on her website, www.ofeliagarcia.org. Durk Gorter is Ikerbasque Research Professor at the University of the Basque Country, UPV/EHU in Spain. He does research on multilingual education, European minority languages, and linguistic landscapes. His recent publications include Focus on Multilingualism in School Contexts (2011, with J. Cenoz) and Minority Languages in the Linguistic Landscape (2012, with H. Marten and L. Van Mensel). Christine Hélot is Professeure des Universités at Université de Strasbourg, France. Her recent publications include Language Policies for the Multilingual Classroom: Pedagogy of the Possible (2011, with Muiris Ó Laoire), Linguistic Landscape, Multilingualism and Social Change (2012, with Monica Barni, Rudi Jannsens, and Carla Bagna), and Développement du langage et plurilinguisme chez le jeune enfant (2013, with Marie‐Nicole Rubio). Kathryn Henderson is a doctoral student in Bilingual/Bicultural Education in the Department of Curriculum and Instruction at the University of Texas, Austin. She

Notes on Contributors  xvii taught bilingual education for five years in Mexico. Her research interests include bilingual program implementation and language ideologies. Gary M. Jones is Associate Professor and former Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences as well as the Institute of Asian Studies at the University of Brunei Darussalam. Prior to Brunei, he worked in the United Kingdom, Sri Lanka, Germany, and the United Arab Emirates. His research interests and  publications include language planning, bilingualism, and applied linguistics. Madhav Kafle is a doctoral candidate in Applied Linguistics at The Pennsylvania State University. He has taught English in rural Nepal and currently teaches academic writing at Penn State. His research interests include multilingual academic literacies, the global spread of English, and critical pedagogy. Anatoliy V. Kharkhurin is Associate Professor of Psychology at the American University of Sharjah. His research focuses mainly on multilingualism and creativity. He authored a monograph Multilingualism and Creativity as well as a number of peer‐ reviewed articles, book chapters, and encyclopedia entries. Currently, he works on implementation of Bilingual Creative Education programs. Jin Sook Lee is Professor of Education at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Her work focuses on the language‐learning experiences of children of immigrants. She serves on the editorial board of the International Multilingual Research Journal, Language Arts, and The Journal of Asia TEFL. Tiffany S. Lee (Diné and Lakota) is Associate Professor in Native American Studies at the University of New Mexico. Her recent publications include Critical Language Awareness among Native Youth in New Mexico (2014), and a co‐authored article, “Leadership and Accountability in American Indian Education: Voices from New Mexico” (American Journal of Education, 2013). Gwyn Lewis is former Deputy Head of the School of Education, Bangor University, Wales, where he was also Director of Teaching and Learning. His research publications concern Welsh‐medium and bilingual education, especially translanguaging as a methodology in bilingual classrooms. He has held various advisory posts with the Welsh Government and the Coleg Cymraeg Cenedlaethol (the Welsh National College), which reflect this expertise. Angel Lin is Full Professor at the Faculty of Education, University of Hong Kong. She is well respected for her interdisciplinary research in classroom discourse analysis, bilingual education, language policy in postcolonial contexts, and critical cultural studies. She has published over 90 research articles and co/authored/ edited six research books.

xviii  Notes on Contributors Joseph Lo Bianco is Professor of Language and Literacy Education, Graduate School of Education at the University of Melbourne, and Research Director, Language and Peacebuilding initiative in Malaysia, Myanmar, and Thailand under the auspices of UNICEF. He publishes and teaches on language policy and planning, multilingualism, and social cohesion. Luis Enrique López is a Peruvian sociolinguist and educator who has worked with Indigenous populations and organizations in different countries of Latin America as researcher, program planner, implementer, and evaluator. At present he is Director of the GIZ Education Quality Support Program in Guatemala. Mario López Gopar is Professor in the Department of Languages of Universidad Autónoma Benito Juárez de Oaxaca. His main research interest is the intercultural and multilingual education of Indigenous peoples in Mexico, and he works with preservice Mexican English teachers to collaboratively recreate critical language pedagogies. Junko Majima is Professor of Japanese Language Education at the Graduate School of Language and Culture, Studies in Japanese Language and Culture, Osaka University. She teaches pedagogy, and SLA and bilingualism in the teacher‐ training program for teachers of Japanese as a Second/Foreign Language. Leketi Makalela is Associate Professor and Chair of the Division of Languages, Literacies, and Literatures at the University of the Witwatersrand, South Africa. He is rated by South Africa’s National Research Foundation on biliteracy, multilingualism, and World Englishes. He edits the Southern African Linguistics and Applied Languages Studies Journal. His latest book publication is Language Teacher Research in Africa. Busi Makoni teaches in the African Studies program at Pennsylvania State University. She has written extensively in the area of gendered language use and linguistic human rights, language and masculinity, African feminism, language and migration. Her publications have appeared in Gender and Language, Feminist Studies, and Journal of Multicultural Discourses. Sinfree Makoni teaches in the Department of Applied Linguistics and Program of African Studies at Pennsylvania State University. He has published extensively in language planning and policy in Africa, and language and health. He co‐edited a book on Disinvention and Reconstituting Languages and has authored numerous articles in a variety of journals in the broad field of Applied Linguistics. Amy M. Markos is a teacher educator, specializing in preparing teachers to support linguistically and culturally diverse learners. Her research interests include understanding teachers’ dispositions about language learners, the use of critical reflection in teacher learning, and action research that explores education policies and pedagogical practices related to language learners’ access to quality education.

Notes on Contributors  xix Teresa L. McCarty is the G. F. Kneller Chair in Education and Anthropology at the University of California, Los Angeles. Her books include Ethnography and Language Policy (2011), Language Planning and Policy in Native America – History, Theory, Praxis (2013), and Indigenous Youth and Multilingualism – Language Identity, Ideology, and Practice in Dynamic Cultural Worlds (2014, with L. T. Wyman and S. E. Nicholas). Patricia Alvarez McHatton is Professor and Associate Dean for Teacher Education at the University of Missouri‐Kansas City. Her research interests include culturally responsive teacher preparation, collaboration, school experiences of diverse youth and families, and the use of arts‐based methods for research and reflection. Kate Menken is Associate Professor of Linguistics at Queens College of the City University of New York (CUNY), and a Research Fellow at the Research Institute for the Study of Language in Urban Society at the CUNY Graduate Center. Further information can be found on her website: katemenken.org. Ajit K. Mohanty is a former Professor and Indian Council of Social Science Research National Fellow in Jawaharlal Nehru University and Chief Adviser of the National Multilingual Education Resource Consortium (www.nmrc‐jnu.org). He was Fulbright Visiting Professor (Columbia University), Fulbright Senior Scholar (University of Wisconsin), Killam Scholar (University of Alberta). Known for his publications on Multilingual Education, he developed MLE Policy ­documents for Nepal and Odisha (India). Meredith C. Moore is a doctoral student in Curriculum and Instruction at the Lynch School of Education, Boston College. Her research interests include educational change, and teacher induction and professional development. Sonia Nieto is Professor Emerita of Language, Literacy, and Culture in the College of Education at the University of Massachusetts‐Amherst. Her specializations include multicultural education, bilingual education, the education of Latinos and other students of culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds, and teacher education. Isabelle Nocus is Lecturer at the Centre for Educational Research at the University of Nantes. Her research focuses on children’s plurilingual development (both oral and written language) and the impact of bilingual teaching methods on the language development and academic achievement of primary school students in France, in the French overseas communities (New Caledonia, French Polynesia, and French Guiana), Haiti, and sub‐Saharan Africa. Mirose Paia is Lecturer in Tahitian Language and Literature at the University of French Polynesia. She has coordinated the implementation of bilingual education programs in primary school and still contributes both to the training of teachers of Polynesian languages ​​and literature and the creation of instructional tools and multilingual support.

xx  Notes on Contributors Deborah K. Palmer is Associate Professor of Bilingual/Bicultural Education in the Department of Curriculum and Instruction at the University of Texas, Austin and a former two‐way dual language teacher. Her research interests include bilingual education policy and practice, critical additive bilingual education, and bilingual teacher leadership. Minati Panda is Professor and Chair in Zakir Husain Centre for Educational Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, and Director of National Multilingual Education Resource Consortium. She was a Fulbright Senior Scholar at the University of California‐San Diego and Commonwealth Visiting Scholar at Manchester University. Her books and publications are in the areas of culture, cognition and mathematics, and multilingual education. She is actively involved in planning the education of tribal children in India. Luis Poza is Assistant Professor of Culturally and Linguistically Diverse Education in the School of Education and Human Development at the University of Colorado Denver. He is a former teacher in dual language programs and his research investigates matters of ideology in the teaching and learning of languages, particularly in multilingual classrooms. Frank Ramírez‐Marín directs the Language Center of the Universidad Veracruzana at Veracruz, Mexico, where he is a language professor. He received his PhD in Language and Literacy from Arizona State University. His research interests relate to sociocultural perspectives of second language learning, bilingualism, and foreign language education. Timothy Reagan is Dean of the Graduate School of Education at Nazarbayev University (Astana, Kazakhstan). His research focuses on language planning and policy, especially with respect to signed languages. His most recent book is Language Planning and Language Policy for Sign Languages, published by Gallaudet University Press in 2010. Thomas Ricento is Professor and Chair, English as an Additional Language, University of Calgary, Canada. He publishes in the field of language policy, language ideologies, and language education. Recent publications include Language Policy and Political Economy: English in a Global Context (2015) and The consequences of official bilingualism on the status and perception of non‐official languages in Canada (2013). Marie Salaün is Professor in the Centre de Recherche en Education at the University of Nantes. Her research focuses on indigenous issues in Oceania, with a special interest in postcolonial education reforms in former French colonies (French Polynesia, New Caledonia). Peter Sayer is Associate Professor in the Department of Bicultural‐Bicultural Studies at the University of Texas at San Antonio. He is the author of the book Ambiguities and

Notes on Contributors  xxi Tensions in English language Teaching: Portraits of EFL Teachers as Legitimate Speakers. His research has examined linguistic ideologies in language education in Mexico, and his recent work focuses on young emergent bilinguals in South Texas and Mexico. Elana Shohamy is Professor at Tel Aviv University where she researches co‐ existence and rights in multilingual societies within language testing, language policy, migration, and linguistic landscape. She authored The Power of Tests (2001), Language Policy (2006), and is editor of Language Policy and winner of the ILTA lifetime achievement award (2010). Tove Skutnabb‐Kangas has authored or edited some 50 books and over 400 articles and book chapters in almost 50 languages (see www.tove‐skutnabb‐kangas.org). She has been actively involved with struggles for language rights for five decades. Her research interests cover linguistic human rights and mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education of Indigenous, tribal, minority, and minoritized children. Akie Tomozawa is Professor of Japanese Language Education in the Faculty of International Studies and Liberal Arts at Momoyama Gakuin (St. Andrew’s) University. Her research includes language policies of linguistic minorities in Japan. She has published articles on the bilingualism of Japanese returnees from China and of ethnic Chinese students. Guadalupe Valdés is the Bonnie Katz Tenenbaum Professor of Education at Stanford University. She specializes in language pedagogy and applied linguistics. Her work has focused on bilingualism and education and maintaining heritage languages among minority populations. Laura A. Valdiviezo is Associate Professor of Language, Literacy, and Culture in the College of Education at the University of Massachusetts‐Amherst. Her interests are in ethnography of language policy in the Americas, pedagogy for language and knowledge diversity, multiculturalism, and teachers as researchers and organic intellectuals. With S. C. Galman, Laura is Editor in Chief of Anthropology and Education Quarterly. Christa van der Walt is Professor in the Department of Curriculum Studies at Stellenbosch University, South Africa. Her interest is in the teaching of English in multilingual contexts. She has published in World Englishes, Current Issues in Language Planning and Language, Culture and Curriculum. She is the author of Multilingual Higher Education: Beyond English‐medium Orientations (2013). Jacques Vernaudon has been Associate Professor in Oceanic Linguistics at the University of French Polynesia since 2013. He previously served 12 years at the University of New Caledonia. His research focuses on the metalinguistic description of Oceanic languages and ​​ comparative analysis with French, and on the teaching of these languages.

xxii  Notes on Contributors Li Wei is Chair of Applied Linguistics at the UCL Institute of Education, University College London, UK. He was until recently Pro‐Vice‐Master of Birkbeck College, University of London. He is a Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences, UK and Chair of the University Council of General and Applied Linguistics (UCGAL), UK. He is Principal Editor of the International Journal of Bilingualism, author of Translanguaging: Language, Bilingualism and Education (2014, with Ofelia Garcia), and editor of Applied Linguistics (2014). Terrence G. Wiley is President and Chief Executive Officer of the Center for Applied Linguistics, Professor Emeritus, Arizona State University, Editor of the Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, and author of the book Literacy and Language Diversity in the United States in addition to numerous other articles and books addressing issues of language policy and education of language minority students. Wayne E. Wright is Professor and Barbara I. Cook Chair of Literacy and Language in the College of Education at Purdue University. He is Editor of the Journal of Southeast Asian American Education and Advancement, author of Foundations for Teaching English Language Learners (2015, 2nd edn.), and a former Fulbright Scholar in Cambodia. Zeena Zakharia is Assistant Professor of International and Comparative Education at the University of Massachusetts Boston. Her publications examine the interplay of language, conflict, and peacebuilding in education. She is co‐editor, with Ofelia García and Bahar Octu, of Bilingual Community Education and Multilingualism: Beyond Heritage Languages in a Global City (2013). Brigita Zepa is Professor at the University of Latvia, and Director of the Baltic Institute of Social Sciences. She has led numerous international and local projects, and has authored more than 40 publications on ethnopolitics, civil society, societal integration, social identity, education policy, and bilingual education. Christian E. Zuñiga is a doctoral student in Bilingual/Bicultural Education in the Department of Curriculum and Instruction at the University of Texas, Austin. She is a former bilingual teacher of recent immigrants. Her interests include language education policy, language minority education, and language use in borderland contexts.

1 Introduction Key Concepts and Issues in Bilingual and Multilingual Education Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García What is bilingual and multilingual education? In the simplest definition, bilingual education is the use of two languages for learning and teaching in an instructional setting and, by extension, multilingual education would be the use of three ­languages or more. In a narrower definition, literacy is developed and/or specific content areas are taught through the medium of two or more languages in an ­organized and planned education program. In most cases, one of these is the “home,” “native,” or “mother‐tongue” language, and one is the “dominant” s­ ocietal language or a “powerful” international language. In multilingual e­ ducation set­ tings, the other languages may be dominant regional languages. However, as will be shown throughout this handbook, even these basic concepts such as language, home language, dominant language, native speaker, bilingual, multilingual, and bilingual and multilingual education are highly complex and contested constructs; thus considerations about which languages or varieties of languages to use as media of instruction are not always straightforward. Because education is most often the responsibility of nation states with artificial (and contested) geographical boundaries encompassing many—and oftentimes dividing—linguistic groups, decisions about bilingual and multilingual education are highly political, and ­influenced by a variety of historical, economic, and sociocultural factors. For example, in 1998 a formal debate over bilingual education was held at California State University Long Beach, in the context of the Proposition 227 Campaign to pass a law restricting the state’s bilingual programs through ­mandates for English‐medium instruction. The first author (Wright) was present during the heated exchanges, and listened incredulously as the local chairperson for the Proposition 227 Campaign—an elementary school teacher in Orange County—claimed that bilingual education was a “failed experiment,” that “we only do bilingual programs for Spanish speakers,” and that “other countries don’t do bilingual education, only the United States!” The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

2 Introduction At the time of this debate, Wright was teaching in a Cambodian (Khmer) bilingual education program at an elementary school just a few miles away. The second author (Boun) was a senior in high school in Cambodia learning both English and Khmer, and later studied at a multilingual university—the Royal University of Phnom Penh. The third author (García) was a former Spanish– English bilingual teacher in New York City, a professor conducting research on bilingualism and bilingual education in New York City and internationally, that year along the Uruguay–Brazil border as a Fulbright Scholar. As our personal experiences illustrate, political attacks, misinformation, and outright falsehoods often permeate debates over bilingual and multilingual ­education. Ironically, during this period of renewed attacks on bilingual education in the United States, other countries around the world were turning to bilingual and multilingual education to address linguistic realities and student needs. UNESCO and UNICEF, for example, promote mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education as a key component of education reform assistance to developing nations struggling to provide universal access to a basic education. Other nations with historically homogeneous populations are also beginning to turn to bilingual and multilingual education to address the realities of demographic change. In the United States between 1998 and 2002, three states (California, Arizona, and Massachusetts) passed anti‐bilingual education laws (G. McField, 2014), and federal education policy—the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001—removed all mention, encouragement, and direct financial support of bilingual education (Menken, 2008). However, the tides are beginning to change. After 15 years of anti‐ bilingual legislation in these three states, bilingual programs have been restricted, but not eliminated. Waiver provisions, loopholes, and differing interpretations of the laws by various policy makers provided space for many schools to continue or even expand bilingual education programs. In California, legislative efforts are now underway to reverse Proposition 227 and undo the harm caused by the ill‐informed law (McGreevy, 2014). Even with Proposition 227 still in place, California became the first state in the United States to recognize the valuable linguistic skills of graduating bilingual students by awarding a “Seal of Biliteracy” on their high school diplomas—a model now being replicated in other states, including New York and Texas (see http://sealofbiliteracy.org/). Thus, bilingual and multilingual education is alive and well and expanding. Indeed, in a world with only 196 “nation states” but over 7,000 named spoken ­languages (Lewis, Simons, & Fennig, 2013), bilingual and multilingual education is essential. As García (2009) has argued, in the 21st Century “bilingual education, in all its complexities and forms, seems to be the only way to educate as the world moves forward” (p. 6). Nonetheless, there are a wide variety of often conflicting ideologies, theories, policies, and practices surrounding bilingual and multilingual education throughout the world. In some cases, bilingual education may even be misused to limit access and opportunities for linguistic minority students. This speaks to the great need for a comprehensive Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education to: (1) discuss the theoretical foundations and present bilingual and multilingual education as a

Introduction  3 current, strong, and cutting‐edge field; (2) provide a broad overview of the ­historical development and current status of the field; (3) provide vivid c­ ritical examples of policy and practice in action; and (4) move the field forward by rethinking older constructs and introducing fresh ideas that better reflect and address the reality of our multilingual, multicultural, and increasingly ­globalized world. The only attempt at a comprehensive internationally focused handbook on bilingual education was in 1988 in an edited volume by Christina Bratt Paulston containing 27 chapters each focused on a different country or region of the world. While this collection of individual case studies was highly informative, it did not lay out the theoretical foundations of the field. Important textbooks in the late 1980s and early 1990s helped solidify the field of bilingual education by providing educators with theory, research, and practical suggestions, including, for example, Ovando and Collier (1985), Crawford (1989), and Baker (1993). These key early textbooks have all subsequently been updated to 5th editions (Baker, 2011; Crawford, 2004; Ovando & Combs, 2011). The Encyclopedia of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism edited by Baker and Jones (1999), and the more recent Encyclopedia of Bilingual Education edited by González (2008), in addition to the 2nd edition of the ten‐volume Encyclopedia of Language and Education (May & Hornberger, 2008) with Volume 5 focused on Bilingual Education (edited by Jim Cummins and Nancy Hornberger) cover a wide range of topics, and have further established bilingual and multilingual education as an important academic field. Recent books and scholarship, including García’s (2009) Bilingual Education in the 21st Century, have helped challenge some of our cherished constructs and underlying theoretical foundations, and have introduced new terms and ways of conceptualizing key issues as we move forward in our rapidly changing world.

Overview and organization This Handbook builds on the excellent prior work described above by providing both depth and breadth across three major sections: (1) Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education, (2) Pedagogical Issues and Practices in Bilingual and Multilingual Education, and (3) Global Dimensions of Bilingual and Multilingual Education. The 41 chapters in this Handbook are authored by 78 distinguished, well‐known, and rising scholars from around the world. Collectively their ­chapters provide case studies of, or draw examples from, specific countries and regions from all continents of the earth except Antarctica. Authors in Sections 1 and 2 were asked to provide an historical overview of their topic, discuss the current state of knowledge with a focus on methodological and theoretical issues and problem areas, and discuss future directions. Authors of the country/region‐specific chapters in Section  3 were asked to provide a brief ­historical overview, a brief summary of the current state of bilingual/multilingual education, and then discuss a specific case or provide a focus on one or more of the specific issues in their region/country. These chapters in Section 3 provide vivid examples of the issues raised and discussed in Sections 1 and 2.

4 Introduction

Foundations for bilingual and multilingual education Given the interdisciplinary nature of the field of bilingual and multilingual ­education, the 10 chapters in Section 1 bring in a wide variety of theoretical foun­ dations informed by diverse academic fields. The authors in this section challenge some long‐held notions and push us to consider new ways of conceptualizing and understanding our multilingual world. In Chapter 2 Angel Lin argues that, while sociolinguistics has focused on sociopolitical and sociocultural aspects of bi/­ multilingualism, there is a need for a better understanding of bi/multilingualism and bilingual education as a response to the human condition in a contem­ porary  world marked by global crises, oppression, resistance, and increasing fragmentation. She introduces the term “grassroots trans‐semiotizing” to ­highlight the varied ways local and trans‐local actors make creative use of multiple kinds of semiotics (not just written and spoken language) to make meaning and build trans‐local ­ internetworks and communities. Lin gives specific examples of trans‐semiotizing practices of a Hong Kong‐based hip‐hop artist who meshes local vernaculars and musical styles in a manner that has global (trans‐local) currency. At one low point in academic reasoning about bilingualism, some scholars in the early to mid 20th century conjectured that bilingualism was negatively corre­ lated with attempted measures of “intelligence” (see Hakuta, 1986 for a review). In Chapter 3 Anatoily Kharkhurin provides evidence that bilingual practices not only lead to cognitive advantages in some areas, but also that these strengthened cognitive mechanisms may also increase the creative potential of bilinguals. Based on these findings, Kharkhurin proposes an educational model that incorporates bilingual and creative aspects of human development. Bilingual and multilingual education, along with other language education fields, has been strongly influenced by theories from the field of second language acquisition (SLA). In Chapter 4, Guadalupe Valdés, Luis Poza, and Maneka Brooks challenge longstanding cognitivist orientations of SLA that focus on language as an individual process with the goal of linear progress in acquiring a grammatical system and language proficiency equivalent to that of a “native speaker.” Valdés, Poza, and Brooks identify and discuss two important shifts that have resulted from the “social turn” in SLA research: changing perspectives on language, and changing theoretical positions in SLA. These socially oriented shifts move away from unrealistic deficit‐oriented expectations for students such as “native‐like ­proficiency,” error‐free production, or becoming balanced bilinguals (i.e., two fully proficient monolinguals in one). Instead, the authors argue for a sociocultural view of SLA as a process “leading to repertoires or linguistic resources termed multi‐competence or plurilingualism.” This in turn has the “potential of informing and enriching the design of classroom environments in which students would be able to experience multiple ways of using both their home language and English for a variety of academic purposes in both their written and oral forms.” Literacy instruction is typically the most contested and ideologically driven content area in the school curriculum (Edelsky, 2006). Viv Edwards in Chapter 5 notes that teachers in bilingual and multilingual classrooms must often resort to

Introduction  5 reinventing “pedagogical practices devised with monolingual, more culturally homogenous populations in mind.” However, she argues that, with our broader and deeper understanding of the extent, nature, and complexity developed over recent decades, we “now have a much clearer idea of the pedagogies that more closely meet the needs of multilingual learning communities in relation to both learning in general and literacy learning in particular.” Despite this clearer picture of what needs to be included in teacher education, and why it needs to be included, the real challenge, Edwards asserts, is “how teachers can best be supported to make the necessary changes.” In Chapter 6, Laura Valdiviezo and Sonia Nieto acknowledge cultural diversity as foundational in bilingual/multilingual education; culture is learned, thus ­biculturalism is one of the goals of bilingual education. However, Valdiviezo and Nieto argue that culture has been misunderstood theoretically and misapplied in practice. Given that culture is “dynamic, multifaceted, embedded in context, influ­ enced by social, economic, and political factors, created and socially constructed, learned, and dialectal,” becoming bicultural is a complex process. Valdiviezo and Nieto note that, when internalizing at least two cultural systems, “sometimes their inherent values can be contradictory or even diametrically opposed.” To challenge assumptions about cultural diversity, they argue for more critically based research examining local cultural practices to understand the complex relationships of ­language and culture in bilingual and multicultural classrooms. Conducting research in bilingual and multicultural classrooms and contexts, however, is not a simple straightforward task, as detailed in Chapters 7 and 8. While there is strong research evidence of the effectiveness and benefits of bilingual education over education provided solely through a dominant societal language (August & Shanahan, 2006; Genesee, Lindholm‐Leary, Saunders, & Christian, 2005; G. P. McField & McField, 2014; Ramirez, Yuen, Ramey, Pasta, & Billings, 1991; Rolstad, Mahoney, & Glass, 2005; Slavin & Cheung, 2005), Colin Baker and Gwyn Lewis warn in Chapter 7 that “the search for the Holy Grail of a perfect piece of research on bilingual education is not elusive. It is unattainable.” While noting many specific examples of research findings favorable to bilingual education, they also note the boundaries and limitations of these studies, argue that research ­findings need to be treated critically and cautiously, and warn against our cravings for simple conclusions. They do not dismiss such research, however, because, without it, “our understandings and actions will be unrefined, conformist, naïve, even mindless.” They conclude that “such research illuminates and challenges, makes our thinking more sophisticated and structured, celebrates as well as ­contradicts, ensuring informed debates as well as doubts, even leading to more coherent and rational decisions … for the sake of children.” While Baker and Lewis focus on the methodologies and findings of academic research, in Chapter  8 Angela Creese and Adrian Blackledge, with seven of their research colleagues, focus on issues related to the process of conducting research “multilingually.” They note that language and linguistic varieties make up an essential dimension of researcher identities, which, in turn, can shape research designs and arguments made in interpretive research. Given the overlap of method and theory, the authors

6 Introduction argue for linguistic ethnographies to “explore this overlap” and understand the ways in which “individual trajectories feed into interpretive practices.” To ­illustrate the power of linguistic ethnography, the authors share vignettes of researcher ­narratives written by members of their research team as they undertook a large study in bilingual classroom contexts. As noted at the beginning of this chapter, decisions about bilingual and ­multilingual education are often driven by ideologies and politics. In Chapter 9, Mirose Paia, Jim Cummins, Isabelle Nocus, Marie Salaün, and Jacques Vernaudon explore the intersections of language ideologies, power, and identity in the context of efforts in French Polynesia related to bilingual education and indigenous ­language revitalization. The authors first examine how societal power relations in this colonial context “transformed the population from one of the most literate in the world in the early 1800s to being only minimally literate in their mother tongues by the 1960s.” They then describe the Polynesian Languages and Cultures Project designed to reverse low literacy rates by promoting “students’ total linguistic and cognitive potential at school focusing particularly on early bilingual education.” In studying this program, Paia and colleagues found that the key to academic success was not simply a matter of incorporating the first language into instruction, but rather “the extent to which the interactions between teachers and students generate a sense of empowerment among the students.” They conclude “students will learn the target language (both L1 and L2) if they are given ­opportunities to use it for powerful purposes.” We wish to acknowledge another empowering feature in connection with this important chapter. The study ­highlighted in this chapter is part of a larger research collaboration between Jim Cummins from the University of Toronto in Canada, local researchers from the University of French Polynesia (Paia & Vernaudon), and colleagues from France at the University of Nantes (Nocus & Salaün). We wish to acknowledge Jim’s efforts to work with and help translate his colleagues’ work—which was conducted and written in first draft in French. This is in keeping with Angel Lin’s call in chapter 2 to develop “trans‐local mechanisms to translate and/or make available diverse local research work.” Chapter 10, by Terrence Wiley, considers the political contexts of bilingual and multilingual education programs through the framework of language policy and planning. He notes that in institutional contexts “policies and practices related to prescribing and governing behaviors are instruments of social control.” Traditionally, language planning has been viewed as institutional policymaking to “prescribe or influence language(s) … that will be used and the purposes for which they will be used.” However, Wiley raises a number of important questions about this process: “Who gets to define what language problems are? How, why, and for whom, have they become problems? And does the process of language planning itself cause lan­ guage and communication problems? In other words, why should we assume that the process is only for benevolent purposes?” To address these questions, Wiley, extending Kloss (1998), provides a useful framework for classifying and analyzing language policies as promotion‐oriented, expediency‐oriented, tolerance‐oriented, restriction‐oriented, or repression‐oriented; in addition there may be policies of

Introduction  7 erasure and null policies (i.e., the absence of policy). He argues that teachers must be aware of the negative consequences of harmful language policies, and also must become familiar with positive examples of culturally and linguistically responsive teaching and learning. With such awareness and knowledge, teachers can “play a significant role in advocating for students and mitigating the effects of poorly ­conceived or inappropriate educational language policies.” The case for bilingual and multilingual education may also be made from a  framework of language rights, as addressed by Tove Skutnabb‐Kangas in Chapter  11. She argues that the core of education‐related linguistic human rights “are the right to learn one’s own language thoroughly, at the highest possible level, and likewise to learn thoroughly a dominant or official language in the country where one is resident.” She reviews a number of international declarations from the United Nations raising issues of linguistic human rights, but acknowledges “there are so far very few binding and unconditional rights, with financial support, to mother‐tongue‐medium education.” With charges of linguicism (linguistically argued racism) and “linguistic genocide,” Skutnabb‐ Kangas identifies a vicious circle wherein the lack of recognized and binding linguistic human rights leads to societal‐dominant‐medium education which, over generations, leads to loss of the language and the ultimate need for revi­ talization efforts. The six chapters in part 1 of Section 2 address practices and pedagogies for bilingualism and multilingualism. Nelson Flores and Hugo Baetens Beardsmore argue in Chapter  12 that these bilingual program models and structures often serve contradictory roles, both challenging and reinforcing ­ existing societal ­hierarchies. Drawing on García’s (2009) distinction between monoglossic and het­ eroglossic perspectives, they note most bilingual programs are grounded in a monoglossic perspective which views monolingualism as the norm and treats bilinguals as two monolinguals in one (double monolingualism). Hence, transi­ tional models which focus on moving students quickly from L1 to L2, and even additive models that seek to add L2 to L1, take this monoglossic view, as do dual language programs which insist on complete separation of the languages during instruction. Flores and Baetens Beardsmore argue that monoglossic ­perspectives and practices erase the fluid language practices of students who do not compart­ mentalize their language practices into neat and discrete languages. While recog­ nizing the value and contribution of such bilingual programs in ­ contrast to instruction only in the dominant society language, they argue for ­ programs grounded in heteroglossic perspectives of languages, wherein bilingualism is viewed as the norm and program structures acknowledge multilingual speakers’ fluid language practices in their full complexity. At the heart of such heteoroglossic approaches to bilingual education is translanguaging, as described in Chapter  13 by Ofelia García and Li Wei. ­ Translanguaging originally referred to classroom practices of deliberately ­changing the language of input and the language of output, for example, reading about a topic in one language, and then writing about it in the other language (Williams, 2012). García (2009) extends this original notion: “Translanguaging, or engaging in

8 Introduction bilingual or multilingual discourse practices, is an approach to bilingualism that is centered not on languages as has been often the case, but on the practices of ­bilinguals that are readily observable” (p. 44). García and Li Wei argue that translanguaging is the normal mode of communication in communities throughout the world as it encompasses the “multiple discursive practices in which bilinguals engage to make sense of their bilingual worlds.” García and Li Wei assert that, when used in schools, translanguaging provides bilingual students with the opportunity to use their full linguistic and semiotic repertoire to make meaning. They argue that translanguaging is transformative for the child, for the teacher, and for education itself, and particularly for bilingual education. This concept of translanguaging moves the field beyond the narrow view of codeswitching, wherein the focus is on the language (code), and enables us to understand the processes by which bilingual students perform bilingually in a myriad of multimodal ways in the classroom. Indeed, despite being a fairly recent construct introduced into the field, the authors of 14 of the chapters in this Handbook make use of the term as they take a ­heteroglossic view of the issues discussed in their respective chapters. A heteroglossic view of literacy opens the way to conceptualize and explore multiliteracies, as addressed by Madhav Kafle and Suresh Canagarajah in Chapter 14. They describe multiliteracies as “constituting a mixing of languages, modalities, and cultures” including diverse varieties of English and diverse visual, oral, and multimedia resources. While noting that the notion of multiliteracies has its roots in the work of the New London Group (1996) in the 1990s (with influences from New Literacy Studies in the mid 1980s), and has received the attention of scholars, Kafle and Canagarajah observe “it has been slow to transform ­pedagogies of academic literacy.” They acknowledge that we currently lack well‐developed pedagogical models of multiliteracies to guide teachers, even though “there are multiliteracies right under our noses in our classrooms.” To develop much needed pedagogical models of academic multiliteracies, Kafle and Canagarajah argue for the need to change our focus from product‐oriented studies to understanding actual processes and practices, to learn from students’ learning strategies outside of classrooms, and to change assessment practices that evaluate writing based on monomodal norms focused on product and grammar. They warn that “till such broader ideological and normative changes take place, teachers and students will be reluctant to engage in academic multiliteracies.” The call to change our current assessment practices based on monolingual ­testing policies is further addressed by Elana Shohamy and Kate Menken in Chapter 15. Through an historical review of testing in various countries, Shohamy and Menken document many cases of misuse, abuse, and other injustices as t­ esting serves as “a tool to create and/or reinforce societal divisions, marginalization, and discrimination.” They demonstrate the power of testing in creating educational language policies, and call into question the validity and reliability of tests for immigrant emergent bilinguals. As an alternative approach, Shohamy and Menken argue for bi/multilingual testing that builds upon the recent research highlighting the dynamic and creative language practices of bilinguals, as summarized above and detailed in many of the chapters of this handbook. Such bi/multilingual tests,

Introduction  9 they claim, “offer a new direction for creating tests that are more relevant, that minimize the misuses [and] biases, … and that more accurately show what emergent bilinguals know and can do.” In order to effectively address the issues raised above and detailed in the ­chapters of this Handbook related to the cognitive and creative advantages of bi/ multilingualism, bi/multiliteracies, culture, ideologies, power, identities, ­language policy, language rights, program structures, translanguaging, bi/multilingual ­testing, and so forth, we need teachers who are well‐prepared to work with ­linguistically diverse students in their classrooms. In Chapter 16, Anne‐Marie de Mejía and Christine Hélot acknowledge the critical role that teacher‐educators must play to help teachers understand the complex multilingual realities of their classrooms, and help teachers develop pedagogical strategies which allow ­students to make full use of their bilingual and multilingual repertoires. They argue that if teachers “are helped to become aware that some languages and some learning contents are excluded from the curriculum and that such choices are political in nature, they may also be enabled to become aware of their ability to challenge and resist coercive power relations in the context of their teaching.” In Chapter 17, the final chapter in Section 1, Beatriz Arias addresses the impor­ tant issue of parental and community involvement in bilingual and multilingual education. Arias describes the need for a two‐way dialogue between educators and parents, and argues that the expectations and values parents of bilingual and multilingual students bring around schooling need to be recognized and ­incorporated into successful school outreach to families and communities. In her review of traditional parental involvement models, she finds that most have evolved from deficit views of minority parents and their children. Arias argues for new non‐traditional approaches by giving examples of successful parental involve­ ment models and immigrant parent–community partnerships that have been implemented in the United States and have led to advocacy for educational reform.

Pedagogical issues and practices in bilingual and multilingual education The eight chapters in part 2 of Section 2 are also foundational in nature, but focus on ­pedagogical issues and practices in bilingual and multilingual education at ­various schooling levels and with selected populations of students. The first four chapters address bilingual and multilingual education policies and practices across four levels of traditional schooling—early childhood (Ch. 18), Primary School (Ch. 19), Secondary School (Ch. 20), and Higher Education (Ch. 21). Eugene E. García and Amy M. Markos examine early childhood education (ECE) among dual language learners (DLLs) in Chapter 18. They argue that, given the increasing numbers of DLLs in the United States and globally, dual language exposure can have a significant influence on the development and learning ­attributes of this population in ECE settings. In order to better understand the development of DLLs in ECE settings, they offer a new conceptual model that takes into account important aspects of the DLL experience including “societal,

10 Introduction community, and family contexts; early care and education contexts; child ­characteristics; and developmental competencies.” García and Markos call on ECE teachers to develop necessary knowledge and skills specific to young learners who are developing in two languages simultaneously and on researchers to “promote new research that moves away from comparison models and towards efforts that aim to understand the specific complexities and uniqueness of the experience of young bilingual learners.” In Chapter 19, María Estela Brisk, Ester J. de Jong, and Meredith C. Moore discuss the research trends on bi/multilingual education at the  primary (elementary) school level within a framework that emphasizes the importance and value of linguistic and cultural diversity in schools while ­ ­acknowledging local contextual realities. They contend that bilingual education practices and models are highly contextualized, but this complex nature has rarely been considered in research in bi/multilingual education. The framework is founded on educational equity realized through three principles: affirming ­identities, additive bi/multilingualism, and structuring for integration. Brisk, de Jong and Moore argue that this framework contributes to “fair and good schooling for bilingual/multilingual learners within bi/multilingual programs as well as in schools that do not use the students’ mother tongues as the language of instruction.” In Chapter  20, Christian Faltis and Frank Ramírez‐Marin, discuss current research and trends in secondary bilingual education by examining how programs and practices are developed to address (and not address) the needs of emergent bilingual youth. Drawing on the notions of language as languaging and ­bilingualism as translanguaging, they argue that secondary bilingual education should be conceptualized from a perspective that views “language development as emerging from complex practices in which students comprehend language used in academic contexts and communicate widely about new thematically interconnected topics.” They call on teachers to acknowledge and affirm that the language practices of emergent bilinguals always entail translanguaging practices for purposeful communication. In Chapter 21, Christa van der Walt discusses bi/ multilingual practices in higher education (HE) and the challenges faced by higher education institutions (HEIs) in response to the perceived inevitability of English used as the language of learning and teaching (LoLT). She maintains that ­monolingual teaching and learning is attributed to the view that a language plays a crucial role in achieving national unity and that bilingualism is detrimental to young minds. Drawing on García’s (2009) categorization of language arrangement in school, van der Walt shows that the use of English in various bi/multilingual programs and models “adds yet another dimension to existing multilingual arrangements and, in fact, turns most monolingual institutions into bilingual ones and bilingual institutions into multilingual ones.” To conclude, van der Walt argues for the acknowledgement of bi/multilingual students by discussing a range of multilingual teaching and learning practices and strategies in terms of García’s distinction between flexible convergence and flexible multiplicity. The next three chapters address special populations of students in bilingual and multilingual classrooms with unique needs, including students with dis/abilities and exceptionalities (Ch. 22), Deaf students (Ch. 23), and Indigenous students

Introduction  11 (Ch.  24). In Chapter  22, Teddi Beam‐Conroy and Patricia Alvarez McHatton ­discuss the ways in which schools respond to the needs of linguistic minorities who have not yet attained proficiency in the majority language typically used for  instruction in special and exceptional education programs. They maintain that  many English learners (ELs) with dis/abilities and exceptionalities remain under‐ and over‐indentified and improperly served, and their placement in both special education and gifted education have been confounded by issues of race, ethnicity, power, and privilege. They point to three factors that contribute to the disproportionate representation of ELs in the United States, including referral, identification and assessment, and services. Beam‐Conroy and McHatton call for the “need to provide special education and gifted programs that are conducted bilingually/multilingually to ensure these students are receiving services that fully address their needs.” In Chapter 23, Timothy Reagan examines the nature, objectives, and character­ istics of bilingual deaf education in different countries around the globe. Reagan discusses the distinction between the pathological view of deafness and the ­sociocultural approach to deafness, arguing that “while the pathological view of deafness would lead us to try to correct a deficit, the sociocultural view would lead us to efforts that focus on issues of civil rights and to assist the Deaf to function fully, as deaf people, in the dominant culture.” Reagan presents three types of ­signing (signed languages, contact signing, and manual sign codes) which together contributes to the emergence of an unusual kind of diglossia in many Deaf ­ ­communities, in which most Deaf individuals are both bilingual to some degree and trimodal in their language use. Reagan argues that bilingual bicultural ­programs for the Deaf should go beyond the focus on linguistic issues to serving as agents and settings in which deaf children and deaf adults can be empowered. Tiffany S. Lee and Teresa L. McCarty address Indigenous bilingual and multilingual education in Chapter  24. They argue that Indigenous language ­ ­education must be understood in relation to issues of cultural survival, self‐­ determination, and sovereignty. Lee and McCarty contend that the recent shifts in power relations as a result of a rising Indigenous activism has led to the promo­ tion of Indigenous linguistic, cultural, and educational rights, “as schools are ­increasingly appropriated for the purposes of language and cultural maintenance and revitalization.” Nonetheless, they acknowledge, the implementation of Indigenous bilingual‐multilingual education has undergone significant challenges including societal‐level racism, economic inequality, and, at the macro‐level, the limited numbers of Indigenous teachers and teaching materials. The final chapter (Ch. 25) in Section 2 addresses the reality that learning may take place outside of traditional school settings through non‐formal bilingual education. Lesley Bartlett and Monisha Bajaj argue that this is an important but understudied phenomenon. They note that such out‐of‐school contexts may include nongovernmental ­organizations, community‐based organizations; technology‐enabled independent learning, families, religious groups, and playgroups, and that nonformal bilingual education in these contexts may be either planned or informal and unplanned. However, Bartlett and Bajaj maintain that nonformal bilingual education has not

12 Introduction received sufficient attention. Drawing on García’s (2009) notion of supplementary education for bilingualism, which gives primacy to the speakers of a language rather than treating language as an object to be consumed, they call for the need for increased attention to translanguaging and for more research on bilingualism and peace.

Global dimensions of bilingual and multilingual education The final 15 chapters in Section  3 provide a vivid description of bilingual and ­multilingual education in policy and practice in specific countries and regions around the world, authored by scholars with deep familiarity with these contexts. The authors of each chapter provide a brief historical sketch and description of the current state of affairs, and then provide a more detailed analysis of a particular policy, program, or issue related to bilingual or multilingual education. Though it was not possible to include every country, these chapters together offer a journey around world analyzing the principles and practices described in Sections 1 and 2. Our journey begins in the United States in Chapter 26, where Deborah Palmer, Christian E. Zuñiga, and Kathryn Henderson critically analyze the i­ mplementation of a specific highly structured dual language bilingual program that is widely implemented in the state of Texas. Thomas Ricento discusses Canada in Chapter 27 with a particular focus on the country’s language policies since the 1960s. Ricento argues that Canada’s language policies, based largely on English and French, do not adequately reflect the multilingual and multicultural reality of the nation. Across the Atlantic Ocean, Jasone Cenoz and Durk Gorter, in Chapter 28, describe and analyze the development of multilingualism in European nations through the teaching of—and teaching through the medium of—minority ­ languages, state ­languages, and English. Noting that multilingualism has a long tradition in Europe, and describing progressive multilingual education policies such as Mother Tongue +2 (languages) and Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL), Cenoz and Gorter express concerns about the growing d ­ ominance of English in most p ­ rograms, and argue for a more flexible “focus on m ­ ultilingualism” that goes beyond the ­isolation of the different languages in various models, and instead helps students apply what they in learn in one language to other languages. Moving next to the Asia region, Anwei Feng and Bob Adamson, in Chapter 29, describe the wide linguistic diversity across China, along with the growing ­popularity of bilingual and trilingual education and the intense debates in the country over their concepts, practices, and consequences. Feng and Adamson call for a transdisciplinary approach to research to guide educators in making ­evidence‐ based decisions regarding the use of regional and national languages and English in bilingual and multilingual education programs. The next two chapters address two Asian nations that—unlike China—have historically had little linguistic and cultural diversity. In Chapter 30 Akie Tomozawa and Junko Majima describe the changing demographics in Japan and the government’s “slow but steady progress” in overcoming years of monolingual ideologies to allow some use of immigrant students’ mother tongues as they are taught Japanese as a second language.

Introduction  13 Likewise, in Chapter 31, Jin Sook Lee addresses South Korea’s rapid change from linguistic and cultural homogeneity to diversity, and the government’s efforts to offer supplemental “multicultural programs” designed to address the linguistic and cultural needs of immigrant newcomer students. Lee also addresses a range of issue related to the popularity of Korean‐English bilingual programs. In the Southeast Asia region, Wright and Boun describe, in Chapter  32, the linguistic diversity and radical changes in education language policies in Cambodia as driven by historical, colonial, political, and economic factors. They focus on the current government’s efforts—with substantial assistance from international ­nongovernmental organizations—to meet international “Education for All” goals by adopting and expanding bilingual education programs for indigenous ethnic minorities in the remote regions of Cambodia’s Northeastern provinces. In Chapter 33 Gary Jones compares and contrasts bilingual and multilingual edu­ cation policies and practices in Brunei and Malaysia, including the differing impact of British colonialism and recent developments, which, he argues, represent a change from nationalistic issues to economic issues that further privilege English. Onward to South Asia, in Chapter 34 Minati Panda and Ajit Mohanty describe multilingual education as a “double divide.” Despite progressive‐looking policies inclusive of the region’s many Indigenous and tribal minority (ITM) languages, Panda and Mohanty argue that, in practice, the languages‐in‐education polices in South Asian countries place English in the dominant position “with almost total neglect of ITM languages.” Moving next to Africa, in Chapter 35 Sinfree Makoni and Busi Makoni provide a more critical view of what many have viewed as progressive and inclusive multilingual education policies in South Africa, designed to make African ­ ­languages as prominent as English and Afrikaans. Makoni and Makoni focus on the tensions and conflicts between language “entrepreneurs” working for various institutions, arguing that “too many cooks spoil the broth.” They provide many examples illustrating that bilingualism “is not inherently progressive or conserva­ tive” and that, in South Africa, “bilingual education has been a space where political scores were settled.” They predict that bilingual/multilingual education will continue to be used “in both war and peace.” In Chapter 36 Leketi Makalela provides an historical account of bilingual education policies and practices in sub‐Saharan Africa, from the precolonial era to present. Makalela focuses on the “tensions between monolithic policies and fluid classroom language practices that are curtailed by such policy impositions.” He argues for true heteroglossic policies and practices within a plural vision of a translanguaging framework that affirm multiple identities and the holistic development of multilingual African children. Back to the Americas, in Chapter  37, Peter Sayer and Mario López Gopar ­provide case studies of three schools representing some of the different forms of bilingual education common in Mexico: a private Spanish–English bilingual school, a public primary school with an English program, and an Indigenous bilingual school with classes in Spanish and Náhuatl. Through these case studies, Sayer and Gopar argue that “bilingual education is a means of propagating both global and local languages, and in its various forms has the effect of both

14 Introduction accentuating and redressing social inequities.” Luis Enrique López focuses on indigenous youth and adult education in the larger scope of Latin America in Chapter 38. Through research conducted across seven countries in North, Central, and South America (Bolivia, Brazil, Ecuador, Guatemala, Mexico, Nicaragua, and Peru), López found politically and theoretically sound educational laws relevant to Indigenous cultures, languages, and identity aligned with ideals of diversity and cultural pluralism. However, he described the wide gaps between policy and practice as “abysmal,” as administrators and teachers in Indigenous schools “­continue working towards monoculturalism and monolingualism.” Furthermore, López found the emphasis on education for all has led to the privileging of formal education programs for children and youth to the neglect of adult education and other alternative forms of education. To address these issues, López argues for the need to develop critical language awareness among Indigenous peoples and ensure their direct involvement in participatory planning process of intercultural and bilingual literacy education efforts in the larger pursuit of greater democracy, equality, and social justice. Moving now to the vast region of the Pacific Ocean with its innumerable islands, Joseph Lo Bianco in Chapter  39 describes and critically analyzes multilingual ­education policy and practice across Oceania. Lo Bianco notes that Oceania’s ­fifteen main polities—dominated by the sovereign Europeanized states of Australia and New Zealand—include thousands of languages, including Indigenous, c­ reoles and pidgins, colonial, immigrant, and international languages. Practically all children receive some of their education bilingually, usually with vernacular ­ instruction at preschool and primary school levels, with transition to literacy‐ based content‐area instruction in languages of wider communication. He further notes that “maintenance bilingual education is common in Polynesian settings with long‐established political sovereignty.” Lo Bianco provides a more detailed analysis of the policies and practices in Australia, New Zealand/Aotearoa, Papua New Guinea, and Samoa with each case highlighting the historical, political, economic, sociocultural factors and pragmatic constraints in these multilingual contexts that shape schooling for children. We then go to the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region in Chapter 40, where Zeena Zakharia describes issues of language, conflict, and social change related to Arabic bilingual education, which, she notes, has a rich and contested history. She argues that children and youth in MENA countries have experienced bilingual education differently as it has been mediated by conflict, political ­violence, and inequality “against a backdrop of colonial legacies and nationalist agendas in education, and contemporary global political and economic pressures.” Based on observations of political conflicts leading to disputes about language policy and bilingual education, and through interviews with students, Zakharia, found a “pull towards Arabic that is articulated in terms of patriotic ideals,” but she also found that these conflicts create “an impetus for youth to learn foreign languages as a pathway to security.” She makes a case for understanding youth perspectives about language learning, inequality, and social change as critical to the promotion of strong bilingual education models.

Introduction  15 Our journey ends in the former Soviet Republics in Chapter  41, where Gatis Dilāns and Brigita Zepa provide a brief historical overview of titular‐Russian bilingualism. They describe the use of bilingual education to increase the ­ knowledge of new official languages among formerly dominant Russian speakers. Dilāns and Zepa then focus on the case of bilingual education in Latvia, which “once had the highest rate of Russian knowledge among the non‐Slavic titular populations of the former Soviet republics.” They reveal that the goal of bilingual education “has not been to maintain Russian as a minority language,” but rather to “dismantle the Russian school model inherited from the USSR by instituting a common education system for all children in Latvia.”

Conclusion Bilingual and multilingual education is a strong, dynamic, interdisciplinary academic field, with real consequences for real students, families, and ­communities around the world. Our hope is that this handbook helps solidify the field with ­historical and contemporary understandings of theory, research, policy, and ­practice, and enables parents, teachers, administrators, policymakers, researchers, and others to recognize the need for effective bilingual and multilingual education policies and practices that best prepare ALL students for the linguistic realities of local and global contexts. The handbook also makes evident that not all bilingual education looks the same. The academic, social, cognitive and psychological foundations of bilingual ­education are here clearly delineated, as we explore its many benefits. But the c­ ontributions in this handbook also make clear that bilingual education around the world has many different structural and pedagogical manifestations, as it adapts to the students it serves and the societal goal it pursues. We hope that the many cases here considered give the reader a more clearly defined vision of both the potential and the ­complexity of bilingual education. Armed with these u ­ nderstandings, we hope that scholars, policy‐makers, and educators will ­continue to develop bilingual and multilingual education to give ALL students the learning possibilities they deserve.

References August, D., & 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. (1993). Foundations of bilingual education and bilingualism (1st edn.). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.

Baker, C. (2011). Foundations of bilingual education and bilingualism (5th edn.). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Baker, C., & Jones, S. P. (1999). Encyclopedia of bilingualism and bilingual education. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Crawford, J. (1989). Bilingual education: History, politics, theory, and practice (1st edn.). Los Angeles: Bilingual Educational Services, Inc.

16 Introduction Crawford, J. (2004). Educating English learners: Language diversity in the classroom (5th edn.). Los Angeles: Bilingual Education Services, Inc. Edelsky, C. (2006). With literacy and justice for all: Rethinking the social in language and education (3rd edn.). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. García, O. (2009). Bilingual education in the 21st Century: A global perspective. Malden, MA: Wiley‐Blackwell. Genesee, F., Lindholm‐Leary, K., Saunders, W. M., & Christian, D. (2005). English language learners in U.S. schools: An overview of research findings. Journal of Education for Students Placed at Risk, 10(4), 363–385. González, J. M. (Ed.). (2008). Encyclopedia of Bilingual Education. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc. Hakuta, K. (1986). The mirror of language: The debate on bilingualism. New York: Basic Books. Kloss, H. (1998 [1977]). The American bilingual tradition. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics and Delta Systems. Lewis, M. P., Simons, G. F., & Fennig, C. D. (Eds.). (2013). Ethnologue: Languages of the world (17th edn.). Dallas, TX: SIL International. May, S., & Hornberger, N. (2008). Encyclopedia of language and education. New York: Springer. McField, G. P. (Ed.). (2014). The miseducation of English learners: A tale of three states and lessons to be learned. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. McField, G. P., & McField, D. R. (2014). The consistent outcome of bilingual education programs: A meta‐analysis of meta‐analyses. In G. P. McField (Ed.), The miseducation of English learners: A tale of three states and lessons to be learned. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. McGreevy, P. (2014). California senator proposes restoring bilingual education.

Los Angeles Times. Retrieved from http:// articles.latimes.com/2014/feb/20/local/ la‐me‐pc‐california‐senator‐proposes‐ restoring‐bilingual‐education‐20140220 Menken, K. (2008). English learners left behind: Standardized testing as language policy. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. New London Group. (1996). A pedagogy of multiliteracies: Designing social futures. Harvard Educational Review, 66(1), 60–92. Ovando, C., & Collier, V. P. (1985). Bilingual and ESL classrooms: Teaching in multicultural contexts (1st edn.). New York: McGraw Hill. Ovando, C., & Combs, M. C. (2011). Bilingual and ESL classrooms: Teaching in multicultural contexts (5th edn.). New York: McGraw Hill. Paulston, C. B. (Ed.). (1988). International handbook of bilingualism and bilingual education. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Ramirez, J. D., Yuen, S. D., Ramey, D. R., Pasta, D. J., & Billings, D. K. (1991). Final report: Longitudinal study of structured English immersion strategy, early exit and late‐exit bilingual education programs for language minority children. Vol. 1 (Publication no. 300‐87‐0156). Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Education. Rolstad, K., Mahoney, K., & Glass, G. (2005). The big picture: A meta‐analysis of program effectiveness research on English language learners. Educational Policy, 19(4), 572–594. Slavin, R. E., & Cheung, A. (2005). A synthesis of research on language of reading instruction for English‐language learners. Review of Educational Research, 75(2), 247–284. Williams, C. (2012). The national immersion scheme guidance for teachers on subject language threshold: Accelerating the process of reaching the threshold. Bangor, Wales: The Welsh Language Board.

Section 1 Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

2 Egalitarian Bi/multilingualism and Trans‐semiotizing in a Global World Angel Lin Introduction Bi/multilingualism has always been part of everyday life in many cultures for many peoples in many epochs and in many places.1 In the literature of sociolinguistics and bilingual education, while the sociopolitical and sociocultural aspects of bilingualism and multilingualism have been widely researched, bi/ multilingualism and bilingual education have been little explored as responses to the human condition in the contemporary world, marked not only by planetary and global crises but also by cultural/linguistic/ideological domination, resistance, and fragmentation. Under these circumstances, what kind of bi/multilingualism do we want in a global world? To address this question, an historical overview of bi/multilingualism is needed. In the following sections I shall first summarize key themes in the research literature on bi/multilingualism, and then put forward the notion of trans‐semiotizing as a means of discussing some important theoretical and methodological issues and propose some directions for critical interventions and future research.2

Precolonial Bi/multilingualism and the divisive effects of colonialism Precolonial bi/multilingualism has been researched in recent years with the aim of showing that bi/multilingualism or linguistic plurality has always been a way of life in many places and cultures in human history (Canagarajah, 2007). As Canagarajah and Liyanage (2012) point out, in order to understand multilingualism in late modernity, it is important to look at language practices in The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

20  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education premodern and precolonial contexts. In developing this argument, they describe the multilingual practices in precolonial South Asian communities, providing evidence for the dynamic, spontaneous practice of linguistic plurality before ­ ­constraining ideologies and language policies were introduced by the British ­colonizers. Canagarajah and Liyanage (2012, p. 52) argue: Diversity, in all its multifaceted forms meshed in with thousands of years of sociopolitical history, is at the heart of the Indian subcontinent…. People who grew up in multilinguistic societies in this part of the world developed multiple memberships, both linguistic and otherwise, and their memberships overlapped and interlocked in amicable and productive ways to create fluid and hybrid identities.

Indian scholars have pointed out that Anglo‐European colonizers brought with them modernist constructs such as essentialist linguistic identity and homogeneous speech community and used them in lands such as India to categorize ­people for purposes of taxation, administrative convenience, and political control, with damaging, divisive results for postcolonial peoples. As Khubchandani (1997) observes: Until as recently as four or five decades ago, one’s language group was not generally considered as a very important criterion for sharply distinguishing oneself from others. … Following Independence, language consciousness has grown, and loyalties based on language‐identity have acquired political salience. (Cited in Canagarajah & Liyanage, 2012, p. 52)

Khubchandani (2012, p. 317) further reports: Developing equal competence in more than one language and mixing them in everyday usage is a routine feature in the Indian people’s repertoire. Hutton (1933) reports the case of tribal communities in the Ganjam district of Orissa in eastern India, speaking both Oriya (Indo‐Aryan) and Telugu (Dravidian), belonging to two different language families, without distinguishing which to return/claim as their mother tongue. A plurilingual milieu makes the maintenance of language boundaries fuzzy. There are many instances where speech groups utilize a wider spectrum, crisscrossing language boundaries in their verbal repertoires; often leading to creative fusion, called “codes‐floating.”

Likewise, ethnographic studies of multilingualism in Arctic Quebec by Donna Patrick (2001, 2003) show multilingual patterns of interaction involving Inuktitut, Cree, English and French in a variety of community settings. Her historical a­ nalysis shows how Cree and Inuit in this region were historically bilingual and multilingual, indicating historical, social, and economic relationships between Cree and Inuit, and French and English. Patrick (2012) thus counters the notion of static, socially bounded Indigenous groups located in a timeless past, arguing instead for present and future directions in researching bi/multilingualism in Indigenous communities.

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  21

Hierarchical Bi/multilingualism As discussed above, colonialism has the damaging effect of essentializing bi/ multilingual language practices and identities, forcing what are fuzzy, dynamic and fluid practices into separate language and identity categories with tight, ­discrete boundaries. Postcolonial societies often also followed in the footsteps of their former colonial masters in creating equally solid identity and language boundaries in their desire for modernist nation building and management of internal diversity. Singapore offers a good example in this respect. Rubdy (2005) calls the language policy that has evolved in post‐independence Singapore one of “pragmatic multilingualism,” which is a kind of multilingualism that is actually dominated by English: Based on the guiding principles of multiracialism (covering multilingualism and multiculturalism), which means equal status and treatment to all races, their languages and cultures, Singapore’s multilingual model neatly fits the nation’s population into four major ethnic blocs, comprising the Chinese, Malay, Indian and “Others,” with Mandarin, Malay, Tamil and English as the respective official languages representing them. However, in effect, English has clearly been the dominant language ever since Singapore’s independence in 1965, followed closely by Mandarin among the Chinese community, as a consequence of the success of the pro‐Mandarin campaigns launched annually. (p. 56)

Since its independence in 1965, the Chinese‐dominant Singaporean government has deliberately adopted English as its chief administrative language and as a ­language to foster cross‐ethnic cohesion and a pan‐Singaporean identity. Given the political and economic importance of English, most parents have chosen English‐medium schools because of the better job prospects that English promises. By December 1983, in light of declining enrolment for Chinese‐medium primary schools (less than 1% for Chinese‐medium schools, and no enrolment for Malay‐ and Tamil‐medium schools), the Ministry of Education announced that by 1987, there would be a single national school system where all students take English as the first language (L1), using it as the medium of instruction in all content subjects, and their officially designated “heritage language” (i.e., Mandarin Chinese, Tamil, or Malay) as their second language (L2) and taken only as a subject (Wong, 1999). The rationale offered by the government and many parents for the extensive use of English in school was that it was to be learnt for its utilitarian value, for employment, and for guaranteeing access to the science and technology of the West. English thus serves as a pragmatic language for Singapore’s economic development. On the other hand, the learning of the designated “heritage languages” is expected by the government to give students an anchor in their ethnic and cultural heritage, guarding them against the excesses of wholesale Westernization (Rubdy, 2005).3 By the early 1990s, the entire education system, from kindergarten to university, had installed English as the L1 and the chief medium of instruction. Hierarchical bilingualism has also been firmly established in Hong Kong with English occupying high domains including higher education even after the

22  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education handover of Hong Kong to China in 1997. Since the early colonial days, vernacular or Chinese‐medium instruction (CMI) education, which is usually practiced as Cantonese in speaking and Modern Standard Chinese in writing, had received little government support. By 1911, the government was providing an English‐ medium instruction (EMI) education up to university level for children largely from well‐to‐do families, and a CMI primary education for children from less well‐ to‐do families (Irving, 1914). In 1935, a British education inspector, Burney, visited Hong Kong and completed the famous Burney Report (1935), in which he criticized the Hong Kong government for neglecting vernacular education. However, government resources continued to be channeled mainly to English‐medium schools, cultivating a Westernized, English‐conversant elite among the local Chinese population. After 1949, with the People’s Republic of China adopting a largely self‐isolationist stance towards Hong Kong and the rest of the world, CMI secondary schools declined in popularity in Hong Kong because there no longer existed an alternative, attractive symbolic market offering higher studies and job opportunities for Hong Kong’s Chinese‐medium school graduates. By the 1980s and the early 1990s, over 90% of secondary school students in Hong Kong studied in English‐medium schools, although the public primary schools remained mostly CMI. EMI secondary schools became very popular in Hong Kong because the public—rightly or wrongly—were under the impression that English‐medium schools are more prestigious and will offer their children better prospects in higher studies and jobs. Given such popularity, many secondary schools choose to be EMI to attract students. After the 1997 handover of Hong Kong’s sovereignty to China, Hong Kong installed a linguistic streaming policy in 1998, allowing only 114 secondary schools (about 25%) to offer EMI while maintaining an EMI policy in most of the universities. This has led to huge parental pressure demanding a reversion to the previous policy, and in 2010 the government implemented the fine‐tuned medium of instruction (MOI) policy, allowing secondary schools some flexibility in choosing their MOI (e.g., schools can choose to teach up to 25% of their curriculum in EMI). With the dominant discourses of the global importance of English coupled with the historical colonial practice of having EMI higher education, a hierarchical kind of bilingualism has been firmly installed in both the institutions and subjectivities of people in Hong Kong. Similarly, in other places where multilingualism has been installed by the government, it is usually a kind of essentialized, hierarchical multilingualism that is being promoted. For instance, Martinsson and Reimers (2008) critically examine official and religious discourses on social diversity in Sweden and shows how these seemingly liberal, multilingualist/multiculturalist discourses presuppose essentialized linguistic identities as economic resources for business companies and the nation. The authors thus stress the need to deconstruct the policies and discourses in which essentialized, binary differences are produced, and to analyze the conditions under which certain linguistic identities are created that induce subordination of other linguistic identities. They call for the need to have a notion of a self‐reflexive deconstructive solidarity that focuses on non‐essentialized

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  23 differences. This leads us to a discussion of grassroots trans‐semiotics in contrast with elite bi/multilingualism in the next section.

Grassroots Trans‐semiotizing vs. Elite Bi/multilingualism There can, however, be another kind of bi/multilingualism’ which is radically undisciplined by forces of the state, the school, or the market. This has been explored by sociolinguists and linguistic anthropologists in ethnographic studies on superdiversity and supervernacular (Blommaert & Rampton, 2011), translanguaging (García, 2009; Creese & Blackledge, 2010), and metrolingualism (Pennycook, 2010, 2013). The converging force of this recent literature is to deconstruct and denaturalize the traditional notion of languages with solid boundaries and to shift the analytical attention from languages to “a plurality of differentially shared styles, registers and genres” (Blommaert & Rampton, 2011, p. 4). Researchers in this vein frequently draw on Bakhtin’s notion of heteroglossia to conceptualize bi/multilingualism and to deconstruct the notion of a unitary language. In the words of Bakhtin, “A unitary language is not something given but is always in essence posited—and at every moment of its linguistic life it is opposed to the realities of heteroglossia. (Bakhtin, 1981, p. 270). And as Bailey (2012. p. 506) further explains: Heteroglossia encourages us to interpret the meanings of talk in terms of the social worlds, past and present, of which words are part‐and‐parcel, rather than in terms of formal systems, such as “languages,” that can veil actual speakers, uses, and contexts.

This kind of creative, innovative, communicative practice across networks of diverse local contexts is I would term “grassroots trans‐semiotizing” (taking inspiration from Blommaert’s (2008) notion of “grassroots literacy,” and Halliday’s (2013) notion of “trans‐semiotic”). It is characterized by local and trans‐local actors’ creativity and agency in using multiple kinds of semiotics (i.e., meaning‐making resources, among which language is just one kind, albeit a central one) to build trans‐ local inter‐networks and communities from the ground up. For instance, hip hop artists frequently draw on local vernaculars and yet they organically mesh these vernaculars with musical styles (a non‐linguistic semiotic) that have global (Blommaert & Rampton, 2011) or, to use a better term, trans‐local (highlighting networks of diverse localities) currency. For instance, MC Yan, a first generation hip hop artist in Hong Kong, raps in vernacular‐style Cantonese about the injustice of America’s invasion of Iraq, and his work is disseminated trans‐locally via the Internet and his trans‐local networks of conscious rap artists working in different localities of the world (Lin, 2009). To illustrate this kind of grassroots and yet trans‐local, trans‐semiotizing (i.e., mobilizing more than one semiotic) creative communicative practice, I shall discuss in a bit more detail below the hip hop m ­ aking practice of MC Yan. MC Yan made the song, “War Crime,” in his home studio with DJ Frankie. He started circulating songs like “War Crime” on the Internet after launching his own

24  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education website in 2002. In the beginning it simply consisted of beats, then demos and the full song were released in 2003 on the Internet. MC Yan also sent the song to his hip hop artist friends in the United States who were doing a compilation of anti‐Gulf War songs at that time. MC Yan’s anti‐Gulf War song (“War Crime”) was the only song from Asia in this compilation. The beats of “War Crime” were made by DJ Frankie, and the lyrics were created by MC Yan. He did the lyrics first and then chose the beats from Frankie’s creations. The idea of “War Crime” came from his anger about the Gulf War, as MC Yan described, “The song’s lyrics were inspired by the current affairs.” Both MC Yan and DJ Frankie thought that they should do something to voice their protest against the blatant injustice shown in the war. Below, I present a transcription of “the hook” (the chorus part repeated in the song) from the Cantonese rap lyrics of the song, “War Crime,” using the Yale system (which is a well‐established writing system for transcribing Cantonese in the linguistic literature), and then my English translation of the Cantonese rap lyrics. “I started to bring in this style of writing lyrics since the 1990s,” said MC Yan in an interview with the author. The “style” that MC Yan refers to is the style of Zack de la Rocha, a rapper, musician, poet, and activist in the United States. Zack is best known as the former lead vocalist and lyricist of the Rock band, Rage Against the Machine, one of the most politically charged bands ever to receive extensive airplay from radio and television. Zack became one of the most visible champions of left‐wing causes around the world. MC Yan said from day one both he and members of his former Rock Band (NT) were influenced by Zack. Yan first came into contact with Zack’s music when he was studying visual art in France in the early

Box 2.1  “War Crime” Lyrics (written and rapped by MC Yan) Rap Lyrics and Transcription (Cantonese): 1. 唔撚::: 知呢乜撚野叫做戰爭罪行 mh‐lan:::‐ji ne mat‐yeh giu‐jouh jin‐jan jeui‐hahng 2. 唔撚 想再相信新聞 mh‐lan:::‐seung joi seung‐seuin san‐mahn 3. 淨係覺得你條撚樣呢 就目中無人 jihng‐haih gok‐dak‐neih tiuh lan‐yeung ne, jauh muhk‐jung‐mouh‐yahn 4. 淨係見撚到你嚮度恰尻人 jihng‐haih gin‐lan‐dou neih heung‐douh hap‐gau‐yahn English Translation: 1. don’t fucking::: know what is called War Crime. 2. don’t fucking::: want to believe in TV news any more. 3. only feel that in your fucking eyes there are no others. 4. only fucking see that you are bloodily bullying others. Note: ::: indicates lengthening of the final syllable.

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  25

Figure 2.1  MC Yan’s artwork for a local magazine: combining street graffiti artwork with rap lyrics. Reproduced by kind permission of the artist.

1990s. (Yan did not make it in the competitive Hong Kong education system. After high school, he worked for a while and then went to France to study visual art as tuition fees were cheap in France then.) In a rock concert in France he witnessed the power of Zack’s music and was deeply impressed by his message. Since then, Yan has tried to infuse his lyrics with political messages by using word puns or words that signify political events. To MC Yan, both rapping and street graffiti are part of his larger public educational project to make his message known/seen/heard by more people in Hong Kong and China. In his words, “My message is to ask people to reflect, to use their brains to think and their hearts to feel.” The artwork he did for a local magazine (see Figure 2.1) shows his experimental efforts to combine street graffiti art with Cantonese rap lyrics to convey a political message, using metaphors to satirically refer to China’s political moves to set up legislation that will reduce the freedom of speech in Hong Kong.

26  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Blurred in the background picture were some policemen rounding up a pedestrian in a street in Sam Shui Po, one of the poorest ghetto areas in Hong Kong. Overlaid on the picture in the left bottom corner is a photo of MC Yan’s street graffiti tag (his signature: SYan). The white graphic design above the Cantonese lyrics is composed of two Chinese characters (meaning “seventeen,” the name of the local youth magazine) written in graffiti style and turned anti‐clockwise by 90 degrees. Analysis of this piece of artwork, drawing on Hornberger’s (2003) continua of biliteracy, would involve blurring the boundaries of oral and written language, of English and Chinese, of Chinese and Cantonese (The English words, “The Rap is:,” precede the Cantonese rap lyrics written in Chinese characters), of reception and production (e.g., rap lyrics written to be both read and rapped), and of micro and macro analysis (e.g., the micro analysis of the Cantonese rhyming structure and colloquial lexical pattern in the rap lyrics should be situated in the analysis of the macro sociopolitical context to which this piece of rap lyrics respond with a protest message). I have outlined the biographical trajectory of MC Yan and his trans‐local, trans‐ semiotizing practice above to speak to how he “picked up” these diverse (trans‐local) musical and graffiti meaning‐making styles and semiotic resources (e.g., the art forms of hip hop, rap, protest music, and street graffiti) in France while returning to Hong Kong and drawing on the local Cantonese vernacular to continue with his hip hop creative communicative practice. Today’s globalizing world witnesses increasingly mobile biographic trajectories with migrant/immigrant movements and yet, via the new media and technology of communication, the dislocated “bodies” and “subjectivities” frequently maintain trans‐local networks with friends and relatives in both the “home” and “host” countries, thus highlighting an alternative form of grassroots literacy, or grassroots trans‐semiotizing practice that stands in sharp contrast with government‐ promoted cosmopolitan bi/multilingualism. For instance, in Hong Kong, the discourse of “Hong Kong as a cosmopolitan city” is usually drawn upon to legitimate the kind of hierarchical multilingualism in standard languages (with ­standard English as the dominant language) described above. This elite kind of ­cosmopolitan bi/multilingualism often favored by the state is coupled with the global capitalist trend of commodification of bilingual education, which will be ­discussed in the next section.

Commodification of Bilingual Education: Forces from the (Global) Market and the State Schools constitute one central institution of standardization (Blommaert & Rampton, 2011), and, in particular, language standardization. They are also a central apparatus of the state in installing hierarchal bi/multilingualism—establishing a hierarchy of essentialized, standardized, separate, unitary languages while legitimating and naturalizing this hierarchy as taken for granted. At the same time, these processes of standardization, hierarchization, essentialization, and separation of languages (e.g., the monolingual pedagogical approach stipulating a monolingual language policy in the classroom) also operate at the level of

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  27 subjectivity and cultural imaginary (Lin, 2012a) such that students are induced to develop certain kinds of desire and yearning (Motha & Lin, 2014) for certain linguistic varieties (e.g., British Standard English, “Received Pronunciation,” the “Queen’s English”), which are held up to the students as globally sought after and prestigious (e.g., as a way to “motivate” them to learn), vis‐à‐vis their own familiar local languages. The students’ more familiar local languages are thus usually placed at the bottom of the linguistic hierarchy constructed both in the schools and in the government’s language policies “speaking” through the schools (albeit sometimes countered by local resistance/negotiation at policy implementation level in the school). Frequently, these valorized, homogenized, standardized languages as well as the need for school graduates to master them are also constructed in both government language policy, public media, and school discourses in terms of economic and human resources capital for the country/city’s success in participating in the global economy (e.g., see discussion of the discourses shaping the formation of language‐in‐education policies in Singapore and Hong Kong above). Viewed in these terms, economic globalization coupled with nationalism only contribute to intensifying the state’s efforts in linguistic standardization and hierarchization of language varieties, placing global dominant language varieties (e.g., standard British or American English) and national unifying language varieties (e.g., standard Mandarin Chinese in the case of Hong Kong) at the top of the linguistic hierarchy and the students’ local familiar languages frequently at the bottom. At the same time, the neoliberal forces have gradually changed the nature and the financing model of public education (Apple, 2001; Briscoe & De Oliver, 2012) in many parts of the world. For instance, in Hong Kong, the high perceived value of English‐medium education among parents coupled with the government’s neoliberal model of school financing (which stipulates that schools falling below a certain number of enrollments will be closed down in the context of declining birth rates) have led to many secondary schools changing their medium of instruction to English for their science and math subjects (under the new fine‐tuned MOI policy, 25% of curriculum time can be conducted in English) to compete for student enrollments even though both their teaching staff and students lack the English capital to teach and learn effectively in English (Chan, 2013; Lin, Perez‐ Milans, & Lo, 2012). In South Korea, English is introduced in Grade 3 in all public schools and, on average, South Korean families spend one third of their income on private lessons for their children in English, art, and music, and increasing numbers of English‐medium schools are also beginning to appear, the largest of which have student enrolments running into the hundreds of thousands (Nunan, 2003). In largely monolingual South Korea, English has become perceived as so important that it is promoted as a major criterion in education, employment, and ­job‐ performance evaluation, and recently South Koreans have even started to debate whether to adopt English as an official language of South Korea (Song, 2011). Bilingual education, frequently in the form of monolingual L2 immersion models, has increasingly become commodified and marketed as key to success to parents and students. It is important to note that these global market forces operate via

28  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education both national language policies and discourses in the mass media, and their ­ideological effects (e.g., linguistic and cultural hierarchies) impact on the shaping of human subjectivity at the level of deep‐rooted desires, yearnings for and emotional attachments to certain language varieties and certain speaker identities (Takahashi, 2013; Motha & Lin, 2014). This commodification trend in language education has gradually penetrated into school practices, turning teachers into “service providers.” The invisible consequence is that language learning and teaching has become a transaction in which teachers pass on a marketable set of standardized knowledge items and skills to students. This transaction takes the place of seeing language learning and teaching as a process in which both teachers and students engage in the fluid co‐ creation of diverse language resources appropriate for situated social practices that are meaningful to both parties (i.e., translanguaging and trans‐semiotizing). The associated ideology is that the native speaker is the most qualified provider of the purest kind of standard language skills and knowledge (i.e., native‐speakerism). While the globalization discourse is frequently drawn upon by a society’s elite groups to promote the language varieties (e.g., standard cosmopolitan languages such as standard British or American English) that favor themselves and their ­children (as they have the greatest capital to acquire and excel in them), very often the perceived value of the promoted cosmopolitan language varieties is exaggerated. As Song (2011, p. 35) argues in the case of South Korea: education, under cover of the ideology of merit, serves as a primary mechanism of elimination that conserves the hierarchy of power relations already established in South Korean society. English has been recruited, in the guise of globalization, to exploit the meretricious ideology of merit to the advantage of the privileged classes and to the disadvantage of the other classes of the society. English in South Korea cannot be understood fully unless it is recognized that its importance has not been as much engendered by globalization as it has been resorted to as a subterfuge to conceal where the responsibility for inequality in education lies within the society.

Frequently in these discourses, students’ familiar local languages are set against these promoted cosmopolitan languages, supposedly crowding out the precious curriculum time needed to learn the prestigious languages. Under this kind of cosmopolitan elite bilingualism, bilingual education means aspiring and engineering to pick up the dominant languages of the global elites while subordinating one’s own language(s) under them. Bilingual education, frequently in the form of monolingual L2 immersion models (as mentioned above), is promoted and marketed as the single most sought‐after, prestigious education model. In this context, it is important to highlight Heller and Duchêne’s (2007) observation, which reminds us that, rather than accepting ideological positions in which there is competition over languages, “perhaps we should be asking instead who benefits and who loses from understanding languages the way we do, what is at stake for whom, and how and why language serves as a terrain for competition” (p. 11) and search for alternative models of bi/multilingualism and bilingual education. I shall discuss alternative conceptualizations and understandings of bi/multilingualism in the next section.

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  29

Egalitarian Bi/multilingualism and Trans‐semiotizing in a Global World The kind of bi/multilingualism I want to highlight is a kind of egalitarian bi/­ multilingualism. Based on case studies from two regions, northern Australia and southern New Guinea (Morehead District), where multilingualism across small communities is widespread, long‐established, and deeply integrated into the social fabric, Nick Evans (2013) argued in his keynote address at the 9th International Symposium on Bilingualism for the following key points: • • • • •

• • • •

Multilingualism is the original human condition Multilingualism is a resource in narrative and conversation There exist overarching semiotic systems transcending the single language system Our ancestors would typically have belonged to speech communities of just a few hundred, and married into groups speaking other languages Through a combination of childhood multilingualism and later acquisition they would have conversed readily in a number of languages among which none had higher overall status, though each is likely to have particular territorial or clan affiliations Since aggregation of human societies into substantially larger groups has only occurred in the last few thousand years, this means that around 99% of our human history has been spent in small‐scale multilingual societies Humans are built for multilingualism, and conversely modern cosmopolitan languages are likely to have evolved out of a multilingual crucible Many aspects of language change and structure can only be understood with reference to multilingual settings as a human norm Egalitarian multilingualism would have been the norm in early human societies (summarized from Evans, 2013, pp. 7–8).

Modern, cosmopolitan, multilingualism, which typically involves at least one (and likely two or more) large‐scale language(s) with long traditions of writing and normativization or standardization, thus does not need to be the case or the norm and is, in fact, the result of only recent political forces (e.g., the rise of modern European nation‐states, imperialism of modern European powers ,and spread of colonial languages such as English, Spanish, and French into other continents).4 It might thus be fair to say that, if it had not been for the historical and contemporary political forces establishing and spreading standardized/normativized cosmopolitan (and national) languages for political rule and influence (of both the global and local political and economic elite), egalitarian multilingualism might have been the norm today. It is true that the current global sociopolitical and economic structures do not allow many of the societies to revert back to the small communities of early human history. However, what is learnt from the experience of egalitarian bi/multilingualism could still be important to help us re‐imagine a possible alternative to the current state of affairs.

30  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education In the face of widespread hierarchical bi/multilingualism, which rides on both historical colonial and contemporary political institutions, language policies, and ideologies, does egalitarian bi/multilingualism stand a chance of re‐emerging? In this connection, I argue for promoting a notion of trans‐semiotizing as a new way of thinking and talking about bi/multilingualism in a global world. In a research seminar entitled “Languages, and Language, in Today’s Changing World” given at the University of Hong Kong on 23 October 2013, Michael Halliday mentioned the term “trans‐semiotic” when he discussed the value of semodiversity— different styles or strategies of meaning. In the abstract of the seminar, Halliday (2013) asked: In the present‐day “globalized” world culture, a few languages (notably Chinese, English and Spanish) stand out as being the most widely used, hundreds of millions of people speaking them either as first or as second/foreign language. At the other end of the scale are a large number of languages each spoken by a very small community. Is there a need for language policy and planning to address this situation?

If language is the treasury of human experience and different languages encode different semantic styles (or ways of meaning), then the marginalization and ultimate loss of the smaller languages is the loss of precious human intelligent ways of making meaning in diverse semantic styles. While Halliday focused on language as a central semiotic, he also mentioned trans‐semiotic (he preferred this term to “multimodality”) to emphasize the need to understand how language (as one semiotic) and other semiotics (e.g., imagery, visuals, gestures, sound, and music) interact and intertwine in the human communicative act. Resonating with Halliday’s notion of trans‐semiotic is Blommaert and Rampton’s (2011) emphasis on styles, registers and genres, rather than the ideological notion of discrete, bounded, stable languages (as mentioned earlier). While Halliday expresses the need to attend to the “smaller languages,” in the same vein, Blommaert (2008) argues for paying attention to “grassroots literacy” as he addresses the differential in power and prestige that is set up between writings from ordinary people and local communities influenced by precolonial practices and ‘elite’ literacies. The literacy practices of local communities typically involve multimodality and code mixing (including the mixing of different writing scripts— heterography). Blommaert discusses how grassroots literacy in the developing world develops outside the literacy‐saturated environments of the developed world. In analyzing texts (in a broad, multimodal, trans‐semiotic sense) produced by socially and economically marginalized writers, Blommaert shows how the plurilingual and heterographic practices of these writers are not given value in contemporary institutions and language policies. These plurilingual and heterographic practices are what I call trans‐semiotizing practices (e.g., MC Yan’s creative work shown in Figure 2.1 above) which need to be researched in ways radically different from traditional linguistic analysis of stable, bounded languages. It is thus important to reconsider our research questions in bi/multilingualism and

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  31 bilingual education as well as the theoretical and methodological resources needed in order to describe and research these plurilingual, heterographic, multimodal, or  trans‐semiotizing practices, both in local communities and in the emerging trans‐local new media spaces.

Critical Interventions, New Research Questions, and Theoretical and Methodological Resources If our goal is to contribute to bringing about conditions for the (re‐)emergence of egalitarian bi/multilingualism and trans‐semiotizing involving both the “big and smaller languages,” and both the privileged and undervalued (semantic) styles, registers, and genres, what are the new research questions (and the required theoretical and methodological resources to address them) that can serve as ­ ­possible critical interventions in the current unsatisfactory state of affairs—for example, the increasing grip of hierarchical bi/multilingualism, the commodification of bilingual education? I argue that it takes nothing short of a whole range of departures from our traditional ways of conceptualizing, designing, and going about doing and ­ ­publishing/disseminating research as linguists, applied linguists, and bilingual education researchers. First of all, researchers need to ask: • What are the discourses/ideologies, policies, institutions and practices that legitimate and perpetuate hierarchical bi/multilingualism and the marginalization of grassroots literacies and trans‐semiotizing practices? • How can research contribute to disrupting them? • What alternative discourses, policies, institutions, and practices can researchers propose and promote to contribute to bringing about conditions for egalitarian bi/multilingualism? • How can bilingual education models, curriculums, and pedagogical practice be reconceptualized and redesigned in light of these critical intervention goals? In this connection, one urgent research question would be to look at how bilingual education models can break away from the grip of the monolingual type of immersion models (which are still the most prestigious ones, upheld by a lot of government language‐in‐education policies, for example, in Hong Kong, South Korea, Singapore) by researching the pedagogical productivity of introducing plurilingual and trans‐semiotizing strategies into the repertoire of bilingual education curriculum resources (Lin, 2012b, 2013b). For instance, Figure 2.2 shows how L1 and L2 can be mutually scaffolding and can be interwoven with visuals/multimodalities or trans‐semiotics to support students’ learning in bilingual education classrooms. These research questions are not entirely new as they are derived from the existing work of critical scholars scattered in different but related fields: sociolinguistics, applied linguistics, linguistic anthropology, language policy, and

32  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Bridging multiple resources—ultimate goal: Expanded repertoire Communicative resources

L1 academic written language

L1 academic oral language

L1 everyday oral language

L2 academic written language

Visuals and multi-modalities

L2 academic oral language

L2 everyday oral language

Figure 2.2  Bridging Multiple Resources—Ultimate Goal: Expanded Repertoire. Adapted from Lin, 2012b, p. 93.

language education (e.g., Hornberger, 2003; Garcia, 2009; Makoni & Pennycook, 2007; Pennycook, 2010, 2013; Canagarajah, 2007, 2011a, 2011b; Khubchandani, 2012; Blommaert & Rampton, 2011; Blommaert, 2008; Creese & Blackledge, 2010; Heller & Duchêne, 2007; Morgan & Ramanathan, 2005; Ramanathan, 2007; Block & Cameron, 2002; Shoba & Chimbutane, 2013; Rahman, 2011; Evans, 2013; Gandara & Hopkins, 2010). However, what is needed is perhaps more collaboration and inter‐networking among these different researchers to channel these disparate research efforts into concerted critical intellectual movements to effect intervention in the current state of affairs. Below I shall outline some of the invisible, naturalized institutions that need to be problematized and disrupted: 1. The hegemony of English in knowledge production and dissemination The way we disseminate our research is often done in monolingual English research publications. While English has arguably a role to play as a global lingua franca (Wallace, 2002), it does not help to break the hegemony of the English language in global intellectual work (but see critical intervention suggestions by Chen, 2009; Lin, 2012a). The political economy of the academic

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  33 publishing industry and the role played by some “big” languages (chiefly English) in sustaining the privilege of some sectors need to be addressed, if not problematized and disrupted. Access to research work published in diverse local sites and local (“smaller”) languages has been blocked by neoliberalist regimes of university rankings based on “international” (code word for western/ English‐language) research publications—thus contributing to the hierarchization of research publications based on language (e.g., publications in local research journals in local languages do not count as much as international English‐language publications in tenure and performance reviews of university academic researchers). 2. Lack of epistemic diversity and diverse local research perspectives in the globally ­circulated research that has currency Closely connected to the above point is the consequence of lack of visibility and circulation of research conducted in diverse localities that have not been written up in English. Our access to the rich intellectual work, epistemologies, and local knowledges of diverse local researchers is limited by the lack of trans‐local institutions/mechanisms/grassroots movements to translate and/or make available diverse local research work in multiple languages, registers, styles, genres and semiotics. This leads us to a consideration of the next point. 3. Hegemony and singularity of the formal academic register Academic institutions and academic writing conventions (e.g., in research journals, books, theses) constitute the strongholds maintaining and reproducing formal academic registers as the gate‐keeping threshold that controls access and mobility in academia. The singularity of a certain type of academic register characterized by technicality and abstraction (Halliday & Martin, 1993) marks the majority of academic research writing. Unpacking the technical and abstract language in which much critical theory/pedagogy is written constitutes a first step towards critical intervention (Lin, 2004). Allowing research work to be written in a greater diversity of styles, registers, genres and trans‐semiotics will enable a greater range of local researchers to participate in contributing to knowledge making and knowledge exchange. 4. Lack of disciplinary plurilinguals and cross‐site, trans‐disciplinary research collaboration Plurilingualism and heteroglossia in research practice are difficult to achieve as researchers tend to work within their own disciplinary conventions, assumptions and methodological traditions. However, to tackle the complex research questions listed above (e.g., How can bilingual education models, curriculums and pedagogical practice be re‐conceptualized and re‐designed in light of the critical intervention goals of egalitarian bi/multilingualism and valuing trans‐ semiotizing practices) will require concerted efforts from a whole range of research disciplines including cognitive, sociocultural and critical perspectives (Lin, 2013a). While writing the above points, I am also acutely aware of the fact that I am writing this chapter in a formal academic register in English. To start disrupting

34  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education the domination of this singular way of legitimating and disseminating knowledge, it is not too far‐fetched to propose starting online journals (e.g., the online journal Superdiversities published by UNESCO & MPIMMG) to which trans‐local, bi/­ multilingual writers can contribute, with bi/multilingual translations (e.g., at least of abstracts) provided by voluntary workers; for example, taking inspiration from the knowledge production models of Wikipedia and the Creative Commons, as well as the great amount of ongoing creative work in bi/multilingual subtitling of YouTube videos and lectures on the web. By looking to these trans‐semiotizing activities of trans‐local/plurilingual online communities for inspiration, our academic work can start to break out of the traditional grip of the formal academic monolingual registers. Certainly, much more creative critical work still needs to be done in this direction, but at least it seems to be doable if enough academic researchers join in the networks of such a movement to de‐center and diversify traditional ways of doing and publishing research. My own history of receiving bilingual education in English immersion programs in British colonial Hong Kong has constituted the habitus that I am operating in now. However, recognizing my own historical constitution is a first step towards opening a space for possible critical intervention. In asking these bold questions and proposing these radical suggestions for diversifying the ways in which we “write up” (as a metaphor for using trans‐semiotics beyond writing alone), ­produce, present, and disseminate our research, I am presenting these as critical challenges both to myself and my colleagues in the academic field who care about making efforts, no matter how modest and small, towards bringing about the conditions for egalitarian bi/multilingualism and valuing grassroots literacies and trans‐semiotizing in a global world.

Notes 1 In this chapter I shall use bi/multilingualism to refer to both bilingualism and multilingualism. 2 This is also traditionally known as multimodal practice in the literature (e.g., Kress & van Leeuwen, 2001). But following Halliday (2013), I would prefer to call it trans‐­ semiotic practice, highlighting the multiple meaning‐making systems (i.e., multiple semiotics) that are being mobilized in the creative, communicative act. 3 These “heritage languages” are national standard varieties and might actually be highly unfamiliar to the students—for example, in the 1960s to 1980s, Mandarin Chinese was actually not the “mother tongue” of many Chinese students, whose parents spoke a Chinese regional variety such as Hokkien, Hakka, Hainanese, or Cantonese. 4 Another example of the linguistic standardization/homogenization of such political forces is the historical construction and establishment of the Chinese language as the  main mechanism for building the Chinese Empire by the First Emperor of the Chin  Dynasty. The homogenization of linguistic diversity was achieved through the construction of a unified Chinese writing system, which has since served as a marker of Chinese identity and a politically unifying force.

Egalitarian Bi/Multilingualism in a Global World  35

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3 Bilingualism and Creativity An Educational Perspective Anatoliy V. Kharkhurin

Overview The major theme of this chapter appears at the intersection of two large fields of scientific inquiry: creativity and bilingualism. The research in this area is thin, for very little attention has been paid to the potential impact of bilingual practice on an individual’s creative potential. The existing empirical studies demonstrate that individuals who speak more than one language have a predominant advantage over their monolingual counterparts in various creativity tests. A logical question emerging from these findings would be the reasons why bilingual individuals demonstrate greater creative performance. As we will see, bilingualism studies show that speaking multiple languages extends one’s cognitive capacities. Creativity can be explained by enhanced normative cognition. That is, bilingual practices may strengthen certain cognitive mechanisms, which in turn may increase one’s creative potential. A series of studies conducted by the author in various geographic, linguistic, and cultural locations revealed that language‐ and culture‐related factors have an impact on the development of the specific cognitive mechanism underlying an individual’s creative performance. The first section of this chapter presents a brief description of these studies and outlines possible cognitive mechanisms encouraged by an individual’s cross‐linguistic and cross‐cultural experiences. Based on those findings, the author proposes an educational model that accounts for both bilingual and creative aspects of human development. Both bilingual and creative educational models are gaining increasing credibility in the scientific, educational, and legislative communities. The overview of this evidence is presented in the second section of the chapter, which recognizes the necessity of fostering students’ creative potentials and bilingual abilities. The analysis of various teaching strategies inherent to both types of education programs shaped then

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bilingualism and Creativity  39 the construction of a theoretical framework for the Bilingual Creative Education program presented in the third section.

The relationship between bilingualism and creativity During the past few decades, research in the area of bilingual cognitive development has made tremendous progress and provided evidence supporting the notion that speaking more than one language extends, rather than diminishes, an individual’s cognitive capacities (see, for example, Bialystok, 2005, for an overview). There is a strong argument in the literature that bilingual development may result in establishing specific architectures of the mind that are likely to promote later cognitive advantages. On the other side, according to the creative cognition approach, creativity is considered a product of normative cognitive functioning. The conceptual framework of creative cognition rests on two major assumptions. First, it characterizes creative products as novel (i.e., original or unexpected) and appropriate (i.e., useful or meeting task constraints) (see Mayer, 1999, for an overview). Second, “ideas and tangible products that are novel and useful are assumed to emerge from the application of ordinary, fundamental cognitive processes to existing knowledge structures” (Ward, 2007, p. 28). One’s creative performance can be understood in terms of the use of specific processes, and the richness and flexibility of stored cognitive structures to which these processes are applied (Ward, Smith, & Vaid, 1997). Creative capacity, therefore, is assumed as an essential property of normative human cognition (Ward, Smith, & Finke, 1999), and increase in general cognitive functioning may facilitate an individual’s creative abilities. Thus, if bilingualism facilitates general cognitive functioning and results in more elaborate cognitive structures and/or functioning, it may also facilitate creative functioning (Kharkhurin, 2012). Unfortunately, the relationship between bilingualism and creativity has not received adequate consideration in the scientific community. The reasons for this oversight can be presented as a threefold argument. First, both theoretical constructs are fuzzily defined and researchers still struggle with a precise description of these phenomena (Simonton, 2008). Second, the impact of bilingualism on creativity is mediated by the effects of bicultural experience. On one side, the term “culture” has numerous overlapping and misleading meanings, which hampers adequate quantitative analysis of its relation to one’s cognitive functioning. On the other side, the influence of sociocultural context on an individual’s creative abilities has received in itself substantial attention in the scientific community (e.g., Lubart, 1999; Niu & Sternberg, 2001). Third, the research into creativity has virtually no overlap with that of bilingualism. Although, both fields are largely developed and have received a substantial amount of empirical investigation, the studies focusing on the intersection of these two areas are few in number. In her seminal review paper, Ricciardelli (1992b) reported 24 studies that took place between 1965 and 1992. In the following decade, this scarce research has been complemented by six dissertations, six peer‐reviewed journal articles, and one book.1 Altogether,

40  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education bilingual research in creativity produced approximately 40 studies in over 40 years. Only recently has this topic received systematic empirical investigation in the author’s longitudinal project studying cognitive processes underlying bilingual creativity (overview in Kharkhurin, 2012). After that, five additional studies addressing the relationship between bilingualism and creative and insightful problem solving appeared in various publications. Two more studies focus on bilingual and gifted population. In the psychometric tradition, creative thinking is perceived as an ability to initiate multiple cycles of divergent and convergent thinking (Guilford, 1967), which creates an active, attention‐demanding process that allows generation of new, alternative solutions. The fundamental difference between convergent and divergent thinking is that the former is a conscious, attention‐demanding process, while the latter occurs in the unconscious mind, where attention is defocused and thought is associative. Divergent thinking involves a broad search for information and the generation of numerous novel alternative answers or solutions to a problem (Guilford, 1967). Guilford associated the properties of divergent thinking with four main characteristics: fluency (the ability to rapidly produce a large number of ideas or solutions to a problem); flexibility (the capacity to consider a variety of approaches to a problem simultaneously); elaboration (the ability to think through the details of an idea and carry it out); and originality (the tendency to produce ideas different from those of most other people). Factor analytic studies including these characteristics and performed across several distinct sociocultural samples (Kharkhurin, 2008, 2009, 2011) revealed that they can be grouped together as two types of creative capacity: fluency, flexibility, and elaboration traits seem to represent the ability to generate and to elaborate on various, often unrelated, ideas, while the originality trait is likely to represent the ability to extract novel and unique ideas. The first type is referred to as generative capacity; it addresses the ability to activate a multitude of unrelated concepts and work through the concepts already activated. The second type is referred to as innovative capacity; it accounts for the ability to produce original and useful ideas. Psychometric research provides evidence favoring bilinguals’ creative abilities. Most of the studies have been conducted with children and only recently have they been complemented with research on college students. The majority of studies investigating the relationship between bilingualism and creativity in children reported bilingual advantages on various verbal and nonverbal divergent thinking traits (review in Kharkhurin, 2012). The advantages of bilingual children extrapolated from the early research in the field were supported by recent studies with adults (Kharkhurin, 2012). In a series of studies initiated by the author in different geographic, linguistic, and cultural locations, bilingual college students revealed advantages on various creativity and cognitive tests as compared to their monolingual counterparts. Russian–English bilingual immigrants in the USA demonstrated greater generative capacity (Kharkhurin, 2008). The United Arab Emirates‐resident Farsi–English Iranian bilinguals showed greater innovative capacity (Kharkhurin, 2009), as compared to Iranian‐resident Farsi monolingual speakers. They also demonstrated a

Bilingualism and Creativity  41 greater ability to violate a standard set of category properties, in addition to demonstrating better fluid intelligence. A follow‐up study with multilingual college students in the United Arab Emirates revealed that more linguistically advanced bilinguals demonstrated greater innovative capacity and a greater ability to think beyond standard categories in creative problem‐solving (Kharkhurin, 2011), again as compared to monolingual participants. These studies not only show that bilingualism facilitates an individual’s creative potential, but also identify cognitive mechanisms that potentially underlie creative thinking. First, demonstration of an advanced bilingual generative capacity was explained by the notion of language‐ mediated concept activation (see Kharkhurin, 2008, for a detailed discussion). The workings of this mechanism are based on the idea that variations in the conceptual representations of translation equivalents (Altarriba, 2003) may result in the simultaneous activation of additional concepts, which eventually may produce a large pattern of activation over unrelated concepts from different categories. A simultaneous activation of the distant concepts could be manifested in bilinguals’ greater generative capacity. Second, two mechanisms of selective attention were identified as contributors to the improvement of bilingual creative abilities (Kharkhurin, 2011). The inhibition of irrelevant information seemed to enhance innovative capacity, whereas the facilitation of relevant information was likely to boost generative capacity. Bilinguals with different levels of linguistic skills were found to utilize these mechanisms differently and thereby to employ different strategies in creative problem solving. The follow‐up study investigated whether the effect of selective attention in bilingual creative performance is mediated by code switching—the alternation and mixing between different languages in the same episode of speech production (Kharkhurin & Li Wei, 2014). Bilingual individuals who code‐switch frequently and regularly, revealed greater innovative capacity than those who do not use code switching in their everyday practice. Further, code switching induced by a particular emotional state and by a lack of specific vocabulary in a target language appeared to relate to increase in this creative capacity. In other words, emotion‐triggered code switching was found to relate to creativity. The role of emotions in bilingual creativity was also studied by Kharkhurin and Altarriba (2011). United Arab Emirates resident Arabic‐English bilingual college students were induced to positive and negative mood states while testing their creative performances in either one or another of their languages. Testing in English was found to enhance verbal fluency and originality as compared to testing in Arabic. Most importantly, an interaction between induction (positive, negative) and language (English, Arabic) emerged, as related to participants’ creative performance. They revealed significantly greater nonverbal originality scores when they were induced to positive mood state while being tested in English or to negative mood state while being tested in Arabic, as compared to when they were induced to positive mood state while being tested in Arabic or negative mood state while being tested in English. Finally, researchers looked at bilingual developmental factors that may facilitate an individual’s creative performance. To achieve this goal, the comparison was made not between bilinguals and monolinguals as was the case in majority of

42  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education the studies in the field, but between different types of bilinguals. First, it was found that the degree of language proficiency stipulates an individual’s creative abilities. Studies with bilingual children and college students showed greater divergent thinking performance of participants with high proficiency in both languages as compared to those who were less proficient in one of their languages. Ricciardelli’s (1992a) study with Italian–English bilingual and English monolingual children revealed that only bilinguals with high proficiency in both languages showed greater fluency and imagination compared with their monolingual counterparts. In the same fashion, Konaka (1997) found that the degree of bilingual proficiency significantly predicted the performance on fluency, flexibility, and originality. Kharkhurin (2008) revealed that bilinguals with high proficiency in both English and Russian performed better on the measure of elaboration than their less proficient counterparts. Similarly, Kharkhurin (2009) found that Farsi–English bilinguals highly proficient in both languages outperformed their moderately proficient counterparts on the measure of fluency. As previously stated, fluency, elaboration, and flexibility serve as the constituents of the generative capacity. The findings that language proficiency has an impact on the generative capacity of creative thinking were complemented by the findings of another study conducted with bilinguals with different proficiency levels in English (Kharkhurin, 2011). This study revealed that more linguistically proficient bilinguals tended to have greater innovative capacity and more vivid imagination. Another developmental factor influencing bilinguals’ creative potential refers to the age at which their languages were acquired. There is evidence that the age at which an additional language was acquired related to fluency and flexibility in divergent thinking (Kharkhurin, 2008). The individuals who acquired an additional language at a younger age showed greater abilities in these traits. The third developmental factor refers to bilingual individuals’ participation in and experience with the sociocultural settings in which they acquired their languages. Indirect evidence for the role of bicultural experience in one’s creative development comes from historiometric research. People who reside in ethnically diverse and politically fragmented geographic areas and in countries exposed to outside influences tend to exhibit exceptional creative abilities (review in Simonton, 2008). Immigrants and ethnically diverse or marginalized individuals reveal relatively high rates of creativity. In addition, research in an organizational setting provides evidence that collaborative groups containing diverse members tend to show greater creative potential (Guimerà, Uzzi, Spiro, & Amaral, 2005). The psychometric cross‐cultural research compliments this evidence by demonstrating that biculturalism and sociocultural factors may modulate the influence of bilingualism on creativity (e.g., Kharkhurin, 2010; Leung, Maddux, Galinsky, & Chiu, 2008). Moreover, bicultural experience can enhance cognitive processes underlying creative performance beyond the effect of bilingualism (e.g., Kharkhurin, 2008; Leung & Chiu, 2010). Unfortunately, empirical studies examining the cultural effects on bilingual creative potential are few in number and highly inconsistent. Exposure to  cultural settings, although recognized as an important factor in bilingual development (e.g., Okoh, 1980), has been virtually ignored in psychometric research,

Bilingualism and Creativity  43 possibly due to the fact that it is difficult to measure and relate to an individual’s cognitive functioning (Francis, 2000). Several attempts were made to overcome this problem by introducing quantitative measures of cross‐cultural experience. Kharkhurin (2008) revealed that the length of residence in a new cultural environment relates to bilinguals’ performance on fluency, flexibility, and elaboration in divergent thinking above and beyond the effect of bilingualism. Further, it was suggested that if individuals’ creative potential may be influenced by their experience with different cultures, the variations in bilinguals’ sociocultural settings may have an impact on different aspects of their creative thinking. The author explored this thesis by systematically comparing the creative performance of Farsi–English bilingual and Farsi monolingual college students residing in the Middle East with the performance of their Russian–English bilingual and English monolingual counterparts residing in the USA (Kharkhurin, 2010). The study demonstrated that the interaction between bilingualism and the sociocultural environment had a significant influence on creative performance. This effect was found for both the generative and innovative capacities. Bilinguals and monolinguals in the Middle Eastern sample demonstrated no significant difference in generative capacity, whereas the U.S. bilinguals significantly outperformed their monolingual counterparts on this measure. In contrast, there was no innovative capacity difference between bilinguals and monolinguals in the U.S. sample, whereas the Middle Eastern bilinguals obtained higher scores on this measure than their monolingual compatriots. The reviewed studies demonstrate a tendency of bilingual individuals to outperform their monolingual counterparts on creativity tests. Individuals’ cross‐linguistic and cross‐cultural experiences may have an impact on the structure and/or functioning of their memory. The modifications in bilingual memory may facilitate metalinguistic awareness and cognitive flexibility, which together promote bilinguals’ creative functioning. Specifically, Lambert (1977) suggested that bilingualism often entails repeated switching from one language to another and constant dealing with several code systems (phonological, grammatical, and lexical). Due to this experience, bilinguals may learn to encode and access knowledge in diverse ways. This may account for bilinguals’ greater metalinguistic awareness (see discussion in Kharkhurin, 2012), which presumably facilitates their cognitive flexibility. People speaking several languages learn that the same concept can have multiple referents in these languages. For example, an object can have a referent “table” in English, “der Tisch” in German, or “stol” in Russian. Individuals speaking these languages learn that this object can be referred to with all three words. They grasp the idea that there is no one‐to‐one match between an object and its referent, which in turn may encourage their abstract thinking. At the same time, bilingual cross‐cultural experience opens “two windows or corridors through which to view the world” (Okoh, 1980, p. 164). Bilinguals can see the same phenomenon in two different ways and have two perspectives on the same situation. Because different cultural commonalities may provide different perspectives on the same phenomena (Ricciardelli, 1992b), bilinguals “may have a greater tolerance for ambiguity because they are comfortable with situations in which one basic idea may have different nuances” (Lubart, 1999,

44  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education p. 344). Both cognitive flexibility and tolerance for ambiguity are considered as valuable traits of divergent thinking because unrelated, often contradicting, elements coexist during this process. As was mentioned above, divergent thinking refers to the ability to activate and process simultaneously a large number of unrelated ideas and access the concepts from distant categories (Guilford, 1967). A key property of divergent thinking therefore, is an ability to establish a large pool of associations to link unrelated concepts from different categories. This property may benefit from a specific architecture of bilingual memory, which facilitates “greater diversity of associations to the same concept because it is situated in two different linguistic conceptual networks” (Lubart, 1999, p. 344). Altogether, the empirical findings suggest that bilingual development may facilitate an individual’s creative thinking. This rather promising conclusion leads us to consider how the facilitatory effect of bilingual development for creativity can be realized in education.

Bilingual and creative education The bilingual and creative aspects of education have been identified among the key directions in educational policies in many developed countries. For example, in a recent report to European parliaments, the Commission of European Communities (2008) identified certain “key competences,” which included the learning of foreign languages and development of innovation and creativity. Considering the tendency of bilingualism to promote linguistic and cognitive development, the acquisition of foreign languages by the native speakers of the European countries has become a primary concern of the educational programs. The European Union provides substantial financial support for foreign language learning. For example, today it spends more than €30 million a year for the Socrates and Leonardo da Vinci programs, which promote language learning and linguistic diversity. Beginning in 1989, the European Union Council issued the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (broadened in 1996) as part of a larger project, Language Learning for European Citizenship. The Framework provides tools to assess foreign language learners’ performance across Europe. In 2001, a Council Resolution recommended using this system of assessment and teaching for all language instruction in Europe. Further, to support multilingual practices, the European Union Commission for Multilingualism was established in 2007. Its purpose is to promote multilingualism by formulating language policies with a specific focus on foreign language learning. Moreover, the European Council (2002) emphasized that the target of the Council should be to promote multilingualism “by teaching at least two foreign languages from a very early age” (p. 19). In the United States, bilingual education has also received considerable governmental attention in the last half‐century, especially as a way to teach English to recent immigrants (see Chapter 26 of the present volume). Spurred by positive research findings about the use of immigrant students’ home languages in education in the United States, European states have begun to support the use of

Bilingualism and Creativity  45 immigrant students’ mother tongues (see Chapter  28 of the present volume), because it builds “the necessary bridge towards learning the host country language; it contributes decisively to early socialization, and to emotional and cognitive development” (Commission of European Communities, 2009, p. 13). It should not come as a surprise that anyone with normal cognitive capacities can reach a level of accomplishment in some domain that results in producing work that some people may consider creative (Amabile, 1983). This means that everyone has a potential to develop creative abilities. Research supports this notion by showing that creativity can be enhanced by classroom instruction that has been carefully designed for this purpose (Perkins & Laserna, 1986). Cropley (1992) argues that all students, regardless of their intellectual aptitudes, are capable of thinking both divergently and convergently. However, as a result of experience with traditional educational systems, they are more likely to think convergently; that is, to look for a single correct answer to a problem without asking “idle” questions. The reason for this behavior appears to be the nature of an educational process that stifles in many the curiosity inherent to us in childhood––when we approach adulthood, we often learn not to ask questions (Nickerson, 1999). The goal of creative education, therefore, is to change the existing pattern of school behavior and introduce methods and techniques that enhance students’ creativity. The importance of introducing creativity to a school curriculum has long been recognized by the academic community. Vygotsky (2004) believed that “we should emphasize the particular importance of cultivating creativity in school‐age children” (p. 87). He argued that creativity was the most crucial factor contributing to the future development of the human race. In his American Psychological Association presidential address, Guilford (1950) expressed particular concerns that the school curriculum discourages school‐age children from developing their creative potential. Torrance (1968) validated this concern by providing empirical evidence from longitudinal studies that half of the students he studied revealed a “fourth‐grade slump” in divergent thinking. Runco (2004) picked up on this debate by arguing that this drop in the creative behavior of young children may reflect the expectations and pressures to conform that characterize many educational settings. In spite of these and many other concerns raised by the academic community, schools seem to express little interest in fostering creativity. Rather, it is quite evident that schools use any opportunity to reduce the creative potential of students and make every possible effort to suppress creative activity in the classroom. Teachers’ attitudes and methods generally adopted in standard education provide little opportunity for the flourishing of creative potential in the school settings. Students learn conformity instead of innovativeness; they develop habitual behavior to comply with the system rather than to critically evaluate it. The prudence of introducing creative education has also gradually gained support in some governments’ policies. Policymakers recognize creative education as a potential investment in their students’ and country’s future. Craft (2007) reports that, starting in the 1990s, legislators from around the globe (Australia, Canada, China, Europe, Hong Kong, the Middle East, and Singapore) began to endorse initiatives facilitating the development of students’ creative potential. For example,

46  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education the United Kingdom witnessed a revival of a discourse on the role of creativity in society and economy (Craft, 2005). In the late 1990s the National Endowment for Science, Technology and the Arts and the National Advisory Committee on Creative and Cultural Education were established. Their goals are to identify and fund creativity and innovation in different areas of human endeavor, and to carry out research and evaluation focusing on these skills. The Department for Education and Employment/Qualifications and Curriculum Authority (1999a, 1999b) identified creative thinking as a key skill in the National Curriculum. This initiative entailed launching a number of projects and policies with the focus on introducing creativity to the school curriculum (e.g., Creativity: Find it, Promote it!, Excellence in Cities, Excellence and Enjoyment) as well as establishing funds encouraging teachers’ creativity and thinking (e.g., Best Practice Research Scholarships and Professional Bursaries, see Craft, 2005, for details). In the same vein, in the communication from the Commission of European Communities (2008), the role of creative education in the progress of the European Union was stressed explicitly: “To achieve this it is crucial fully to develop the potential for innovation and creativity of European citizens. The education element of the knowledge triangle ‘research‐innovation‐education’ should be strengthened, starting early—in schools” (p. 3). Since Guilford’s (1950) presidential address to the American Psychological Association, numerous studies have been aimed at identifying and studying creativity. Creativity was proclaimed as a necessary component of intellectual, economic and social progress (Cropley, 2001). Unfortunately, quite often the governmental initiatives encouraging creative education are driven by market‐related motivations (Craft, 2005) and do not take the realities of the classroom into account. These externally imposed policies encouraging creative education place teachers between two seemingly contradictory demands (Ingersoll, 2003). On one side, they are overwhelmed by initiatives fostering creativity; on the other, they are restricted by requirements to provide a curriculum that ensures their students’ successful performance on standard examinations. As a result, despite the apparent limitations of standard educational programs and the findings of empirical investigations that reveal these drawbacks, individuals and institutions continue to invest in traditional education skills (such as literacy, math, etc.) rather than in creative skills. The current education system is reluctant to make radical changes in its philosophy and goals to substitute a standard education with a creative one. However, the time is ripe for integrating the nurturing of creative skills into the  curriculum. Combining bilingual education and language learning with the fostering of creativity may be precisely a way to accomplish this.

Bilingual creative education: new approach to old curriculum So far, we have discussed two types of educational programs: ones fostering ­language learning and others intended to facilitate students’ creative capacities. It is evident that the creativity‐fostering programs operate separately from those

Bilingualism and Creativity  47 offering bilingual instruction, and researchers and teachers have mutually exclusive training. They are educated in either creativity or language related disciplines. Recall from the previous discussion that the academic community generally disregards the potential relationship between bilingualism and creativity. Similarly, the benefits of merging programs fostering creative potential and bilingual abilities seem to escape the attention of the educators. However, the efficacy of a program combining both efforts can be directly inferred from the research presented in the first section of this chapter. Bilingualism was found to facilitate certain cognitive mechanisms underlying an individual’s creative performance. Therefore, by combining bilingual and creative education, a far greater synergy could be generated––a bilingual creative education program would capitalize on the assets of both forms of education to establish an effective and comprehensive curriculum. This section elaborates on this idea and presents future directions for research in bilingual creative education. The Bilingual Creative Education (BCE) program constitutes a unified teaching model that introduces both language learning and creativity‐fostering instructions to the school curriculum. The rationale is not to establish a special program focusing on children with exceptional abilities, but to suggest modifications to existing curricula and/or the classroom environment to promote bilingualism and creativity in early schooling. The need for this type of program turns out to be immense, considering the outcomes of scientific investigation, initiatives advanced by governmental policies, and public opinion. As discussed earlier, an expanding body of empirical research emphasizes the positive role of bilingualism in fostering creative potential. This research confirms a commonsense perspective expressed by laypersons regarding the relationship between bilingualism and creativity. For example, the European Commission has commissioned a study on the contribution of multilingualism to creativity (Marsh & Hill, 2009). The results of the survey revealed that people believe that multilingualism increases the capacity for original and abstract thinking and facilitates flexibility in thinking and reasoning outside the box. They also thought that multilingualism fosters interpersonal communication skills and stimulates one’s ability to learn other languages. The recommendation of Marsh and Hill’s study to the European Union calls for developing a program that focuses on both multilingual and creative education. This recommendation echoes the goals articulated during the European Year of Creativity and Innovation (2009). These goals highlight the role of creativity, innovation, and multilingualism in stimulating educational practices aiming at enhancing personal, social, and economic development. More importantly, the conclusion of Marsh and Hill’s study emphasizes the role of multilingualism in learning other subjects, which has particular significance for the present discussion. Introducing BCE to the school curriculum may have an added value–– it may provide auxiliary advantages for a wide range of academic endeavors. The BCE program rests on a four‐criterion construct of creativity that includes novelty, utility, aesthetics, and authenticity (see Kharkhurin, 2014, for a detailed discussion). In contrast to a traditional view that creativity involves a combination of novelty and utility, this program assumes that successful creative functioning is

48  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education stipulated by all four aspects of creativity. Therefore, this program fosters aesthetic and authentic aspects in addition to originality and appropriateness. The BCE program is grounded on several conceptual premises. First, the BCE program disqualifies the elitist view and provides opportunities to enhance the linguistic and creative capacities of all students regardless of their intellectual and creative predispositions. This entails the second characteristic of the program, its scope of application—the BCE can be implemented in any school curriculum, depending on the specific details of a given school. The role of the program coordinator would be to modify the core of the program to reflect the specificity of the student body and the economic, socio‐cultural and political environment of each particular school. Instead of establishing a new school or a special classroom with an entirely new curriculum, this program suggests necessary modifications to convert any curriculum into one fostering bilingual abilities and creative potential. Therefore, it reflects the recommendation to the European Union Member States (Marsh & Hill, 2009), that methodologies should be developed to modify and improve the effectiveness of existing educational programs. Moreover, these modifications can be accomplished at a low cost because they would not require major restructuring of existing school curricula. Third, the goal of the BCE program is to facilitate bilingual learning in a diversity of student populations. This program is designed not only for migrants who speak their home language and who are attempting to acquire the language of the country to which they have migrated. It is conceived for all children, immigrants as well as those who want to acquire an additional language. Fourth, another goal of the program is to foster children’s creative potential. The focus of the program is not on bigger‐C creativity, but on the smaller‐c creative capacities (cf., Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009) that are grounded in mundane cognitive functioning and can be applied to everyday problem solving. The outcomes of this program do not reflect the ambitious aspirations of nurturing eminent individuals (although, this perspective should not be excluded). Rather, the program aims at facilitating the overall linguistic, intellectual, and creative competences of young children, thereby meeting the recommendations of certain governmental policies (e.g., Commission of European Communities, 2008). Finally, the BCE program in its present state is conceived for elementary schools, for these are the crucial years in a child’s linguistic and cognitive development. Thus, the purpose of the BCE program is to introduce students to a bilingual school curriculum and to foster the four defining aspects of creativity: novelty, utility, aesthetics, and authenticity. To accomplish this goal, the program utilizes a holistic approach that combines cognitive, personal, and environmental factors. This approach considers not only educational aspects directly pertinent to the school curriculum, but also those reflecting a child’s personality and extracurricular settings. The rest of this chapter presents a sketch of five essential attributes of the BCE that reflect intrapersonal, interpersonal, and environmental factors. These attributes (personal, cognitive, administrative, environmental, and curricular) were adopted from various studies in bilingual, as well as creative education (August & Hakuta, 1997; Cropley, 2001; Feldhusen & Kolloff, 1978; McLeod, 1996; Nickerson & Sternberg, 1994; Thomas & Collier, 2000). The presentation of these

Bilingualism and Creativity  49 attributes in the current chapter is intended to stimulate creative thinking in education professionals rather than to provide an explicit step‐by‐step description of the program. I pinpoint the essential attributes and direct the interested reader to Kharkhurin (2012), which presents a detailed description as well as theoretical and empirical considerations underlying the program.

Personal attributes The program aims at developing personality traits that, on the one side, encourage students to engage in the bilingual creative educational process, and, on the other, facilitate their bilingual and creative practices. First, it is important to instill in students a firm sense of the purpose and intent of this education. Second, the program strives to build motivation, especially intrinsic motivation. Third, the program fosters openness to new ideas and experiences by stimulating and rewarding curiosity, exploration, and adventurousness. Fourth, the program instills in students a tolerance for ambiguity, which is considered to be an important factor in an individual’s creative behavior. Fifth, the program encourages autonomy, positive self‐ evaluation, and high self‐esteem. Confidence comes with successful experience. Therefore, it is essential to create an environment that encourages and rewards students’ effort per se. Sixth, although competition might be effective under certain circumstances, it often reduces creative tendencies. The program therefore encourages self‐improvement and self‐comparison rather than “winning” and outperforming others. Seventh, special attention is given to the development of an aesthetic sense in students. One of the schooling objectives is to train the students to distinguish between creative solutions of different aesthetic value. The aim of the program is to enable students to develop understanding and intuition not only for hard evidence readily available to the beholder, but also for more subtle nuances underlying beauty and the truth.

Cognitive attributes The program aims to foster those cognitive abilities that facilitate students’ language acquisition and help develop their creative potential. First, it builds a fund of general knowledge and basic skills similar to a traditional school curriculum. In contrast to traditional education, curricular material is presented in two languages thereby providing more opportunities for elaborative rehearsal. Second, the program encourages the acquisition of domain‐specific knowledge. Students build specific knowledge bases and area‐specific skills. Third, the program teaches the kind of convergent thinking that is manifested in the ability to analyze and synthesize information. Students acquire skills in seeing connections, overlaps, similarities, and logical implications. Fourth, the program teaches the sort of divergent thinking that is manifested in the ability to simultaneously process several pieces of information. Fifth, the program encourages students to employ strategies exercising their capacities to construct new conceptual planes rather than to rely on existing knowledge. Sixth, the program teaches students not only

50  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education problem solving, but also problem finding. Seventh, metacognitive skills such as self‐evaluation and self‐management appear to be invaluable capacities in both language learning and creative behavior. The program provides opportunities for students to identify under what conditions they can most effectively employ their metacognitive skills.

Administrative attributes The program proposes a set of administrative modifications that can be utilized in BCE as well as in schools with a traditional curriculum. First, the program requires an innovative leadership. Second, the program incorporates an option to customize the learning environment so that it reflects the goals of the students and community as well as the economic, sociocultural, and political aspects of the environment. Third, the program recognizes that attitudes, beliefs, assumptions, and expectations of a triad of teachers, students, and parents have powerful influence on students’ learning opportunities and outcomes. It emphasizes the importance of a supportive school‐wide climate for effective implementation of the program. Fourth, the program strives to establish a bond between a group of teachers and a group of students by organizing them in continuous clusters. In addition, the program introduces measures to group students more flexibly to respond to their developmental differences during the entire period of schooling. Fifth, ongoing professional staff development constitutes an important component of effective program delivery. Sixth, the program protects and extends instructional time to multiply the opportunities for students to engage in academic learning. Seventh, the program assumes articulation between schooling modules and coordination between schools utilizing BCE.

Environmental attributes The personal, cognitive, and administrative attributes discussed so far do not present a complete picture of the program, because those aspects evolve as a result of the interaction with the environment. The success of the program is largely dependent on what environmental factors are present: discouraging or stimulating and inspiring, inhibiting or nurturing and cultivating. First, the program develops a coherent sense of the students and what they hope to accomplish. Second, it ensures that the behavior of a student is accepted with tolerance and approval of creative urges. Third, the program provides opportunities for the practice of acquired abilities outside the school curriculum. Fourth, it adapts to mobility and special nonschool needs of students and families. Fifth, the program involves parents and their community in their children’s education. Sixth, the program combines the efforts of school staff and social service agencies to modify (if necessary) the schooling context to address students’ social and emotional needs. Seventh, the program utilizes available resources in highly coordinated ways. The objective of the program is to allocate additional resources to secure a prolific learning environment.

Bilingualism and Creativity  51

Curricular attributes The fifth set of attributes describes the essential characteristics of the curriculum constituting the BCE program. It is important to note that the program intends not to replace the existing school curriculum, but rather to modify it by incorporating new elements pertinent to bilingual and creative education. First, the program uses current teaching strategies, but presents the academic curriculum through two languages. Second, the program adapts the existing school curriculum to the diversity of languages and cultures of the students. This process can be facilitated by employing teachers with various linguistic and cultural backgrounds and through consultations with parents and local community members. Third, the program utilizes student‐directed instructional strategies enhancing their linguistic and creative abilities. It adopts an open teaching and learning approach (Urban, 1995) that provides essential conditions for enhancing students’ performance. Fourth, the program establishes a balanced curriculum that includes both basic and higher‐order knowledge and skills; the latter presenting a necessary condition for the development of creative potential. A solid background in fundamental ideas in languages, arts, and sciences appears essential in developing domain‐ specific ones (e.g., poetry, visual art, music, design, chemistry, mathematics, and physics). Fifth, to successfully screen students’ development, the program incorporates a systematic student assessment. The assessment aims not at the evaluation and judgment of students’ accomplishments, but rather at monitoring their performance in order to employ more efficient schooling strategies. Sixth, the program encourages teachers to organize the classroom environment innovatively, which has an impact on creative thinking. The teachers make an additional effort to create a student‐friendly microclimate in the classroom. In this regard, teachers are advised to introduce basic meditation practices to establish the spiritual foundation of the class, to reduce stress, and to increase students’ language learning, and cognitive and creative functioning. Seventh, the program expands the roles and responsibilities of teachers by providing them with more decision‐ making power when it comes to the choice of curriculum and instructional strategies. I reiterate that this description of the program is now strictly theoretical. The BCE awaits implementation in schools with different linguistic and sociocultural characteristics. Only then will it be possible to study its implications in the creative bilingual performance of students all over the globe.

Conclusion The major goal of this chapter was to expand the boundaries of contemporary discourse of education and combine the multilingual approach to education with the creative one. It is evident that the academic community generally disregards the potential relationship between multilingualism and creativity. Similarly, the benefits of merging programs fostering creative potential and multilingual skills

52  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education seem to escape the attention of the educators. However, the efficacy of the programs combining both efforts can be directly inferred from the research presented in this chapter. Bilingualism was found to facilitate certain cognitive mechanisms underlying an individual’s creative performance. Therefore, by combining bilingual and creative training, a far greater synergy could be created: a bilingual creative education program would capitalize on the assets of both forms of education to establish an effective and comprehensive curriculum. In this regard, it is important to recognize that the essential attributes of the BCE discussed in this chapter provide the theoretical framework of the program rather than practical suggestions for the program’s design and implementation. Before this program gains enough power to suggest modifications to the educational system at large, it should pass through the cycles of empirical evaluation. Several critical questions need to be answered in order to provide support for the BCE program. Is it feasible to implement this program in regular schools? The objective of the program constitutes modifications to existing curricula aimed at fostering the multilingual and creative practices of the students. Considering the innovative nature of this program, it is important to make a conclusive decision as to whether this method is, in principle, realistic. An answer to this question can be inferred from two other questions: would BCE students demonstrate an increase in their linguistic and creative performances and, more importantly, would BCE students demonstrate significant differences in their academic, linguistic, and creative achievements from their counterparts in schools offering a traditional education? The answer to these questions requires a longitudinal study administering a systematic assessment of students’ language skills and creative abilities. While the program is implemented, another issue pertinent to special training for the school staff needs to be accounted for. The BCE program requires innovative teaching approaches in both delivering the curriculum and establishing a stimulating and facilitating educational climate. Although many teachers may favor these approaches in principle, they might not have sufficient knowledge and skills to implement these ideas in practice. In sum, investing in the BCE is a riskier enterprise than supporting literacy and other skills tied to traditional education. Despite the less certain payoffs, this new form of education promises to have important ramifications for students’ learning and their future employment. It is important for educators to recognize the positive effect of bilingual creative education and to start transforming schools into educational enterprises that value linguistic and cultural diversity and creative potential.

Note 1  Limited space prevents the author from listing all the publications addressing the ­relationship between bilingualism and creativity. An interested reader can refer to Kharkhurin’s (2012) book, which provides a complete list of these publications.

Bilingualism and Creativity  53

References Altarriba, J. (2003). Does cariño equal “liking”? A theoretical approach to conceptual nonequivalence between languages. International Journal of Bilingualism, 7, 305–322. Amabile, T. M. (1983). The social psychology of creativity. New York: Springer‐Verlag. August, D., & Hakuta, K. (1997). Improving schooling for language‐minority children: A research agenda. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. Bialystok, E. (2005). Consequences of bilingualism for cognitive development. In J. F. Kroll & A. M. B. de Groot (Eds.), Handbook of bilingualism: Psycholinguistic approaches (pp. 417–432). New York: Oxford University Press. Commission of European Communities. (2008). Improving competences for the 21st century: An agenda for European cooperation on schools. Communication from the Commission to the European Parlament, the Council, the European Economic and Social Committee and the Committee of the Regions. Brussels. Commission of European Communities. (2009). Results of the consultation on the education of children from a migrant background. Commission Staff Working Document. Brussels. Craft, A. (2005). Creativity in schools: Tensions and dilemmas. London: Routledge. Craft, A. (2007). Possibility thinking in the early years and primary classroom. In A.‐G. Tan (Ed.), Creativity: A handbook for teachers (pp. 231–249). Singapore: World Scientific. Cropley, A. J. (1992). More ways than one: Fostering creativity. Westport, CT: Ablex Publishing. Cropley, A. J. (2001). Creativity in education and learning: A guide for teachers and educators. London, UK: Kogan Page.

Department for Education and Employment/Qualifications and Curriculum Authority. (1999a). The National Curriculum handbook for primary teachers in England. London. Department for Education and Employment/Qualifications and Curriculum Authority. (1999b). The National Curriculum handbook for secondary teachers in England. London. European Council. (2002). Presidency conclusions. Barcelona European Council 15 and 16 March 2002, http://ec.europa. eu/invest‐in‐research/pdf/download_ en/barcelona_european_council.pdf (accessed November 10, 2014). Feldhusen, J. F., & Kolloff, M. B. (1978). A three‐stage model for gifted education. Gifted Child Today, 1(4), 3–5, 53–57. Francis, W. S. (2000). Clarifying the cognitive experimental approach to bilingual research. Bilingualism: Language and Cognition, 3(1), 13–15. Guilford, J. P. (1950). Creativity. American Psychologist, 5, 444–454. Guilford, J. P. (1967). The nature of human intelligence. New York: McGraw‐Hill. Guimerà, R., Uzzi, B., Spiro, J., & Amaral, L. A. N. (2005). Team assembly mechanisms determine collaboration network structure and team performance. Science, 308(5722), 697–702. Ingersoll, R. M. (2003). Who controls teachers’ work? Power and accountability in America’s schools. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kaufman, J. C., & Beghetto, R. A. (2009). Beyond big and little: The four c model of creativity. Review of General Psychology, 13(1), 1–12. Kharkhurin, A. V. (2008). The effect of linguistic proficiency, age of second language acquisition, and length of exposure to a new cultural environment on bilinguals’ divergent thinking.

54  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Bilingualism: Language and Cognition, 11(2), 225–243. Kharkhurin, A. V. (2009). The role of bilingualism in creative performance on divergent thinking and invented alien creatures tests. Journal of Creative Behavior, 43(1), 59–71. Kharkhurin, A. V. (2010). Sociocultural differences in the relationship between bilingualism and creative potential. Journal of Cross‐Cultural Psychology, 41(5–6), 776–783. doi: 10.1177/ 0022022110361777 Kharkhurin, A. V. (2011). The role of selective attention in bilingual creativity. Creativity Research Journal, 23(3), 239–254. Kharkhurin, A. V. (2012). Multilingualism and creativity. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Kharkhurin, A. V. (2014). Creativity.4in1: Four‐criterion construct of creativity. Creativity Research Journal 26(3), 338–352. Kharkhurin, A. V., & Altarriba, J. (2011). The influence of bilinguals’ emotions on their creative performance. Paper presented at the 8th International Symposium on Bilingualism, Oslo, Norway. Kharkhurin, A. V., & Li Wei. (2014). The role of code‐switching in bilingual creativity. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, doi: 10.1080/13670050.2014.884211 Konaka, K. (1997). The relationship between degree of bilingualism and gender to divergent thinking ability among native Japanese‐speaking children in the New York area. Doctoral dissertation. New York University. Univ Microfilms International database. Lambert, W. E. (1977). The effect of bilingualism on the individual: Cognitive and social consequences. In P. A. Hornby (Ed.), Bilingualism: Psychological, social and educational implications (pp. 15–27). New York: Academic Press. Leung, A. K., & Chiu, C. (2010). Multicultural experience, idea receptiveness, and creativity. Journal of

Cross‐Cultural Psychology. doi: 10.1177/0022022110361707 Leung, A. K., Maddux, W. W., Galinsky, A. D., & Chiu, C. (2008). Multicultural experience enhances creativity: The when and how. American Psychologist, 63(3), 169–181. Lubart, T. I. (1999). Creativity across cultures. In R. J. Sternberg (Ed.), Handbook of creativity (pp. 339–350). New York: Cambridge University Press. Marsh, D., & Hill, R. (2009). Study on the contribution of multilingualism to creativity. Final report. Brussels: European Commission. Mayer, R. E. (1999). Fifty years of creativity research. In R. J. Sternberg (Ed.), Handbook of creativity (pp. 449–460). New York: Cambridge University Press. McLeod, B. (1996). School reform and student diversity: Exemplary schooling for language minority students. Washington, DC: George Washington University: Institute for the Study of Language and Education. Nickerson, R. S. (1999). Enhancing creativity. In R. J. Sternberg (Ed.), Handbook of creativity (pp. 392–430). New York: Cambridge University Press. Nickerson, R. S., & Sternberg, R. J. (1994). The teaching of thinking and problem solving. In R. J. Sternberg (Ed.), Thinking and problem solving. (pp. 409–449). San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Niu, W., & Sternberg, R. J. (2001). Cultural influences on artistic creativity and its evaluation. International Journal of Psychology, 36(4), 225–241. Okoh, N. (1980). Bilingualism and divergent thinking among Nigerian and Welsh school children. Journal of Social Psychology, 110(2), 163–170. Perkins, D. N., & Laserna, C. (1986). Inventive thinking. In M. J. Adams (Ed.), Odyssey: A curriculum for thinking. Watertown, MA: Mastery Education Corporation. Ricciardelli, L. A. (1992a). Bilingualism and cognitive development in relation to

Bilingualism and Creativity  55 threshold theory. Journal of Psycholinguistic Research, 21(4), 301–316. Ricciardelli, L. A. (1992b). Creativity and bilingualism. Journal of Creative Behavior, 26(4), 242–254. Runco, M. A. (2004). Creativity. Annual Review of Psychology, 55, 657–687. Simonton, D. K. (2008). Bilingualism and creativity. In J. Altarriba & R. R. Heredia (Eds.), An Introduction to bilingualism: Principles and processes (pp. 147–166). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Thomas, W. P., & Collier, V. P. (2000). A national study of school effectiveness for language minority students’ long‐term academic achievement. Final Report. Berkeley, CA: Center for Research on Education, Diversity & Excellence, University of California. Torrance, E. P. (1968). A longitudinal examination of the fourth grade slump in creativity. Gifted Child Quarterly, 12, 195–199.

Urban, K. K. (1995). Openness: A “magic formula” for an adequate development and promotion of giftedness and talents?! Gifted and Talented International, 10, 15–19. Vygotsky, L. S. (2004 [1967]). Imagination and creativity in childhood. [Воображение и творчество в детском возрасте]. Journal of Russian and East European Psychology, 42(1), 7–97. Ward, T. B. (2007). Creative cognition as a window on creativity. Methods, 42(1), 28–37. Ward, T. B., Smith, S. M., & Finke, R. A. (1999). Creative cognition. In R. J. Sternberg (Ed.), Handbook of creativity (pp. 189–212). New York: Cambridge University Press. Ward, T. B., Smith, S. M., & V., Jyotsna. (1997). Creative thought: An investigation of conceptual structures and processes. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.

4 Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education Guadalupe Valdés, Luis Poza, and Maneka Deanna Brooks Bilingual education, that is, the practice of using two or more languages for the teaching of subject‐matter content, is fundamentally concerned with the acquisition and development of two languages at the same time that it is engaged in incul­ cating the set of skills and knowledge that the young are expected to develop in that society.1 Whether bilingual education programs are transitional and compensatory (i.e., established for the purposes of moving linguistic minority children to the acquisition of the majority language), or whether they are instituted to provide majority children with access to a second language (e.g., Canadian immersion, ­two‐ way immersion) all models of education classified as bilingual have specific lan­ guage acquisition and language development goals. Conceptualizations of language (i.e., perspectives on what language is and is not), therefore, as well as theories about how language is acquired and perspectives about the role of instruction in the process of acquisition and development are necessarily essential to both its design and its practice. It is important to stress that, in all contexts, bilingual education programs are embedded in larger national settings that are influenced by dominant beliefs about the societal language and governed by policies and practices that define educational achievement. In the United States, for example, the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 established a test‐based accountability system leading to a complex apparatus of State language proficiency standards and language proficiency assessments that identify and categorize all students of non‐English background so that states can adequately monitor their progress. Such policy and practice systems (because they are designed specifically to regulate the education of students who do not speak the societal lan­ guage) draw from deep beliefs and ideologies about how languages are developed and acquired that are deeply established among policy makers, educators, and the general public, including both proponents and opponents of bilingual education. In this chapter, we focus on language acquisition in bilingual education in the United States at a moment of rapid change. As of this writing, another educational The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  57 reform movement is currently in progress at the same time that the non‐English‐­ language‐background school population is growing and anti‐immigrant sentiment is on the increase. The new Common Core reform movement involves different content standards, new English‐language‐proficiency standards, novel assessments, and ambitious views about twenty‐first‐century skills needed by all students. Simultaneously, across the world, understandings and perspectives about ­language use are rapidly shifting as plurilingual individuals engage in daily ­communication via the internet and as groups of people migrate across continents and remain in touch with their loved ones continuing to use their home languages on a daily basis.2 The development of new perspectives is not limited to the arena of language, but is evident in the shifting of traditional notions about transnationalism and iden­ tity as well. All of these changes directly influence views of bilingualism and multi­ lingualism and ideas about language itself. We begin our discussion, then, by focusing on change. We offer a brief overview of two important shifts that directly impact the teaching and learning of language in bilingual programs: (i) changing perspectives on language and (ii) changing theoretical positions in the field of second language acquisition (SLA). In the first section, we examine new views about the nature of language in a globalized world and bilingual (rather than monolingual) perspectives on bilingualism. In the sec­ ond section, we summarize current shifts and existing debates about the process of second language acquisition. It is in the third section of our paper that we focus specifically on language acquisition theories as they have influenced language teaching and learning in bilingual education.

Changing perspectives about language Language and communication in a globalized world Scholarship from around the world in the last two decades highlights the way cultural, linguistic, and social diversity resulting from globalization alters societies. For example, Pennycook (2007) has drawn attention to variation in English world­ wide as colonial legacies and local language practices collide with new cultural influences in hip hop music. Similarly, Heller (2007) critically examines bilin­ gualism across the globe, arguing that the term refers to a range of sociolinguistic practices connected to identity, power, and historical contexts, rather than simply to the coexistence of two linguistic systems. These works are evidence of the impor­ tant paradigm shifts in the study of language and society that have emerged from the challenges and opportunities brought about by globalization. Scholars are now engaged in examining and questioning fundamental ideas about both language and language communities and argue that the very notion of ­languages as bounded, discrete, named entities (e.g., English, Spanish, German) is the product of historical and social processes; this previously taken‐for‐granted conception of language is now understood as a social construct. In this vein of research, much attention has been given to the study of language ideologies which challenge taken‐for‐granted

58  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education notions about “proper” language as “pure and composed of structured sounds, grammar and vocabulary referring to things” (Blommaert & Rampton, 2011, p. 4). These views about language are now seen as powerful ideological artifacts that deeply impact the lives of groups of speakers. There is clear awareness that established hegemonic notions of language, because of their considerable power, are taken for granted in contemporary policies and practices. For those concerned about language and education, these new shifting theore­ tical discussions offer important insights about the ways in which language is ­constructed in educational settings. García (2009), for example, provides succinct histories of efforts in European, Middle Eastern, and Asian nation‐states to impose standard lexicons and grammars through language academies, dictionaries, and grammar guides, and clearly connects these actions to imperialist ambitions and efforts at administrative centralization. García argues that an understanding of the fluid ways in which languages are used in the twenty‐first century, what she refers to as simply “languaging,” or of the communicative practices of human beings, is essential to educators’ ability to support children in classroom settings. She is concerned that language is too often reduced in contemporary contexts to the objectified subject of study, a marker of national identity, and gatekeeper to academic success. Similarly, Makoni and Pennycook (2007) critique the ideology of languages as countable, discrete categories and point out that, in its most insid­ ious form, “this nominalist view becomes a biological essentialist one in which languages are posited as having identities that correspond to species” (p. 2). These authors argue that such measures have never succeeded in creating uniform lan­ guage practices throughout a governed territory. Rather, they have served to devalue the language practices of those outside cultures of power and hinder their social advancement. Summarizing the current opposing views of language, García (2009) points to the ironic discordance between state language planning policies, including monolingual and monodialectal education, and the multitude of lan­ guages and multilingual individuals within any given nation‐state. She further points to globalization as evidence of now questionable conceptualization of lan­ guage as static and bound to particular countries. Noting the emergence of regional economic blocs, large waves of migration and transnationalism, and increased availability of inexpensive communication technology, Garcia describes the increased communication across borders in different languages and modalities, wrapping visual, spatial, and audio semiotic systems into language practices. Indeed, as Garcia observes, “speakers are now free to choose a broader range of language practices than those offered by the immediate community and the school; and they can use them in ways that are not reflected in more institutionalized lan­ guage practices of schools and official publications” (p. 29).

A bilingual view of bilingualism Long‐established views and understandings of the nature of bilinguals and bilin­ gualism have also changed in important ways. Li Wei (2012, p. 26), for example, defines bilingualism as “the coexistence, contact and interaction of different

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  59 languages” but points out that the scholarship on bilingualism presents different and contradictory views on bilingualism itself. For Li Wei, coexistence of different languages depends on three principal conditions: the existence of different lan­ guages, the opportunity for contact between the languages, and the capability of human beings to learn and use multiple languages. As will be noted, the question of how the notion of “different languages” is understood is fundamental. Conceptualizations of language that are situated in nation‐state views about lan­ guage‐as‐object are associated with what Grosjean (1989, p. 4) refers to as “fractional” perspective of bilingualism which understands bilingualism through a monolingual lens expecting that “true” bilinguals will be two monolinguals in one person. In chal­ lenging this understanding of bilingualism, Grosjean presents an alternative “holistic” conception of bilingualism contending that bilinguals have a unique linguistic configuration. He advocates moving away from notions of “ideal” bilin­ guals and “ambilinguals,” and argues that, rather than “perfect” (read: monolingual) users of two languages, bilinguals are persons who use two languages in their daily lives for a variety of purposes. Grosjean’s work highlights two important features of what Jessner (2008) refers to as a “bilingual view of bilingualism”: a focus on lan­ guage use and a problematization of monolingual norms as an appropriate standard against which the language proficiencies of bilinguals should be measured. While narrow views of bilingualism continue to be deeply embedded in nationalistic views about language that are often prevalent in political discussions, scholarly work on multilingualism (e.g., May, 2013) has established the legitimacy of the hybrid and multi‐faceted linguistic repertoires of bilingual individuals who perform complex identities effectively through more than one language for a variety of purposes.

Second language acquisition theories: Shifting perspectives Change is also present in the field of second language acquisition (SLA). Beginning in the late 1990s, SLA, the field of inquiry that examines the acquisition of languages other than the first, has also been transformed by important and far‐reaching shifts. Views about what it is that needs to be acquired as well as perspectives on the pro­ cess of acquisition itself have changed significantly. Ortega (2011) explains that both dominant cognitivist paradigms (linguistic cognitivism and interactionism) have been strongly critiqued by socially oriented theoretical alternatives to second language acquisition. Long‐established and taken‐for‐granted cognitivist perspec­ tives are currently being critiqued by scholars around the world (e.g., Cook, 2010; Ortega, 2011) at the same time that they are defended by strong supporters of the cognitivist orientation (e.g., Doughty & Long, 2003). Importantly, research findings carried out from the perspectives of this dominant paradigm (e.g., the practice of averaging group data to show changes in performance over time) are also being questioned (e.g., Larsen‐Freeman & Cameron, 2008). Atkinson (2011), a proponent of alternative approaches to SLA, provides an over­ view of cognitivism and argues that its role in SLA was a logical consequence of the

60  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education cognitive revolution that began in the 1950s. This revolution in the field of language, he argues, was a direct rejection of behaviorism and was deeply impacted by the work of Jerome Bruner and Noam Chomsky in linguistics, and by the development of personal computers (leading to the metaphor of brain as computer) as well as advances in the field of artificial intelligence. The early work in first‐language acqui­ sition, particularly that of Roger Brown, drew from the work of Chomsky in view­ ing linguistic knowledge as a set of rules and the acquisition process as a form of rule‐learning with young children seen as hypothesis testers. This view of learners as hypothesis testers deeply influenced early SLA leading to a series of morpheme acquisition studies as well as early work on learner errors. It is important to note that this early work was the first to suggest that the order of linguistic elements in a learner’s built‐in syllabus might be quite different from that selected and sequenced in language‐teaching syllabi used in classroom instruction. This view, however, had little or no influence on the development of teaching materials or on the assump­ tions made by practitioners about the order and sequencing of instruction. Summarizing broadly, the dominant cognitivist perspective in SLA is defined by two major positions: (i) what is to be acquired is the abstract linguistic system of the target language, and (ii) language acquisition is an individual cognitive process that results in a change in a learner’s mental state. Whether in naturalistic or instructed settings, the ultimate goal of L2 (second‐language) acquisition for cognitivist‐­ oriented scholars is the “native‐like” internalization of the target language system in its entirety (Larsen‐Freeman, 1997). Research on L2 acquisition from this perspec­ tive, therefore, has focused on describing the expected native‐like ultimate attainment of this abstract system by learners and on understanding both internal and external factors that might account for that attainment or lack thereof. Among these factors are age (focusing on critical and sensitive periods for L2 acquisition), the impact of the L1 on L2 acquisition (focusing on transfer), the impact of the linguistic environment (e.g., quality of linguistic data or input), opportunities for interaction and negotiation of meaning (e.g., learners’ degree of attention to linguistic elements and presence or absence of negative feedback or error correction). Information‐processing studies that focus on memory and the gradual transformation from controlled to automatic processing (e.g., skill acquisition theory) are also part of the cognitivist orientation as are formal linguistic studies concerned with competence, that is, the mental representations of a learner’s internal grammar. Studies of learners’ interlanguages (developing systems) and familiar assumptions about the increasing syntactic complexity of learners’ output involving various measures of complexity, accuracy, and fluency (CAF) are also a part of this tradition. Larsen‐Freeman (2013) characterized the assumptions made by SLA as follows: 1. There are fixed, homogeneous native and target languages, made up of ­different pieces. 2. Languages are rule‐governed and can be accounted for by sentence‐level rules. 3. Second language acquisition (SLA) is a process of “getting” the pieces and increasing conformity to a uniform target language (as spoken by “idealized” native speakers).

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  61 4. There are discrete stages that learners traverse along the way. 5. Progress can best be determined in terms of one dimension of one subsystem, that is, accuracy in grammar. 6. Language development is purely a cognitive process. 7. Learners move through the process in a fairly consistent manner. By comparison, the various socially oriented and other alternative perspectives to SLA (including sociocultural theory, language socialization approaches, iden­ tity approaches, complexity theory, and conversational analytic approaches) draw to some degree on Hymes’ (1972) notion of communicative competence and focus not on the ultimate attainment of the abstract linguistic system, but on “language development as a mediated, social semiotic activity” (Kramsch, 2003, p. 97). Socially oriented approaches to SLA view learners not as information processing entities, but as negotiators of meanings, stances, and identities. Work from this perspective examines the social contexts of second language acquisition, aspects of situated acquisition including learners’ interactional competence (learners stra­ tegic ability to construct utterances with more competent speakers), and learners’ participation in communicative settings. Most importantly, all of these approaches reject the essential notion of the cognitivist orientation: language as an individual process, the goal of which is the acquisition of the grammatical system. More recently, Chaos and Complexity Theory (C/CT) (Larsen‐Freeman & Cameron, 2008) and Dynamic Systems Theory (DST) (de Bot, Lowie, & Verspoor, 2007) are raising fundamental questions about the nature of language acquisition and about the centrality of variability in the second language acquisition process. Specifically, Complexity Theory (which was first proposed to explain physical sci­ ence phenomena) attempts to understand how multiple interacting parts of non­ linear, self‐organizing, complex adaptive systems (e.g., neurons in the brain, fauna in an ecosystem) operate. Drawing from this theoretical tradition, within C/CT and DST, second language acquisition is seen as complex adaptive process which is itself self‐organizing and intrinsically variable. Interacting elements constantly change and language forms are considered to emerge in language use. Individual variability is considered central and, as Larsen‐Freeman (1997) has argued, there is no end‐state in the process of second language acquisition. Table 4.1 offers a concise and general comparison between cognitive and socially oriented conceptualiza­ tions of SLA, with particular attention to the C/CT and DST approaches, although these are by no means the only socially oriented perspectives on SLA (for a more comprehensive review, see Atkinson (2011). Moreover, it is worth noting that socially oriented perspectives of second language acquisition are not monolithic in their principles, and while some emphasize non‐linearity and variance in acquisi­ tion without a clear end to language development, others focus more on the mech­ anisms of acquisition than the outcomes and do not necessarily challenge ideas of “full” bilingualism or of a finite body of linguistic knowledge to be developed. Unlike long‐established cognitive views of second language acquisition, there is no anticipated attainment of “native‐like” proficiency or error‐free production and no expectation of “complete” acquisition or of balanced bilingualism in socially oriented approaches. Rather than a linear process leading to the predictable internalization of

62  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Table 4.1  Cognitivist and socially oriented positions on language and SLA. Mainstream (Cognitivist) Perspectives What is it that • The internal linguistic needs to be system acquired in L2 • A set of structures and acquisition? forms

Alternative (Socially oriented) Perspectives • The ability to use language for a variety of purposes in real‐life communication

How is an L2 acquired?

• L2 acquisition is an • Language is learned individual cognitive process through experience and use • Learners move through • The process of acquisition is non‐linear and variable the process in similar ways

What is the end state of L2 acquisition?

• The linguistic repertoire • “Native‐like” mastery or grows and changes to meet “complete acquisition” of communicative needs the target language and/or without an “endpoint” two discrete language (Larsen‐Freeman, 1997, p. 151) systems kept separate in use

particular language elements and of two systems kept nicely separated, second lan­ guage acquisition is seen as leading to repertoires of linguistic resources termed multi‐competence (Cook, 1992) or plurilingualism as defined in endnote 2. The static idealized end state of true or full bilingualism, defined as the existence of two perfect monolinguals residing in one person, is rejected as the ultimate goal of L2 acquisition. As Ortega (2011, p. 172) points out, the perspectives that are part of the social turn in SLA include several compelling insights embracing two central conclusions: 1. language learning and language learners are not defined by deficit, and 2. individual variability is central to the understanding of language development. In a recent chapter, Ortega (2013) has argued for Usage Based Linguistics (UBL) as a viable theoretical alternative for SLA. UBL views experience, usage, and local communication activity as essential to language acquisition. She argues that the field must shift its prevalent theories and strong monolingual biases (within which idealized native speakers are seen as the norm) to an examination of the role of experience and available language input and away from subordinating compari­ sons to ideal native speakers.

Language acquisition and language teaching and learning in bilingual education The specific focus of language teaching programs—whether recognized or not by program planners and practitioners—directly depends on: (i) a specific conceptu­ alization of language, (ii) a determination of what has to be taught and learned

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  63 given that conceptualization, and (iii) a theory of how the particular aspects of language determined to be important are learned or acquired by students. Said differently (Seedhouse, Walsh & Jenks, 2010), language instruction, whether focused on acquisition or development, requires agreement on: • • • • •

What is meant by the term language What it is that has to be learned/taught given that definition of language What it is that needs to be taught given different learner characteristics and goals What is known (and not known) about how those aspects of language are learned What is known about how teachable these aspects of language are in a class­ room context.

Conceptualizations of language A number of scholars working the field of applied linguistics have emphasized the importance of making evident the various conceptualizations of language that guide work in the teaching and learning of languages. Both Cook (2010) and van Lier (2004), for example, have proposed lists of various definitions of language to illustrate existing contradictory positions. More recently, Li Wei (2012) has grouped the various existing conceptualizations into three main categories: (i) a view of language as a biologically endowed human faculty, (ii) a view of language as pat­ terns of structure, and (iii) a view of language as a social practice. These various definitions of language (e.g., language is the knowledge in the mind of an individual; language is a set of building blocks that need to be assembled; lan­ guage is a communicative repertoire) have given rise to dramatically different assumptions about the “teaching” and “learning” of languages and have directly contributed to existing debates in the field of second language acquisition (SLA).

Language acquisition theories and bilingual education The early literature that described the second‐language‐acquisition component of bilingual education programs contrasted the use of language as the medium of instruction in these programs with traditional language‐teaching approaches that focused on language as the subject of instruction. Seen in retrospect, this perspective suggested a socialization theory of L2 acquisition more recently described by Duff (2003) and one that departed significantly from the predominant cognitivist views of second acquisition typical of the period, including behavioral views in which audio‐lingual teaching approaches were firmly established. Canadian French Immersion programs, in particular, were based on the hypothesis that engaging majority‐background children in subject matter instruction conducted in French (the minority language) by a single classroom teacher would result in both the acquisition of French by Anglophone youngsters and the learning of academic sub­ jects. Success was measured by examining students’ performance on subject matter tests taken in French as well as their achievement in the same subjects in English.

64  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Interestingly, because initially French Immersion programs viewed content‐ based learning as leading to the learning of the French needed to achieve in school, they had not specifically focused on the acquisition of the linguistic system itself or on students’ accurate use of specific structures as a primary goal of immersion education. It was not until the 1980s, when studies were conducted under the Development of Bilingual Proficiency Project (DBP), that the question “How good is their French?” (Harley et al., 1990) became a matter of concern and led to the conclusion that explicit teaching of structures and forms was required in order for students to develop more native‐like French (i.e., French that had fewer language errors) (Swain, 1988). Seen in retrospect, given the discussion of both mainstream and alternative per­ spectives on SLA, it will be evident that other interpretations of the causes of the non‐native‐like quality of Canadian Immersion students’ French were are also possible. As Table 4.2 illustrates, the findings of the DPB work (Harley et al., 1990) that found student limitations in the language could have been explained by dif­ ferent conceptualizations of language and SLA theories. Table 4.2  Possible explanations for non‐native‐like ultimate attainment. Identified Problem: Students in French immersion programs did not develop native‐like (error‐free) proficiency3 Accepted Explanation Cognitive‐linguistic perspective

Even though students were able to achieve academically in French, this was not evidence of their having acquired the language completely. Acquiring an L2 completely involves developing native‐like competence and producing error‐free language. Students did not acquire native‐like competence because: • The full functional range of the language was not available in the classroom from the teacher, and • Students did not receive instruction on structures and forms.

Alternative Possible Explanations Socially oriented perspective

French immersion students did not have access to French‐speaking peers.4

Chaos and Complexity Theory Perspective

Variability is characteristic of L2 acquisition. The end state of L2 acquisition is not native‐like, error‐free competency (Larsen‐Freeman, 1997).

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  65 The conclusions reached about Canadian immersion students’ French are understandable, given the strong dominance of cognitive‐linguistic perspectives in the field of SLA. However, the conclusions reached about the role of instruction on L2 acquisition have had a strong impact on the field of bilingual education in general and on the explicit teaching of language to young school children in other contexts (e.g., Saunders, Goldenberg, & Marcelletti, 2013; Lillie, Markos, Arias, & Wiley, 2012).5 Explicit language instruction in bilingual education programs, more­ over, has tended to be directly influenced by approaches common to foreign ­language instruction referred to as subject‐language instruction by Larsen‐Freeman and Freeman (2008).6

Language acquisition theories and subject‐language instruction As pointed out above, the, language‐teaching theories informing subject‐language instruction in school settings (e.g., ESL, foreign languages, and bilingual educa­ tion) have been drawn primarily from cognitivist theories of SLA. Nevertheless, there has been, and continues to be, little agreement about the precise approach that needs to be followed in order to “teach” the linguistic system to students. Beginning in the 1960s the rejection of approaches organized exclusively around drilling and practicing grammatical forms and structures out of context led to an increasing interest in what are known as “communicative approaches” to lan­ guage instruction. These approaches have typically emphasized the use of com­ municative activities complementing or substituting for conventional grammar drill activities. Stern (1983) characterizes these two types of approaches as analytic versus experiential. Analytic approaches focus on grammatical elements of L2 (phonology, morphosyntax, specific functions), study rules and regularities, prac­ tice and rehearse items or skills, and pay much attention to accuracy and error avoidance. Experiential approaches are organized around topics or themes, engage students in purposeful activities (tasks or products), use language that has characteristics of real talk, and focus on meaning rather than error avoidance. Table 4.3 contrasts these two approaches. Table 4.3  Analytic and experiential approaches to language instruction. Analytic

Experiential

Focus on grammar

Focus on substantive themes or functions

Study of rules and language items

Engagement in purposeful activities

Practice of language items

Focus on language use

Attention to accuracy and error correction Priority on meaning transfer & fluency

66  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education It is important to point out, however, that, from a theoretical standpoint, experiential approaches have not necessarily subscribed to socially oriented SLA theories. The end goal of the implementation of experiential approaches in many instances has actually been the acquisition of the abstract linguistic system as an individual mental process. Krashen and Terrell’s (1983) natural language teaching approach, for example, while experiential in its implementation, had as its goal the “learning” of the structure of the language (Krashen, 1981, p. 101). Krashen envisioned a language‐teaching program that had two components: an “acquisition” component and a “learning” component both leading to the inter­ nalization of the abstract system. Even though there have been many criticisms of Krashen’s input and monitor hypotheses, of his views of the distinction bet­ ween learning and acquisition, and of his inexact definition of “comprehensible” input (e.g., McLaughlin, 1978, Johnson, 2004), his ideas influenced the ongoing examination of a number of key issues still important today including the nature of input, the distinction between explicit and implicit learning, and the role of instruction in second language acquisition. Currently, Krashen’s views are seen negatively by both subject matter language teachers and bilingual educators who were often led to expect that comprehensible input by itself would result— not in increased functional abilities or lowered anxiety about learning the lan­ guage—but in the accurate production of forms and structures typically measured by language proficiency assessments. As a result, views about optimal language instruction have shifted from the input‐rich environments suggested by Krashen’s theories toward views on ESL pedagogies used outside of bilingual education including explicit instruction on grammatical elements as well as on sentence frames (e.g., Lillie et al., 2012; Saunders, Goldenberg, & Marcelletti, 2013). We emphasize, however, that both mainstream and alternative perspec­ tives on second language acquisition agree that input (i.e., exposure and access to the target language) is essential to the acquisition process. This is an impor­ tant point, because in the bilingual education field, the notion of input is often dismissed and referred to exclusively as comprehensible input (using Krashen’s phrase). Socialization theories (Duff, 2010; Duff & Talmy, 2011) in which partici­ pation and use are seen as primary in L2 acquisition are tempered with a view that there must be curricula, supports, and teaching strategies that foster authentic communication connected to relevant academic content, make it acces­ sible to those in more foundational stages of development, and encourage stu­ dents’ linguistic participation and risk‐taking. Crawford and Adelman‐Reyes (2011) firmly assert this necessary connection between curriculum and the theo­ retical underpinnings of dual immersion bilingual education models. They maintain that ideal language‐learning environments arise when students of diverse language backgrounds serve as peer language models for each other while receiving content instruction tailored to students’ linguistic abilities, a sce­ nario whereby students internalize new language forms and use them for mean­ ingful purposes.

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  67

Accountability and language teaching in bilingual education At present, language teaching practices used in bilingual education in U.S. s­ ettings are informed by policies that are part of the accountability apparatus (e.g., English language proficiency standards, English language proficiency assessments, State identification and redesignation procedures, and pressures to improve students’ performance on a yearly basis). What is considered to be language teaching is influ­ enced not only by the English‐language‐proficiency assessments that are used to measure students’ developing proficiencies but also by ideologies of language, by beliefs about the ways that languages are learned, by various readings of existing research, and finally, by the general discourse on the education of English l­ anguage learners including the centrality of the notion of academic language.

Ways of speaking, reading, and writing in school settings Because of the centrality of academic achievement as measured by standardized tests of particular subject matter to the perceived success of bilingual education pro­ grams, much attention has been given to the question: what aspects of language (language forms, language skills) need to be acquired by students in order for them to achieve in school (as measured by standardized tests)? Importantly, answers to this question have been deeply influenced by Cummins’s work (1980), which essen­ tially shifted the original question to: what types of language need to be acquired in order for students to do well in school? This description of two different types of language: Basic Interpersonal Communication Skills (BICS) and Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency (CALP)—distinguished by degree of contextual support— has continued to dominate the field. August and Hakuta (1997, p. 36) point out that the view that there is an academic language that is different from language use in other contexts is based on an underlying claim that language is an ability with many components rather than a single accomplishment. While other views of language proficiency have embraced more complex multicomponential views (e.g., Bachman, 1990), the BICS–CALP dichotomous‐components view of language proficiency has been particularly influential among both researchers and practitioners and directly informs current popular conceptualizations of academic language. In examining this current notion, it is essential to recall that, in the field of edu­ cation, perspectives about the language to be acquired in schools draw primarily from the psycholinguistic (i.e., language is a mental faculty) and linguistic (i.e., language is a set of structures) conceptualizations of language. Moreover, concep­ tualizations of the language needed by students in order to learn in school have been presented in the field of education as a series of oppositions including: stan­ dard versus nonstandard English, elaborated versus restricted code, balanced versus unbalanced bilingualism, native versus nonnative proficiency, oracy versus literacy, BICS versus CALP, and more recently social/oral versus academic

68  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education language. These oppositions are based on different assumptions about the aspects of language (e.g., nonstigmatized elements, vocabulary, sets of structures, literate practices) that researchers and educators believe students must acquire in order to succeed in school. These various suppositions are themselves based on different understandings of the nature of language itself. Seen from this perspective, the current notion of academic language is problem­ atic because of its impreciseness. Recent work by Bailey (2010), for example, cate­ gorized 118 educators’ varying definitions of academic language under 14 d ­ ifferent themes and included responses such as: • • • • •

Academic language is standard language. Academic language is the English required to understand books. Academic language is the technical language of academic content disciplines. Academic language is Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency. Academic language is a formal language rather than a street language or what is used at home with family.

From a cognitivist point of view, academic language could be seen as a manifes­ tation of an abstract linguistic system that consists of a set of building blocks (pronunciation, specialized vocabulary, syntactic structures) that are essential to learning academic content. From a socially oriented view, on the other hand, academic language could be seen as part of a communicative repertoire (Rymes, 2010) that includes various codes, styles, registers, ways of speaking/writing that emerge or recede according to context, purpose, interlocutors, and topic. Popular notions of the standard language, on the other hand, while widely accepted and taken for granted in educational settings, have been problematized extensively by many researchers. Beliefs about language (known as standard language ideologies) have been characterized as “a bias toward an abstracted, ideal­ ized, homogenous spoken language which is imposed and maintained by dominant block 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, 2011, p. 67). Rather than monolithic, notions of standardness are variable and reflect often contradictory notions of “right, and “wrong.” These views have in common the perspective that there is authority in language, a guid­ ing set of norms and a set of conventions that should be learned and observed by individuals who aspire to succeed in the world.7 In educational contexts, conflicting ideologies manifest themselves when well‐meaning voices argue for teaching the variously defined standard language to the underprivileged, while voices, who see themselves as counterhegemonic, argue that insisting on the standard (how­ ever defined) will only continue to maintain the position of the powerful who already speak the privileged variety of the language. In all programs, but in particular in bilingual education programs in the United States, these perspectives matter for both the development of students’ home lan­ guage as well as for the development of English. When well‐meaning researchers define academic language as the standard language and assert that students must, of

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  69 course, be taught this standard variety, they are taking the position that the so‐ called standard language is a set of easily identified structures and forms that can be taught in an ordered sequence and acquired one block at a time in language‐ focused classes. For this to take place, much attention would need to be given to the selection of the right kinds of blocks to be assembled. Deciding on the right blocks, moreover, is a challenge. Particular language features would need to be carefully classified as correct or incorrect, standard or nonstandard, native and nonnative at a time when determinations of correctness, standardness, and nativeness are them­ selves being strongly interrogated. Such classifications, moreover, have often been found to privilege the language used by monolingual individuals who have been raised from birth as part of the educated elite of specific nation‐states. The bind, however, is clear. If “academic language” in non‐English languages is defined in policy and society at large as the standard language (as opposed to the language needed in order to learn in schools and without acknowledgement that standard language is itself a social construction), and if required assessments test children’s mastery of a set of features defined as standard, the challenge for bilingual educators is determining what types of exposure to the various registers, styles and levels of the non‐English language might result in such acquisition. Options might include students’ exposure to contexts where they interact frequently with users of the various standard varieties of the language, regular use of media in which such varieties are routinely encountered, and online communication with same‐age peers who use the desired target variety of the home language. The theoretical foundations for such teaching, however—if considered desirable (a position to which we do not subscribe)—must draw, not from SLA, but from theories of first language development in monolingual, non‐U.S. classroom settings (e.g., Mexico, Puerto Rico) within which the acquisition of the standard varieties of language by working‐class and rural‐origin children has been documented as successful.

Conclusion In bilingual education programs in the United States, teaching and learning the societal and the minority language present a particularly difficult challenge. In addition to the pressures involved in both defending the use of home languages in American education while producing students who do well on standardized tests in English, educators are now being challenged by a new reform effort that will make increasing linguistic demands on children of non‐English‐speaking back­ grounds. Views about how to proceed are contradictory. Conflicting “evidence‐ based solutions” are for sale, and theoretical perspectives on second language acquisition are themselves undergoing fundamental shifts. Going forward will not be simple. By presenting the contested nature of SLA in this article, we are suggest­ ing that, for the field of bilingual education, engaging in the examination of con­ ceptualizations of language and implicit theories about the ways that language is acquired is essential. If the new perspectives on SLA that reject the monolingual norm as a realistic measure of language acquisition are correct, it matters

70  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education significantly to a group of educators that are committed to finding the most effec­ tive ways of educating America’s most vulnerable children. The consideration and exploration of these new perspectives, moreover, has direct implications for the entire field. Research is needed that examines these issues in different types of bilingual education programs. A close examination of existing practices is essential, and engagement with current theories and perspectives on the nature of language and bilingualism can provide important insights for those who need to understand what works and what does not work and why. Shifting what has become standard practice and changing deeply established beliefs is never simple. The promise of progress, the possibility of doing it better, and the hope of making a difference in the current changing policy and practice landscape provide a unique opportunity for bilingual education researchers, admin­ istrators and educators to both engage with and contribute to an evolving body of knowledge. This extended knowledge base informed by decades of bilingual edu­ cation practice has the potential of informing and enriching the design of classroom environments in which students would be able experience multiple ways of using both their home language and English for a variety of academic purposes in both their oral and written forms. It also has the potential of informing the development of practices that would not only enrich students’ language‐learning experiences but, by shifting the emphasis from standardization and pattern replication to communi­ cative efficacy, might also begin to challenge long‐standing ideologies about lan­ guage, language learning, and minority language users in the broader society.

Notes 1  In this discussion, we use the term acquisition, following Tomlinson (2007, p. 3), to refer to the initial stage of gaining basic communicative competence in a language whether first or later and the term development to refer to “the subsequent stage of gaining the ability to use the language successfully in a wider range of media and genre for a wide variety of purposes.” Bilingual education is ideally engaged in both the acquisition and the development of children’s home language(s) as well as the dominant and additional languages(s) used in the wider society. 2  Plurilingualism is defined by Beacco (2005) as the capacity of individuals to use more than one language in social communication whatever their command of those languages might be. 3  It is important to emphasize that Canadian French Immersion students acquired what would now be termed “academic language,” that is the French required for learning subject matter and for demonstrating subject matter knowledge in standardized tests. 4  According to Wong‐Fillmore (1991), in order to acquire second language: • Leaners must have available speakers who know the language well enough to pro­ vide access to the language and help in learning it • The social setting must bring learners and L2 speakers into frequent enough contact to make language learning possible.

Language Acquisition in Bilingual Education  71 5  For example, in California, ELD‐leveled instruction divides students by tested profi­ ciency levels into quintiles and isolates them for targeted instruction as homogenous groups, despite the fact that very different linguistic needs may exist for two students classified as “early intermediate,” for example, as the quintile distinctions lump together scores in reading, writing, listening and speaking. 6  Larsen‐Freeman & Freeman (2008) refer to the teaching of foreign and second languages in schools as school subjects as “subject‐language instruction.” They point out that structural linguistics and psychology provided a basis for establishing language as classroom content 7  With reference to English, standard language prescriptivism and its consequences have been examined by Milroy and Milroy (1998), Lippi‐Green (1994, 2012), Milroy (1999) and Cameron (1995). In Spanish, concerns about normas (culta, popular, rural/ vulgar) (e.g., Roña, 1973; Lope Blanch, 2001) as well as local, regional and pan‐Hispanic norms/standards have been the subject of much debate over time. For an examina­ tion of early debates the reader is referred to the work of Gabriel‐Stheeman and del Valle (2004). More recently, language ideologies supporting the establishment of a pan‐Hispanic Spanish‐language peninsular variety across the world have been ­critiqued by Mar‐Molinero (2004); Mar‐Molinero and Paffey (2011); Mar‐Molinero and Stevenson (2006); del Valle (2006, 2008). Otheguy and Stern (2011) have prob­ lematized the marginalization of nonstandard contact varieties of Spanish spoken in the United States.

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5 Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education Viv Edwards

Introduction Literacy is an issue of fundamental importance to educators, parents, and students. However, discussion of literacy learning and teaching has tended until relatively recently to be framed with monolingual populations in mind. In contrast, this ­contribution will explore literacy from the perspective of bilingual and multilingual education in all its many different forms, focusing particularly on the methodological and theoretical developments of recent decades and the current state of knowledge, while also highlighting future directions for literacy‐related pedagogy and practice.

Methodological and theoretical issues Six main areas have clear implications for the discussion of literacy in multilingual settings: new understandings of languages as dynamic systems; parallel developments in our understanding of literacy; attempts to capture the diversity of multilingual education; the influence of competing theories of learning on approaches to the teaching of reading and writing; and new understandings of the role of cultural difference for children’s achievement in learning to read and write. Each of these areas will be considered in turn.

Static versus fluid For writers such as Franceschini (2009) and Kemp (2009), the notion of “a l­ anguage” is a convenient fiction: we are dealing rather with a chain of mutually intelligible contiguous varieties. Thus for Dirven and Verspoor (1998), the linguistic realities

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

76  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education of Europe are best explained in terms of a continuum where features change only gradually from Norwegian by the North Sea to Bavarian in Tyrol. In a similar vein, Makoni and Pennycook (2006) argue that languages simply do not exist as ­separate objects or entities that can be classified and counted. This contention gains credence in the face of wildly differing estimates of the numbers of African languages: at one extreme, in excess of 2,000 languages are thought to be spoken; at the other, 75 to 80 percent of all sub‐Saharan Africans are held to speak one of between 12 and 16 root languages (Prah, 2010). Languages, then, are best seen as fluid rather than fixed. The challenge to the static notion of “a language” inevitably has implications for discussions of bilingualism and multilingualism: if “a language” is a thing, bilingualism would logically involve two and multilingualism two or more such things. So how, then, do we explain the fact that people have differing levels of proficiency in different languages? And in codeswitching between languages, at what point do we assign an utterance to one language rather than another? Questions such as these remind us that bilingualism and multilingualism, like ­language, are dynamic phenomena. Inconsistent terminology adds to the lack of clarity. While etymology suggests that bi‐ refers to two languages and multi‐ to three or more, multilingualism is often used when as few as two languages are under discussion—the position adopted in this contribution. A further distinction relates to whether the focus is on the individual, in which case, the term plurilingual is sometimes used (see, for instance, Coste, Moore, & Zarate, 2009), or on society at large. Herdina and Jessner (2002), for instance, propose a dynamic model of multilingualism, arguing that the interaction between a speaker’s languages creates structures that do not feature in monolingual repertoires. Similarly, Blackledge and Creese (2010) talk in terms of “flexible bilingualism,” arguing that the emphasis should be on the speaker rather than the languages. In short, a bilingual is much more that the sum of two monolinguals (Grosjean, 1985): bilinguals’ language practices are complex and interrelated, rather than linear.

Literacy, biliteracy, and multiliteracies Parallel arguments exist around literacy, a notion constantly reinventing itself (Edwards, 2009; Street & Hornberger, 2010). In the nineteenth century, people were considered literate if they were able to sign their name or read a simple sentence, often based on self‐reports. Gradually, the emphasis shifted to the functions of ­written language in response to the demands of the modern world (see, for ­instance, UNESCO, 1978). Until fairly recently, literacy was seen largely in terms of a set of skills learned independently of context, characterized by Street (1984) as the autonomous model of literacy. The more recent ideological model challenges the notion of literacy as a monolithic construct made up of a discrete set of skills, and sees it rather as embedded in complex social relations that maintain asymmetries of power. The New Literacy Studies movement (New London Group, 1996; Pahl & Rowsell, 2006) builds upon the foundations of the ideological model. Its adherents

Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  77 argue that, in a rapidly changing world, we need to shift from the narrow, traditional focus in the North on one dominant language and culture to a broader vision that embraces cultural and linguistic diversity and also takes account of the multimodal meaning‐making opportunities (e.g., still images, gestures, speech, music, writing, or new configurations of these elements) created by the new technologies. The current preferred terminology, then, is multiliteracies rather than “literacy.” Within a model of literacy embedded in social practice, biliteracy involves much more than simply switching between languages in the same way that bilingualism is much more than the sum of two languages. It requires, for instance, the cultural knowledge needed to interpret texts; a sensitivity to how, when where, why and with whom a written language should be used; and the ability to communicate across a range of contexts, both socially and academically, in two or more languages.

Theory building around bi‐/multiliteracies Two writers—Nancy Hornberger and Jim Cummins—have been extremely influential in this area. The theory building work of Jim Cummins dating back to the 1970s (see Cummins, 1979; Baker & Hornberger, 2001) has far reaching implications for the development of literacies in other languages. His theories of common underlying proficiency and conversational versus academic proficiency are of particular significance. The Common Underlying Proficiency theory proposes that, although surface features such as grammar and vocabulary vary considerably from one ­language to another, they are integrated in a single thought process; they can be transferred from one language to another and do not need to be learned afresh for each new language. In the context of literacy learning, children learning to read in one language will be able to transfer a range of skills to other languages. They understand, for instance, that print carries meaning, that the stream of print is broken up into words, and that print has directionality. Cummins’ notion of conversational versus academic proficiency has also exerted considerable influence. Conversational proficiency develops rapidly over a period of one to two years through face‐to‐face interaction where there is plenty of contextual support for understanding in the form, for example, of non‐verbal cues. Academic language proficiency, in contrast, is associated with academically demanding subject matter where, typically, there is a great deal less contextual support and acquisition is a much longer process—estimates vary from five to nine years. Children are often offered additional help in school only until they have developed conversational fluency. Yet, in classroom activities involving literacy—such as synthesis, analysis, and evaluation, which demand higher‐order thinking skills—the absence of contextual support is likely to place students operating in a second or third language at a disadvantage. Given that reading is essential for the development of academic proficiency, Cummins (1998) questions why greater use is not made of extensive reading in multilingual classrooms and identifies two main issues. The first relates to the ­difficulty of finding linguistically accessible reading selections that are both interesting and cognitively appropriate; the second concerns the disruption to the flow

78  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education of meaning caused by needing to look up unknown words. New technologies— including hyperlinks to glossaries and dictionaries, and the greatly improved quality of online translation—offer exciting new ways of helping to overcome these problems. Nancy Hornberger’s (1989) Continua of Biliteracy neatly captures the complexities discussed above. As illustrated in Figure 5.1, she talks in terms of twelve intersecting and nested continua organized in four clusters: The context cluster encompasses three dimensions: macro–micro, oral–literate and bilingual–monolingual. On the macro–micro dimension, a Chinese‐speaking child in Australia using a bilingual dictionary to learn new vocabulary in English would be placed at the micro end of the continuum because he or she is paying attention to fine detail. In contrast, Gujarati‐speaking Indians in the UK, where people make only minimal use of Gujarati in writing, would be placed at the macro end. Similarly, context influences choices about the medium of communication— oral or written—and the language selected for different kinds of writing—L1, L2, or both. The second cluster concerns the biliterate development of individuals and where they might be placed on a receptive–productive continuum (reading– writing) in terms of oral and written language and of development in the different languages that they speak. The content cluster relates to minority and majority languages (e.g.,reading Spanish in the United States versus Mexico); “vernacular literacy” (e.g., letter writing or chat rooms) versus the more literary texts associated with school; and contextualized (drawing heavily on the children’s own experiences) versus decontextualised (bearing little relationship to children’s lives outside the classroom). The final cluster concerns the media or the ways in which people acquire biliteracy: simultaneous–successive exposure; similar–dissimilar in terms of language structure; and more or less convergent scripts. Contexts of biliteracy Micro Oral Bilingual

Macro Literate Monolingual

Development of biliteracy Reception Production Oral Written L1 L2 Content of biliteracy Minority Vernacular Contextualized

Majority Literary Decontextualized Media of biliteracy

Simultaneous exposure Dissimilar structures Divergent scripts

Successive exposure Similar structures Convergent scripts

Figure 5.1  Continua of Biliteracy. Source: Hornberger & Skilton‐Sylvester, 2000, p. 99.

Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  79 Revisiting the Continua of Biliteracy model some two decades after its first f­ ormulation, Hornberger (2012) surveys studies relevant to each of the clusters— contexts, media, development and content—and is struck by the ways in which such studies “broaden and deepen” the model in ways which she “could not have foreseen 20 years ago—neither in the real world nor in the research world” (p. 7).

Multilingual education Given the fluidity that characterizes recent theorization around multilingualism and multiliteracies, it is not surprising that similar discussions have emerged in relation to multilingual education. Multilingualism is the result of a number of historical and political processes, including imperialism, colonialism, nationalism and globalization. Different countries have responded to each of these processes in a range of ways, giving rise to many different models of multilingual education (for further discussion, see Edwards, 2009; Flores & Baetens Beardsmore, this volume). However, the vast array of provision now available does not lend itself to neat typologies. It is for this reason that Cenoz (2009) proposes the continua of multilingual education (see Figure 5.2), drawing on the insights of Hornberger’s model in an attempt to avoid “closed categories and hard boundaries” to capture the ­complex realities resulting from the interaction of linguistic, sociolinguistic and educational variables (p. 56).

Linguistic distance

School subject Language of instruction Teacher School context Macro Speakers Status Media Landscape

Micro Sociolinguistic context

Figure 5.2  Continua of Multilingual Education. Source: Cenoz, 2009, p. 35.

Parents Siblings Peers Neighbors

80  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Different examples of multilingual education can thus be placed at points along a continuum from “less multilingual” to “more multilingual.” At the heart of the model are school‐related variables: which subjects are taught, which languages of instruction are used, and who is the teacher? Various other dimensions interact with both school variables and each other. These include the typological distance between languages involved: schools which, for instance, teach Italian, Japanese, and Hebrew would, be placed at the more distant end of the continuum than schools which taught English, French, and Italian. Equally important is the sociolinguistic context. At the macro end of this continuum, issues such as the status to the speaker, languages used in the media and the linguistic landscape (Shohamy & Gorter, 2008) need to be considered; the micro end addresses the ­languages spoken by school children at home with their parents, siblings, or the extended family. There is widespread consensus on the levels of achievement associated with ­different kinds of program. Skutnabb Kangas (2012, p. 4) lists four main program types: submersion where children are educated completely in the dominant ­language; early exit where the mother‐tongue is used as the medium of instruction for the first one to two years as a transitional support to the exclusive use of the dominant language; late exit, where the transition is more gradual but is usually complete by grades 5 or 6; and maintenance where the mother tongue is the main medium of instruction for the first eight years or even longer. The evidence suggests that students in late exit and maintenance programs consistently outperform their peers in submersion and early exit programs (see, e.g.,Ramirez, Yuen, & Ramey, 1991) and attain good overall academic achievement (Thomas & Collier, 2002). In contrast, Genesee and Riches’ (2006) meta‐analysis of studies on minority children in the United States focuses specifically on literacy, and indicates that learners receiving reading instruction in their first language in the primary grades achieve at least the same level of performance and, on occasion, an even higher level of performance in reading in a second language than learners from similar linguistic and cultural backgrounds whose initial literacy instruction has been exclusively in English.

Theories of learning Competing theories of learning have far reaching implications for the teaching of literacy, leading to what some have termed “reading wars” (Connor, Morrison, & Katch, 2004) between advocates of “part‐to‐whole” approaches such as phonics, which stress the importance of the explicit teaching of a set of skills (the parts), and “whole‐to‐part” (whole language) approaches, which propose that sound–letter correspondences are best taught in context. In phonics teaching, the focus in learning to read is on recognizing letters, spelling patterns, and whole words; when put together, these skills allow children to decode a text. When learning to write, children follow a similar process: they start with letters (or graphemes), which they build into words, then sentences and longer texts. The direct explicit teaching associated with part‐to‐whole approaches is grounded in behaviourist theory and emphasizes what is to be taught and how.

Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  81 While the emphasis in phonics teaching is on the mechanical decoding of the written word, whole language aims to help children use a wide range of cuing ­systems—grapho‐phonic, lexical, syntactic, and semantic—to make meaning of text in what has been termed a “psycholinguistic guessing game” (Goodman, 1967, 2005). Similarly, the social constructivist underpinnings of whole language propose that children learn to write by reinventing the writing system for themselves: observing, generating hypotheses about how to do things, trying these out, and evaluating their efforts against examples of conventional writing. There are, of course, areas of overlap between the two approaches: both recognize the importance of the relationships between letters and sounds, and share the belief that understanding is the ultimate goal of reading instruction. The consensus emerging from research on early literacy learning (Edwards & Rassool, 2007) is that systematic phonics instruction is a necessary but not sufficient condition for the teaching of reading. Politicians, however, have appropriated the debate from educationalists, fanning public concern about the teaching of reading. In the United States, Paterson (2000) reported how 101 bills encouraging or mandating phonics instruction had been introduced in state legislatures since 1990. Controversies ­continue largely unabated (Edwards, 2009). Literacy has attracted similar attention in the United Kingdom where successive revisions to flagship education policies have placed increasing emphasis on phonics. Approaches to the teaching of reading have implications for all children; discussion of what works best in multilingual classrooms, however, is conspicuous through its absence. In English‐speaking countries, literacy learning is framed very much from a monolingual perspective; at the policy level, at least, awareness of the challenges for bilingual learners is limited. In the National Inquiry into the Teaching of Reading in Australia (Commonwealth of Australia, 2005), “English as a second language” appears only in a glossary and as bullet points in two places in the appendices. This lacuna can be argued to reflect the unsatisfactory nature of much of the research. Many studies fail to distinguish between different groups of bilingual learners or to take into consideration issues of the kind highlighted in the Continua of Biliteracy model. Which languages do children use? Which language is dominant? What is the relationship between the spoken and written languages? Where have children learned to read the languages—at home or in school? If the research design fails to address issues of this kind, the validity and generalizability of the findings are clearly open to question. Cognitive and developmental psychologists working from a monolingual perspective have paid considerable attention to phonological awareness—the ability to distinguish speech features such as syllables and rhyme—because of its strong relationship with success in learning to read. Three main themes in the literature are of relevance for bilingual children (Edwards & Rassool, 2007). First, exposure to more than one language appears to increase phonological awareness. Second, the structure of the language affects phonological awareness (e.g., children who speak languages with complex initial consonant clusters are better able to isolate initial sounds). Third, phonological awareness in the child’s first language is strongly related to reading achievement in the second language and vice versa.

82  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education However, there is disagreement among researchers, with some proposing a causal link between phonological awareness and reading and others that phonological awareness is one of many interesting, but not necessarily causally connected, cognitive correlates of reading and spelling achievement. As is the case for studies of literacy acquisition in bilinguals, the pedagogical implications of this research, are unclear. Phonemic awareness, a subset of phonological awareness, concerns listeners’ ability to perceive and manipulate phonemes, the smallest meaningful elements of sound in words. While it is widely believed that it is beneficial to focus on ­phonemic awareness in reading programmes in the first year of formal schooling, there has been little discussion of its usefulness in multilingual settings. Take the following examples from Edwards (2009): Two phonemes in English, one in Spanish In English, [d], as in Dan, and [ð] as in than are two separate phonemes. In Spanish, they are one: in words such as /dado/(given), the initial /d/ is always pronounced as [d] at the beginning of a word and as [ð] in the middle or at the end. One phoneme is English, two phonemes in Panjabi In English, /k/ is aspirated (or followed by a puff of air) at the beginning of a word, but not in the middle or the end. In Panjabi, both variants can occur at the any point in the word, [phul], for instance, means “fruit” while [pul] means “moment.” Unstressed vowels in English Most English phonological awareness activities use monosyllabic words. They therefore neatly side step the question of multi‐syllabic words where unstressed vowels are reduced to schwa [ə]. Although spelled the same, the first vowel in photograph, for instance, is different from the first vowel in photographer. Children in the process of learning English will inevitably experience greater difficulty than native speakers who already know how words are pronounced.

Given the very different phonologies of the two languages, it is difficult to understand how undue emphasis on phonemic awareness would be beneficial to Spanish pupils in the early stages of learning English. Another noteworthy area of difference between first and second language readers is the greater dependence of second language readers on grapho‐phonic strategies such as the use of initial letters and sounding out for word identification (Rosowsky, 2001). There are various possible explanations. By the time they start school, native speakers have already developed a wide range of tacit knowledge of how their language works. They will also have heard and used many of the words they encounter in print. The less extensive exposure of learners to the target language means that they may be familiar with some senses of words but not others. Limited knowledge of clause‐ and sentence‐level grammar may impede reading comprehension, even when individual words have been recognized. The challenge for language learners is thus to develop “semantic agility” through active inquiry (McWilliam, 1998). Limited exposure to certain text types or genres

Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  83 may also place language learners at a disadvantage, especially if information is structured and presented differently in their other languages. These observations have important implications for the usefulness of skills‐ based approaches for children learning to read in a second language. Various writers including Hutchinson, Whiteley, Smith and Connors (2003), Stuart (2004) and Denton, Anthony, Parket and Hasbrouck (2004) caution that undue emphasis should not be placed on decoding at the expense of developing comprehension skills. The growing body of research that focuses on classroom processes rather than outcomes further reinforces the conclusion that undue emphasis on skills‐ based approaches is unhelpful in multilingual classrooms. González, Moll, and Amanti (2005), for instance, show how, when teachers placed less emphasis on decoding and more on meaning by offering support for understanding in both English and Spanish, children who had been performing at low levels were able to cope with more difficult texts. Finally, it should be mentioned that research on the acquisition of literacy in bilinguals (see, for example, Bialystok, 2001, 2007) and its relationship with different writing systems (e.g., Luk & Bialystok, 2008) have attracted considerable attention. However, while throwing fascinating light on the working of the bilingual brain, the classroom applications of this work are unclear.

Languages, literacies, and cultures Many of those working in multilingual classrooms have limited awareness of the implications of cultural differences for successful literacy learning. Teachers who,  in the main, come from more economically privileged middle‐class backgrounds, tend to have little understanding of children’s lives outside school. As a result, they often attribute responsibility for pupil underperformance to the inadequacies of the home and portray minority parents as not valuing literacy; in the process, they also underestimate the role of siblings, grandparents, and other family members in children’s literacy learning (Gregory & Williams, 2000; Gregory, Long, & Volk, 2004; Gregory, in press). An obvious example is the way that reading difficulties are explained in terms of parental failure to share books with their children from early infancy (DfEE, 1998). Yet many writers offer evidence of the importance attached to literacy by minority groups who perceive schooling as the route to social mobility; they challenge strongly held assumptions in the process. Teachers, for instance, tend to assume that a parent—most often the mother—will listen to the child reading a book brought home from school for sharing. Yet in many ­communities older siblings and other family members play this role, particularly when parents do not speak the dominant language (Gregory, 1998; Kenner et al., 2007). Writers such as Kelly, Gregory, and Williams (2001) question whether book‐ and story‐reading experiences at home are, in themselves, essential for success or whether they are important simply because they reproduce what counts in early literacy tuition in school. Teacher views are often based on preconceived ideas and present minority activities in a negative light. Mosque classes are a case in point. Rosowsky (2008)

84  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education argues that Islamic literacy is mainly perceived in terms of its nuisance value by teachers who see attendance at Qu’ranic classes as intruding on valuable homework time and claim that children use going to the mosque as an excuse for leaving early when they are placed in detention after school. The greater synergy between the experience of white middle‐class children and the norms and values of the school, then, means that they are likely to experience far less disjuncture than children with different values and assumptions. Teachers act as gatekeepers, upholding specific norms about language and what counts as knowledge and defining literacy in terms of the practices and expectations of the dominant group. In the absence of support for minority language use and literacy practices in mainstream schools, the only alternative open to minority families is to organize their own provision. It would seem that there are two main motives for this course of action: the first concerns the parents’ desire to maintain the home language and culture; the second is dissatisfaction with mainstream schooling. Hornberger (2000, p. 356) describes community provision as “an avenue for cultural expression” and “a door of opportunity for the disempowered.” Gurnah (2001, p. 244) talks in terms of “the affirmation of distinctive cultural identities and … the building of learners’ self‐confidence.” How, then, do children negotiate a route between the sometimes very different approaches to literacy at home and in school? The teaching styles associated with community and mainstream school provision vary considerably from group to group, and often require children to negotiate between very different forms of organization and assumptions. Gregory (1998) shows how exposure to learning in a range of situations has allowed Bangladeshi children to develop “syncretic literacy” in which the repetition and fast pace of Qur’anic reading coexist with strategies from mainstream schooling, such as the “chunking” of expressions and prediction. Older siblings provide scaffolding finely tuned to the needs of younger children. Initially the more experienced readers provide almost every word but, over time, this support is gradually reduced until the younger sibling is reading independently. In a similar vein, Robertson (2006) draws attention to the different starting points and assumptions of teachers of children who speak Pahari—one of the ­languages of Pakistan—in three different settings: the mainstream classroom; a lunchtime class teaching Urdu, the official language of Pakistan; and after‐school Qu’ranic classes. The mainstream teacher offers an “English‐only” version of literacy where there is no space to explore children’s prior knowledge and understanding of other languages. The teacher in the lunchtime Urdu club, in contrast, uses the children’s bilingualism as a springboard for teaching and learning a third language, Urdu. Qu’ranic classes illustrate yet another approach to teaching and learning: here the children are given considerable autonomy in managing their individual learning. The children’s experience of literacy learning in three languages and of three pedagogical styles allows them to see literacies as systems. Far from perceiving these differences as confusing, they serve as a catalyst for thinking more deeply about reading and writing. Among the first things that children learn is procedural

Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  85 knowledge: what gets taught, when, and how. In English classes, this may take the form of “doing the title” before starting to read a book and, in Qur’anic lessons, reciting by heart. They have a well‐developed idea of “how you do it properly” in each setting: they are eager, for instance, to explain that when they recite the Qur’an, there should be “no cheating.” Both examples—Gregory’s discussion of the literacy learning experiences of Bangladeshi children and Robertson’s exploration of the experience of Pahari ­children—demonstrate their well‐developed ideas of how to “do literacy” in different settings, drawing on elements of both community and school approaches in their engagement with the written word. Teachers unaware of what happens outside the classroom are clearly unable to exploit these resources in school learning.

Future directions In looking to the future, three main areas appear poised for further development: multilingual pedagogies related to literacy; resources to support literacy learning; and teacher education. While awareness of the importance of these areas is now well established, much work remains to be done in terms of translating the ­theoretical and methodological issues raised above into sound and confident ­classroom practice.

Critical multilingual pedagogies The obstacles identified in the previous section require a radical rethinking of what takes place in multilingual classrooms. Various models of critical pedagogy have been developed with this precise aim in mind (see also Garcia & Wei, this volume). Louis Moll and his associates (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & González, 1992; González, Moll, & Amanti 2005) have attempted to address this issue through the incorporation of home and other influences on students’ culture into classroom learning. Researchers and teacher researchers use visits to students’ homes as the starting point for reflecting on their practice. The aim is to identify and document “funds of knowledge”—skills, ideas, practices, and bodies of knowledge essential for the smooth running and wellbeing of a household. In Mexican families in Arizona, for example, these funds of knowledge include farming and animal ­husbandry, construction, business, and finance, household management, medicine, and religion. There are many points of contact between funds of knowledge and Cummins’ (2001) notion of transformative pedagogy. He, too, attaches considerable importance to incorporating the language and culture of the community into the school, on the basis that this will increase the self‐esteem and emotional wellbeing of students. Similarly, he argues that the active involvement of families and the community in the education of their children has the potential to challenge negative views of minority communities. For Cummins, when teaching style is interactive and reciprocal, students have greater control over their learning, they grow in confidence,

86  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education and cooperation and motivation increase. Another important principle is that, wherever possible, assessment should locate problems in the social, economic, or education system rather than assuming blame lies with the student. In early formulations of bilingual education, great emphasis was placed on the separation of languages. More recent understandings of the fluid and dynamic nature of multilingualism, however, have led to corresponding developments in pedagogy. Traditional insistence on the use of certain languages in certain contexts is gradually giving way to acceptance on the part of teachers and students of the use of different languages in the classroom (Gutiérrez, Baquedano‐Lopèz & Tejada, 1999), thus mirroring more closely the everyday realities of multilingual speakers. García (2009) uses the now widely accepted notion of “translanguaging,” not simply an alternative term for code switching, but also to describe pedagogical practices such as reading in one language and taking notes, writing, or discussing in another. The focus here is on ways in which learners can draw on their linguistic and cultural resources in order to access academic content. Much further work is needed to add detail and substance to emerging pedagogies.

Resources Widely spoken languages, like Spanish or Bengali, pose fewer challenges for the resourcing of multilingual education than languages with relatively small numbers of speakers like Frisian and Welsh. Very often the small numbers of books for children appearing each year in minority languages reflect economic realities: the unit cost of publishing for these smaller populations can be prohibitive and some form of centralized provision or government subsidy is needed to meet demand (Edwards, 2007). In contrast, in countries like South Africa with its official policy of multilingualism, the markets are potentially much larger: there are, for instance, an estimated 10 million speakers of Zulu. A variety of factors have a negative effect on the availability of appropriate materials. The lack of disposable income on the part of most parents leads to heavy reliance on the education market (Edwards & Ngwaru, 2011a). Government tardiness in implementing its language‐in‐education policy, however, means that publishers are reluctant to invest. Issues of standardization also need to be considered (Edwards, 2007; Edwards & Ngwaru, 2011b, 2011c). One of the criticisms of the dual language books widely found in multilingual classrooms throughout the English‐speaking world (Edwards & Walker, 1995; Edwards, 2009) is that they use the standard literary variety of the minority language; children living outside the country of origin, however, have limited access to this variety. The Bengali used in many Bengali– English dual language books, for instance, is very different from the Sylheti that is spoken at home by Bangladeshi children in the United Kingdom. One attempt to address this issue is the multi‐variety approach taken by Busch and Schick (2006) in the former Yugoslavia where small differences in mutually intelligible spoken regional varieties are reinforced in writing. In Serbia, Cyrillic was adopted as the national script; in Croatia, dictionaries of Serbian words and their Croatian equivalents were published with the explicit aim of helping people demonstrate their

Literacy in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  87 national consciousness through language; in areas where Bosnians exercised political control, differences in orthography and Turkish influence were emphasized. The multi‐variety approach uses a range of authentic materials, for example, contemporary and historical literary texts, advertisements and leaflets, allowing individual learners to find themselves and their linguistic practices in at least some of the texts they use. Self‐made materials that address the needs and interests of specific groups of children also offer promise. This solution sits very comfortably with social ­constructivist, whole language approaches, which often use “stories” dictated by children as reading materials in the early stages. Teachers and parents can also usefully be involved in producing reading materials: their familiarity with the children’s world and what interests them allows them to introduce themes and detail that children can identify with. New technologies offer exciting ways to bypass the economic and linguistic considerations identified above. Multilingual, multimedia materials have immense flexibility: there is no limit to the number of varieties that can be stored either as text or in audio format and made available through the Internet. Examples of this approach include identity texts (Cummins & Early, 2011), a term first used in the Canadian Multiliteracies Project to describe a variety of creative work led by classroom teachers involving students in collaborative inquiry, literary narratives, dramatic and multimodal performances.

Teacher education A final and fundamental stumbling block to effective multilingual education, ­irrespective of context, is teacher education, whether in initial training or as part of continuing professional development (CPD). García and Kleyn (2012) propose that the curriculum for all teacher education should include three strands of competencies: an understanding of bilingual students and their families; knowledge of language and bilingualism/multilingualism; and awareness of how to deliver a pedagogy for multilingualism. Again, new technologies offer important ways forward. Training materials developed by Bloch and Edwards as part of the Training for Early Literacy Learning project (http://praesa.textmatters.com) can be freely downloaded. Although initially designed for the CPD of teachers in South Africa, they have the potential to be used or adapted for use in many other multilingual settings, particularly in Africa. A major concern for initial teacher education is that students should have direct experience of multilingual children and their families in schools: discussions of multilingualism cannot be limited to theory. The issues for CPD are possibly more complex (Edwards, 2009). Initiatives are often piecemeal and take the form of a series of unrelated workshops with little follow‐up or guidance on implementation, and few attempts are made to meet the needs of teachers with differing levels of experience. The move to locate professional development of individual teachers in the context of whole school improvement offers a more promising way forward. Increasing attention is being paid to the transformative

88  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education potential of “communities of practice” where people with a common interest ­collaborate over an extended period to share ideas and solve problems, thus taking ownership of the change process. Whole school change also requires strong leadership (Fullan, 2011). Effective leaders have a strong sense of mission but, at the same time, encourage a participative approach. They focus on the importance of academic goals and processes and demonstrate a concern with pupil learning at the classroom level and motivate staff to have high expectations of students.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted to encapsulate the relevance for literacy of the ­multilingual realities of life in the twenty‐first century by highlighting associated methodological and theoretical issues and problems. Our understanding of the extent and nature of linguistic diversity, including its complex interactions and fluidity, have broadened and deepened in recent decades. These new theoretical underpinnings, however, have influenced classroom practices unevenly. In cases where there have been serious attempts to translate theory into practice, teachers have no alternative but to reinvent pedagogical practices devised with monolingual, more culturally homogenous populations in mind. That said, we now have a much clearer idea of pedagogies that more closely meet the needs of multilingual learning communities in relation to both learning in general and literacy learning in particular. The challenge for the future, then, is for teachers to add detail and substance as they gain confidence in translating theory into practice. By the same token, new technologies offer exciting ways forward for the rapid development of teaching and learning resources which bypass economic and linguistic obstacles to materials development. Finally, sounder conceptualization of teacher education for multilingual classrooms in all their varied forms offers promise for the future. We now have a clear picture of what needs to be included and why. However, much work remains to be done on establishing how teachers can best be supported to make the necessary changes.

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6 Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education Conflict, Struggle, and Power Laura A. Valdiviezo and Sonia Nieto

Introduction In numerous nations around the world, the important link between language and culture has generally been acknowledged in bilingual programs. Beginning in the 1960s, the early period of present‐day bilingual education in the United States, for example, bilingual education was traditionally characterized as “bilingual‐bicultural education,” a characterization that has been largely agreed upon by advocates in the field, in theory, if not always in policy and practice. In this chapter, we address the significance of culture in bilingual education both in the United States and globally. First, we discuss the meaning of culture, drawing from diverse perspectives in anthropology and sociology. We then pre­ sent a historical overview of how culture has been understood as part of bilingual and multilingual education, both in international contexts and in the United States. We also analyze how culture has been misunderstood and misapplied, from superficial treatments in curricula to more deeply grounded ideologies. In addition, because language maintenance and language reclamation have been tied to issues of cultural integrity and survival, we will illustrate this point with several examples. We conclude the chapter with a discussion of how culture can be more thoroughly theorized to be an essential component of bilingual and multilingual education.

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  93

Culture in bilingual education: theoretical considerations Although it is generally understood that bilingual education must of necessity include culture, how culture is defined has not always been clear either theoreti­ cally or in practical terms. One of the authors of this chapter (Nieto) has defined culture as “the ever‐changing values, traditions, social and political relation­ ships, and worldview created, shared, and transformed by a group of people bound together by a combination of factors that can include a common history, geographic location, language, social class, and religion” (Nieto, 2010, p. 78). Moreover, she has also suggested that culture is dynamic, multifaceted, embedded in context, influenced by social, economic, and political factors, created and socially constructed, learned, and dialectical (Nieto, 2010). A brief explanation of some of these factors follows. Culture is dynamic because it does not exist outside of human beings. Just as human beings are constantly changing, culture too is always changing. Culture cannot be defined by static relics, behaviors, or values. Steven Arvizu’s (1994) description of culture as a verb rather than a noun captures this sense of culture. According to Frederick Erickson (1990), understanding the dynamic nature of culture means rejecting the notion that it is frozen “outside time, outside a world of struggle in concrete history” (p. 34). That culture is influenced by social, economic and political factors and that it is embedded in context means that cultures are always hybrids, changing according to the context in which they exist. In other words, although the popular concep­ tion of cultural change is that it is almost like a transfusion, where one culture is emptied out of a person and a new one is poured in, the reality is that people are cultural agents, selecting or rejecting particular elements of culture that may or may not work within specific situations. Culture is also multifaceted, heterogeneous, and eclectic. As a result, it cannot be conflated with either ethnicity or race, as often erroneously happens. People may—and often do—have mul­ tiple identities, some of which are not based on ethnicity or race but rather on other social identities such as social class, language, religion, gender, sexual orientation, geographical location, personal experience, and history, among others. The sociologist Pierre Bourdieu (1986) added to our understanding of culture as influenced by economic, social, and political factors. Bourdieu theorized that it is not just money, or economic capital, that determines one’s standing in the social structure. Equally important are what he defined as social capital and cultural capital. Social capital consists of social obligations and networks that can be ­converted into economic capital. He defined cultural capital as the acquired tastes, values, languages, and dialects, or the educational qualifications, that mark a person as belonging to a particular social and cultural class. Culture is neither inherited nor passed on through one’s genes; instead, it is learned, created, and socially constructed.

94  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Just as one learns one’s native culture and language within the context of one’s home and community, cultural capital too is generally acquired in the absence of any deliberate or explicit teaching; it is instead learned naturally. The initial accumulation of cultural capital, in the words of Bourdieu (1986, p. 246) is “the best hidden form of hereditary transmission of capital.” In essence, then, culture is deeply entangled with economic and political privilege, or the lack of it. This means that the tastes, values, languages, and dialects that have the greatest status are usually associated with the dominant social class. This is not because these tastes, values, languages, or dialects are inherently better than others, but rather because the group with the greatest power in a society has determined that their tastes, values, languages, and so on, are the ones with higher social prestige. This is a particularly significant issue in bilingual education, where some languages are held in higher esteem than others because they happen to be the so‐called “standard,” whether in Spanish, French, or any other language. Because most schools are organized to reflect the cultural capital—including the language—of privileged social groups, this is the cultural capital that is prized in schools. In a conversation with Ira Shor about the prominence of Standard English, Paulo Freire pointedly asked, “When did a certain form of grammar become ‘correct’? Who named the language of the elite as ‘correct,’ as the standard?” He answered his own questions by ­stating, “They did, of course. But, why not call it ‘upper‐ class dominating English’ instead of ‘Standard English’? That authentic naming would reveal, instead of obscure, the politics of power and language in society” (Shor & Freire, 1987, p. 45). In this answer, Freire pointed at the arbitrary nature of cultural capital. Biculturalism is one of the goals of bilingual education. The very concept of biculturalism underscores the fact that culture is learned. That is, bilingual educa­ tion is based on the principle that one can learn two or more languages and two or more cultural systems quite flawlessly in order to function and even to succeed in different linguistic and cultural contexts. But “learning” a culture that is not one’s native culture is a difficult task, one that can be accomplished only through direct, sustained, and deep involvement with it. If teachers who work with students of diverse backgrounds have not gone through this process, it can be difficult for them to understand what their students go through in learning an additional lan­ guage and also adjusting to a new culture. Becoming bicultural is a complex pro­ cess because it means internalizing at least two cultural systems and sometimes their inherent values can be contradictory or even diametrically opposed. In most cases, it is generally only students from dominated cultural backgrounds who need to become bicultural as a requirement for academic and societal success. In spite of their youth, isolation, and the obstacles they face as immigrants and refu­ gees, they are often successful nonetheless in becoming bicultural and bilingual. We might call this a critical biculturalism, that is, a biculturalism that is complicated and full of inconsistencies and challenges. This can also be said of bilingual educa­ tion as a whole. We now turn to a brief historical overview of the significance of culture in bilingual education.

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  95

Historical overview The history of bilingual education in many nations has always been one of conflict, struggle, and power. It is also the history of efforts that began in the local community and sometimes, even decades later, became recognized and legally assumed by governments. In its modern iteration in the United States, bilingual education began during the contentious 1960s and was a direct outgrowth of the Civil Rights Movement. This movement was to influence how bilingual education developed in other nations around the world as well. Bilingual/multilingual education is a global concern, not limited to one society or culture. While the impetus for the modern version of bilingual educa­ tion in the United States began as a result of broad‐based demands centered on civil rights, it had been in place in societies around the world—although not nec­ essarily as official policy—for many years. Thus, in places from Europe to Africa to Asia and Latin America, bilingual education has been the result of the demands of Indigenous minorities. No matter what the society, the role of culture has been prominent, even when this role has not always been made explicit in the concep­ tualization and implementation of bilingual education within the communities and contexts where it takes place. In this light, it is relevant to stress the need to problematize the monolithic idea that bilingualism is tied only to vocabulary and content translation. As discussed in what follows, cultural responsiveness in bilingual education is not only a pedagogical endeavor; it also constitutes a political struggle.

A look to the past to understand the present A brief overview of the role that culture has played in bilingual education across different contexts allows us to witness experiences of conflict, struggle, and power. It also helps us to understand its historical and political weight, as well as the importance of conceptualizing human rights, social justice, and cultural diversity as its foundations. Research on the history of bilingual education in the United States, for example, allows us to understand how bilingual education was encouraged and practiced within some of the first European immigrant commu­ nities starting in the seventeenth century, how it was successfully advocated for by Cuban immigrants in Florida in the 1960s, and, among other important events, how it became part of a larger struggle for civil rights (Baker, 2006). We can trace the zigzag of support for bilingual education in the past 400 years and how this support, or lack of support, has been related to particular sociopolitical condi­ tions in the nation. Such important policy decisions as the Lau vs. Nichols decision in 1974, to voter‐supported initiatives that led to the dismantling of bilingual education beginning with Proposition 227 in California in 1998, Proposition 203 in Arizona in 2000, and Question 2 in Massachusetts in 2002, have been a consequence of shifting ideologies in particular historical moments. These ideologies have ranged from xenophobia to a grudging acceptance of cultural and linguistic diversity.

96  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Bilingual/multilingual education has always concerned issues besides language. Primarily, it has concerned itself with human rights, social justice, and cultural diversity. These foundational aspects of bilingual/multilingual education are ­epistemologically grounded on sociocultural, sociohistorical, and sociopolitical perspectives. We explore and reframe the relationship between language and culture as one that has been too often assumed yet not exhaustively explored. To continue this discussion, we provide an overview of bilingual education that, we believe, can contribute to understanding the relevance of its cultural foundations across numerous contexts.

The role of culture in bilingual education in the United States As in the case of demands for equity and social justice in many other arenas— namely, ethnicity, gender, ability, sexual orientation, and others—bilingual educa­ tion in the United States developed as an outgrowth of the Civil Rights Movement. Through the courts, the legislatures, and the streets, advocates for equal and quality education demanded the use of native language instruction as an antidote to the dismal academic failure of Latino/a and other students of language minor­ ity backgrounds. From the beginning, advocates (parents, teachers, community ­members, and others) recognized that, without acknowledging the significance of culture in bilingual education, this approach might simply become another assim­ ilative tool to transition students from their native language to English, in essence from being monolingual in one language to becoming monolingual in another. Acknowledging the significance of culture means a number of things. For one, it means using authentic curricula and other materials in instruction. This was nearly impossible when federal support for bilingual education first began in the late 1960s in the United States. Most programs were Spanish/English and needed to resort to using materials developed primarily in Spain and Mexico. Materials from Spain, which were the most numerous, were inappropriate because of the geographic context, the cultural referents, and in many cases, the syntax and vocabulary. These materials, as well as many of the instructional materials from Mexico, did not address the urban and minority experiences of the children in bilingual programs in the United States. This was also true of the few materials from Puerto Rico, characterized as they were by images of palm trees, beaches, and middle‐class nuclear families living in single‐family homes, something that most language minority students living in the Northeast did not recognize. Many of the other books available were translations of English‐medium books, another example of how the culture connected with the native language was missing in most instructional resources. As a result of these limitations, for the first several years of bilingual programs in the United States, teachers either had to develop their own materials or rely on materials devoid of authentic cultural referents. Today many more authentic and culturally based curricula and other instruc­ tional materials are available. Nevertheless, given the waning influence of native‐ language instruction in the United States—where many programs have morphed

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  97 from bilingual to sheltered English immersion approaches—it is still the case that genuine cultural materials are unavailable in many programs. In addition, bilingual programs in languages other than Spanish have always had a difficult time finding culturally authentic materials and have had to either create their own or rely on translated English materials. It is relevant to add that the lack and inappropriateness of material resources has been but one of the challenges facing bilingual/multilingual education. At the core of these concerns are the teachers serving language minority speakers. How teachers are prepared and supported, and how they are able to partner with communities beyond the school continue to be urgent, although commonly forgotten issues in discussions concerning not only bilingual/multilingual education, but all education. In the present discussion we suggest that, given the important responsibility they have, teachers need to be kept in mind as important players in bilingual education. We also wish to emphasize our responsibility as educators who can advocate and offer concrete spaces to support the preparation and practice of teachers serving bilingual/multilingual communities, which in the great scheme of things repre­ sents virtually all teachers in school systems across the globe. (See Chapter 16, Teacher Education and Support)

The role of culture in bilingual education in other contexts Research on bilingual education in other contexts also helps expand the knowledge base about its foundations. This research has historical and political relevance for the present state of the field globally. For example, among South American Andean countries with a significant presence of Indigenous populations, efforts to develop bilingual education based on the recognition of Indigenous rights have been around since the 1940s, decades before it became official policy, particularly in the case of Bolivia and Ecuador (Moya, 2007). The history of bilingual education in the Andes highlights the meaningful role of teachers who, on their own initiative, developed the first bilingual materials to teach Indigenous children in remote schools many decades before bilingual education was mandated by the state. Studies of bilingual education policy in the Andean region underscore the com­ plex contradictions within the policy itself, where narratives of native language maintenance versus language transition to the dominant language co‐exist in policy discourse, and where classroom practice also reflects this co‐existence. In terms of the role of culture, there is a history of resistance to top‐down mandates and a de facto policy of castellanización, that is, the privileging of Castilian Spanish, the colonial language and culture (Valdiviezo, 2013). Among relevant efforts we find local practices of bilingual education in Peru that strive to take culture into account, an effort often dismissed by government officials. Research clearly shows that the road from policy to practice is quite complex and paradoxical, not only in the Andes but also in other Latin American countries where shifting government policies now integrate cultural and language diversity in order to address the educational and human rights of ethnolinguistic minorities (López & Küper, 2004).

98  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Geographic distance has had less impact than the colonial experience when it comes to policies and practice surrounding language in schools and societies. Research on bilingual education in Southeast Asia, such as a study by Lin and Man (2009) of policies and programs in Singapore and Hong Kong, reveals the chal­ lenges of multicultural and multilingual societies because access to bilingual English/dominant local language programs depends largely on social class and fragmented nationalistic political agendas. Such access, or lack thereof, continues to reproduce educational, social and economic inequalities that most significantly affect underrepresented populations by curtailing further access to quality educa­ tion while at the same time creating new subaltern groups that reinforce classist societal structures (Lin & Man, 2009). Similar challenges impact other countries in the Asian region where important connections among pedagogy, language, diver­ sity, and culture in bilingual education initiatives have been attempted. Lavoie and Benson’s (2011) study of a Hmong–Vietnamese bilingual education pilot program in Vietnam describes pedagogic approaches that aim at embracing cultural diversity explicitly within the bilingual classroom setting. Studies such as these demonstrate the importance of paying attention to local practices in order to gain an in‐depth understanding of the impact of macro processes, as well as the agency of local actors in these processes. Qualitative inquiry has been useful at de‐essentializing assumptions about the achievements of bilingual education policy and programs while presenting its complexities. Under new government‐sponsored policies of bilingual education that emphasize cultural and linguistic diversity, research in Latin American contexts is showing that Indigenous communities who have survived the suppression of their language and culture during colonization continue today to experience schools as places that may be foreign not only to their language but also to their identity. As shown in previous sections, qualitative inquiry also helps to complicate this knowledge as it shows the struggle of teachers, students, and communities but also their resilience and power to contest inequality and reinterpret policy and programs. Knowledge of local practices can both challenge assumptions about bilingual/multilingual education while at the same time allowing society to ima­ gine possibilities different from the status quo, that is, actions, means, and ends for social justice that embrace linguistic and cultural diversity. Through research we can also learn much about the historical and political weight of bilingual education in the African continent where, as in other postcolo­ nial contexts, the colonial imprint has continued to impose the dominant language and culture in schools and the systemic suppression of the mother tongue and local cultural practices. A variety of studies of African schools focus on the chal­ lenges of accessing formal education for the most impoverished populations; however, only a few studies point to both the urgency of culturally relevant edu­ cation to challenge and change the structures that have maintained inequality within African societies (Dei, 2008) and the inclusion of Indigenous science and philosophy in the curriculum as a reconceptualization of sustainable development in the African, and particularly the South African context (Breidlid, 2009). Even fewer studies highlight the role bilingual education may play in decolonizing and

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  99 thus building more just societies. Similar to Lavoie and Benson’s (2011) study of a bilingual program in Asia that explicitly includes cultural responsiveness, Lavoie (2008) discusses bilingual teaching practices as a response to colonial education in the case of Burkina Faso, where teaching embraces a set of culturally relevant ­pedagogical approaches that meaningfully engage students in learning. The research literature reveals few cases where bilingual education is imple­ mented with a pedagogy that aims at cultural responsiveness to local communities (as mentioned in studies by Lavoie & Benson, 2011; May, 2001; Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2007). The Māori people of New Zealand are one example. Historically, educational access for the Māori people has meant—as in other postcolonial countries—the systemic and violent suppression of their language and cultural practices (May, 2001; Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2007). Research into bilingual education in this context allows us to understand how advances in policy and programs in bilingual educa­ tion have responded to years of continuous advocacy by the Māori people. Advocacy work on the part of the Māori has been defined as the revitalization of their language in clear relation to their cultural practices. As established when the Education Amendment Act (Te Aho Matua) became a statute in New Zealand law, Māori caretakers were deemed to be those with the authority to protect education for the Māori and to decide the content of this education in accordance with prin­ ciples rooted in their own cultural practices. Access to education—and specifically to bilingual education—in this case is defined in response to the structural con­ straints and failure of mainstream education to offer such access to Māori students and communities, who, for generations, experienced schooling as a violent and disempowering process or what Tove Skutnabb‐Kangas (2000) would define as “linguistic genocide.” The history and policy of bilingual education across various contexts demon­ strate the broad support bilingual education has enjoyed during certain periods, while during many others it has attracted criticism and fierce opposition. Such ideological pendulum movements are often tied to government projects (e.g., the formation and consolidation of the nation‐state under one language and one identity) and education reform, with concrete social and economic consequences for the lives of the children and communities who are speakers of nondominant languages. Moreover, bilingual education in a globalized era of competing lan­ guage and bilingual education paradigms—that is, of language diversity as a problem and a deficit, or as a right and as a resource (García, 2009)—presents similar challenges to those in the past for nondominant speakers in minority com­ munities (e.g., Indigenous populations and immigrant populations of color). These communities by and large continue to experience exclusion and failure in formal school settings. While qualitative research in bilingual education is still sorely needed, the contribution it has already made has been valuable. It has helped to shift attention away from nondominant children and their communities as those to blame for the shortcomings of education, to the institutional structures and practices that reproduce and perpetuate inequality. This perspective has been essential to broadening our understanding of the need to search beyond official policy and programs into students’, families’, and teachers’ interpretations of

100  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education bilingual education. Attention to the local context is imperative if we are to gain knowledge about bilingual ­education that will, in turn, influence theory, policy, programs, classroom pedagogy, and, above all, the lives of nondominant speakers and their society.

Language, culture and education access today A tension exists between current globalizing trends (which tend to homogenize economies and societies) and the survival of cultural diversity, which is one of the foundations of bilingual education. Some of the more direct responses to these homogenizing trends have been in the hands of Indigenous populations who have fostered as well as productively taken advantage of international legislation in this respect. A relevant legislative document is Article 169 of the International Labor Organization, drafted in 1989, concerning the definitions and rights of Indigenous peoples (May, 2001). This document has been influential in the delin­ eation of policy and advocacy for education that is culturally and linguistically pertinent to Indigenous peoples. The document insists that bilingual education is, and should be, responsive to the rights of all people in relation to the access and quality of education they are offered. In addition, international initiatives that advocate for education for all constitute a pertinent platform to question access to education in a particular language. Certainly, access to instruction in a language that is unknown does not constitute actual access to education beyond the ability to physically or even virtually enter a schoolhouse. A culturally and linguistically pertinent education is a right for all children. As such, the contribution of international legislation in some instances has helped extend these rights to linguistic and ethnic minorities who may not be considered Indigenous. These include immigrant and transnational communities in urban and rural settings. As discussed in the following section, most legislation in bilingual education tends to emphasize a rationale based on the language of instruction, pay­ ing lip service to the idea of culture as inherent to bilingual education. At best, a multicultural education is mentioned, but without offering further analysis or explanations.

Global policy trends in bilingual education The fact that several countries around the world agree in their inclusion of bilingual education policies and programs in their legislation is not a mere ­coincidence. International organizations such as UNICEF and UNESCO have been instrumental in promoting global agendas that address the right of minority ­populations throughout the world to an education that is culturally and lin­ guistically pertinent (García, Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Torres‐Guzmán, 2006). For example, since the 1990s government‐sponsored multicultural bilingual education policy and programs—particularly in the global south—have been provided to Indigenous and language minority populations, while other regions of the world

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  101 continue to demand bilingual education as an alternative to education offered in dominant languages that are foreign to their populations. In the Latin American context, López and Küper (2004) acknowledge that constitutions in at least eleven countries (Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, Guatemala, Mexico, Nicaragua, Paraguay, Peru, and Venezuela) assert their multicultural character while four other countries (Chile, El Salvador, Honduras, and Panama) recognize the right to a culturally relevant education. While responsive to the rights of Indigenous and language minority populations, the establishment of policy and programs that emphasize cultural and linguistic diversity uncover both new and old challenges related to the foundations of bilingual/multilingual education, namely, that access to bilingual education among diverse populations is a complex endeavor that demands important culturally responsive institutional and social transformations. Particularly in countries of the global south, such a transformation is based on community ownership and the par­ ticipation of traditionally underrepresented voices in society (Valdiviezo, 2013). In other contexts, access to bilingual education continues to stress the language of instruction, detached from cultural relevance or multicultural issues. Studies of the implementation of bilingual and language education policy in the United States have examined top‐down decisions in light of what local implementation of these policies shows, namely, the co‐existing disparate conceptualizations of bilingual education among different actors. Interestingly, as the work of David Cassels Johnson (2010) has emphasized, the analysis of discourse concerning bilingual ­education among educators and administrators reveals disparate—and sometimes, surprisingly contradictory—notions about the importance of bilingual education even among those who express explicit support for nondominant students. Similar analysis also reveals how leadership in schools and districts can shape policy reproduction as well as its contestation (Johnson, 2010; De Jong, Gort, & Cobb, 2005). Current global trends in bilingual education reveal tremendous conflict. Whereas legislation has opened a space for additive schooling and teaching practices that cherish and promote multilingualism, at the same time homogenizing ideologies persist. Qualitative ethnographic approaches have provided insightful contributions to the centrality of not only socioeconomic and political contexts, but also of the actors that give life and currency to bilingual education in the twenty‐first century. One example is an ethnographic study of Dominican immigrant youth in a bilingual high school in New York City (Bartlett & García, 2011). This study shows the extraordinary resilience and accomplishments of newcomers in becoming bilingual and succeeding in school, while facing the impact of policy trends that characterize what Bartlett and García rightfully term “subtractive times,” a con­ cept based on Angela Valenzuela’s ground‐breaking research (1999) in which she coined the term “subtractive schooling.” This is a context of both struggle and empowerment for teachers, parents, and students, as well as their overall commu­ nities. Knowledge of both the present context and the history of educational inequality and its perpetuation through ideologies of exclusion can help propel advocacy, as can inspiring moments of history that reveal how equity and justice have prevailed, even if only temporarily.

102  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

The tensions of global trends in bilingual education As mentioned above, it is no mere coincidence that, across continents, governments that were originally committed to the project of constructing national unity through language and cultural homogenization now support pluralism and pro­ mote bilingual education through new policy initiatives. These bilingual educa­ tion initiatives are not endogenous, as they are part of coherent international agendas concerning the right to access to mother tongue education framed in ­connection with education development and the fight against poverty (García, Skutnabb‐Kangas, & Torres‐Guzmán, 2006). In the context of these agendas, it is possible to argue for the need to provide access to bilingual education as a human right as well as a social justice issue. It is less clear, however, how discourses emphasizing mother‐tongue education and overall development are associated with cultural diversity. In their attempt to comply with education development initiatives, states ­typically redefine their education policy to reflect development efforts. However, institutionally, exclusionary practices towards ethnolinguistic communities, from the education of teachers to school structure, continue. Bilingual education offered as a right for ethnolingusitic and nondominant groups across the globe includes their native language. Within discourses of education for development that underscore the possibility of underserved communities accessing education as an opportunity to overcome poverty, there are numerous misconceptions about what such access looks like. Commonly, access to education represents the possibility to attend and remain in school as the main goal of education development efforts. This view ignores the fact that it is actually the lack of quality education (e.g., through pedagogical approaches, teaching practices, and overall curriculum) that underserved populations around the globe encounter in school that contributes to reproducing grave social disparity. Thus, conceptualizations of bilingual education framed in traditional development discourse that assumes the addition of a native language to be adequate compliance with bilingual education policy, while in actu­ ality, cultural diversity remains invisible in pedagogical approaches that may con­ tinue to exacerbate marginalization of native speakers of nondominant languages. Critical studies on development discourses such as those by Colombian‐ American Arturo Escobar (1995) have helped deconstruct global development agendas by pointing out the devastating impact of their hegemonic goals on cultural difference and diversity. This critique is central to examining government‐ sponsored bilingual education policy and programs in the global south. It also helps bring attention to local action (e.g., social movements, Indigenous move­ ments) that present alternative means and aims that communities practice and envision for their present and future. Thus, the landscape of bilingual education in these contexts presents important discursive tensions that reaffirm the need to understand cultural diversity not only for its pedagogical relevance but also for its political significance. Escobar’s emphasis on local “alternative” visions of development that counter hegemonic agendas can aid educators and bilingual education advocates to imagine

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  103 multiple modalities addressing cultural diversity. The path toward more socially just futures may not only be envisioned solely as economic wealth but also as political participation, voice, and ownership of decision‐making processes positively impact­ ing the lives of diverse communities. An important issue to address is whether an initiative with the global magnitude of bilingual education aimed at providing access to education and overall socioeconomic opportunities to historically and ­traditionally underserved populations could also aim at decolonizing education institutions. In the same vein, we can ask to what extent cultural diversity as a foundation of bilingual/multilingual education can help frame the transformation of schools and society to equalize the power of different communities, their ways of knowing, ways of seeing, and ways of acting upon the world. In the histories of exclusion and violent suppression of difference of language and culture, bilingual education is conceived as a movement and proposal to address inequality and offer an education that responds to the indisputable right of any and all human beings to access education in their own language(s). It is also an education that is responsive to cultural diversity and in that way it aims at building a more just society for all its sectors. The example of the Māori people and their accomplishments in protecting their language and culture and, fundamentally, in protecting who they are as people through education, is a powerful case that illus­ trates how cultural diversity in education is a question of human preservation. The challenges of bilingual education in our contemporary world are many. We believe that cultural diversity is a foundation of bilingual/multilingual education that has remained mainly assumed and, thus, unexplored. Therefore we empha­ size the need for prioritizing inquiry in order to shed light on the relationship of language and culture in bilingual/multilingual education contexts. We also believe this knowledge is potentially transformative of the educational endeavor, its actors and society in general.

Methodological and theoretical issues and problem areas On numerous occasions, bilingual education scholar and advocate Ofelia García has pointed to pervasive misconceptions surrounding bilingual education. Such misconceptions emerge from issues such as the delineation of policy with subtrac­ tive ideas of bilingual education, to the implementation of pedagogical approaches that obviate the importance of cultural responsiveness. In the classroom setting, such responsiveness is based on actual knowledge, not on assumptions of the dif­ ferent conceptions that educators hold about students. Not only among teachers but in society in general as well, assumptions have easily aligned with deficiency perspectives about nondominant speakers. As our examination of global trends in bilingual education highlights, contemporary conceptions of education and lan­ guage policy that include speakers of nondominant languages reflect perceptions of deficiency towards certain communities by dismissing the linguistic and cultural resources of these communities. Instead policy and programs, including

104  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education curricula, focus on assumptions about what nondominant speakers do not or may not have with respect to the dominant culture and language (see the discussion of bilingual ­education policy development and shifts in Johnson, 2010). Moreover, in these ­subtractive times (nondominant) community and Indigenous cultural prac­ tices, knowledge and ways of relating to the world are assumed to be backward and thus undeserving of value and recognition within the school setting. This per­ ception is in direct contradiction with the inclusion of native languages in the con­ text of bilingual/multilingual programs. As mentioned throughout this chapter, cultural diversity constitutes not only a foundation that can inform and enhance culturally responsive pedagogy in the classroom; cultural diversity is also a political struggle for the right to co‐exist, to participate, and to contribute to society and the world. This struggle requires for­ mulating an ecological stance as the emphasis for survival. In this ecological per­ spective, the survival of a language, a culture, individuals, and communities will ultimately impact human society. One of the challenges in this respect comes from essentialized perspectives that focus on isolation as a requisite for survival. We can find these perspectives particularly in communities that have experienced coloni­ zation and even globalization through violence and “linguistic genocide.” These communities can use the platform of self‐determination to choose to survive with cultural integrity through some level of separation from the overall society. Within an ecological perspective this challenge is as problematic as homogenization pro­ jects (e.g., colonization) that provoke the marginalization of culturally and linguis­ tically diverse nondominant communities. Thus, it may be pertinent to ask: to what extent can cultural diversity in bilingual education be a platform to advocate for the right to be different and at the same time to promote an ecological and more socially just co‐existence? We have mentioned the contributions of qualitative studies to knowledge about the relationship of language and culture as well as to de‐essentializing assumptions about languages and their speakers (particularly nondominant speakers). Indeed, we are not suggesting the creation of a whole new method­ ology or theory of cultural diversity in bilingual/multilingual education. Instead, we wish to continue to advocate for research that employs critical methodologies to examine local cultural practices in bilingual/multilingual education settings within sociohistorical and sociopolitical contexts. We consider that this kind of research can continue to illuminate understandings of local success stories and also to help identify ideologies of exclusion in discourse and social practice. In today’s world, rapid changes, demographic flows and migration are further diversifying societies and classrooms while globalization trends push for a more homogeneous world. Bilingual/multilingual education has been undertaken as policy by govern­ ments in order to address the rights of historically excluded peoples, to open and increase their education access. At the same time, governments strive to comply with economic policy that demands the creation of a labor force that is pliable and ready to learn new skills rapidly in a changing economy. Another expectation is that this labor force should neither question nor challenge the system that sustains

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  105 such policies. An important role of scholars and advocates is to respond critically to these trends and to emphasize inquiry perspectives that enable educators to uncover the tensions and the nuances of co‐existing complex and changing para­ digms and multilingual realities.

Rethinking the role of teachers in bilingual/ multilingual education Many times policies of exclusion result in, at best, a minimal preparation for teachers serving nondominant communities. This is an area that we consider to be  of grave concern that needs to be addressed. Additionally, teachers who are already in schools cannot always count on the support of administrators, which, as various studies have shown, is essential to the sustainability of (language) pro­ grams and what teachers do to support bilingual/multilingual instruction (Bartlett & García, 2011). We shall continue to emphasize what scholars in the past have already asserted, that is, the importance of preparing bilingual/multilingual teachers—and in actuality we should state “all” teachers—to be multicultural edu­ cators. Because the inclusion of culture in education as a right and matter of social justice constitutes a central concern to these scholars, they have stressed the urgency of embracing cultural diversity in teaching and learning in all schools (Nieto, 2010; Sleeter, 2008). In the present world of changing and fluid demo­ graphics, qualitative inquiry should continue to engage and benefit from school practice in bilingual/multilingual contexts to gain new knowledge from local con­ texts in order to enhance teacher education and offer support to teachers in schools. Part of the education and support offered to future and present teachers should include developing research skills to learn about the cultures and communities they serve. In this same light, scholars can more purposefully contribute to dis­ seminating local initiatives so that educators and advocates continue to gain ideas from other contexts to enrich understandings from their own, which is even more urgent now that increasingly diverse student populations continue to populate classrooms. Thus, we may have much to learn from what social practice, teaching, and learning in other multilingual contexts like the global south can provide, for example, to the global north, to make sense of local challenges and to problematize our understanding of such challenges with the alternatives that other contexts can offer. Moreover, in rethinking the role of teachers in bilingual/multilingual educa­ tion, the task is not to discover or create anything new, but rather to shift the emphasis of inquiry to define teachers as policy agents, innovative thinkers, researchers in the classroom, and community advocates.

Future directions In this chapter we have focused on cultural diversity as an important foundation of bilingual and multilingual education. In our discussion we have highlighted the challenges of understanding the relationship of culture to language, and we have

106  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education argued that this relationship needs to be rethought as it has remained unexplored. Together with scholars and advocates, we recognize that bilingual and multilin­ gual education is a movement that goes far beyond its establishment in de jure policy, or teaching in and about two or more languages (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2007; García, 2009; May, 2001) that follows linear subtractive or additive language edu­ cation models (Bartlett & García, 2011). There is important political and historical weight that the understanding of bilingual and multilingual education ought to underscore. This political and historical weight has helped frame the foundations of bilingual/multilingual education as human rights, social justice, and cultural diversity. Within human rights discourses, bilingual and multilingual education can be contextualized in particular historical and political developments around the globe, such as the civil rights movement, the recognition of and advocacy for Indigenous rights and, more recently, language rights. In the same light, social jus­ tice as a foundation of bilingual and multilingual education helps us understand language education as an endeavor that impacts traditionally and historically underserved sectors as well as society at large. In the same way, we cannot con­ ceive injustice as an isolated phenomenon that impacts only certain sectors of society; that is, we cannot think of social justice for just one sector because injustice and social justice take place in context through the dynamics of relationships among individuals and communities. Cultural diversity is the foundation of bilingual and multilingual education that, as mentioned, has been the focus of this chapter. Much of the literature we have presented continues to make the case for the need for an education that is bilingual, if not multilingual; however, in our assessment of the contributions of this literature, we find a need for explicit research into the relationship between language and culture. Our emphasis on cultural diversity as one of the core foun­ dations of bilingual and multilingual education also leads to an exploration of research approaches that aim at problematizing the tacit connection between lan­ guage and culture and making their relationship explicit. This need is particularly relevant in the current subtractive times, characterized mainly by homogenizing policies and social practice as well as by conflicting and co‐existing perspectives and practices related to bilingual/multilingual education. We find that the contri­ butions from critiques grounded in decolonial and post‐developmental perspec­ tives (respectively in the works of Arturo Escobar and George Sefa Dei), are useful in emphasizing how the recognition of cultural diversity in bilingual/multilingual education presents the imperative to counter power structures that marginalize Indigenous and nondominant peoples together with their languages, knowledges, and ways of life. Ultimately this call to embrace cultural diversity constitutes a call to decolonize education. We find that qualitative inquiry continues to serve the purpose of uncovering the obvious and making it explicit—or “strange,” as some anthropologists would say. Together with a qualitative approach, decolonial and post‐development per­ spectives can contribute knowledge of cultural diversity in bilingual/multilingual contexts that can result in fundamental transformations of our understanding and valuing of diverse communities. Perhaps by decolonizing beliefs about and

Culture in Bilingual and Multilingual Education  107 relations with diverse communities, educators can build not only more democratic, but also more ecological educational approaches in their classrooms. These consti­ tute fundamental transformations that can impact pedagogy and the school as institution, which, in turn, can help us to re‐envision ourselves important and necessary players of a linguistically and culturally diverse humanity.

References Arvizu, S. (1994). Building bridges for the future: Anthropological contributions to diversity and classroom practice. In R. DeVillar, C. Faltis, & J. Cummins (Eds.), Cultural diversity in schools: From rhetoric to reality (pp. 75–97). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Baker, C. (2006). Foundations of bilingual education and bilingualism (4th edn.). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Bartlett, L., & García, O. (2011). Additive schooling in subtractive times: Bilingual education and Dominican immigrant youth in the heights. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1986). The forms of capital. In J. Richardson (Ed.), Handbook of theory and research for the sociology of education (pp. 241–248). Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Breidlid, A. (2009). Culture, indigenous knowledge systems and sustainable development: A critical view of education in an African context. International Journal of Educational Development, 29, 140–148. DOI: 10.1016/j.ijedudev.2008.09.009 De Jong, E., Gort, M., & Cobb, C. (2005). Bilingual education within the context of English‐only policies: Three districts’ responses to Question 2 in Massachusetts. Educational Policy, 19, 595–620. DOI: 10.1177/0895904805278065 Dei, G. (2008). Possibilities in African schooling and education. In S. N. Dlamini (Ed.), New directions in African education: Challenges and possibilities (pp. 229–248). Calgary: University of Calgary Press.

Erickson, F. (1990). Culture, politics, and educational practice. Educational Foundations, 4, 21–45. Escobar, A. (1995). Encountering development: The making and unmaking of the third world. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. García, O. (2009). Bilingual education in the 21st Century: A global perspective. Malden, MA: Wiley‐Blackwell. García, O., Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Torres‐ Guzmán, M. (Eds.). (2006). Imagining multilingual schools: Languages in education and glocalization. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Johnson, D. (2010). The relationship between applied linguistic research and bilingual language policy. Applied Linguistics, 31, 72–93. DOI: 10.1093/ applin/amp011 Lavoie, C. (2008). “Hey, teacher, speak Black please”: The educational effectiveness of bilingual education in Burkina Faso. International Journal of Bilingual Education & Bilingualism, 11, 661–677. DOI: 10.1080/13670050802149275 Lavoie, C., & Benson, C. (2011). Drawing‐ voice as a methodological tool for understanding teachers’ concerns in a pilot Hmong‐Vietnam bilingual education programme in Vietnam.” Language, Culture and Curriculum, 24, 269–286. DOI:10.1080/07908318.2011.620125 Lin, A., & Man, E. (2009). Bilingual education: Southeast Asian perspectives. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press.

108  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education López, L., & Küper, W. (2004). La educación intercultural bilingüe en América Latina: Balance y perspectivas (2nd edn.). La Paz‐Cochabamba: Cooperación Técnica Alemana (GTZ)‐PINSEIB‐PROEIBAndes. May, S. (2001). Language and minority rights: Ethnicity, nationalism and the politics of language. New York: Routledge. Moya, R. (2007). Prefacio. In V. Zavala, A. M. Robles, L. Trapnell, R. Zariquiey, N. Ventiades, & Á. Ramírez (Eds.), Avances y desafíos de la educación intercultural bilingüe en Bolivia, Ecuador y Perú: Estudio de casos (pp. 11–22). Lima, Peru: CARE. Nieto, S. (2010). The light in their eyes: Creating multicultural learning communities. New York Teachers College Press. Shor, I., & Freire, P. (1987). A pedagogy for liberation: Dialogues on transforming education. New York: Bergin & Garvey.

Sleeter, C. (2008). An invitation to support diverse students through teacher education. Journal of Teacher Education, 59, 212–219. DOI: 10.1177/0022487108317019 Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2000). Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human rights? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2007). Linguistic human rights in education? International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 61, 115–139. Valdiviezo, L. (2013). Vertical and horizontal approaches to ethnography of language policy in Peru. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 219, 23–46. DOI: 10.1515/ijsl‐2013‐0003. Valenzuela, A. (1999). Subtractive schooling: U.S.‐Mexican youth and the politics of caring. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

7 A Synthesis of Research on Bilingual and Multilingual Education Colin Baker and Gwyn Lewis An historical overview When did research on bilingual education begin? The experience of bilingual ­education is sometimes wrongly portrayed as beginning in the twentieth century. The rise of United States’ dual language schools from 1963, the carefully researched beginnings of Canadian immersion education from 1965, and the establishment of bilingual and Welsh‐medium schools in Wales since 1939 might give the impres­ sion that bilingual education is less than 100 years old. Mackey (1978) suggests that such education is over 5,000 years old, while Lewis’s (1977) historical analysis suggests that, for example, Greek–Latin bilingual education was prominent in the second century ad. While bilingual and multilingual education has a history that can be counted in hundreds of years rather than a few decades, research on such education is quite recent. If research is systematic, rule‐bound, with a defined methodology, repli­ cated, critical and interpretive, working within a particular paradigm, concerned with theory and generalization, encompassing normative, interpretive, and criti­ cal theorist approaches, then research on bilingual education commenced in the twentieth century and not before. But when? Publications on the experience of bilingual education by Sissons (1917) on Canada, Aucamp (1926) and Malherbe (1946) both on South Africa, contain evaluative perspectives and have case studies. However, in the way that evaluation, case study, and action research approaches are currently defined and enacted, such early publications may not have the meth­ odological rigor to be regarded as “research.”

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

110  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

Beginnings One of the first pieces of research on bilingual education is found in Lambert and Tucker’s (1972) book Bilingual Education of Children: The St. Lambert Experiment. It is an empirical evaluation of the beginnings of French immersion bilingual educa­ tion in Canada which derives from the Montréal suburb of St. Lambert in 1965 when a few English‐speaking, middle‐class parents persuaded the school district to set up an experimental “French immersion” kindergarten class of 26 children. The aims were for English language students to become fluent and literate in French without loss of achievement levels throughout the curriculum including the English language, and to share the culture of French‐speaking Canadians as well as English‐speaking Canadians. The St. Lambert experiment was a success, and the mainly quantitative research provided the evidence. What is significant about this research is that it supplied the hard evidence needed by politicians, policymakers, pedagogues, and parents that this form of bilingual education could be successful, and needed to be replicated throughout Canada. The research evidence helped reduce doubt among the skeptical and sup­ plied publicity for promoters of immersion. What is also significant about this research is that it became well known internationally, and has frequently been cited as evidence for the introduction and expansion of bilingual education in other countries of the world: for example, the Basque Country, Scandinavia, Wales, and the United States. In Canada, there are currently over 300,000 English‐speaking Canadian children (5.9% of the total school population) in a little over 2,000 French immersion schools. It started in one school with a rigorous empirical evaluation that led to a celebration and international expansion of bilingual education.

Single research studies From the 1970s, much research on bilingual education has focused on individual programs, schools, and initiatives. This research must be viewed within its political and historical context to provide an understanding of the motives and assumptions that lie behind it (García, 2009; Wright 2010). Both Canadian immersion education and dual language schools in the United States have benefited from large numbers of individual studies. Most of these early 1970s research evaluations derive from the United States (Troike, 1978; Dulay & Burt, 1978, 1979). One such study covered the English–Navajo bilingual education program on the Navajo reservation at Rock Point in Arizona (Rosier & Farella, 1976). It found that learning to read in a mother tongue enhances reading skills, including, importantly, learning to read in English. This tradition of single‐school/program research continues, particularly with evaluations of particular aspects of bilingual education (e.g., high‐stakes tests, literacy outcomes, language proficiency). Such “effectiveness” evaluations tend to use selective, non‐probability samples rather than any form of systematic random sampling, with an ex post facto, pre‐experimental or quasi‐experimental research design. This will be returned to later in the chapter.

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  111 A more recent “quality” example of individual program research was undertaken by August, Calderon, Carlo, and Nuttall (2006) who examined differences in reading outcomes for three groups of grade five Spanish‐speaking students (instructed in Spanish only; instructed in English only; instructed in Spanish with a transition into English‐only in grade 3 or four). Using analysis of covariance to control for prior level of ability and socioeconomic status, they found that “sound instruction in Spanish followed by sound instruction in English benefits Spanish‐speaking children. They perform as well in Spanish as students instructed only in Spanish and as well in English as students instructed only in English” (August, Calderon, Carlo, & Nuttall, 2006, pp. 104–105).

Reviews of research The accumulation of research on individual programs, schools, and classrooms inevitably leads to the need for reviews of the many “single” pieces of research, and this has been a focus from the late 1970s through to the present. Thus, early comparisons between different types of bilingual education in the United States by Troike (1978) and Dulay and Burt (1978, 1979) each concluded that bilingual edu­ cation effectively promoted bilingualism among language‐minority children and was preferable to monolingual English programs (mainstreaming). This was opposed by a much publicized and more politically motivated narra­ tive review by Baker and de Kanter (1983) who located 300 pieces of bilingual education research from North America and the rest of the world, rejected 261 studies as irrelevant or of poor quality, and contentiously used just 39 studies. The conclusion of their (1983) review was that no particular education program was superior and to be preferred by the U.S. Federal Government. The review therefore came out in support of English‐only and transitional bilingual education, with assimilation as the apparent educational and political preference behind the con­ clusions. The Baker and de Kanter review received much criticism on grounds including: a narrow range of outcome measures; focusing on transitional bilingual education implicitly valuing assimilation; devaluing the preservation of a child’s home language and culture; and the narrowness and rigidity of the criteria used for selecting only 39 out of 300 studies. Just before the turn of the twenty‐first century, a more rule‐bound approach to evaluating and reviewing previous research called meta‐analysis became popular (Rolstad, Mahoney, & Glass, 2005). The technique mathematically examines the amount of effect of differences in the research studies. For example, how much difference is there in outcome between transitional and dual language bilingual education? Willig (1985) adopted a statistical meta‐analysis approach by selecting 23 studies from the Baker and de Kanter (1983) review. As a result of the meta‐ analysis, Willig (1985) concluded that bilingual education programs that sup­ ported the minority language were consistently superior in outcomes. Small to moderate advantages were found for bilingual‐education students in reading, language skills, mathematics, and overall achievement when the tests were in the

112  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education students’ second language (English). A more recent meta‐analysis of Arizonian research by Rolstad et al. (2005) using four studies corresponds with the conclu­ sions of the previous meta‐analysis carried out by Willig (1985). They found that dual language bilingual education was superior in terms of English‐language reading achievement and mathematics. There are other reviews of different forms of bilingual and multilingual educa­ tion that deserve mention. Reviews of Canadian immersion bilingual education are found in Swain and Lapkin (1982) and Johnstone (2002), with studies outside Canada reviewed in Johnson and Swain (1997), and multilingual education in Spain in Cenoz (2009). Cenoz (2009) analyzes research on the learning of a third language in bilingual education, and instruction through a third language. In the context of the Basque Country, she examines the successful introduction of English as a third language in the curriculum—increasingly a worldwide phenomenon.

Current state of knowledge The current state of our knowledge about bilingual and multilingual education is complex, kaleidoscopic, and sometimes conflictive as there are many different types of bilingual education. Baker (2011) and García (2009) provide a detailed analysis of different models, typologies, and frameworks of bilingual education. These range from enrichment to maintenance and transitional models, located in subtractive and additive environments and varying political contexts, and with different expected outcomes and emphases. Models can hide complexity. For example, in Wales, it is possible to enter a school which is nominally ­“indigenous‐ language,” but in the classroom there is also “immersion education” for children from English‐speaking homes, plus recent immigrants, refugees, or asylum seekers who speak neither Welsh nor English, and thus are in a “submersion” language experience. However, among the ten forms of education for bilinguals/bilingualism in Baker’s (2011) typology, some have been the subject of very little research (e.g., segregationist, separatist, mainstream bilingual). Some approaches have almost no “effectiveness” research, but nevertheless have much advocacy (e.g., Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL)), decades of successful experience (e.g., European Schools), or an excellent pedagogic literature but little empirical research (e.g., International Schools), especially regarding comparative effectiveness or relative impact on student achievement. This chapter will therefore concentrate on specific types of bilingual or multilingual education where there is a strong research tradition. Categorizing different forms of bilingual education may be a simplistic way of exploring the subject’s complexity. The most recent research tends to move away from the “simplicity” of typologies of bilingual education to engaging with optimal classroom dual language practices that maximize growth and gains for individual children. We thus seem to be witnessing a change from effective models to effective practices. This is echoed by García (2009) who indicates that the “traditional” typology

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  113 needs to be expanded, as it does not capture the linguistic complexity of the emerging bilingual (and multilingual) education practices of the twenty‐first century.

Research comparing models One strand in research on bilingual education compares the effectiveness of ­different models of education for bilingual children. This strand tends to ask a simple political question such as: is it preferable for children from Spanish‐ speaking homes to be educated in the United States immediately through English from kindergarten onwards, for there to be a shorter or longer transition from Spanish to English in very early grades, or to be taught through both languages in the elementary school? A good example of this strand is the congressionally mandated research by Ramírez, Yuen, and Ramey (1991). With a well‐defined research design and ­careful statistical analyses, this eight‐year, 4.5 million dollar longitudinal study of bilingual education in the United States compared Structured English Immersion, Early Exit and Late Exit Bilingual Education Programs (Ramírez, Yuen, and Ramey (1991) testing over 2,300 Spanish‐speaking students from 554 kindergarten to sixth‐grade classrooms in New York, New Jersey, Florida, Texas, and California. By the sixth grade, Late Exit Transitional Bilingual Education students were performing higher at mathematics, English language, and English reading than students on other programs. One conclusion reached by Ramírez, Yuen, and Ramey (1991) was that Spanish‐ speaking students “can be provided with substantial amounts of primary ­language instruction without impeding their acquisition of English language and reading skills” (p. 39). In contrast, providing Spanish‐speaking students with instruction almost exclusively in English does not accelerate their acquisition of English‐­ language arts, reading, or math. The data suggest that by grade 6, Spanish‐speaking students provided with English‐only instruction may actually fall further behind their English‐speaking peers. No piece of educational research is ever perfect. There are inevitable limitations in terms of the phrasing of the research issues/questions, sampling, research tools (e.g., tests, questionnaires), research design and protocols, selected measures to reflect outcomes, performance, or impact that are value‐laden, small in number and tend to be short‐term rather than long‐term. At its best, the research will make its conclusions allowing for its limitations which are publicly shared. Criticisms of the Ramírez and colleagues’ (1991) research are that neither dual language/two‐ way bilingual education nor heritage‐language education was considered nor were mainstream classrooms with English Second Language (ESL) pull‐out (with­ drawal) classes. Also, there tends to be much variance within a particular model and not just across models, such that explanations of effective bilingual education reach far wider than a particular model. The complexity of schools and classrooms, with each having its own distinct ethos and varying practices, makes neat catego­ rization of schools into bilingual education programs an oversimplification.

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Research on dual language /two‐way immersion bilingual education Research on U.S. dual language (two‐way immersion) schools has a long and strong tradition. For example, Lindholm‐Leary conducted over 25 years of high‐ quality empirical research on over 30 programs. This is encapsulated in her 2001 book Dual Language Education which is a classic of high‐quality research. Lindholm‐ Leary (2001) engages with relatively broad outcomes for her evaluation of bilingual education. She includes teacher attitudes and characteristics, teacher talk, parental involvement and satisfaction, as well as student outcomes (using 4,854 students) in different program types. These programs include Transitional Bilingual Education, English‐Only, the 90:10 Dual language Model and the 50:50 Dual language Model. The measured outcomes incorporate Spanish and English language proficiency, academic achievement, and the attitudes of the students. Socioeconomic background and other student characteristics are taken into account in reporting results to ensure alternative explanatory variables are controlled. Lindholm‐Leary (2001) concludes that dual language programs are effective in pro­ moting high levels of language proficiency, academic achievement, and positive atti­ tudes to learning in students. In contrast, English learners educated in mainstream classes tend to lack the English academic language skills needed to understand content well, even after 10 years of English instruction (Lindholm‐Leary & Genesee, 2010). In another large‐scale quasi‐experimental research, Oller and Eilers (2002) in Miami, Florida tested 952 bilingual and monolingual students from kindergarten to grade 5. Dual Language education is compared with English immersion, and by the fifth grade, students’ English language outcomes were largely comparable, with the gap narrowing from kindergarten to grade 5. While there is a lag for dual lan­ guage students in English test performance, by the fifth grade this is minimal. As Lindholm‐Leary and Genesee (2010, p. 430) summarize: “there is sufficient research to demonstrate the positive impact of high‐quality Dual Language programs to promote bilingual, biliterate, content area, and multicultural competences.” However, students in dual language education are not a random selection of the population of students. They are self‐selecting. Hence, it is difficult to know if the ­successes of dual language schools are due to the program, the characteristics of the students, or both these, or other factors such as the quality and commitment of the teachers. Hence, it is reviews of dual language schools (e.g., Lindholm‐ Leary & Genesee, 2010) that are crucial, and potentially more impactive than individual studies.

Research on immersion bilingual education Following Lambert and Tucker’s (1972) evaluation of the St. Lambert Immersion experiment, there have been over 1,000 studies of immersion education particu­ larly from Canada. The early, expert and internationally influential overview is a

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  115 book entitled Evaluating Bilingual Education by Swain and Lapkin (1982), alongside subsequent influential reviews by Genesee et al., (2006) and Johnstone (2002). The majority of these studies focus on Canadian French immersion education, but there are also studies outside Canada (e.g., Hickey, 1997; de Courcy, 2002; Cenoz, 2009). The research suggests four major outcomes of immersion education. These four outcomes will now be considered, with some refinement due to the type of immersion education. Such “types” include: early total, delayed, and late immersion, which partly differ by the age at which a child commences immersion (Baker, 2011). Such commencement may be at the kindergarten or infant stage (early immersion); at 9 to 10 years old (delayed or middle immersion), or at secondary level (late immersion). In second language learning, immersion students surpass those in mainstream (core) programs who are given second language lessons for 30 minutes a day. That is almost a “given.” Early total immersion programs students in Canada typically reach native‐like proficiency in French around grade 6 in receptive language skills (listening and reading). Such levels are not “native‐like” in the productive skills of speaking and writing (Swain & Johnson, 1997) although well‐advanced. One of the potential limitations of immersion bilingual education is that many students use French at school but not outside school. A lack of opportunity to use French may partly be the explanation indicating that immersion students need the chance to practice their French and also engage in Francophone culture. For three or four years of early total immersion, students tend not to score so highly on tests of their first language as monolingual students in mainstream classes. Literacy in the first language, for example, tends to show a temporary lag. Since such students are usually not given first language instruction for one to three years after commencing school, this is to be expected. However, after approxi­ mately six years of schooling, early total immersion children typically catch up with their monolingual peers in first language skills. By the start of high school, the early total immersion experience has generally not affected their first language speaking and writing development. Indeed, when small differences on first lan­ guage tests between immersion and mainstream children have been found by research, immersion students tend to score a little higher (Johnstone, 2002; Swain & Lapkin, 1982). In early partial immersion, students also tend to lag behind for three or four years in their first language skills. This may be surprising since early partial immersion education has more first language (e.g., English) instruction. By the end of elementary schooling, early partial immersion children typically catch up with mainstream peers in first language attainment. Similarly, late immersion has no detrimental effect on first language skills. If immersion education results in children becoming bilingual compared with children in mainstream education, how do immersion children develop in other curriculum areas such as mathematics and science? Reviews of research (e.g., Johnstone, 2002) suggest that early total immersion students generally perform as well in these subjects as mainstream children. Research on early partial immersion education tends to find that, when children in early partial immersion learn math­ ematics and science through the medium of a second language, they tend to lag

116  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education behind comparable mainstream children, at least initially. This may be because their second language skills are temporarily insufficiently developed for them to be able to think mathematically and scientifically in that second language. The results for late immersion are similar. The important factor appears to be whether second language skills are sufficiently developed to cope with ever‐increasing complex curriculum material. Brentnall (2009) questions the extent to which the “immersion” experience can ensure high academic development through the medium of a second language (or an “additional” language as is the case for pupils who learn English as an Additional Language) without giving specific consideration to the learning pro­ cess. Students’ language skills in an immersion setting are not always sufficiently advanced to enable them to understand the complexity of the concepts inherent in academic materials in a meaningful manner (Brentnall, 2009). This supports the findings of Fortune, Tedick and Walker (2008, pp. 71–96) who found that the need to plan methods of delivering subject information in the second language is impor­ tant in immersion settings. Similarly, Met (2008) suggests that some topics in areas such as social sciences contain many abstract concepts that are dependent on ­language to enable the pupils to make sense of them. She notes that the language of mathematics textbooks can be particularly challenging for pupils in immersion settings as they are structured differently from other types of explanatory texts. She claims that the same is true regarding science topics, because they are based on  an academic language register (which may be unfamiliar to the pupils) and technical terms that are necessary to make meaningful sense of the content (Met, 2008, p. 53). Research on immersion education has also considered whether immersion has positive or negative effects on students’ academic motivation, attitudes, and study habits. The most positive results in this area have been found with early total immersion students. Early immersion students tend to have more positive attitudes towards themselves, their education and, in Canada, to French Canadians (in comparison, for example, with late immersion students). However, the danger here lies in attributing causality. For example, having positive attitudes to school­ ing may alternatively derive from parental attitudes, home culture, friends and the neighborhood. The positive outcomes of immersion education listed above need considering alongside its possible limitations. First, Canadian immersion students do not tend to show native‐speaker language competence (e.g., in the social and stylistic use of French). Second, students do not generally use French out of school. This partly reflects opportunity, partly a lack of confidence in their competence in speaking “street” or vernacular French, and partly a preference for using English. In most immersion programs around the world, exposure to the second language is largely confined to the classroom. Third, Heller (1999) argues that Canadian immersion schools provide Anglophones with the linguistic and cultural resources for increased social, economic, and political power. Immersion education is thus, in this perspective, about gaining prestigious advantages in Canadian society: economic, academic, cultural, linguistic, social, power, and dominance advantages.

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  117 Finally, there is a danger in generalizing from research on the successful Canadian experience to elsewhere in the world. In Canada, immersion concerns two major high‐status international languages: French and English. In many countries, there is a majority and a minority language (or languages) co‐existing, which relates to additive and subtractive bilingual situations. Canada is an additive bilingual con­ text while many other countries contain subtractive bilingual contexts. Thus, in the United States, the Canadian immersion success story has sometimes been used to argue for the early total immersion of non‐English‐speaking immigrants. Such a generalization is unfair as the U. S. context is one of assimilation, possibly losing the first language through education, and hence is more about subtraction and first language loss.

Research on indigenous language education Indigenous language education (sometimes ambiguously called heritage‐language education—see Wiley, 2001) does not have the same voluminous research and evaluation literature as dual language schools and immersion education. However, whereas research on dual language education is mainly from the United States, and research on immersion is mainly from Canada, evaluations of indigenous lan­ guage education are more international. Yet, arguably, the most well‐researched contexts are indigenous American schooling (e.g., Navajo—see McCarty, 2013) and the Basque Country (Cenoz, 2009). While many of these evaluations are from the northern hemisphere (e.g., Basque Country, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Catalonia, United States, Canada), there is a growing literature from the southern hemisphere (e.g., India, Ethiopia, Nepal, Southeast Asia—see Heugh & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2010; Mohanty et al., 2009). Reviews of indigenous language education are provided, for example, by Cummins and Danesi (1990), Dutcher and Tucker (1996), Duff (2008) and recently McCarty (2013) on indigenous American schooling (e.g., Hawai’ian, Navajo). These reviews of various program evaluations suggest that indigenous language programs tend to be effective along four dimensions: 1. Indigenous language students maintain their home minority language. This is somewhat obvious when they are taught curriculum content through their ­heritage language. However, this is especially in comparison with language‐ minority children who are placed in mainstream or transitional education and tend partly to lose, and sometimes to avoid using, their heritage language. 2. Students tend to perform at least as well as comparable mainstream (or mono­ lingually educated) children in curriculum areas such as mathematics, science, and social studies. Most evaluations tend to be more positive than this and sug­ gest that such students perform better than comparable children in mainstream education, other factors being equal. 3. Studies suggest that children’s attitudes (including to education) are particu­ larly positive when placed in indigenous language education although causality

118  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education here may be complex. When the home language is used in school, a child’s sense of identity, self‐esteem, and self‐concept may be enhanced (Duff, 2008; Rolstad et al., 2005). By comparison, language‐minority children who are “main­ streamed” and not allowed to use their home language in the curriculum may evidence a loss of self‐esteem. The school system may latently or manifestly be seen as rejecting the child’s home language, culture and values. 4. Unexpectedly for some, and uncomfortably for critics of bilingual education, majority language (e.g., English) performance is generally comparable with mainstreamed children. That is, when testing children’s English‐language performance (or whatever is the prestigious “mainstream” school language), indigenous‐language children typically score as well as those in “mainstream” monolingual education (Cummins, 2000). The prediction might be that greater exposure to English in mainstream education would result in higher English‐ language test performance than for comparable children in indigenous‐­ language education. Not so. The child in indigenous‐language education is likely to perform at least as well as the child in mainstream education. The expla­ nation seems to lie at least partly in self‐esteem being enhanced, and language and intellectual skills better promoted by education in the home language. Such skills appear to transfer easily into second‐language (majority‐language) areas. While such programs may present administrative challenges (e.g., shortage of teachers, availability of pre‐service and in‐service teacher education, and a lack of high‐quality curriculum materials), the advantages evidenced from research appear to include: positive self‐concept and pride in one’s background; increased academic, cognitive, social, and emotional development; fostering stronger rela­ tionships between home and school. An additional potential advantage derives from the research of Dutcher and Tucker (1996), who include an economic analysis of indigenous‐language educa­ tion. In a World Bank paper on the use of first and second languages in elementary education, they examine international evidence from Haiti, Nigeria, the Philippines, Guatemala, Canada, New Zealand, the United States (Navajo), Fiji, the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, and Western Samoa. They conclude that development of the mother tongue is critical for cognitive development and as a foundation for learning the second language. That is, mainstreaming and transitional models of bilingual education are internationally less effective in developing a child’s thinking abilities. Dutcher and Tucker (1996) also conclude that indigenous language education creates cost savings for the education system and for a government. For example, such bilingual education provides higher levels of achievement in fewer years of study. Student progress is faster, there are fewer drop‐outs, and higher achieve­ ment benefits society by less unemployment and a more skilled workforce. In comparison, when language‐minority children are mainstreamed, there may be costs to a national economy due to slower rates of educational progress and lower levels of achievement. Higher drop‐out rates mean lower potential for the employ­ ment market, and the economy suffers with a lower level of skills among the

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  119 workforce and higher unemployment rates. Hence indigenous language education may have both societal and individual economic, efficiency and employment advantages, as well as educational advantages.

Methodological and theoretical issues In the United States, the 2001 No Child Left Behind legislation requires decisions about the best programs for English language learners to be based on scientific, empirical, systematic, and objective research. This implies a particular research method: replicated, controlled, and well‐designed experiments, with valid and reliable measurement, plus rigorous statistical analysis. The ideal is a large number of children randomly assigned to two or more models. Such students are then tested at the beginning and at the end of the program (or at the start and the end of a school year). For some, the gold standard is such randomized controlled trials. They are normally pragmatically unachievable and ethically undesirable in education, ­ however, as they entail randomly allocating students to particular instruction approaches (e.g., dual language compared with mainstreaming). In randomized controlled trials, variables that would provide other explanations than the “treat­ ments” are controlled. Therefore, on the surface, causality is possible. For example, it might be possible to show that one form of bilingual education is preferable to another. This only tends to work in a laboratory setting which can be reduced to simple components and controls, whereas schools and classrooms have complex multi‐causality, are ever dynamic and fluid, evolving and ever‐changing, some­ times unpredictable and inconsistent. The gold standard is thus not usually pos­ sible in bilingual education effectiveness research. A randomized controlled trial is still dependent on local conditions and is situ­ ated within a particular time. Students, teachers, and instructional styles cannot be reduced to isolated variables, and manipulated as if they were seeds in agricul­ tural experimental research. In classrooms and schools, the “standard errors” are large, contexts are complicated, there are complex interactions between people and their situations, with generalizations difficult, limited, sometimes impossible. The search for the Holy Grail of a perfect piece of research on bilingual education is not elusive. It is unattainable. In one sense, this means that individual pieces of research on bilingual educa­ tion are each imperfect, but not being perfect does not mean they are of no value. Research is valuable when it is well replicated, cumulative across time, place, and person, and when the limitations of individual research are honestly and openly stated. That individual pieces of research on bilingual education are imperfect also means that reviews and overviews are essential. One piece of research can never be final, conclusive, or definite. It is the accumulation of research across time, place, and person that allows trends to be located, generalizations to be attempted, and policymakers presented with a synopsis of well‐replicated and evidence‐informed conclusions, even if they are temporary, transient, and to be further tested.

120  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education While reviews and overviews are essential, it is too easy to assume that such overarching reviews can directly inform policy‐making. Cummins (1999, p. 26) sees this as naive due to the “myriad human, administrative, and political influences that impact the implementation of programs over time.” Therefore, Cummins goes one step further than believing that reviews and overviews should inform policymak­ ers. He argues that in complex, multifaceted education and personality and politically driven bilingual schools, it is theory rather than the individual research findings that permits the generation of predictions about program outcomes under different conditions. That is, research should commence from theoretical proposi­ tions, testing, refining, and refuting those propositions. Cummins regards such the­ ories as “Thresholds,” “Interdependence,” “Conversational and Academic Language Proficiency,” although these relate to individual bilinguals rather than to bilingual education. Grand theories of bilingual education have yet to be constructed. Cummins (1999) thus argues that theory, if it is firmly supported by research and accounts for findings from a variety of contexts, can explicitly inform policy making. However, policy makers rarely base their decisions solely on theory or research. The reason is that the researcher/policy maker relationship is not one of “truth speaking to power,” or “science providing evidence‐based decisions.” That is too simplistic. Policy, planning, provision, and practice in bilingual education are shaped by a myriad of influences other than research and theory (e.g., political ideology, pragmatism, conflicting interests, and varied stakeholders). When research does have an influence, it can be through “cherry‐picking” the most con­ venient and supportive findings for a particular viewpoint. Evidence from research and theory can inform policy and be a part of the shaping of that policy. Its effects will be partial and modest, and be part of a continuous shared search for effective education however defined. Research cannot provide evidence‐based policy, only evidence‐informed policy. This is because, as already stated, research on bilingual education is never perfect, never objective, despite good intentions. This section now provides the critical lens to assess such research by listing typical limitations.

The sample of children The results of one research effort are limited to that sample of children at the time of the study. If there is some form of probability sampling (e.g., a random sample of a defined population is chosen), then these results may generalize to that specific population. Such sampling rarely occurs in bilingual education evaluations. Instead, most studies are small‐scale and are based on convenience or purposive sampling. Generalization of results from one context or country to another is rarely valid.

Interacting multivariate factors Typically, research on bilingual education looks at models, systems, approaches, programs, and schemes. The considerable differences that exist within a particular model of bilingual education (e.g., indigenous language education) can make

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  121 comparisons and conclusions difficult. There can be as much (or more) variation in outcomes inside a particular bilingual education program (e.g., achievement in different curriculum areas) as between different types of program (e.g., transi­ tional compared with dual language). This also implies that bilingual education, whatever the type or model, is no guarantee of effective schooling. The elements of bilingual education form only one component among many that make a school more or less successful. That is, particular models of bilingual education interact with a host of student, teacher, curriculum, and contextual ­variables in complex ways to influence student outcomes. The complexity of orga­ nization within a school, its ethos and varying classroom practices, its variety of children (first and second language from indigenous minority, majority, and immi­ grant populations) make the allocation of schools to bilingual education models sometimes impossible. The variance attributed to the teacher in the outcome is rarely considered. A bilingual education program will be mediated, facilitated, inhibited, and altered in a host of ways by each individual teacher. Teacher behavior has a large role in making bilingual education successful or not, and this is rarely mentioned in the literature. Teachers have varying enthusiasm, interests, values, motivations, attitudes, language competences, teaching expertise, experi­ ence, and personalities which are affected by the situation, students, and the unpredictability of classroom life. Apart from teachers, another intervening or intermediating influence on the effectiveness of bilingual education is parental involvement in their children’s education and parental cooperation with teachers. The level, quality, and quantity of resource support (e.g., books, curriculum guide­ lines, computers, and science equipment) may also produce variable outcomes.

Measures of success In bilingual education investigations, researchers have often tried to measure with accuracy and precision desired outcomes or outputs from schooling. There are a range of measurement problems that need brief mention. First, measuring something like “reading ability” or “language proficiency” is more elusive than is portrayed, due to problems of, for example, definition, ambiguity, validity, and reliability. Second, if we measure intended outcomes or performance indicators too soon, then what may seem to be initial positive effects of bilingual education may soon wither and fade. There is a shorter and not longer term effect. On the other hand, if we leave measurement too late, we may wrongly attribute causality to bilingual education after a range of other factors have entered the equation to affect the outcome. Other extraneous factors (e.g., parental, peer, and out‐of‐school experiences) may have blurred the explanations for the apparent positive effects of bilingual education. Third, an important question of any piece of research on bilingual education is: what tests or other sources of evidence are used to deter­ mine whether a form of bilingual education is successful or not? Should the sole outcomes be competence in one or two languages, or performance across the whole curriculum? The range of variables used to measure “success” tends to be narrow in research on bilingual education. For example, employment, moral

122  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education development, identity, social and emotional adjustment, personality development, attitudes, self‐esteem, integration into society, cultural and ethnic participation are rarely included as measures of successful outcomes. Test scores on language ability and literacy tend to dominate. Such a choice reflects a particular emphasis, ­ideology, or conviction.

The style of the research Outside and inside research on bilingual education there is, and ever will be, a con­ tinuous debate on appropriate research methods. A particular problem is that mea­ sures of success have often been restricted to what is measurable. Quantitative outcomes (e.g., test scores) are used; qualitative evidence has less frequently been gathered. This reflects the debate in educational research between different camps. There are those who work within the scientific and positivistic methodology, others prefer the naturalistic interpretive approach, while “mixed methods” allows researchers to be ambidextrous. Different conceptions of social reality, such as objectivist and subjectivist, normative and interpretive, derived from different philosophical and ideological assumptions, give rise to different methods of research. Within the latter interpretive tradition, using a mainly qualitative and natural­ istic approach allied to the traditions of phenomenology, symbolic interactionism, and particularly ethnomethodology, there are some illuminative and highly insightful researches on bilingual education. Particularly associated with Nancy Hornberger (e.g., 1988) and her doctoral students, there are articles and books that relate to, for example, indigenous education in South America and dual ­language education in the United States that are an essential comparison to the multitude of quantitative studies on bilingual education working within a posi­ tivistic framework.

The researchers Research on bilingual education is rarely if ever neutral. The choice of issues to be studied or questions asked, the methodological tools chosen, decisions in analysis and manner of reporting, usually reveal ideological and political preferences. Many researchers will be supporters of bilingual education, ethnic diversity, minority language rights, and cultural pluralism. This is not to argue that evalua­ tion research on bilingual education is invalid. Rather, we need to allow for the reality that results are affected by researchers themselves, their ideologies, atti­ tudes, and preferences There is a fine line between research and advocacy which some attempt not to cross; others cross willingly.

Future Directions There is a paucity of research in three particular areas that are ripe for innovative and impactive work. These will be briefly considered.

A Synthesis of Research on Bi/Multilingual Education  123

Key dimensions A bilingual education typology is a valuable starting point for a specification of key components around which school systems differ, and which locate varying aims, strategies, and politics. As has been mentioned above, such a typology is too simplistic and many schools are not easily categorized into one model or another. What may better engage policy makers, practitioners, parents, and the public is to profile key issues, questions, and especially choices regarding pro­ vision and practice in bilingual education. The main key dimensions that underlie such models (and which come close to decisions that are made by school districts and schools themselves) are: the language profile of children; the language balance of children; the balance in the use of languages in the classroom; the allocation of languages across the subject curriculum; the lan­ guage profile of school personnel; teacher training for a bilingual classroom; the language of curriculum resources; and parental inclusion and community involvement in the school.

Special educational needs When researchers on bilingual education meet at conferences and in corridors, a typical lament is the paucity of research on children who are bilingual, emerg­ ing as bilinguals, or who could become bilinguals and have special needs. Many have met, for example, Down Syndrome children who, at their ability level, are functionally bilingual and rejoicing in being bilingual. A typical question in teacher and parent workshops concerns dyslexic children, those with language delay, stuttering, autism, Asperger’s syndrome, undergoing assessment (often monolingually), are deaf or hearing‐impaired, have a low level of cognitive development or major emotional and behavioral difficulties. Their inclusion in mainstream schooling and bilingual education and the development of their bilingualism have received almost zero research (see Baker, 2011, for a review; See also Chapter  22 Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities and Exceptionalities).

Translanguaging Bilingual children and adults regularly and naturally engage in “translanguag­ ing,” yet this has rarely been studied in the classroom and connected empirically with effective pedagogy (Baker, 2011; García, 2009). A version of “translanguag­ ing” is used in schools in Wales where there is input in one language and output in another. The aim is to strengthen both languages and to deepen understanding of the content. There is almost no research that examines the contemporaneous, concurrent use of two languages in the classroom although three publications by Lewis, Jones and Baker (2012a, 2012b, 2013) have made a beginning (See also Chapter 13 Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education).

124  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

Conclusion The research evaluations of dual language, immersion and heritage‐language ­education tend to show, as a broad generalization, successful bilingual education in terms of bilingualism, biliteracy, and achievement across the curriculum. This chapter has sought to define such success, but also indicate its boundaries and lim­ itations. The discussion has suggested that, while research on bilingual education is rich, plentiful and essential, it also needs to be treated critically and cautiously. In a broad research overview, the effectiveness of bilingual education needs to include children, teachers, the community, local and national politics, the school itself and the type of program, and a myriad of other variables. Outside the school is the important interactive part played by the family and the community. The social, cultural, and not least the political environment in which a bilingual school works will affect the education of language‐minority children at all ages. We categorize to make sense of bilingual education in its many forms, yet com­ plexity is the uncomfortable reality. We simplify unsympathetically, yet the intri­ cate nature of bilingual education is more authentic. We crave simplicity in conclusions from bilingual education research, yet the most important outcomes can be intangible, and generalizations elusive. We research to find effective solu­ tions and to inform decisions, yet can be frustrated by prejudice and injustice, and bounded by persuasive politics. But, without research on bilingual education, our understandings and actions will be unrefined, conformist, naïve, even mindless. Such research illuminates and challenges, makes our thinking more sophisticated and structured, celebrates as well as contradicts, ensuring informed debates as well as doubts, even leading to more coherent and rational decisions … for the sake of children.

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8 Researching Bilingual and Multilingual Education Multilingually A Linguistic Ethnographic Approach Angela Creese, Adrian Blackledge, with Arvind Bhatt, Carla Jonsson, Kasper Juffermans, Jinling Li, Peter Martin, Anu Muhonen, and Jaspreet Kaur Takhi1 Introduction: voice in multilingual research teams We are often asked how it is possible to research multilingual research practices in educational settings when, as a research team, we do not speak all the languages of those we are researching. This usually prompts a discussion about bilingual researchers as well as a debate about assumptions behind such questions. This chapter describes the processes of working multilingually in ethnographic research teams. In particular, it focuses on researcher bilingualism and discusses this through the theoretical lens of heteroglossia. We argue that heteroglossia provides the frame to describe multilingual research processes because it foregrounds a range of voices and highlights the social struggles and histories inherent in these voices. We agree with Heller (2008, p. 249) that bilingualism is a “social construct which needs to be described and interpreted as an element of the social and cultural practices of sets of speakers, rather than a fixed object existing in nature, to be discovered by an objective observer.” Viewing bilingualism as a social construct requires engaging in simultaneous processes of construction and deconstruction. As ethnographers, we take part in the daily activities of our participants while concurrently engaging in the deconstruction of the same activities. There is The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

128  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education a duality in our role, as we are part of the social context, while attempting to stand back from it. Bauman and Briggs (1990, p. 78) propose that “much of what we do as linguistic anthropologists amounts to the decontextualization and recontextualization of others’ discourse, which means as well that we exercise power.” Bilingual researchers are involved in cycles of social construction, deconstruction, decontextualization, and recontextualization. In linguistic ethnography constructs such as “bilingual,” “English,” “Panjabi,” and “ethnicity” are approached as idealizations which are only read as meaningful if they are presupposed by participants during the research process. Superordinate categories are treated as problematic in constructivist research and the ethnographer seeks to deconstruct and dismantle generalizations in order to understand the social ideologies which inform them. As researchers, we are not outside these constructions and must work to produce ethnographic accounts which reveal our own part in their reproduction. Ethnographers are positioned subjects who grasp “certain human phenomena better than others” (Rosaldo, 1993, p. 19). Observations happen with a particular angle of vision. This epistemic stance, which acknowledges that there is no such thing as a comprehensive ethnography, insists that researchers should be reflexive about their own intellectual assumptions and sociohistorical positioning. Rosaldo (1993, p. 19) points out that interpretation is always provisional due to the “distinctive mix of insight and blindness” which each researcher brings: “Even when knowledgeable, sensitive, fluent in the language, and able to move easily in an alien cultural world, good ethnographers still have their limits, and their analyses always are incomplete” (Rosaldo, 1993, p. 9). All kinds of things come into play when collecting, analyzing, and interpreting data. Fluency in the language appears as an important criterion, but Rosaldo is clear that this cannot deliver the full story. Bilingualism does not guarantee access, success, or insider‐ness—but we will see that it certainly helps. This chapter provides an opportunity to deconstruct the reflexive accounts researchers provide about their bilingualism. In this chapter we describe how researchers wrote vignettes to discuss their role in the research team, and their researcher identities. These vignettes became an invaluable resource in our understandings of bilingualism as a social construct. They are short accounts of ourselves in which we focus on two areas. The first area is about our experience in the field: the relations we build, our negotiations around access and exiting, how we are positioned and position ourselves. The second area is a discussion about what it means to move between research site and university site during the duration of the research project, and about how we view our positionality in the team. Heller (2011) argues that a key dimension of ethnography is telling our story of other people’s lives. She describes the need to find our own voice, reflect on this and take responsibility for what we say. In the vignettes that follow, researchers refer to language and languages, amongst many other things, to say something about their own and others’ language and languages. Vignettes are a methodological tool for providing evidence‐ based, analytic accounts which reveal researcher voices and their part in the reproduction of social orders. They are an example of “text production” which explicitly locates the author in the text (Tierney, 2002). They are intended to achieve

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  129 a more dynamic, accessible, and public representational account of both ourselves and those we observe. Through the vignettes we examine how researchers construct bilingualism in the research process and come to understand its centrality in researcher identity. Researcher vignettes provide a “metacommentary” in which the dynamic between theory and methodology is made visible. Rymes (2014, p.  314) argues that the meaning of our experiences is “made visible to self and others through metacommentary.” She points out, “The more we investigate the metapragmatics of language, the more apparent it becomes that every utterance … is saturated with metapragmatic function” (Rymes, 2014, p. 304; see also Silverstein, 1993). In an article entitled “The Limits of Awareness,” Silverstein (1981) presents a theoretical and methodological argument against a linguistics which analyzes language narrowly at the linguistic, syntactic, and referential level, that is, at the level of the code. An alternative suggested by Silverstein is the anthropologist’s model and its program of understanding “the properties of ideologies … that seem to guide participants in social systems” (p. 21). Silverstein argues “The salient aspect of the social fact is meaning” and “the central manifestation of meaning is pragmatic and metapragmatic speech” (p. 21). Silverstein is clear that we cannot rely on the linguist’s limited interpretation of cultural action. Rather, models of interpretation must take into account metapragramatic testimony because speech is always about speech, and language is always commenting on language.

Current debates in researching multilingualism Bailey (2012) points out that, if the starting‐point is social meanings rather than the code or language in use, it is not central whether a speaker is switching languages, alternating between a dialect and a national standard, register shifting, or speaking monolingually in a variety that highlights language contact. Language, whether monolingual or multilingual, carries social meanings through phonological, lexical, grammatical, and discourse‐level forms: “these forms index various aspects of individuals’ and communities’ social histories, circumstances, and identities” (p. 506). Instead of starting with the construct of a language or languages (as in bilingualism) Blommaert and Rampton (2011, p. 1) argue “it is far more productive analytically to focus on the very variable ways in which linguistic features with identifiable social and cultural associations get clustered together whenever people communicate.” The sociolinguistic study of multilingualism in societies has recently moved away from a view of languages as separate, bounded entities, to a view of communication in which language users employ whatever linguistic features are at their disposal to achieve their communicative aims as best they can (Jørgensen Karrebæk, Madsen, & Møller, 2011). A number of terms have emerged, as scholars have sought to describe and analyze linguistic practices in which meaning is made using signs flexibly. These include, but are not limited to: flexible bilingualism (Creese & Blackledge, 2010); codemeshing (Canagarajah, 2011); polylingual languaging (Jørgensen, 2010; Madsen, 2011); contemporary urban vernaculars

130  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education (Rampton, 2011); metrolingualism (Otsuji & Pennycook, 2011); and translanguaging (García, 2009; Creese & Blackledge, 2011). For García (2009) a “translanguaging” approach to teaching and learning is not about code switching, but rather about an arrangement that normalizes bilingualism without diglossic functional separation. García argues that bilingual families and communities must translanguage in order to construct meaning. Similarly, “flexible bilingualism” (Creese & Blackledge, 2010; Blackledge & Creese, 2010) represents a view of language as a social resource without clear boundaries, which places the speaker at the heart of the interaction. This leads us away from a focus on “languages” as distinct codes to a focus on the agency of individuals engaged in using, creating, and interpreting signs for communication. The shared perspective represented in the use of these terms considers that meaning making is not confined to the use of “languages” as discrete, enumerable, bounded sets of linguistic resources. Blommaert and Velghe (2014) prefer “sign systems” to “language,” while Rymes (2010) speaks of communicative repertoires which extend across languages and varieties which have hitherto been associated with particular national, territorial, and social groups. Communicative resources are always “heteroglossic” in the sense that signs point to different histories and index social tensions and social evaluations. Recently scholars in sociolinguistics have engaged with Bakhtin’s term “heteroglossia” to illuminate understandings of the diversity of linguistic practice evident in late modern societies. Bailey (2012) summarizes “heteroglossia” as “the simultaneous use of different kinds of forms or signs, and the tensions and conflicts among those signs, on the sociohistorical associations they carry with them” (p.  504). Heller (2007, p. 8) proposes that utterances can best be understood as inherently heteroglossic, that is, a multiplicity of voices underlies linguistic variability in any given stretch of social performance. Bakhtin saw that what we talk about most are the words of others, such that our speech is overflowing with other people’s words. In doing so we weigh, evaluate, refute, repudiate, celebrate, affirm, and so on, not only the words of others, but also the political/ideological position represented by those words. By re‐accenting others’ voices, narrators and ordinary speakers establish positions for themselves (Wortham, 2001) or take “stances” with respect to what is said (Jaffe, 2009). Contemporary life is marked by many people living “mobile lives” (Elliott & Urry, 2010), resulting in sign systems which are always emerging and rarely ever fully stable (Blommaert & Velghe, 2014). Bakhtin’s notions of the construction and demolition of boundaries, and of mobility and movement across national, linguistic, and symbolic territories are very much relevant today. We use a heteroglossic lens to capture the key dimensions of language in action in our research team. Just like the participants in our study, researchers share an orientation to the importance of bilingualism. In other words, for both participants and researchers, bilingualism is a meaningful concept (Pike, 1967). Languages are important constructs serving as symbols of identity and inheritance. This begs the question of how we can deconstruct categories when we are also busy constructing and reproducing them.

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  131 We suggest that this can be addressed by building into our ethnographies reflexive accounts of researcher voice. Because ethnography insists on researchers being reflexive about their own intellectual assumptions and socio‐historical positioning, we will now consider bilingualism in our research accounts, and how our understanding of bilingualism shapes the ethnographies we produce.

Researching multilingualism in multilingual teams Our research always includes a methodologically focused aim. For example, our most recent research project (details below) set out to develop innovative multi‐ site, ethnographic team methodologies using interlocking case studies across national, social, cultural, and linguistic contexts. Meeting this objective requires that we write about methodological processes in investigating multilingualism and education. Because researchers’ voices are layered onto the voices of the research participants we represent, we think it is important to reveal how our interpretive practices are shaped by our individual histories, values, and beliefs, and how these are reproduced in team processes of analysis and text production. We attempt to make explicit how field relations and the learning experiences of ethnographers shape interpretation and representation. A full account of the strategies we use to achieve this can be found in Copland and Creese (2014). In  this chapter, we focus on one strategy, the introduction of researcher vignettes, and describe the emic perspectives of researchers, particularly in relation to ­languages and bilingualism. We will refer to two research projects in this chapter. As shorthand and for ease of reference, we will refer to these as the “European”2 and “National”3 projects. Both shared an interest in multilingualism, identity, and community, and were funded by UK and European research councils. Both were conducted using linguistic ethnography and multilingual team and multi‐sited approaches. Further information about the projects and the full team membership can be found in Blackledge et al. (2013) and Creese et al. (2008). These large team ethnographies investigated multilingualism in a range of educational contexts including heritage language schools, mainstream elementary and high school classrooms in linguistically diverse settings, and bilingual schools. Data were collected in school institutional contexts and in the homes and other informal settings of young people, teachers and administrators.

Analytic vignettes: introducing researcher and participant voices Our research team vignettes are usually written midway through projects. Typically, they deal with researcher positionality, field and team relationships, and language. English is the medium of these vignettes, as it was the main working

132  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education language for the researchers in both projects, and an additional language for many of the researchers. We have used vignettes as a reflexive strategy for several years (Blackledge & Creese, 2010) and they are discussed by the team early in the research. Consent to cite and refer to the vignettes in future publications is negotiated at the point of writing the first draft (see Blackledge & Creese, 2010 for an example). The anonymity offered to research participants is not available to researchers, and they are aware of this when they write their accounts. In this chapter vignettes are presented in two ways. First, we provide two full vignettes from paired researchers. These are from Jinling Li and Kasper Juffermans, who worked together on the Tilburg case of the European research project. Their case study investigated a Chinese complementary school in Eindhoven, Netherlands. The two vignettes reveal the dilemmas and tensions of researching in  an educational context which is either strange or familiar to the researcher. Bilingualism is constructed as an important identity marker which brings access and participation rights. These rights are policed by the researchers themselves rather than by the participants. In other words, it is not the research participants who deny access but the researchers themselves who question their rights and responsibilities to represent the teachers and children they are representing. Second, we read across the sixteen vignettes written during the National and European projects, selecting extracts from nine of them for a further discussion of bilingualism. In selecting particular extracts, we focus on how notions of “language” and “bilingualism” appear in the vignettes, and shape our research on multilingualism. We argue that heteroglossia provides the theoretical tools useful for linking researcher voices to analysis and interpretation. The vignettes presented below offer two accounts of researching in a Chinese complementary school in the Netherlands. Li was researching in the school as part of her doctoral study, and she was employed full‐time on the research project. Juffermans joined the project as a part‐time researcher immediately after completing his PhD research in the very different context of The Gambia. For Li the case study site was her PhD project, while for Juffermans it was a short‐term “stopgap” measure to provide employment while he was seeking a more sustainable academic post. Another contextual note here is that the two vignettes were written at different times. Our usual practice is to ask researchers to write their vignettes midway through the project and address the themes of relationships in the field and in the team. A word‐limit restriction is agreed at 750 words. Li’s vignette was written within these guidelines. However, Juffermans’ was not. His original vignette was over 2,500 words (cut here), and was written at the end of the project because, in his own words, “it was too ­difficult to write earlier.” In the two vignettes below we see the two researchers offer very different stories of their research journey in the Chinese complementary school research site. We are given access to two very different researcher voices. We see Li and Juffermans making decisions about who they feel (un)able to represent. The two vignettes reveal a range of ideologies and discourses in tension with one another, in relation to bilingualism, community, belonging and membership.

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  133 Jinling Li (2012) Before entering the field as a researcher, I had been a teacher giving the course Practical Chinese to Dutch adults in the Eindhoven Chinese School for four years. The access to the research site Chinese school was therefore not problematic. After four years’ deep hanging out in the school as a language teacher, I was regarded in the first place as a member of the teaching staff and a member of the Chinese community. I observed much regularity in and outside the classrooms, during the staff meetings and breaks. Linguistically, since the school has shifted from Cantonese to Mandarin teaching, I saw either the old Cantonese teachers retraining themselves to teach Mandarin classes, or new Mandarin‐speaking teachers replacing Cantonese teachers. As a result, the medium of communication among the teachers had changed to Mandarin. That was also the language I communicated in with other teachers. When I hung out with or interviewed the students, Dutch was used mostly. There were also moments we register‐switched among Mandarin, Dutch and English depending on individual person and topics. For the Chinese‐Dutch students either in or outside classrooms, Dutch was the language they use most of the time. At the beginning of the field work, I was concerned that my new role as researcher might influence the normal routine I had observed in the last years. During the four years of teaching, I attended numerous teachers’ meetings and had many conversations with various teachers, students, administrators, and parents regarding the school, identity, and Chinese‐language teaching in the Netherlands. In the period of my master study in Intercultural Communication, I took a course “Ethnography” and from that moment, I started to observe the school in a more organized way. Being a migrant myself, I have been very interested in language and identity. I participated in various teacher training programmes and community festivals organized by diverse Chinese associations in the Netherlands. At these events I met teachers and community members from many other Chinese schools in the Netherlands. When I re‐entered the school with an added role as researcher, I was aware of maintaining equal status between myself as the researcher and the research participants. Therefore, I chose to keep a low profile and be more of a passive observer so as to collect and observe the typical, routine, and ritualized discourses of the research site. Overall, the school seemed very much used to my presence during the data collection period. I sensed from the school that my new role as researcher had no clear‐cut boundaries from my previous role as a language teacher in the site. The school expected me to teach on Saturdays after the data collection period since a limited number of Dutch‐Chinese bilingual‐experienced teachers were available. I perceived this as an advantage because it overcame the labels u ­ sually attached to a researcher. The day when the observations started, the school members (principal, teachers, parents, and administrators) greeted me as usual. Some of the teachers generously welcomed me to observe their classes when I informed them about the research, while there were also some others who showed uncertainty and proclaimed that they were not interested in any research activities.

134  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Besides being in the school community, I was often present on occasions where community members interacted socially, for instance in a restaurant, at home, in an association’s weekly meeting, or during festivals. I have gained valuable information from such unofficial interviews. My cultural and linguistic background was perceived by the community member as “we‐group” and my linguistic background, trilingual in the community language, Dutch, and English, was often called upon to offer help during my field work, e.g., to act as an interpreter, to contribute to the establishment of a new Chinese school, or to act as an advisor for the school curricula. I have attempted to complete these friendly requests as a volunteer and, as a consequence, have spent a lot of time and energy in the school. But, at the same time, I have gained my participants’ personal trust. In my experience, being a member and an insider of the community has helped me to make insightful observations, and being trained as a researcher enables me to collect, approach, and analyze the data in a more neutral and objective way. Li speaks of her long term involvement with the participating school. Over many years she has worked as a teacher, interpreter, and now as a researcher in a context she knows well. She speaks of ease of access, of trust gained through long‐term investment and commitment. Membership is a term used several times in the vignette and she aligns herself with those she is researching in the “we‐group.” The lack of boundaries between Li’s different roles in the school—teacher, community member, friend, interpreter, adviser—appear as an asset but also as a potential problem. The social and historical connections she shares with others require her to navigate her new “researcher” role carefully. She chooses to keep “a low profile” and remain a “passive observer” so that she can maintain “equal status.” The importance of maintaining social relations of trust and equality are crucial to Li’s relationships in the field. She speaks of her researcher role in several ways––first, as somebody who, regardless of university study, has an interest in language, identity, and migration. As a migrant herself these are topics that are of personal importance to her. Second, she speaks of herself as a newly trained researcher who has completed an ethnography course. This professional and personal experience provides her with a new set of knowledge to research a familiar site with new eyes. Another issue highlighted in the vignette is her linguistic repertoire. She describes the different resources she uses with different groups including varieties of Chinese, Dutch, and English. She is also aware of the changing linguistic landscape of the Chinese community in the Netherlands as Mandarin replaces Cantonese in the school. We are presented with a picture of a researcher at ease and confident in her social relations with those with whom she is participating in research. The vignette provides the reader with a reflexive account of a researcher able and willing to provide accounts of teachers and students represented very much through her own investment in the field. Li’s “I” throughout indexes membership of the group she researches. Her ethnography produces narratives in which she is very much invested.

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  135 Kasper Juffermans (2012) Before the start of the project I had never heard of or even suspected the existence of complementary schools in the Netherlands, but I had some affinity with Chinese people following a year abroad in Hong Kong and the presence of several Chinese colleagues at Tilburg University. The beginning of the project coincided with a difficult period in my life in which I had just finished (but not yet defended) my PhD and was generally insecure about my future. At first, I felt quite helpless in the project not being able to speak Chinese, nor having the time to learn it (unlike in my PhD trajectory). Fieldwork in the school with co‐researcher Jinling [Li] was never really “my fieldwork.” I wasn’t fully engaged in or committed to the project, partly because I was occupied in several ongoing writing projects and new job applications, but also because the project made me technically more unemployed than employed (this situation later improved). The glass was clearly half‐ empty, not half‐full. Moreover, in the field, I remained somewhat helpless, and got bored after a couple of classroom observations—which were nevertheless useful altogether. After two observations of active note taking, I began bringing material to read or texts to revise to keep me busy during the classes in which, almost exclusively, Chinese was spoken. At some point Jinling and I were actively drawn into the classroom discussion by the teacher, and we also introduced ourselves and our research to the class. I remember being asked by one student where I was from because of my strange accent. Jinling introduced me to the teachers and headmaster and I also joined Jinling on a goodbye Chinese round table lunch with her former students which marked Jinling’s transition from teacher to researcher in the school. In many of these encounters I was asked what my interests were or what my role in the project was, which I felt difficult to answer. What made me qualified to do research in a Chinese complementary school, given that I didn’t speak Chinese? I rescued these situations by talking about my other research, and by saying that the project simply hired me because I needed a job, and that my role was more in the way of supporting Jinling in her research. I also talked about my time in Hong Kong in this context, which created common ground with students and teachers who had mostly either lived in or visited Hong Kong or told me they envied me because I had had the chance to live there for a whole year. I also explained how difficult I found the Cantonese classes I took there, and the few words I could still remember. This gave me some credibility in the Chinese school. But, overall, I felt like a visitor, a tourist. I didn’t feel I belonged there, or could be very useful for the project. My role, as I justified it to myself, would be more in the background. Helping Jinling with analyzing data and writing would be where I would come in. Primary data collection would be Jinling’s task.

136  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Jinling, however, challenged me, pointing out that my presence in the field could also be complementary to the project, referring to different possible research positionings—which she picked up at the summer schools and project meetings in England she attended and I did not. She tried, but couldn’t really persuade me to start playing a more active role. I also got Jan [Blommaert] and Sjaak [Kroon] to agree on this. They must have noticed my personal struggle and, in effect, accommodated this where possible. So I settled for a secondary role in the project. I was able to adopt a more active role when Jinling pointed me to an online community on a local social network site called Asian & Proud, where some of the students of the Eindhoven Chinese school were also active and discussed topics relating to identity, language, and cultural inheritance alongside more playful ones. And they happened to do this not in Chinese, but in Dutch. With this we found an area in which I could take a more active and leading role. I plunged into this online community and in a few weeks time I found myself working almost full‐time on this, and I finished a paper which we discussed during our first plenary team meeting in May 2011, which I now also attended. We even included it in the Working Papers on Urban Language and Literacies (Li & Juffermans 2011), which I thought was fantastic. I also presented a version of this paper at a conference in Budapest—on my own—and felt it was well‐received. Doing this, I also got more satisfaction and joy out of my participation in this project. Bottom line is that as I grew into the project, I received a greater sense of ownership in the project. It gradually also became my project

There are a number of ideological tensions in Juffermans’ account of working on the project. He sees borders around language, ethnicity and access which he is unable to cross. Not “belonging” in the school or community meant not being “useful” to the research project. Juffermans also refers to dynamics within the pair and within the team. He speaks of Li’s willingness and openness to include him in the project and to find a place for him during the fieldwork despite his lack of bilingualism. Not being bilingual in the language of the classroom makes him feel “helpless.” Juffermans describes “affinity” as an investment while “credibility” is gained through bilingualism. He cannot locate himself in the project. He is concerned that investing in the project will remove him from his PhD work, and will take away the time he needs to complete applications for employment. Whereas his doctoral studies provide him with a secure and confident research identity, the new research project does not. He feels unable to represent those he is researching in the complementary school. Indeed it is only when he finds another site in which he is able to activate his researcher skills and his bilingual voice that he can be part of the project. Taking responsibility for research in virtual spaces meant he no longer felt “like a visitor, a tourist.”

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  137 For Juffermans, his bilingualism in Dutch and English allowed him to participate in the research, whereas his lack of competence in varieties of Chinese made him feel excluded. In these two vignettes bilingualism appears as crucial for researching multilingualism. This is not because participation in data collection requires a level of linguistic competence in Chinese languages. It is rather about claiming the right to represent research participants. Juffermans did not feel he had this right, whereas Li did. Although Juffermans’ linguistic repertoire allowed him to engage with young people and teachers at the complementary schools through Dutch and English, it was his lack of Chinese that restricted his participation. The young people all spoke Dutch and some other languages in and around the school, but dynamics of the context meant these languages appeared less relevant to Juffermans. The absence of Chinese varieties in his linguistic repertoire depleted his researcher identity and he felt unable to represent the teachers and the students studying varieties of Chinese in this school. In Juffermans’ and Li’s vignettes we can see traces of the social, political, and historical forces which have shaped them. Both researchers are aware of negotiating their identities and linguistic resources constantly as they move in and out of subject positions. Researching multilingualism involves bringing into play different voices which are in a complex and dynamic relationship with one another. There are discourses about equality which clash with discourses about social hierarchies; there are also discourses about bilingualism and blurred boundaries, which run concurrently with ideologies about language separation, ethnicity, and the right to represent. We can identify a variety of voices within each researcher’s vignette, as they translate their experiences for the reader. But many other voices are also represented in these accounts—other members of the research team, teachers, parents, students. The vignettes give voice to the researchers, who in turn represent the participants’ voices.

Research identity and bilingualism The individual’s experience of being bilingual in a team and experiencing a sense of shared histories with many of those they are researching is evident across the vignettes of the bilingual researchers. As we observed, Jinling Li notes, “Being a migrant myself, I have been very interested in language and identity. In my experience, being a member and an insider of the community helps me to make insightful observations.” In her vignette, Jaspreet Kaur Takhi (2012) describes her bilingualism and cultural awareness as crucial in establishing trust with key stakeholders, “Whenever we meet, he [a key participant] always speaks to me in Panjabi rather than English. I think this says a lot about how he trusts me and believes in our research.” Anu Muhonen (2012) notes, “Being bilingual in Finnish and Swedish opened many doors. My knowledge of both of these cultures was definitely an  asset.” Another of the bilingual researchers from the European project, Carla  Jonsson (2012), speaks of the

138  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education strengths which her bilingualism brings to the research project. We quote at length from her vignette: In my opinion, there are many advantages to being a bilingual researcher in the ­context where one is conducting research. In what follows I list some of my initial thoughts on my role as a bilingual researcher in a minority‐language context. First and foremost, it is practical to understand the languages in which most school events take place since it allows me to immediately (without interpretation/translation) understand a particular situation, for example, what the students are discussing, what they are laughing at, what they are having difficulties with, etc. Second, sharing the same linguistic capital as the students brings me closer to the “in‐group,” that is, the students. Third, the mere fact that I am a bilingual, even though I might not ­necessarily be bilingual in the same languages in which the students are bilingual (for instance, they may position themselves as bilingual in Swedish and Greek, whereas I position myself as bilingual in Swedish and Spanish) makes us share the feeling of being a bilingual, that is, someone who lives their life in at least two ­languages (my definition). Fourth, as a teacher at the school suggested, I contribute to the legitimization of the minority language Spanish in a context where Swedish is the dominant majority language by being a Spanish‐speaking researcher, thus raising the status of Spanish in the eyes of the students.

Here Jonsson highlights the researcher expertise gained through bilingualism, and the ideological importance in performing this with authority. The combination of linguistic skills and the confidence and security gained through being a trained researcher is also noted by Jinling Li, who comments, “being trained as a researcher enables me to collect, approach and analyze the data in a more neutral and objective way.” In their vignettes, researchers are very aware of the negotiation work they do in establishing relationships while in the field and beyond the life of the project. Their bilingualism is not just a methodological resource for achieving this, but it is an identity marker which they are aware of harnessing. Researchers must ­carefully negotiate their insider and outsider personas as Arvind Bhatt (2008) comments “I use my ‘insider’ persona to build trust and my ‘outsider’ persona to keep my distance.” Bilingual researchers face issues of boundary negotiation as they are sometimes called upon to take over the teaching in class, cover an absent teacher, or provide expertise on a question of language or pedagogy. The negotiations around these requests are sensitive. Most of the time the researchers record “not minding” these shifts in roles. Jinling notes that she saw the overlapping roles as an advantage. Anu Muhonen describes an “in‐between role” and describes how The teachers sometimes viewed me as “a resource,” a source for knowledge concerning for example the Finnish language. I am an expert in this field due to my academic education and therefore I sometimes felt obliged to help. Thus, I kept asking myself: Should I? Why should I not? The fact was that I had the “right” answers.

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  139 A commitment to the community being researched is also recorded by the bilingual researchers. Bhatt makes clear his political commitment to the project of complementary schooling and notes, the tension between being objective, scientific and “naïve” and being a committed advocate for multilingualism and for complementary schools perturbs my relationships with the participants.

This tension revealed by Bhatt is also mentioned by Takhi who records, When I first learnt about the research project I would be taking part in, I was very excited; complementary schools were a big part of my life until my early teens when I stopped attending them. I suppose, reflecting on it, I felt a mixture of excitement and nerves because I didn’t want anyone at the school to think that our research was a critical evaluation of the school. This anxiety came as a result of me positioning myself as an “insider” right away. Testing loyalties. Were my loyalties in making the school shine or to collect the most honest and open data to be true to our research?

Arvind Bhatt notes, “overall, I feel that I am not only researching a community but also, to some extent, representing it.” This notion of representing a community requires an invested stance and Bhatt notes, “as a recognized member of the community we are researching I have to tread a cautious path. I cannot take the ‘research and go’ stance.” This invested position is also captured in both Anu Muhonen’s and Carla Jonsson’s vignettes. Muhonen speaks of her active political orientation to promoting ideologies of bilingualism, I reckon that in addition to the language aspect, also meaningful was the fact that I was part of the Sweden Finnish migrant group. I felt that it was through these shared spaces and experiences that I could first of all gain access and later on relate so well to these groups. I always spoke Finnish in the school. This is probably due to my “professional” role and my status of somewhat “a minority‐language activist” when it comes to the ­language policy and practice.

The personal and political dimension are tightly bound together and are ­captured in Jonsson’s description of her personal investment: Linguistically, I can position myself as “insider” at the school in the sense that I am bilingual in Spanish and Swedish which are the school’s official languages and the languages that the students speak or are learning. My cultural affiliations make me feel that I share cultural belongings with students, teachers and parents born in Sweden and in different parts of the Spanish speaking world.

In our research team, not all of the researchers are multilingual in the languages used in the classroom. Vignettes and fieldnotes are full of references to, and

140  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education questions for, researcher colleagues who are bilingual in the community language. For example in the National project Peter Martin mentioned, I often make reference to “wondering” whether the more linguistically and culturally sophisticated other (Arvind Bhatt) agrees with my interpretation of what’s going on. I also often feel frustrated at not being able to understand what is going on, and also the subtle nuances in the switches between languages.

Adrian Blackledge (2008) comments in relation to the National project where he was paired with Shahela Ahmed, This was certainly a key part of my identity as a researcher here: not only was I visiting an educational world with which I was unfamiliar, it was also difficult for me to familiarize myself quickly, as the instruction was largely in languages that I could not understand. However, as the case study developed, I felt that my ignorance became my strength. The fact that my research partner had the linguistic and cultural knowledge to understand the detail of the classroom interaction meant that I could attend to broader features, and when we came to share our fieldnotes, we were able to build a rich and detailed picture.

Creese (2012) similarly records the absence of her own linguistic skills when she compares herself to the bilingual researcher Takhi, I often gaze at the young vibrant Jaspreet with her bilingualism, social and cultural background and youth and remember myself in a different era. As a “senior” researcher, I know how lucky we are to have her.

This short foray into the researchers’ vignettes shows language, bilingualism, identity, and community investment to be important topics in the researcher accounts. The majority of the researchers describe their bilingualism as an important identity marker and speak of their personal investment in relation to making a political stance. They describe the knowledge and skills that being bilingual brings to the research. Bilingualism is a bottom‐up, emic category for those we research. It is also an emic category for researchers within the research team. Language and their own varieties of language represent an important dimension of researcher identities. Because our research asks questions about linguistic repertoires, it becomes necessary to consider our own. The line between method and theory overlaps. Linguistic ethnography provides the tools to explore this overlap, and our research design seeks to establish how our individual trajectories feed into interpretive practices. We see vignettes as one way of doing this. We end this section with a word of caution. Although the marking of researchers as “bilingual” and “nonbilingual” appears clear, this distinction is not always transparent. Some of the researchers in both the European and National projects were multilingual but not in the languages being studied, others spoke some of the languages at different levels of proficiency, while others had investments in the

Researching Bi/Multilingual Education Multilingually  141 communities and young people being observed, but did not speak the community language of the group. As a research team we have come to view the linguistic repertoire of our team as rich, complex, contested, and negotiable.

Conclusion In this chapter we have paid attention to the ways we construct the very concepts we are investigating. This has led us as a research team to consider “voice” as a central concept in researching multilingualism in education (Juffermans & Van der Aa, 2013; Creese & Blackledge, 2012). Voice sits between the linguistic notion of language and the ethnographic notion of discourse (Blommaert, 2006). Blommaert (2006, p. 10) suggests discourse “is language in which people have made investments—social, cultural, political, individual‐emotional ones” and, he argues, “It is a matter of voice, not of language” (Blommaert, 2010, p. 196). Because analyzing voice is so central to what we do, we have found linguistic ethnography makes an important contribution to our multilingual team approach. With its explicit orientation to combining discourse analysis with ethnography, linguistic ethnography provides the tools for a fine‐grain analysis of the interactional here‐and‐now within the ethnographically informed historical and wider political social context. The construction of bilingualism in relation to identity is apparent in the researcher vignettes. Many of the researchers in the National and European projects positioned themselves as bilinguals. Individual researchers mobilized resources from their complex repertoires of “concrete accents, language varieties, registers, genres, modalities” (Noguerón‐Liu & Warriner, 2014). Our own reactions as researchers to finding ourselves deconstructed and held up for analytical scrutiny reminds us to consider the range of possible emotions our research participants might experience on being researched and represented. Vignettes are research narratives which show divisions, struggles, or inconsistencies, and they are descriptions which are selective, purposed, angled, and voiced, because they are authored (Emerson, Fretz, & Shaw, 1995). Our own investments in particular social categories are played out in the way we interpret and analyze data, represent participants, and write up ethnographic reports. Over the last ten years, we have made the methodological processes of researching multilingualism in multilingual teams a central element of our research. Linguistic ethnography contributes to this discussion, arguing that making assumptions about communicative practices in particular contexts is dangerous. Instead, as Rampton (2007, p. 585) suggests, interactions have histories constituted in social relations which need to “be grasped ethnographically.” A linguistic ethnographic analysis of a multilingual team of researchers illustrates the complex web of individual researcher trajectories and histories and how these shape arguments made in interpretive research. Linguistic ethnographers who are aware of the heteroglossic potential of language are able to point to the voices and tensions within the utterance, and consider how it is mediated in social interaction. Such reflexive practices serve to open up the analytical and

142  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education representation processes. Awareness of the heteroglossic nature of language can thus contribute to a more robust and defensible analysis. The concept of heteroglossia in linguistic ethnography can provide new and important perspectives on research conducted “behind‐the‐scenes,” and is rich in its methodological and theoretical possibility.

Notes 1  A brief note on authorship. A theoretical and methodological commitment to the diversity of voices in team ethnographic processes prompted Angela and Adrian to lead on writing this paper. However, the substance of the paper would not have existed without the nine researchers’ vignettes. While all authors agreed to their vignettes being used for publication in this way, the relatively unusual experience of seeing their researcher– researchee roles reversed was part of the process of negotiation and redrafting of this complex, multi‐authored piece. Peter Martin, our dear friend and colleague, died in 2009. We are grateful to the editors and publishers for allowing us to include the full list of researchers involved in the different research projects. However, all errors and faults are the responsibility of the two lead authors. 2  The project “Investigating discourses of inheritance and identities in four multilingual European settings” was financially supported by the HERA Joint Research Programme (www.heranet.info) which is co‐funded by AHRC, AKA, DASTI, ETF, FNR, FWF, HAZU, IRCHSS, MHEST, NWO, RANNIS, RCN, VR and The European Community FP7 2007–2013, under the Socio‐economic Sciences and Humanities program. The research team was as follows: Adrian Blackledge, Jan Blommaert, Angela Creese, Liva Hyttel‐Sørensen, Carla Jonsson, Jens Normann Jørgensen, Kasper Juffermans, Sjaak Kroon, Jarmo Lainio, Jinling Li, Marilyn Martin‐Jones, Anu Muhonen, Lamies Nassri, and Jaspreet Kaur Takhi. 3  ESRC‐funded project, “Investigating multilingualism in complementary schools in four communities” (RES‐000‐23‐1180). The research team was as follows: Angela Creese, Taşkin Baraç, Arvind Bhatt, Adrian Blackledge, Shahela Hamid, Li Wei, Vally Lytra, Peter Martin, Chao‐Jung Wu, Dilek Yağcioğlu‐Ali. Peter Martin has since passed away.

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9 Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity Bilingual Education and Indigenous Language Revitalization in French Polynesia Mirose Paia, Jim Cummins, Isabelle Nocus, Marie Salaün, and Jacques Vernaudon Introduction In this chapter we review research and theory relating to the roles of ideologies about language, societal power relations, and identity negotiation in debates about bilingual education and indigenous language revitalization, with specific reference to French Polynesia. Issues currently under debate among policy‐makers and the general public in different French Polynesian contexts are similar to those that have arisen in other national and social contexts where linguistic and cultural groups are in contact. Of concern are psycholinguistic and pedagogical issues such as (i) the extent to which bilingual instruction might dilute students’ exposure to, and subsequent proficiency in, the dominant language (in this case, French); (ii) the extent to which bilingual instruction will be effective in supporting the development of students’ proficiency in the non‐dominant or indigenous lan­ guage, thereby promoting linguistic revitalization in the society as a whole; and (iii) the emphasis that should be placed on the development of oral versus written language in the nondominant language, given that many indigenous languages do not have an extensive written language tradition.1 As in other situations discussed in the present volume, these psycholin­ guistic and pedagogical issues are embedded in a sociopolitical and historical context shaped by the ideologies of colonialism. These ideologies include the

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

146  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education historical assumption on the part of the colonial power (sometimes also partially internalized by the indigenous population) that the dominant language, culture, and civilization are superior to those of the “less developed” indigenous com­ munities. These ideologies have been infused into, and reinforced by, societal institutions such as schools and government agencies with the result that, over time, many communities devalue their own languages and cross‐generational transmission declines or even ceases. Thus, current efforts to revitalize indige­ nous languages by means of bilingual education cannot be isolated from the broader process of decolonization and the reclaiming of individual and community identities that is underway in many contexts around the world (McCarty, 2005). In the next section, we briefly define the major constructs relevant to our anal­ ysis. This is followed by an outline of psycholinguistic conclusions that have emerged from the international research on bilingual programs. Psycholinguistic principles alone, however, cannot fully account for the patterns of educational achievement manifested by marginalized group students. The data clearly show that far more than just medium of instruction is involved in reversing school failure. Specifically, we argue that intervention to address the causes of under­ achievement among marginalized students must take account of how societal power relations infuse themselves into teacher–student interactions within the classroom (Cummins, 2001).

Definitions of key terms and constructs Obviously, major constructs such as ideology, power, and identity that we discuss in our analysis are complex, and each has generated a voluminous literature. For purposes of this chapter, we present a set of working definitions that have guided our analysis. Bilingual education  The term bilingual education refers to an organized and planned program that uses two (or more) languages of instruction. The central defining feature of bilingual programs is that the languages are used to teach subject matter content rather than just the languages themselves. Ideology  According to Tollefson (2007), the term ideology in language studies attempts to capture “the implicit, usually unconscious assumptions about lan­ guage and language behavior that fundamentally determine how human beings interpret events” (p. 26). Ideologies infuse all forms of social policy making and, in themselves, are not inherently problematic. Ideologies become problematic only when they result in policies that are implemented in isolation from the research evidence or when research evidence is twisted to conform to ideological presuppositions. Unfortunately, much of the opposition to bilingual programs for indigenous and other marginalized communities around the world is rooted in ideologies related to the presumed superiority of the

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  147 dominant culture and language in comparison to those of marginalized or colonized communities. Power relations  Conventional definitions of the term power typically identify two central meanings. One highlights the notion of exercising power over others. Power is exercised by a dominant group (or individual or country) to the detriment of a subordinated group (or individual or country). The second meaning of the term focuses on the notion of being enabled or empowered to act in certain ways or achieve desired goals. Drawing on these two very different meanings of the term “power,” Cummins (2001) distinguished between coercive relations of power and ­collaborative relations of power. Within collaborative relations of power, power is not a fixed quantity but is generated through interaction with others. The more empow­ ered one individual or group becomes, the more power is generated for others to share. The process is additive rather than subtractive. Within this context, empowerment can be defined as the collaborative creation of power. The relevance of this distinc­ tion in the context of the present chapter is that, in societal contexts characterized by unequal power relations, classroom interactions are never neutral—they are always located on a continuum ranging between the reinforcement of coercive rela­ tions of power and the promotion of collaborative relations of power. Identity  Current conceptualizations of the construct view identity as fluid, dynamic, and multiple (e.g., Norton, 2013). Identities are constantly being shaped through experiences and interactions. Some aspects of our identities are difficult or impossible to change (e.g., gender, ethnicity), but other aspects are more easily modified as a result of our social experiences. Interactions in school constitute a major influence on the extent to which and the spheres in which students develop self‐esteem. Ideally, students’ interactions in the school should reinforce their sense of self‐worth but, unfortunately, this has frequently not been the case for s­ tudents whose communities are viewed as inferior in the wider society.

Bilingual education: psycholinguistic findings and principles Bilingual programs have aroused considerable controversy in some countries because the implementation of bilingual programs for students from nondomi­ nant communities directly affects power and status relations among societal groups. Although for the most part rooted in ideologies of racial superiority, this opposition to bilingual education has typically expressed itself in psycholinguistic terms, namely that nondominant group students will be educationally disadvan­ taged as a result of the fact that there is less exposure to the dominant language in a bilingual program than in a monolingual program. Despite these controversies, there is a large degree of consensus among researchers with respect to some

148  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education general conclusions about the outcomes of bilingual education. These conclusions are outlined in the following sections. Significant positive relationships exist between the development of academic skills in first and second languages In order to account for extensive research showing that instruction through a minority language entailed no adverse consequences for students’ academic development in the majority language, Cummins (1981, p. 29) proposed the “inter­ dependence hypothesis” which was formally expressed as follows: To the extent that instruction in Lx is effective in promoting proficiency in Lx, transfer of this proficiency to Ly will occur provided there is adequate exposure to Ly (either in school or environment) and adequate motivation to learn Ly.

In concrete terms, what this hypothesis means is that in, for example, a Tahitian– French bilingual program, instruction that develops speaking, listening, reading, and writing skills in Tahitian is not just developing Tahitian skills, it is also devel­ oping a deeper conceptual and linguistic proficiency that is strongly related to the development of literacy in the dominant language (French). In recent years, numerous research studies have documented various forms of  cross‐lingual transfer. These include transfer of morphological knowledge (Deacon, Wade‐Woolley, & Kirby, 2007), phonological knowledge (Bialystok, Luk, & Kwan, 2005) and overall metalinguistic awareness (Demont, 2001; Galambos & Goldin‐Meadow, 1990). There is also considerable evidence that development of bilingual skills results in a variety of cognitive advantages for bilinguals (Adesope et al., 2010). In general, however, these effects of cross‐linguistic transfer have been observed for both majority‐ and minority‐background students in contexts where they are enabled to develop proficiency in both their first language (L1) and sec­ ond language (L2) as a result of bilingual instruction in schools. Cognitive benefits are less likely to ensue for minority‐group students in contexts where their L1 is devalued both in school and the wider society. The most successful bilingual programs are those that aim to develop bilingualism and biliteracy Short‐term transitional programs are less successful in developing both L2 and L1 language literacy than programs such as dual language or maintenance programs that continue to promote both L1 and L2 literacy throughout elementary school. Lindholm‐Leary and Borsato (2006, p. 201) express this pattern of findings from studies conducted in the United States as follows: [T]here is strong convergent evidence that the educational success of ELLs [English language learners] is positively related to sustained instruction through the student’s first language. … most long‐term studies report that the longer the students stayed in the program, the more positive were the outcomes.

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  149 This pattern of results refutes the assumption underlying many transitional bilingual programs that students should be transferred out of the bilingual program as rap­ idly as possible. Bilingual education for indigenous and other non‐dominant group students is, in many situations, more effective in developing L2 literacy skills than monolingual education in the dominant language but it is not, by itself, a panacea for underachievement In the United States, the National Literacy Panel on Language‐Minority Children and Youth (August & Shanahan, 2006) concluded that bilingual instruction exerts a  moderate but significant positive effect on minority‐group students’ academic achievement in the dominant school language. This conclusion validates bilingual education as a legitimate educational option to help reverse historical patterns of underachievement. However, it is important to emphasize that underachievement among students from marginalized social groups derives from many sources depending on the societal context (e.g., historical devaluation of the group in the wider society, socioeconomic status, inferior schools, low teacher expectations, etc.). Thus, simply providing some L1 instruction will not, by itself, transform students’ educational experience nor reverse the effects of social discrimination and poverty.

Bilingual education in the context of societal power relations Extensive research carried out by sociologists and anthropologists has demon­ strated a clear relationship between educational achievement and societal power relations. Social groups characterized by educational underachievement tend to have experienced material and symbolic violence at the hands of the dominant societal group over generations (e.g., McCarty, 2005; Bishop & Berryman, 2006). A direct implication is that, in order to reverse this pattern of underachievement, educators, both individually and collectively, must challenge the operation of coercive relations of power in the classroom. Thus, the crucial variable in predicting the extent to which any educational program or intervention, such as bilingual education, will increase the academic achievement of minority or non‐dominant group students is not simply whether L1 is incorporated into the instructional program but rather the extent to which the interactions between teachers and students generate a sense of empowerment among the students. In summary, the intersections between psycholinguistic and sociological research and analysis suggest that students will learn the target language (both L1 and L2) if they are given opportunities to use it for powerful purposes. Powerful purposes are those that expand students’ sense of self (identity) in association with the lan­ guage. Students’ sense of self is expanded through intellectual accomplishments, creation of art, literature, dramatic performances, or other forms of cultural production into which they invest their identities.

150  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education In the following sections, these themes are discussed with specific reference to the context of French Polynesia. Initially, we examine how societal power relations influenced the history of literacy in French Polynesia where the social and educational policies of the colonial power transformed the population from one of the most literate in the world in the early 1800s to being only minimally literate in their mother tongues by the 1960s.

The polynesian context and the history of literacy in french polynesia French Polynesia is located in the southeastern Pacific and its boundaries were established by the French colonizers in the nineteenth century. The area comprises 118 islands, 67 of which are inhabited, grouped into five archipelagos with a total land area of about 4,000 square kilometers distributed over a sea area of 5,000,000 square kilometers. It has 268,270 inhabitants with more than 70 percent reporting a Polynesian ancestry.2 As an overseas territory fully integrated within the French Republic, this collectivity now has considerable autonomy in educational and lan­ guage policy, albeit strictly regulated by Article 2 of the French Constitution which states “the language of the Republic is French.”3 Recently there has been renewed debate in relation to the issue of “decolonization” and the process of recognition of local linguistic realities within the school provides a good example of resistance to monolingual ideologies.4 Six indigenous languages are spoken in French Polynesia (Tahitian, ​​ Marquesan, Pa‘umotu, Mangareva, Austral, Rapa). These languages are collectively called “Polynesian languages” or “reo mā’ohi” and they belong to the Oceanic subgroup of the Austronesian family. In the contemporary linguistic landscape, languages deriving from more recent migrations, most notably French, have added to this endogenous diversity. French is currently the only official language and the main language of schooling. In 2012, according to the general census of French Polynesia (www.ispf.pf/ bases/Recensements/2012/Donnees_detaillees/Langues.aspx), out of a total population of 268,207 inhabitants, 149,007 people aged 15 and older (56% of the total population and 73% of this age group) reported that they could understand, speak, read and write a Polynesian language. But these figures are based only on respondents’ statements and may reflect a disposition to over‐estimate proficiency in the heritage language for reasons associated with identity. They show a commit­ ment to indigenous languages rather ​​ than competence in them. Opportunities to read and write in Polynesian languages ​​are rare, and it is likely that levels of liter­ acies in these languages vary considerably. Writing was introduced to the Society Islands by Protestant missionaries of the London Missionary Society in the early nineteenth century. After their arrival on the island of Tahiti in 1797, the missionaries focused intensively on learning and codifying the language in order to create a catechism in Tahitian, which was prob­ ably the first text based on the alphabetic principle ever written in a language of

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  151 the Pacific. This catechism was presented in 1801 to the people of Matavai Bay who were being instructed in Christianity prior to baptism (Nicole, 1988). The efforts by the missionaries to translate the Bible (first published in Tahitian in 1838), together with a systematic focus on developing the population’s literacy in the vernacular language, followed the principles articulated by the Lutheran B. Ziegenbalg: Church and school go together. Every Christian should be able to read the Word of God: therefore all Christian children should be educated and the Word of God must be presented to them in their own language. (Cited by Nicole, 1988, p. 10)

During the period when the missionaries were establishing themselves in Tahiti, the Polynesian chief Pomare II, following his father, took advantage of the fact that his Matavai territory was visited frequently by western ships, which enabled him to acquire guns and enlist the services of deserting sailors. He was able to neu­ tralize rival chiefs and concentrate political power in his own hands. Upon contact with missionaries, he initially showed much more interest in the technology of writing—the “science of talking paper”—than in the Gospel texts themselves. Pomare II expressed his desire to be baptized as a Christian in 1811. His endorse­ ment of the new religion resulted in massive conversion of his subjects between 1813 and 1816, increased literacy in Tahitian under the leadership of Brother John Davies, and dissemination of Gospel texts after the installation of a missionary printing press in Moorea in 1817. The effectiveness of Davies’s endeavor to teach reading and writing and train a generation of catechists and teachers can be gauged from the fact that in 1823 Major Duperrey wrote in his report to the Minister of the Navy and Colonies about the missionary schools: “All the natives of Tahiti know how to read and write” (cited by Nicole, 1988, p. 1). Besides the determination of the missionaries and the enthusiasm of the islanders, some additional factors explain the rapid spread of this new literate competence in a traditionally oral society. First, because of the demographic col­ lapse caused by epidemics, the population of Tahiti at that time amounted to only about 9,000 souls (Newbury, 1980, p. 128). But internal properties of the Tahitian language and its writing system also contributed to the successful development of literacy. Its phonological system is one of the most minimal in the world: it has nine consonants and five vowels which can be either short or long. Phonemes in Tahitian are transcribed by 13 Latin letters plus the apostrophe for the glottal stop and macron indicating vowel length. Graphemes consist of a single letter, possibly accompanied by an auxiliary sign (for long vowels topped with a macron). Grapheme–phoneme correspondences are bi‐univocal (a sound corre­ sponds to one and only one grapheme and vice versa). Everything that is written is pronounced and vice versa. In the nineteenth century, use of the written vernacular was extended beyond the religious sphere. In the legal arena, in order to consolidate the incipient theo­ cracy of Pomare II, the missionaries drew up and promulgated a code of laws, the Code Pomare, which was the first written constitution in the Pacific islands

152  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education (Pukoki, 1966). Additionally, by the end of the nineteenth century, the puta tupuna, literally “ancestral books” had been established; these were used by important people in Polynesian society to record in writing a diverse set of traditional knowledge that had previously been transmitted by oral tradition (Saura, 2008). This brief overview demonstrates that nothing in the traditional culture or “intellectual orientation” of Polynesians is opposed to the acquisition of literate skills. This observation is significant in light of the argument sometimes still advanced today that cultural factors explain the lack of engagement of Polynesian students in literate activities. From the time the kingdom of Pomare II (comprising the Windward Islands, primarily Tahiti and Moorea) was established as a French protectorate in 1842, the colonial administration systematically proceeded to replace Tahitian with French as the language of instruction in the name of its “civilizing mission.” In 1859 the governor banned the use of the Tahitian language in all schools in the capital Papeete, including during recess. Outside the capital, the decree of 30 October 1862 required the teaching of the French language in all school districts on the same basis as the teaching of the Tahitian language. The influence of French in educational provision was reinforced after the annex­ ation of territories and the establishment of the Établissements français de l’Océanie (EFO) (French Territories in Oceania) in 1880. The decree of 27 October 1897, making primary education compulsory throughout the EFO, was specifically intended to achieve this result. Vernacular writing was equally restricted outside of the school. The decree of December 11, 1932 subjected newspapers and periodicals in local languages to ​​ a system of prior authorization. This control was increased in 1959; articles for pub­ lication in Tahitian had to be submitted with a certified translation into French, in seven copies. However, it was only after World War II that the ideology of “French‐only” came to dominate social realities. Ensuring access to the French language was now associated with the principle of “equal opportunities.” The granting of full citizenship rights to local populations was accompanied by large‐scale expansion of education compared to previous times. Despite the proclamations of official discourse, efforts to spread French broadly among the indigenous population remained modest. The government focused on closing the gap by applying stan­ dards common to the entire French state in terms of equipment, training of teachers, and curriculum. More than ever, “the use of vernacular languages is pro­ hibited in schools, not only by teachers, but also by students who are not allowed to use these languages during class or even in their play during recess” (Lavondès 1972, p. 55). Although the Tahitian language still remained alive in the oral sphere, especially in everyday contexts and among Protestants, its written use was now limited to religious instruction. During the 1970s, academic success became a major preoccupation of social policy. In opposition to the politics of assimilation conducted up to that point, schools were urged to adapt to local linguistic and cultural realities as a means of addressing the persistent academic failure experienced by indigenous students

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  153 (Paia, 2014). Tahitian instruction was introduced progressively during the 1980s in Kindergarten and elementary school for two hours and 40 minutes per week. The goal was to welcome students with and in their mother tongues and to promote awareness of and through their mother tongues. However, instructional guide­ lines from 1996 reveal that Tahitian remained very much confined to the oral mode. Development of literate competence in Tahitian was conceived only through possible “spontaneous” and nonsystematic transfer from the acquisition of reading and writing skills in French: In the second Cycle, students learn how to read in French and can use this knowledge either spontaneously or through questions about written text in Polynesian lan­ guages. Although this should in no way lead to systematic learning sessions, there is no reason not to use this competence when it manifests itself. (Ministère de l’Education et de la Formation supérieure et technique, 1996, p. 67)

It was not until the experimental projects implemented in 2005 that ambitious ­pedagogical goals were formulated for the learning of reading and writing in Tahitian and other Polynesian languages.

The polynesian languages and cultures project (lcp) Teachers who started to teach Tahitian reading and writing in the 1990s observed very positive effects on the level of students’ reading in French. However, these initiatives remained isolated because they were not followed up by the educational authorities. Fifteen years later, the rate of school failure and illiteracy in French Polynesia was one of the highest in the French territories. In 2004 the Polynesian Ministry of Education and the Directorate of Primary Education (DEP) started to promote students’ total linguistic and cognitive potential at school focusing partic­ ularly on early bilingual education. Drawing on international research findings regarding the impact of bilingual education on academic success, the Polynesian government implemented an initial experiment named Project Langues et Cultures Polynésiennes (LCP) (2005– 2008) with the intention of reinforcing the presence of Polynesian languages and cultures in the 1st and 2nd cycles of school (école maternelle/nursery school, ages 3–6 and école primaire/elementary school, ages 6–11). A total of 5 hours per week was reserved for the teaching of Tahitian or other Polynesian languages in ​​ 20 sites. Approximately 1,500 students were included in this project, which involved the following languages: Tahitian, Marquesan, Pa’umotu, Tupuai, Mangareva. The reform generated some concerns including: (i) the fear that the LCP program and the teaching of local languages might reinforce sentiments for greater national autonomy or even independence, (ii) the threat that local languages would compete with French in the teaching of fundamental knowledge, for which French is currently the preferred medium, and (iii) apprehension that LCP teachers would be assessed on a daily basis with respect to their linguistic and instructional competence.

154  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Twenty teachers with native competence in their language were responsible for this instruction and they attended a specially designed professional development program. These teachers were very much aware of the controversial issues involved in the demonstration project and experienced considerable pressure and professional insecurity when they encountered pedagogical challenges. Some felt they were no longer able to teach effectively or complained about the heavy burden involved in creating materials and functioning entirely in Polynesian languages​​ (Salaün, 2011; Tetahiotupa, 2007). The teachers’ discomfort in a sometimes hostile school environment has resulted in the instructional implementation being less effective than we would have wished. Although teachers spent most of the time during the experiment strengthening students’ oral skills in Polynesian languages, they were inevitably confronted with the need to teach reading and writing in Polynesian languages in the 2nd cycle and even earlier in kindergarten. Most teachers admitted that they were not really invested in this endeavor. They themselves had not sufficiently mastered the writ­ ten language, which they had to “relearn” in ongoing professional development. Others believed that learning reading and writing was useful for the students but they didn’t have sufficient confidence, competence, or an enabling environment to support this learning effectively ​​(Salaün, 2011; Tetahiotupa, 2007). Parents were strongly in favor of LCP teaching and held clear expectations that the school would consolidate their children’s oral language and teach reading and writing in Tahitian. Parents themselves felt competent to teach the oral language (Tetahiotupa, 2007). Thus, social pressure from the parents did not inhibit the teaching of literacy. A number of activities (identified through group discussion while following up with teachers and from teachers’ journal entries) contributed to students’ acquisi­ tion of literacy skills. Tahitian texts developed by the Centre de Recherches et de Documentation Pédagogiques (CRDP) were invaluable for teaching at the kinder­ garten level because they conveyed cultural elements that reflected the daily life of the children. These texts were adapted by teachers for other Polynesian languages and are also available in a trilingual version including French and English in addition to Tahitian. These texts seamlessly integrated oral and written language and seemed to be a very effective means of developing students’ literacy skills. Specifically, the familiar and engaging content of these texts encouraged children to become fully invested in reading and writing and enabled teachers to generate a variety of additional language and literacy activities. Empirical studies strongly support the positive impact of this integrated pedagogical approach and the appropriate use of picture books to develop language and literacy skills (e.g., Armand, Hoa, & Thamin, 2011). Most teachers raised the issue of Tahitian writing conventions to explain their hesitation to focus on learning to write the language. The official orthography of the Tahitian Academy was chosen for the teaching of literacy because its transpar­ ency facilitates learning of the written language and faster control of reading. Instruction designed to enable students to acquire the alphabetic principle was the initial concern of teachers, and students developed a very precise awareness of the

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  155 alphabetic code. Recurring activities focused on spelling (dictation of words and sentences, corrective feedback, consulting the dictionary, etc.), which sometimes resulted in students pointing out to teachers errors in the transcription of diacritic markers. Particular attention was devoted to displaying bilingual signs in the classroom and even the school. Previously confined to a corner of the class (when any signs were displayed), Tahitian signs depicting syllable formation, letter and number strips, key words, posters, etc. were now prominently displayed on an equal basis with French signs. A bilingual library area was established in the exper­ imental classes and included resources such as bilingual and monolingual dictio­ naries and bilingual practice notebooks. This engaging environment and the approach chosen by the supervising team and the LCP teachers illustrate the importance of actively developing in students an “appetite” for literacy and enabling them to invest their identities and experi­ ence a sense of empowerment in association with literacy (Cummins & Early, 2011). In designing the curriculum, priority was given to the development of cultural knowledge related to children’s lives: place names, genealogy, heroic cycles, culinary and craft traditions, traditional songs, agricultural practices, and individual experiences. The knowledge and skills embodied in the curriculum were tested out in two three‐day meetings among educators from all the sites in 2011 and 2013. The project has enabled teachers to work with traditional texts in ways that have mobilized reading comprehension, information retrieval, the use of information and communication technology (ICT), rewriting texts, development of bilingual technical guides, and cross‐linguistic comparisons (e.g., narrative schemas utilizing databases of discourse features, character development in stories, formation of negation in Tahitian and French etc.). Exchange of experiences with families and meetings with resource persons motivated the preparation of survey questionnaires and the reconstitution of traditional knowledge (e.g., the Tahitian oven ahimā’a, traditional medicine, cooking, weaving, genealogy). Evening gatherings devoted to ‘ōrero oratory, dances, songs, skits, and reading quizzes were organized during these meetings. Participants were provided with various written and visual supports and exposed to different audiences in oral interaction (pedagogical leaders, other students, outsiders, etc.). Exhibitions were prepared and run by participants on the water cycle, legendary heroes, sports, and traditional games. They were asked to write a daily journal on the day’s activities recounting general impressions, description of the activities carried out, and events they particularly appreciated. The meetings were filmed in their entirety and a synthesis was created of various activities and children’s productions as well as supports for professional development and promoting parental engagement. By the end of cours moyen première année (CM1, ages 8–9), students had made major progress in both oral and written competence and their confidence had increased significantly. In one school (école Raiarii Tane, Tautira), students pro­ duced a collection of oratorical texts on Polynesian heroes which they titled I have written, I share. This work derived from a collaborative reading and writing activity where each student contributed his or her words and ideas to a written oratorical

156  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education text based on a story. This represents one example among others of what Cummins and Early (2011) have termed identity texts. In order to sustain students’ engagement with literacy, the DEP in 2010 provided schools with enough Tahitian texts to enable students to read with their families. Unfortunately, the distribution of books was not pursued regularly due both to a lack of commitment among the families and a perception by the teachers that the task of doing so was onerous. The current phase of the project (ReoC3, see next ­section) implemented at the cours moyen deuxième année (CM2, ages 10–11) in 2013, represents an opportunity to better organize students’ access to books and to develop reading and writing activities in both languages further in an integrated way.

Cross‐lingual transfer between french and polynesian languages The three bilingual education projects implemented at the elementary school level in French Polynesia between 2005 and 2014 (LCP, 2005–2008; ECOLPOM, 2009– 2011; ReoC3, 2011–2014) have been evaluated with respect to their psycholin­ guistic outcomes (Nocus et al., 2012; 2014). The goal was to determine whether expanding the teaching of Tahitian in elementary school was effective in consoli­ dating students’ language skills in Tahitian while at the same time promoting overall academic success, particularly with respect to the development of French literacy skills. In the three experimental projects, French and Tahitian language and literacy skills of the same students were measured over a period of several years. In the LCP project, three cohorts comprising a total of 421 students aged 3, 4, and 5 (petite, moyenne, and grande sections of the école maternelle respectively) were followed for three years and assessed at the beginning and end of each school year. In the ECOLPOM project, a different sample of 212 students was assessed at the beginning and end of the cours préparatoire (CP, age 6) and at the end of the cours élémentaire level 1 (CE1, age 7). Finally, in the ReoC3 project, 186 students from the same sample were followed from the end of cours élémentaire level 2 (CE2, age 8) to the end of cours moyen level 1 (CM1, age 9). At the end of the project, this group will be in cours moyen level 2 (CM2, age 10). In these samples, about half the students par­ ticipated in the expanded Tahitian instruction program (experimental group), while the other half did not (control group). The two groups were matched for age, sex, nonverbal cognitive ability, socioeconomic background and family language practices (family environments in which Tahitian was used to varying degrees). In each testing session, the oral language skills in French and Tahitian of the two groups were evaluated. The measures consisted of receptive and productive vocabulary, and speech comprehension and production. Starting at the CP (age 6), students were tested for word reading in French and Tahitian. In ReoC3 project, testing included measures of morphological awareness, reading comprehension and spelling in both languages​​.

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  157 In the three pedagogical projects, the evaluations demonstrated positive out­ comes with respect to oral language development. Students who experienced an instructional program that promoted Tahitian over several years performed as well as the control group in French and considerably better in Tahitian. Furthermore, evidence of cross‐lingual transfer between Tahitian and French literacy skills was consistently identified, particularly in the ReoC3 project. In this project, the experimental group students performed better than the control group in morphological awareness in Tahitian, as well as word reading and spelling in Tahitian. These findings suggest that as they engage with words written in Tahitian, the experimental group students increase their awareness of the arbitrariness of language and their overall metalinguistic abilities in that language. Significant positive correlations were found between French and Tahitian morphological awareness. However, cross‐lingual correlations were not significant for productive vocabulary and speech production. In other words, the acquisition of one language doesn’t influence the acquisition of another lan­ guage at the level of unconscious organization of speech. One possible explana­ tion is that the large linguistic distance between Tahitian and French doesn’t facilitate cross‐lingual transfer over the medium term at a phonological and morphosyntactic level. However, cross‐lingual relationships do emerge in metalinguistic aspects of language activities. The fact that children have been instructed about lexical morphology in Tahitian (i.e., on the ways in which new words are formed through adding affixes) develops their metalinguistic abilities which, in turn, facilitates the acquisition of morphology in French and vice versa. With respect to the relationships between oral proficiency in French and writing proficiency in Tahitian, only morphological awareness in French was significantly correlated with word reading, reading comprehension, and spelling in Tahitian. Conversely, significant cross‐lingual correlations were found between morpholog­ ical awareness in Tahitian and the three indicators of literacy development in French. These two results confirm the existence of French–Tahitian cross‐lingual relationships but also highlight the fact that these relationships are mediated by students’ metalinguistic awareness. Finally, strong cross‐lingual relationships were found between Tahitian reading skills and French literacy skills. In general terms, by the end of cours élémentaire 2 (age 8), word reading skills in Tahitian predict literacy skills in French, after controlling for morphological awareness in French. If students learn to read in both languages, the level of literacy development in one language influences the level of literacy skills development in the other. These data suggest that learning to read in Tahitian facilitates learning to read in French. The findings lead to the recommendation that the teaching of Polynesian languages ​​should not be restricted only to the oral mode and that the development of literacy represents a minimum condition for the emergence of metalinguistic skills in Tahitian and the facilitation of cross‐linguistic transfer.

158  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

The ongoing ambivalent status of literacy in polynesian languages within language policy debates This section cannot claim to provide a comprehensive overview of language ­ideologies regarding literacy in Tahitian. There exists a heterogeneous range of materials that reveal the nature of these ideologies: official reports of educational authorities, newspaper articles, opinions on language use generated by sociolin­ guistic surveys (Tetahiotupa et al., 2007, Salaün 2011), practices of ordinary speakers, etc. Silverstein (1979, p. 193) defined language ideologies as “sets of beliefs about language articulated by users as a rationalization or justification of per­ ceived language structure and use.” The peculiarity of language ideologies is that, on the one hand, they infuse themselves into broader political ideologies and, on the other, they are internalized by people such that they reveal themselves only implicitly by what is not said or by slips of the tongue (parapraxis). Although the material manifestations of language ideologies are varied, the ideologies themselves are less so. With respect to written language, there is a strong convergence between exogenous ideologies (held by individuals from outside French Polynesia) and endogenous ideologies (held by local individuals). Far from being in opposition to each other, these two sets of ideologies seem to feed on and reinforce each other, reflecting the complexity of post‐colonial rela­ tions where the belief systems of the former colonizer and colonized are inextri­ cably linked in the same commonly accepted representation of the unequal value of languages and this unequal value is nowhere more evident than in the upper echelons of the functions of language, namely written communication. Their common denominator is that they are embedded in a classic diglossic situation where the “high” variety (standard French) dominates in formal contexts and in writing, while Polynesian languages, a​​ s “low” varieties, remain confined to private interactions and the oral modality. Even if the Polynesian reality complicates Ferguson’s (1959) canonical model of diglossia by the presence of religious texts in Tahitian and the symbolic increase in status as a result of the use of local languages in educational contexts, it is never­ theless rooted, on the one hand, in the same oral versus written language dichotomy and, on the other, in the same compartmentalization of functions. Despite its inconsistency with the historical evidence from the early colonial period of rapid acquisition of literacy by the local populations, there is still a strong conviction, consistent with the Great Divide theory formalized by Goody (1977), that written language is alien to Polynesian societies. The following excerpt from a report written by the Inspection Générale de l’Education Nationale (2007, p. 14) is typical: In accord with linguists, it is necessary to take account of the fundamental difference between an oral and written culture, including within the same language; the under­ standing of words is different according to whether they remain oral or are trans­ mitted in written form.

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  159 … The use of Polynesian languages, still predominantly spoken in the home, is based on spoken rather than on written language. This reality increases students’ learning diffi­ culties because they must integrate the vernacular with the French language and they find hardly any support in the family environment for the transition from one language to another.… The transition to writing therefore turns out to be more difficult than it would otherwise be and leads to an increasing distance from the imperatives of schooling.

This dichotomization is not unique to exogenous linguistic ideologies. It is also found in the work of some Polynesian intellectuals. As one of the founders of the magazine Litterama’ohi explained in relation to the refusal of certain authors to publish in Tahitian: I believe that there is a psychological inhibition, unconscious and not expressed, or sometimes expressed, in relation to writing. Underlying the fear of the written word, there is the idea that we do not belong to the world of written language, we belong to the oral world. … I believe there is still a little of that. … Even though it has been two centuries, there is still this inhibition in relation to written language. When one comes from an oral tradition, there is the fear of losing what cannot be expressed in writing. (In Salaün, 2011, p. 176)

It is important to emphasize here that the maintenance of this dichotomy c­ onstitutes a strategy of resistance as well as a strategy of preserving a collective intimacy and a strategy to protect forms of authenticity in light of the threats ­represented by colonization and everything it has introduced, the most significant introduction being the technology of writing (Salaün, 2013). Outside the circles of what Bourdieu (1991, p. 41) has called “the legitimate speaker, authorized to speak and to speak with authority,” it is significant to note that most “mainstream” parents’ interest in the progress of their children’s Tahitian pro­ ficiency is often limited to the development of their oral communicative skills. What they say they want is that their children will “speak well,” referring here to the myth­ ical “native speaker” whose performance would be measured only in terms of pho­ nological and prosodic criteria. They tend to have little tolerance of the interlanguage which children typically exhibit during the learning of a language. Parents’ reactions oscillate between strategies of hypercorrection (for those who have the language pro­ ficiency) and minimizing their own role in the transmission of the language. Polynesia allows us to assess the extent to which “plurilingualism is far from being a dominant position in the field of linguistic ideologies” (Beacco, 2001, p. 25). Thus, probably more as a result of lack of knowledge of research in this field than of solid conviction, a number of teachers and a significant proportion of their leaders refuse to believe in the possibilities of cross‐linguistic transfer of literacy skills ​​before seeing the results of the ongoing experiments. In conclusion, it is important to highlight a dimension of language policy debates that is rarely appreciated. It concerns the emancipatory nature of increasing the number of students who have the capacity to read and write in their language of origin and the democratization of access to the language which enables it to be trans­ mitted educationally. We are indebted to Jean‐Marc Pambrun (2003) for an original

160  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education formulation of the relationship between social justice, educational justice, and literacy in Polynesian languages​​. He highlighted the fact that everyone seems to have ignored the fact that one in four Polynesians can neither read nor write a Polynesian language and one in five is, in his terms, “language deprived.” This places these individuals “in a situation of illiteracy, in the sense of an inability to acquire appropriate skills in the communicative tools of the majority of those who speak, read and write the reo maòhi (Polynesian language)” (Pambrun, 2003, p. 38). In this respect, the nonmastery of a Polynesian language becomes a source of discrimination. Pambrun emphasizes what he calls the “psychological disturbances” engendered by illiteracy in a Polynesian lan­ guage. This insight remains exceptional because the possibility of the democratization of the school system through plurilingual competencies still seems largely absent from current debates on Polynesian language policies.

Conclusion We have described the intersections of language ideology, power, and identity by analyzing the complex situation of language maintenance and revitalization ­policies in French Polynesia from historical, psycholinguistic, and sociological ­perspectives. Historically, it is sobering to realize that the population of Tahiti was one of the most literate in the world in the mid‐1800s as a result of the translation of the Bible into Tahitian and the responsiveness of the population to the religious instruction of the Christian missionaries. However, it did not take long for the French authorities to restrict the use of Tahitian in schools and to impose French as the language of instruction and official business. The application of coercive rela­ tions of power with respect to educational provision by the French colonial administration for more than a century resulted in a diglossic situation, whereby French was the high‐status language of schooling, literacy, and government administration while Tahitian and other Polynesian languages were relegated to low‐status informal and conversational usages. However, the poor academic achievement (in French) of Polynesian students has prompted a rethinking of language policies during the past decade. Influenced by international research, educational authorities initiated a series of experimental pro­ grams designed to explore the potential positive effects of developing language and literacy skills in Tahitian (and by implication, other languages) in addition to French. These initiatives have been largely successful despite being confined to only about one hour per school day of Tahitian language instruction. Students in the experi­ mental program developed stronger Tahitian language and literacy skills than the control group at no cost to their language and literacy skills in French. Significant cross‐lingual relationships were observed between Tahitian and French, particularly with respect to morphological awareness. Thus, the findings are consistent with the principles that have emerged from the international research literature. Unfortunately, there is still considerable ambivalence among Polynesian ­communities with respect to the legitimacy and usefulness of promoting literacy in Polynesian languages in addition to French. This ambivalence can be attributed to the

Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  161 persistent impact of colonization and the differential valorization of l­anguages that is integral to colonization. Despite the fact that the evaluation of the Tahitian language and literacy instructional initiatives have produced positive results, there remains con­ siderable work to be done to: (i) increase the cross‐­generational transmission of Polynesian languages within the home, (ii) “normalize” literacy in Polynesian lan­ guages as legitimate and useful in itself and an effective stepping stone to literacy in French, and (iii) create a societal consensus whereby French and Polynesian languages and cultures are no longer seen as in opposition to each other but as able to contribute to each other’s development, both within individuals and the society as a whole. As discussed in the Introduction to this chapter, these challenges go beyond what schools can achieve by themselves. However, the inclusion of Tahitian ­language instruction in the educational system certainly contributes to the decolo­ nization process. Further progress in the decolonization project may depend on the extent to which schools not only teach oral and literate skills in Polynesian languages as a subject within schools but also extend this process to enable ­students to use their oral and literate skills to carry out powerful and identity‐ affirming activities in Polynesian languages.

Notes 1  The terms dominant and nondominant are used throughout the chapter to refer to status rela­ tionships between societal groups and their languages. In some contexts, these terms can be used interchangeably with majority and minority. However, in many colonial and formerly colonized contexts, the societally dominant (colonizer) group is numerically the minority group and the nondominant (colonized) group is the majority group. Historically, this has been the case in contexts such as French Polynesia and South Africa under apartheid. 2  ISPF population census 2012. 3  Article 2, paragraph one, of the French Constitution according to its revision of June 25 1992. 4  The General Assembly of the United Nations on 17 May 2013 passed a resolution (reso­ lution number A/67/L.56/Rev 1) that placed French Polynesia on a list of territories that should be decolonized.

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Intersections of Language Ideology, Power, and Identity  163 plusieurs langues, plusieurs langues pour apprendre (pp. 129–153). Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes. Norton, B. (2013). Identity and language learning: Extending the conversation (2nd edn.). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Paia, M. (2014). L’enseignement des langues et de la culture polynésiennes à l’école primaire en Polynésie française. In I. Nocus, J. Vernaudon, & M. Paia (Eds.), L’école plurilingue en Outre‐mer: Apprendre plusieurs langues, plusieurs langues pour apprendre (pp. 409–429). Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes. Pambrun, J.‐M. (2003). De l’illettrisme en langue polynésienne. Tahiti‐Pacifique Magazine, octobre, 150, 36–40. Pukoki, W. (1996). E ture no Tahiti, un code pour Tahiti. Bulletin de la Société des études océaniennes, 269–270, 52–71. Salaün, M. (2011). Renforcer l’enseignement des langues et cultures polynésiennes à l’école élémentaire. Contribution à l’évaluation de l’expérimentation ECOLPOM en Polynésie française: aspects sociolinguistiques. Rapport de recherche, ANR Ecole Plurilingue Outre‐mer, 182 p., multigraph. Salaün, M. (2013). Décoloniser l’école? Hawaii, Nouvelle‐Calédonie. Expériences

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10 Language Policy and Planning in Education Terrence G. Wiley

Introduction Language decisions and practices matter in all societal contexts, especially in ­education. By noting schooling as an institutional domain, this chapter is focused on policy in institutional contexts. In institutional domains, policy and practices related to prescribing and governing behavior are instruments of social control (Leibowitz, 1974). Focusing analysis on institutional policies and practices does not preclude or undermine the relevance of other dimensions of analysis, particularly those which focus on “bottom‐up” expressions of agency, whether by individuals, groups, or communities. Certainly, education occurs in much broader contexts than schools. To secure employment, however, only rare individuals can beat the formal system that confers diplomas and degrees or other credentials by being tutored, self‐taught, trained on‐the‐job, or home‐schooled. The vast majority of people nec­ essarily rely on schools to improve their life chances and opportunities, even though credentials conferred by schools are not always sufficient for these purposes. Thus, formal educational policies and practices can have important consequences. As noted by Spring (2000), the United Nations in its Declaration on Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic Minorities, Article 4 (1992) affirmed that, “States should take appropriate measures so that, whenever possible, persons belonging to National or Ethnic minorities may have adequate opportunities to learn their mother tongue or to have instruction in their mother tongue” (Article, 4.3). Since many children around the world attend schools where there is a difference between the language or variety of language spoken in their homes and the language(s) of instruction in their schools (Wiley, García, Danzig, & Stigler, 2014), language minority children, whose language or home variety of language differs from that of the school, often require some type of accommodation (Wiley, 2013). Over a half century ago, in Article 26 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Language Policy and Planning in Education  165 (United Nations, 1948), education was endorsed as a human right; nevertheless, access to education often remains restricted or challenged as a result of inequities related to the failure to acknowledge or accommodate language background, as well as of discrimination based on gender and economic status. Language policy has long been an instrument for the promotion of a sense of common—if not manufactured—imagined identity (Anderson, 1991; Bonfiglio, 2010), which has been used by various nation states for more than five centuries. The Spanish scholar Antonio de Nebrija (1441–1522), a court scholar and author of the Castilian Grammar, was among the first to advocate for the overt imposition of a standardized language as a means of advancing the interests of the state and empire (Illich, 1979; Mignolo, 2003). François the First of France (1494–1547) likewise saw the importance of French in promoting national identity and declared it the national language in 1530 (Christ, 1997). For the masses in western Europe and the United States, however, it has only been during the past two centuries that common/public schools have played a major role in promoting national languages, while in many other parts of the world, this happened much more recently. In Japan, for example, mass education through Japanese began in 1868 during the Meiji period (1868–1912) (Carroll, 2001). Teachers not only had to teach in Japanese but also had to imple­ ment language reforms in the writing system designed to unify spoken and written Japanese. As the country opened to trade with the outside world, new concepts resulted in new vocabulary being introduced into the Japanese language from abroad (Coulmas, 1990, 2002). The introduction of new vocabulary and use of vernacular and script also became a focus of Chinese educators throughout much of the ­twentieth century. Script simplification and mass literacy campaigns dominated Chinese educational policy after the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949 and the spread of standard Mandarin continues as a focus of educational policy (Peterson, 1997). Thus, teachers have played a major role in promoting national languages and in implementing language reforms and policies. Frequently, however, teachers have had little preparation directly related to lan­ guage policy or planning as fields of study and practice. Although they may teach students with linguistically diverse backgrounds, they have often had little formal preparation for meeting the educational needs of their linguistically diverse ­students or being sensitive to their linguistic human rights (Wiley, 2008).

Key concepts in language planning and policy: corpus, status, and language acquisition planning Language planning (LP) traditionally has been seen as a purposeful action involving the formation and implementation of a policy designed to prescribe, or influence, the language(s) and varieties of language that will be used and the pur­ poses for which they will be used. Bright (1992), underscores it as: A deliberate, systematic, and theory‐based attempt to solve the communication problems of a community by studying the various languages or dialects it uses, and developing

166  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education a policy concerning their selection and use; also sometimes called language engineering or language treatment. (p. 310; emphasis added)

The technocratic emphasis of this definition implied that language diversity was a problem for which experts could provide solutions. Although language planning (LP) has often been associated with official governmental purposes, Jahr (1992) notes that the process can be either private or an official organized activity, which attempts to solve language problems within a given society, usually at the national level. Through LP, attempts are made to direct, change, or preserve the linguistic norm or the social status (and communicative function) of a given written or spoken ­language variety of a language. LP is usually conducted according to a declared program or a defined set of criteria, and with a deliberate goal by officially appointed committees or bodies, by private organizations, or by prescriptive linguists working on behalf of official authorities. Its objective is to establish norms (primarily written) which are validated by high social status; oral norms connected with these written standards follow. (pp. 12–13; emphases added)

Here again, the claim is made that language planning attempts to solve com­ munication or language problems. Thus, language planning has been depicted as a pragmatic endeavor that is designed to produce positive benefits to society. However, as noted by Wiley (1996), a number of questions can be raised by this framing, such as who gets to define what language problems are? How, why, and for whom have they become problems? And, does the process of language planning itself cause language and communication problems? In other words, why should we assume that the pro­ cess is only for benevolent purposes (Wiley, 1996; cf. Tollefson, 1991)? Given some of these concerns, Cooper (1989) offers a simpler definition: “Language planning refers to deliberate efforts to influence the behavior of others with respect to the acquisition, structure, or functional allocation of their language codes” (p. 45; emphases added). He adds: This definition neither restricts the planners to authoritative agencies, nor restricts the type of target group, nor specifies an ideal type of planning. Further it is couched in behavioral rather than problem‐solving terms. Finally, it implies influence rather than change inasmuch as the former includes the maintenance of preservation of current behavior, a plausible goal of language planning, as well as the change of current behavior. (p. 45; emphasis in the original)

The use of “influence” suggests that planning is not always official or even explicit as influence often functions as a dimension of ideological control, wherein compli­ ance can be obtained through the “manufacture of consent” rather than by coer­ cion (Tollefson, 1991; Wiley, 1996). Traditional perspectives also make a distinction between two dimensions of language planning: Corpus planning deals with norm selection and codification, as in the writing of grammars and the standardization of spelling; status planning deals with initial

Language Policy and Planning in Education  167 choice of language, including attitudes toward alternative languages and the political implications of various choices. (Bright, 1992, p. 311; emphasis added)

The distinction between status and corpus planning was originally proposed by Heinz Kloss (1969). Corpus planning entails efforts to change the body or corpus of a language. Corpus planning involves “activities such as coining new terms, reforming spelling, and adopting a new script. It refers, in short, to the creation of new forms, the modification of old ones, or the selection from alternative forms in a spoken or written code” (Cooper, 1989, p.31). In U.S. his­ tory, Noah Webster’s attempts to reform spelling, promote standard pronunciation for American English, and to differentiate it from British English, are examples of corpus planning. Orthography planning, which involves the creation and reform of alphabets, syllabaries, and ideographic writing systems is another dimension. Notable examples of corpus planning include the reforms of Hebrew, Norwegian, and Turkish, the differentiation of Hindi and Urdu, the promotion of a common spoken form, Putónghuà, in the People’s Republic of China, along with script simplification and the provision for a Romanized written form, pin‐yin. Efforts to remove gender bias in languages are also examples of cor­ pus planning (Wiley, 1996). Status planning has several dimensions. It is often linked to the official pro­ motion of one or more languages by governments or governing bodies. It has also frequently been linked to diminishing or restricting the uses of various minority languages (Wiley, 1996; 1998). In political contexts, status planning can affect which languages are used for voting, for example. Thus, status planning is more concerned with the relationship between languages rather than changes within them. Nevertheless, status planning may also focus on the position of different varieties or registers of a language, in which case it serves as a dimension of corpus planning (Wiley, 1996). Historically, the creation or selection of a national language often begins with the privileging of a regional or social variety, typically with a written standard, which provides a base, or indexical, language for grammatical refinement and vocabulary. This selec­ tivity inevitably privileges one variety of language over other varieties and imposes linguistic norms for social judgments regarding what is “proper,” “correct,” “preferred,” or what is considered the “power” variety (Wiley, 1996). A distinction is sometimes made between status and prestige planning (Lo Bianco, 2010), but the notion of status planning already seems to subsume the notion of prestige. Cooper (1989) identifies a third major type of planning that is particularly important for education—language acquisition planning. Acquisition planning has been used as strategy on a grand scale, as in the case of spreading literacy among previously undereducated sectors of society (Peterson, 1997). Choosing which ­languages will be used as mediums for instruction is particularly important in acquisition planning as one must not only learn the language but use it to learn (Tollefson & Tsui, 2004).

168  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education

Top‐down (government planning), market‐driven (language strategists), bottom‐up planning As noted in Jahr’s (1992) definition above, deliberative language planning can be either public or private. Some countries, for example, have official language acad­ emies through which language planning and policy formation is more centralized than in countries such as the United States. Policies, however, may also be derived from de facto planners, or “arbiters” (Johnson, 2013) such as state educational agencies or directors. Weinstein (1983) makes a distinction between two major types of agency in determining societal language choices: (i) governmental planning, which is explicit, official planning, and (ii) the influence of key individuals, whom he calls language strategists. Regarding “governmental” planning Tollefson (1991) made an important distinction between government and state. “Government implies a group of individuals sharing equally in the exercise of power, whereas state refers to the apparatus by which dominant groups maintain their power” (p. 10; emphasis in the original). Language policies can also be used as tools by which the state exerts control. Historically, emerging modern nation‐states have promoted “national” languages to create a sense of commonality as a means of creating “imagined communities” with a sense of national unity and loyalty among their peoples (Anderson, 1991; Bonfiglio, 2010). In a few cases, individual strategists have been leaders of the state. King Alfonso X (r. 1252–1284) of Spain, for example, was both king and a lexicographer who replaced Latin and Arabic technical terms with Castilian equivalents (Weinstein, 1983). Likewise, Sejong the Great (1397–1450), the Korean King of the Joseon Dynasty, oversaw the invention of the Hangul script (Taylor & Taylor, 1995). Regardless of whether language decisions are initiated by state language plan­ ners, or result from the influence of entrepreneurial language strategists, these decisions often have social and political consequences. Weinstein (1983) notes, “planning of any kind is dynamic, which is to say that it is the instrument of leaders who desire to change society; it implies a skepticism about the efficacy of “natural” forces and aims at “change by means of rationally coordinated state actions” (p. 37). This observation coincides with historical‐structuralist theorists such as Tollefson (1991) and the antecedent views of Leibowitz (1974), who viewed language policies as essentially instruments of social control. When leaders of nation‐states decide to formulate language policies, they typically have nonlin­ guistic agendas in mind (Wiley, 1996). Language strategists influence language practices outside of the government sphere. According to Weinstein: Writers, translators, poets, missionaries, publishers, and dictionary makers can shape language for political and economic purposes; their effectiveness may be greater than government. These cultural elites have the power to transform language into a symbol for new community frontiers and interests which are defined and defended

Language Policy and Planning in Education  169 by political and economic elites with whom they are allied. Attaching a positive value to a variety of language transforms it into a form of capital, useful for gaining entry into a community or for claiming economic benefits. Not all writers wish to intervene in language matters, and many writers who innovate do so for aesthetic reasons. Those who innovate linguistically in order to promote political, social or economic interests should be called “language strategists.” (1983, p. 62; emphasis added)

There are many well‐known examples of language strategists. Some are writers–– Geoffrey Chaucer (1343–1400) chose and expanded English as he broke with Norman French; Dante saved some of his greatest work for his native Tuscan (which he claimed was dialect‐free). The English printer William Caxton (1415~1422–ca. 1492) was a language strategist too. Antonio de Nebrija (1441– 1522) of Spain sought to purify Castilian from the “corruption” of vernaculars (Illich, 1979). Martin Luther (1483–1546) was instrumental in promoting publi­ cation of the Bible in vernacular languages rather than just Latin. The early nationalist American, Noah Webster (1758 –1843) worked to distance American English from British English and standardize American English spelling and pronunciation. Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941), promoted Bengali, and Lu Xun (1881–1936) promoted vernacular over classical Chinese. Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o (1987), who originally wrote in English, shifted his focus to working in Gikuyu (or Kikuyu). More recently, influential advocates of anti‐racist and anti‐sexist discourse can also be seen as language strategists, who recognize the power of words to ascribe status (e.g., Swift, 2000). Influential pundits opposed to efforts to make language more gender‐neutral may also be considered language strategists when they overtly attempt to maintain the linguistic status quo (Weinstein, 1983; Wiley, 1996).

Explicit versus implicit language planning and null planning In analyzing how language policies are formulated, it is useful to distinguish ­between explicit or official policies and those which are implicit or even tacit. Some are imbedded in institutional practices (Haas, 1992). Some policies may be unplanned (Baldauf, 1994). In the United States, the federal government has never specified English as the official language; nevertheless, English is required in most governmental functions. English, for example, is the language of courtrooms; applications for federal grant assistance, for example, carry a requirement that they be submitted in English; job announcements often stipulate that applicants must speak English and or be able to read and write in English (Wiley, 1996). Historically, English language and literacy requirements have had a gate‐keeping function in immigration and have provided “legal sanction” for discrimination in voting practices (Leibowitz, 1969). Implicit language policies, have sometimes been accidental policies. Kaplan (1991) cites the example of the case of the English‐only policies that the U.S. Bureau

170  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education of Indian Affairs imposed on Native American children (p. 153). This example, however, was clearly not accidental as Norgren and Nanda (1988, p. 186) note that: [The purpose of Indian boarding schools] … was not merely to teach children the dominant language and culture, but to wrench them completely away from their native cultures and estrange them from their parents and the influence of their tribes. In these schools there was an absolute prohibition on Native American children speaking their own languages, and those that did were humiliated, beaten, and had their mouths washed with lye soap. Though most children were forced to stay in schools, some parents, despite great obstacles, did remove their children when they realized the unswerving intent of officials to use the schools to destroy their cultures and languages.

Implicit or tacit policies may result from hegemonic ideologies. Hegemony refers to manufactured consent through the ability of the powerful “to gain c­ onsent for existing unequal power relationships where those in subordinated positions willingly yield to those in authority (Tollefson, 1991, p. 11). Linguistic hegemony is achieved when those in authority create consensus, convincing others to accept imposed language norms and usage as standard. Linguistic hegemony is ensured when those who fail to meet those standards internalize their failure as being the result their own linguistic inadequacy, whereby those disadvantaged by a policy come to blame themselves (Collins, 1991). Schools have been the principal instruments in promoting hegemonic notions concerning the alleged superiority of standardized languages over other social or regional varieties of language (Wiley, 1996). There has long been a close association between the promotion of national ­languages and compulsory state‐supported education. Tollefson (2013, p. 17) notes that “education in rural villages before the nation‐state and before colonialism was carried out in local languages without concern for imposed, external varieties. Only with the introduction of state and colonial educational systems did the intense debate about medium of instruction arise.” Prior to that, education was locally contextualized and mediated by local varieties of language.

Types of educational language policies based on intentions and consequences Kloss (1998), whose early career was controversial (see Hutton, 1999), in later years became an advocate of language minority rights, and developed a useful taxonomy to categorize various types of explicit official language policies or what he termed language laws. However, many language practices do not have official designation but still exhibit the force of policy. Thus, it is important to expand the notion of policies to include those which are unofficial, implicit, or covert (Wiley, 2004). The following schema, expands Kloss’s initial taxonomy, which included (i) promotion‐oriented policies; (ii) expediency‐oriented laws/policies;

Language Policy and Planning in Education  171 (iii) tolerance‐oriented policies; (iv) restriction‐oriented policies, and adds the ­categories of (v) repression‐oriented policies; (vi) polices of erasure, and (vii) null ­policies (Wiley, 2004). Promotion‐oriented policies involve the explicit endorsement and the use of ­governmental/state resources, frequently with overt active governmental planning to further the official or general use and spread of a favored language or languages. Examples include the printing and distribution of laws and records in the national/ official/“common” language/languages and the conducting of nearly all govern­ mental business in the same. Since the World War I era, in the United States, English has been the officially designated language of instruction, and English has been a principal subject area in the curriculum. English has been recognized as an official language by a majority of U.S. states; however, in New Mexico, and Puerto Rico, Spanish has co‐official status, as does Hawaiian in Hawaii. Within the larger U.S. national context, English has been promoted as the common language without official recognition as such at the national level (Kloss 1998; Wiley, 2004). Promotion of a specific language or languages in schools is enhanced by medium of instruction policies (Tollesfon & Tsui, 2004), where one or more languages, frequently national or “common” languages are used to facilitate subject matter instruction. Expediency‐oriented laws/policies recognize minority languages or their speakers and typically co‐exist in concert with promotion‐oriented policies. They differ in purpose, however, because they are not intended to promote the use of minority languages. Rather, they are intended to accommodate minority languages to facil­ itate communication between language minorities and the government. In the United States, expediency‐oriented policies have been used to ensure civil rights involving educational and political access, and legal rights and protections (e.g., through requiring interpretation in legal proceedings). In many countries, tran­ sitional bilingual/mother‐tongue education has been prescribed in the early grades of instruction to help facilitate the transition to the majority/dominant or official language(s) of instruction. Expediency policies can also benefit the state, when the government needs to communicate with a linguistic minority population in order to carry out basic governmental functions, such as collecting taxes (Kloss 1998; Wiley, 2004). Thus, expediency policies may be seen as a two‐ way street, potentially benefiting both the minority community and the basic operations of the state. Tolerance‐oriented policies are distinguished by the significant absence of a state/ governmental agenda in reference to the linguistic life of language minorities. Within a tolerance‐oriented policy climate, language‐minority communities or individual families and speakers are left to their own devices to maintain or use their languages. There is no expectation that in doing so, however, they will receive any resources or support from the state. Such an environment allows for what may be considered “bottom‐up” planning (Hornberger, 1997) in which agency for the promotion or maintenance of minority languages comes from within. Many linguistic minorities have pursued bilingualism or multilingualism as goals within a policy climate of tolerance. Language‐minority television, radio stations and newspapers thrive, and—in many countries—heritage or community schools are

172  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education supported through private or community‐based funding sources to revitalize their languages (Wiley, Peyton et al., 2014). Restriction‐oriented policies are those which constrain the use of minority lan­ guages and make social, political, educational, and economic benefits, rights, and opportunities contingent on knowing and using the dominant language (Wiley, 2004). Language restrictions often affect a broad field of public domains such as the workplace and schools. Despite their noble‐sounding intentions to promote access to a national language, restrictive school language policies have often had negative consequences for the acquisition of literacy in the dominant language (Tollefson & Tsui, 2002; Tollefson, 2013; Wiley, 2013). Repression‐oriented policies involve the overt attempt to eliminate minority lan­ guages. Obviously, the line between restrictive policies and repressive policies is very thin (Wiley, 2004). Restrictive policies become repressive when they are linked to deculturation or linguistic genocide (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000). Historical exam­ ples in the United States include the forbiddance of using native languages among enslaved Africans and the nineteenth‐century imposition of compulsory illit­ eracy/ignorance laws (Weinberg, 1995). Beginning in the 1880s, Native American children were forced to leave their ancestral communities and attend boarding schools where only English was taught and native languages, dress, and costumes were disallowed. This policy of coercive assimilation utilized deculturation and so‐ called “pacification.” This repressive policy was implemented by the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA). Indian deculturation was accompanied by nation­ alist indoctrination designed to instill loyalty to the United States (Weinberg, 1995). In international contexts, in a number of countries the repression of minority languages has led to uprisings, protests, and tragic violence. In 1952, for example, in East Pakistan, which was then part of Pakistan, students demonstrating for rec­ ognition of Bengali were fired on and killed by police in Dhaka, which subse­ quently became the capital of Bangladesh (Tariq, 1997). A similar incident occurred in Soweto, South Africa, during the period of apartheid in 1976 (Ndlovu, 2007) when school children protesting the imposition of Afrikaans were shot. Erasure is an even more extreme form of repressive policies that attempt to act as if that language never existed or never had any history. For example, during the Spanish conquest of the Americas, the conquerors attempted to erase the lan­ guages and literacies of the indigenous peoples they conquered (Mignolo, 2003). The final category for consideration is what may be termed null policy, or the significant absence of policy, where equitable treatment is needed to ensure linguistic access for minority populations to appropriate services and opportu­ nities in educational, social and economic participation. Often this results from a lack of status recognition or invisibility. Restrictive and null‐oriented language policies often co‐occur with other dis­ criminatory practices. These are not always overt, but may result in what Haas (1992) has termed institutional racism, which is defined as systematic institutional practices that result in advantaging some groups and disadvantaging others through lack of status recognition (null policies), as well as more overt attempts at discrimination. In his analysis of the state of Hawaii, for example, Haas identified

Language Policy and Planning in Education  173 a number of historical institutional contexts in which practices involving language minorities had adverse effects on them (both speakers of Hawaiian and of immi­ grants’ languages, as well as “non‐standard” English, or so‐called Pidgin (a.k.a. Hawaiian Creole English). Haas notes that, beginning in 1924, a test of oral English was used to track “nonstandard” English‐speaking children into separate schools from those with “mainland” (i.e., standard) accents. In this process, language pro­ ficiency testing was used to segregate children largely on the basis of race. Haas notes that this practice was abolished only after many children of color acquired “mainland‐sounding accents” (p. 191). Overall, Haas identified 44 specific examples of institutional racism in the state of Hawaii, five of which were related to institutional language policies: (i) insuffi­ cient use of language‐minority languages to communicate with p ­ arents; (ii) underi­ dentification of students in need of language assistance; (iii) underserving students needing language assistance; (iv) inappropriate staff composition to provide lan­ guage assistance to limited English proficient or non‐English‐speaking students in English medium of instruction classrooms; and (v) discriminatory requirements for language certification (see Haas, 1992, pp. 191–214 for a complete list). Other practices identified by Haas (1992) were more explicitly discriminatory. These included (i) segregating students into ­separate educational tracks based upon lan­ guage background; (ii) providing unequal access to core academic curricula based upon language background; (iii) having unequal/lower expectations for success based upon language background; (iv) failing to provide members of an identifi­ able speech community with choice regarding the language or language variety of instruction (Haas, 1992). One final distinction that can be made regarding the classification of language policies relates to which types of learners or populations they are intended for. In this regard, Ruíz (1995) makes a distinction among endoglossic, exoglossic, and mixed language policies, maintaining that: “Endoglossic policies are those that give pri­ macy to and promote an indigenous language of the community” (p. 75). Many indigenous languages are local or regional but are not languages of wider commu­ nication. Exoglossic policies promote languages of wider communication, that is, they are meant to promote languages among learners who are outside of the community. Mixed policies attempt to promote languages both internally and externally. In the United States, English for second language learners may be con­ sidered under exoglosssic acquisition policies, which are also accommodation polices. Those that attempt to maintain and revive indigenous languages under the Native American Languages Preservation Act of 1990, for example, are exam­ ples of promotion‐oriented endoglossic policies. As deliberative efforts to change or influence language behavior, educational language policies can be analyzed from a number of perspectives. Borrowing from social policy analysis (see O’Connor & Netting, 2010), formal language polices can be analyzed based on their intended outcomes, referred to as policy‐in‐intention, which focuses on the motivations behind the original formulation of a policy. Policies, however, are generally not fully explicated. They are subject to inter­ pretation, are not always effectively implemented, and can be manipulated, or

174  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education resisted. Thus, it is also important to focus on policy‐in‐implementation. Here the role of arbiters (Johnson, 2013), educational officials, and teachers as interpreters and implementers of policy becomes critical. The final area for consideration is what has been called policy‐in‐experience, which deals with the experiences of those who are the ultimate recipients or experiencers of the policy (O’Connor & Netting, 2010).

Educational program orientations In analyzing the role of language policies in various types of educational pro­ grams, it is useful to understand the dynamic relationships between the type of educational program being prescribed, for what type of learner it is being pre­ scribed, the language of instruction, and the societal and language/literacy aims of the program. Baker’s (2006) classification schema of language education pro­ grams is particularly useful in this regard. He distinguishes between two major categories of programs, weak and strong. Weak programs typically result in mono­ lingualism and strong programs in bi‐ or multilingualism (see Table 10.1 & 10.2).

Applications to real‐world situations The constructs and classification schemes that have been discussed thus far have useful heuristic value, but it is important to underscore the complexity of deter­ mining the linguistic complexity of students’ homes and communities, in order to adequately address their needs. To illustrate, consider the educational history of Munene Mwaniki from Kenya, who is a prominent scholar living and teaching in South Africa, provided to the author through an interview conducted by the Center for Applied Linguistics (October 17, 2012). His case helps to illustrate how schools, despite well‐intended “mother‐tongue” policies, may still not adequately tap or identify the linguistic knowledge and resources of the child. I was born in Eastern Kenya but now live in South Africa. The common language in my native Kenyan region is Kimbeere. That was actually my father’s tongue. However, the larger regional language—mainly because of geopolitical reasons associated with standardization and national policies on language of education—was Kikuyu. Thus, our local Kimbeere is a minority language that is only about 50% mutually intelligible with Kikuyu. My initial schooling—at least within the classroom and specifically in mother tongue lessons—was in Kikuyu, which was considered to be our “mother tongue.” In fact, my mother’s tongue was Kikamba. She was a language minority in our Kimbeere‐speaking community. So, when I went to school, I encountered my alleged “mother tongue” Kikuyu as more or less a second language.

Mwaniki’s early educational experience illustrates that transitional bilingual education in the lower grades, is often prescribed as a linguistically and culturally

Imposes Majority Language Minority Language (forced, no choice) Moves from Minority to Majority Language Majority Language with L2/FL Lessons Minority Language (out of choice)

Language‐Minority

Language‐Minority

Language‐Minority

Transitional

Notes: L2 = Second Language; L1 = First Language; FL = Foreign Language. Adapted from Baker (2006, p. 215).

Majority Language plus Language‐Majority Foreign Language Separatist Language‐Minority

Imposes Majority Language

Language‐Minority

Submersion (a.k.a. Structured English Immersion) Submersion (with Withdrawal ESL) Segregationist

Language of the Classroom

Typical Child in Program

Type of Program

Table 10.1  Weak Educational Program Options for Language Minorities.

Limited Bilingualism

Limited Enrichment Detachment/Autonomy

Monolingualism in English Monolingualism

Monolingualism in English

Language and/or Literacy Aim

Relative Monolingualism in English Limited Bilingualism

Assimilation

Apartheid

Assimilation

Assimilation

Societal and Educational Aims

Language‐Minority

Maintenance/Heritage Language Two‐Way/Dual‐Language Two Majority Languages

Bilingualism with Initial Emphasis on L2 Bilingualism with Emphasis on L1 Minority and Majority Languages

Language of the Classroom

Notes: L2 = Second Language; L1 = First Language; FL = Foreign Language. Adapted from Baker (2006, p. 215).

Mainstream Bilingual

Language‐ Majority

Immersion

Mixed Language‐ Minority and ‐Majority Language Majority

Typical Child in Program

Type of Program

Maintenance/Pluralism and Enrichment

Pluralism and Enrichment Maintenance/Pluralism and Enrichment Maintenance/Pluralism and Enrichment

Societal and Educational Aims

Table 10.2  Strong Educational Program Options for both Language Minority and Majority Children.

Bilingualism and Biliteracy

Bilingualism and Biliteracy Bilingualism and Biliteracy Bilingualism and Biliteracy

Language and/or Literacy Aim

Language Policy and Planning in Education  177 responsive way of helping the child bridge from their home or community ­language to the standard language of the school (Mazrui, 2013; Wiley, 2014). While this policy, as an attempted accommodation, was motivated by good intentions, the situation may actually be more complex. If we attempt to apply Baker’s classification scheme to the case of Mwaniki, it appears that the intended model for the first four years of instruction, might fall roughly into the transitional bilingual education program category (see Table 10.1), given the attempt to use his alleged “mother tongue.” Although this policy was well‐intended, there was no assessment of his actual linguistic knowledge or home/community contexts. His case demon­ strates how many students are often placed or misplaced in programs based on assumptions rather than actual assessment. Even if a diagnostic had been done, it is still likely that Mwaniki’s teachers’ linguistic knowledge and proficiencies may not have been closely aligned with his, those of his family, his mother’s Kikamba, or those of the Kimbeere of his community. Would these languages have the same status as the prescribed Kikuyu? Would the corpora of these languages be adequately represented in the curricula and supporting instructional materials? Where there is close alignment between the linguistic resources of the teacher, classroom, and child, transitional bilingual programs can be highly useful as accommodations; however, in highly multilingual contexts a mismatch between the child’s linguistic background and those of the teacher and school are common and require a different approach. Agnihotri (2007) has long advocated training teachers to learn how to draw on all the children’s linguistic resources through elicitation techniques, while instilling mutual respect among students for all of the language varieties they bring to school. Similarly, García and Li Wei (2014) have been advocating for drawing on all of the student’s linguistic resources through “translanguaging.” Neither Agnhotri’s nor García and Li Wei’s approaches are easily captured by Tables 10.1 or 10.2, but they may be represented as shown in Table 10.3. Table 10.3  Educational Program Options That May Potentially Draw Upon All Linguistic Resources of Language Minorities. Type of Program

Typical Child in Program

Language of the Classroom

Societal and Educational  Aims

Maintenance/ Two‐Way/Dual Mixed Minority & Pluralism & Language or Language‐ Majority Enrichment Majority Minority & Languages Language ‐Majority including those not targeted for Language & Literacy

Language and/or Literacy Aim Bilingualism & Biliteracy

178  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Returning to the educational history of Mwaniki, by grade four, he was required to learn two additional languages. I also had to learn Swahili and English. From Standard 4 [fourth grade], English was the medium of instruction, with Swahili being used for Swahili [Kiswahili] lessons. It is instructive that a national examination taken at the end of 8th grade (Standard 8) is written in English, save for Swahili examination papers. Essentially, English becomes a critical “survival” requirement, if you may, for one to survive in the Kenyan educa­ tion system—right from primary school through to university. So, if you ask me, what my mother tongue is, I suppose it is Kimbeere, which is not my mother’s tongue.

Kenya has required upper grade instruction in Kiswahili and English since independence but English continues to dominate (Mazrui, 2013). Mwaniki’s experi­ ence is similar to many children in highly multilingual areas of the world where they are required to learn a national or regional language as well as English or another international language. His use of the word “survival” within the educational context is particularly significant in drawing attention to the challenges faced and what is at stake. Although the programmatic configuration of his educational ­experience corresponds to that of dual language programs, his experience seems to correspond to submersion. Thus, there is an ongoing need for the approaches recom­ mended by Agnihotri (2007) and García and Li Wei (2014). Returning to Mwaniki’s experience, his linguistic situation changed as his education progressed. At my university, instruction was in English, and much of the interaction outside formal learning environments was bilingual, i.e., English/Swahili, because of the diverse nature of the student population and the faculty. After my Honors Degree in Education, I was posted by the Kenya Teachers Commission (TSC) to Kiptulus High School in Nandi County to teach English and Literature in English. Within the school, English and Swahili were the languages of interaction, but often students would huddle together and interact in Nandi.

Mwaniki had no opportunity to use his heritage or community languages, which were regionally based, as he notes: Outside the school, one would hardly hear any English/Swahili apart from the market place. Even at the marketplace, however, one had to go out of the way and cue his/her interlocutors that s/he was not proficient in Nandi. Only then would they switch to Swahili, and only for the purposes of the transaction at hand.

When Mwaniki reflects on his current home context there is, again, no opportunity to maintain or use his “heritage/community languages,” and he has not attempted to pass them to his children: Interestingly, my current home environment is equally “linguistically complex,” where many languages are spoken within the home and the dynamic is one of constant code switching, negotiation, and re‐negotiation. But never for a moment

Language Policy and Planning in Education  179 have I ever felt like communication and bonding are compromised or vital affective and cognitive issues are lost in translation. Having grown up in the kind of ethnolin­ guistic environment that I did, and having worked in culturally and linguistically diverse environments, I find this to be quite normal. However, the question remains: What will be the heritage language of my children? I guess, that is still work in progress.

The case of Mwaniki demonstrates the challenges and adaptations that language minority students’ contexts may have to make over the course of their lifetimes (Wiley, 2014).

Educational language policies and teacher preparation As noted, teachers play a significant role in terms of being interpreters and imple­ menters of formal education policies. They also have to cope with trying to pro­ vide equitable instruction when saddled with restrictive or poorly conceived policies. Teacher education in many countries faces challenges regarding setting professional standards for the accreditation of professional programs, licensing, and certification. In some countries, preparation consists of only the rudimentary levels of college education, while in others it may require four or five years of preparation, or attaining graduate degrees along with certification. Despite these differences in preparation around the world, there are also many similarities in terms of expectations for teacher performance with regard to language education (Wiley, 2008). In many countries teachers are viewed as instruments of the state. Their role is viewed narrowly as being implementers of state policies. They have been seen more as technicians than arbiters of instruction. Often, they lack control over the selection of instructional policies, curricula, or materials, particularly as they relate to providing equity for linguistically diverse populations. Mainstream and second language teachers have often seen their roles as helping students to assimilate ­linguistically and be able to speak and write like a “native‐speaker.” Often, they have not been prepared to help students maintain their first language(s); thus, they have helped to promote assimilationalist, monoculturalist, and restrictive language policies (Wiley, 2008). Beginning in the late 1990s, for example, U.S. teachers in the states of California, Arizona, and Massachusetts were restricted in the range of programs and instruc­ tional approaches they could employ for language‐minority students when voters approved anti‐bilingual education measures. In cases such as these, political pre­ scriptivism has been allowed to override professional judgment in classroom prac­ tices. Other detrimental educational language policies can be implicit within institutional practices as Haas (1992) noted. Despite these challenges, teachers still have considerable agency (Lo Bianco, 2010) in being able to interpret policy and respond to the needs of their students. Language assessment/testing practices for  example, particularly need scrutiny (Wiley, 2008). Valadez, MacSwan, and

180  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Martínez (2002), for example, found misassessment and misclassification to be major problems among students whose language proficiency test results sug­ gested they lacked proficiency in both their first language and English.

Toward improving the knowledge base in professional preparation Specifically addressing language policy and teacher preparation, Christ (1997) lamented that: “Hardly any research has been conducted thus far on language policy in teacher education” (p. 224). Wiley (2008) noted that some of the reasons for this relate to the relatively marginal impact that applied and educational lin­ guistics have had on mainstream teacher education preparation programs. Nevertheless, it is clear that teachers are better prepared to meet the needs of their students when they have done foundational work on language minority instruction. In this regard, some relevant materials are particularly useful (e.g., Baker 2010; Corson, 1999; Wright, 2010). In Europe, advances in foreign language theory and instructional methodology have been apparent. During the 1990s, teacher preparation, for example, and efforts such as the LINGUA project have focused on learner‐centered approaches in service training for secondary teachers of modern languages, including English (Gewehr, 1998). Other useful work (e.g., Hawkins, 2004) has focused on teaching language as socially situated rather than focusing solely on grammar, as if lan­ guage were “the sum of all its grammatical parts” (p. 4). This focus is replaced with a greater emphasis on the need for teachers to understand the politics of ­discourses (Wiley, 2008). Some professional organizations have also been able to exert some influence on the  direction of teacher preparation and continuing professional development. Associations such as the National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE), the International Reading Association (IRA), and Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL) have exercised considerable influence on setting standards for teacher preparation and benchmarks for student learning (Wiley, 2008). In recent years many organizations have become more attuned to cultural and linguistic diversity, although many prescriptions for student learning, such as those of the Common Core State Standards movement in the United States, have been driven in part by an ideology of accountability which only considers monolingual practices.

Language policies in education and challenges posed by dominant languages Around the globe, the expansion of instruction in English, and increasingly in Spanish, Mandarin, Arabic, and other major languages, presents challenges for minority languages and their speakers. Increasingly, knowledge of these

Language Policy and Planning in Education  181 l­ anguages, especially when they are used as mediums of instruction, is critical for access to academic knowledge. Thus, specific educational policies need to be in place to maintain minority languages. Further, as the demand for global and regional languages increases, so does the need for adequately prepared teachers of these languages, as well as teachers who must use these languages to teach. The need to communicate with others in global contexts, however, requires more than just the promotion of other languages. Teachers better understand that for languages to function equitably in multilingual contexts, some learners may resist implicit cultural discourses of dominance, and that even “global” languages will be appropriated, indigenized, code‐mixed and adapted for local or regional communicative purposes without following the standard language conventions of allegedly higher status varieties (Canagarajah, 1999). Given the legacy of discrim­ inatory language policies in education and their negative impact on language‐ minority students, teachers need to be aware of the consequences of detrimental language policies. Beyond that, there is a need for teachers to become familiar with positive examples of culturally and linguistically responsive teaching and learning (Wiley, 2008). In the face of negative policies, educators in local contexts can play significant roles in advocating for the students and mitigating the effects of poorly conceived or inappropriate educational language policies (cf. Johnson, 2013), or where more favorable policies have been implemented, teachers can enhance their students educational opportunities by building on students’ home and community languages while helping them to learn the dominant languages typically required as media of instruction.

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United Nations. (1948). Universal declaration of human rights. http://www.un.org/en/ documents/udhr/index.shtml (accessed November 14, 2014). Valadez, C., MacSwan, J., & Martínez, C. (2002). Toward a new view of low achieving bilinguals: A study of linguistic competence among designated “semilinguals.” Bilingual Review, 25(3), 238–248. Weinberg, M. (1995). A chance to learn: A history of race and education in the United States. Long Beach, CA: California State University Press. Weinstein, B. (1983). The civic tongue: Political consequences of language choices. New York: Longman. Wiley, T. G. (1996). Language planning and language policy. In S. McKay & N. Hornberger (Eds.), Sociolinguistics and  language teaching (pp. 103‐147). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wiley, T. G. (1998). The imposition of World War I era English‐only policies and the fate of German in North America. In T. Ricento, & B. Burnaby (Eds.), Language and politics in the United States and Canada (pp. 211–241). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Wiley, T. G. (2004). Language policy and English‐only. In E. Finegan, & J. R. Rickford (Eds.), Language in the USA: Perspectives for the twenty‐first century (pp. 319–338). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wiley, T. G. (2008). Language policy and teacher education. In S. May, & N. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of language and education (2nd edn., Vol. 1, pp. 229–242). New York: Springer. Wiley, T. G. (2013). A brief history and assessment of language rights in the United States. In J. W. Tollefson (Ed.). Language policies in education: Critical issues, (2nd edn., pp. 61–90). London: Routledge. Wiley, T. G. (2014). Policy considerations for promoting heritage, community, and Native American languages. In T. G. Wiley, J. K. Peyton, D. Christian,

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Wiley, T. G., Peyton, J. K., Christian, D., Moore, S. K., & Liu, N. (Eds.). (2014). Handbook of heritage, community, and Native American language education in the United States: Research, policy, and practice. Washington DC: Center for Applied Linguistics. Wright, W. E. (2010). Foundations for teaching English language learners: Research, theory, policy, and practice. Philadelphia, PA: Caslon Publishing.

11 Language Rights Tove Skutnabb‐Kangas

Introduction: short historical overview of language rights For dominant groups, their own rights have often been, and are still, invisible: they take them for granted. Even today this is one of the problems when discussing and trying to formulate linguistic/language rights (hereafter LRs). Dominant linguistic groups often feel a need to formally codify their LRs only when dominated groups, e.g. Indigenous/tribal peoples, or minorities and minoritized ­people of various kinds (hereafter ITMs) start demanding LRs for themselves. The moves in the United States to make English the official language in various states and federally is one example. The dominant linguistic groups want to safeguard their own languages de jure and/or de facto at present (e.g., in Denmark, Finland, Norway, and Sweden). In many countries where “Europeans” are a numerical minority (in Asia, Africa, large parts of the Pacific), this minority, being economically and politically dominant, has succeeded, with the help of domestic elites, in granting (speakers of) their own languages most LRs. Here it is the linguistic majority (which often consists of many numerical minorities) that needs LRs. Their situation often resembles that of numerical minorities in Europe and Europeanized countries (Europe’s “main” settler countries; e.g., Aotearoa/ New Zealand, Australia, Canada, South Africa, the USA). Most people connect LRs mainly to ITMs, and most LRs are found among ­special minority or indigenous rights rather than general human rights (HRs). Several countries (e.g., South Africa, India) have more than one or two official ­languages and even fairly good protection of ITMs’ LRs in their constitutions and other legal documents, but so far implementation has been lacking in many countries. Positive steps are now being undertaken in parts of some countries, including India and Nepal and several Latin American and African countries, to safeguard educational LRs in practice as well. The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

186  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Many states around the world have had legally codified rights for domestic minorities for centuries (see, e.g., de Varennes, 1996; 2000; 2008). But summaries of these rights are still scarce, as is comparative literature on them. The literature is often (unconsciously?) Eurocentric: only rights in Europe or Europeanized countries count and are described; what has happened in these countries is labeled as “the first ever xx,” even when other parts of the world may have had similar debates, codifications, or practices much earlier. Scientific imperialism looms very large here, as in many other areas. Skutnabb‐Kangas & Phillipson (1994, pp. 72–79) have divided the development of LRs into several phases/periods. These reflect firstly the scope of the rights (are they granted at a state level—this includes regional rights within the state—or higher?; are they bilateral, between two states?; are they multilateral, including covering a larger region, e.g., Europe or Africa or the Americas?; or are they international?). Secondly, they reflect “characteristics” of rights‐holders (as opposed to the duty‐holders, which are mostly the states). Some examples: are the right‐holders mainly linguistic (as opposed to other) minorities?; are LRs only for aural (hearing) people or are the d/Deaf and sign languages also included?; are LRs individual as opposed to collective, for groups?; are they personal (every person has them, regardless of where in a state they live) or territorial (an individual or group has the rights only within a specified territory)?. In the first phase, pre‐1815, LRs existed mainly for the linguistically dominant groups; several states (e.g., Spain in the late fifteenth century, France at the time of the French revolution) imposed (and exported worldwide, also to their colonies) a monolingual doctrine, adhering to the principle of “one state, one nation, one ­language.” On the other hand, many rulers were mostly interested in granting ­religious freedom to their own followers; this led to some bilateral treaties for ­religious (but not linguistic) minorities. As long as the “citizens” paid their taxes, they could often speak whatever languages they wanted. The second phase, until the First World War, started with the Final Act of the Congress of Vienna 1815, signed by seven major European powers and granting LRs to several minorities. This was “the first important international instrument to contain clauses safeguarding national minorities, and not only religious minorities,” writes Francesco Capotorti (1979, p. 2), the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of National Minorities. However, with the exception of a few countries (e.g., Austria—for the formulation of the Constitutional Law of 1867, Article 19, see Skutnabb‐Kangas & Phillipson, 1994, p. 75), most constitutions were attempting to impose monolingualism on their citizens. The third phase, between the two World Wars, saw both in the peace treaties and in the work of the League of Nations many multilateral and international conventions and national constitutions stipulating LRs for minorities, especially in eastern and central Europe. The signatories of the peace treaties, for example, Britain, France, and the United States, did not grant similar rights to minorities in their own countries. Likewise, the Kurds in Turkey did not get any LRs. They have so far continued to struggle to get even basic LRs, such as the right to use Kurdish as a teaching language (see Sheyholislami et al., 2012). In many cases these rights worked; in others, they existed only on paper.

Language Rights  187 The fourth phase, from 1945 until the 1970s, includes the birth of major human rights instruments, Universal Declarations and Conventions (see below). The main goal was to protect the individual against arbitrary or unjust treatment. On the other hand, the concentration on individuals meant that many of the negotiators (e.g., Eleanor Roosevelt) claimed that, since everybody was protected by these instruments, there was no need to single out minorities; minorities were seen as a “European problem.” The UN Charter on Human Rights does not, for example, mention minorities at all. The fifth phase, a renewed interest in minorities and thus also their LRs, started with the publication of Capotorti’s 1979 report for the UN. There is fairly strong wording to protect some LRs in some constitutions, but the wording is often at such a general level that the vagueness may make it vacuous. There is less support in regional instruments (e.g., those covering various continents), and even less in international ones. Furthermore, both regional and international instruments have to be not only signed and ratified by states (and many are unwilling), but also implemented; this is a tall order. In many instruments language figures in the preface but disappears in educational clauses, or, if it is there, the formulation has more modifications, conditionalities, or drawbacks than other clauses. One could probably claim that we are now entering a sixth phase, where it is largely accepted that some LRs must be seen as linguistic human rights (LHRs), that is, as part of the human rights system with all that it implies (e.g., de Varennes, 2000). Legally, it means that the existing instruments (e.g., the UN Genocide Convention—see below) are being reinterpreted; the duty‐holders are being specified more clearly, and the monitoring systems are becoming stronger; courts can be, and are, increasingly being used to clarify concepts in both constitutions and other legislative documents, and in international human rights law.

Language rights, linguistic human rights, and diversities: some concept clarification Are all language rights linguistic human rights? Definitely not. A preliminary definition that I have used is: “(Some) language rights + human rights = linguistic human rights.” The question then is: which language rights should be included and which should be excluded? Lawyers Susanne Mancini and Bruno de Witte (2008, p. 247) define “language rights as fundamental rights protecting language‐related acts and values. The term ‘fundamental’ denotes the fact that these rights are entrenched in the constitution of a country, or in an international treaty binding on that country.” I have for some decades defined LHRs in the following way: “only those language rights are linguistic HUMAN rights which are so basic for a dignified life that everybody has them because of being human; therefore, in principle no state (or individual) is allowed to violate them” (e.g., Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2008, p. 109). Mancini and de Witte’s legally oriented definition is more precise than my sociologically oriented one, even if they do not use the term linguistic human

188  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education rights. In other aspects, it can also be broader. Various constitutions are vague about language rights, stating that their precise formulations are given in separate laws or regulations. If these are also seen as belonging to “constitutions,” these specifications could contain “LRs” that in my view cannot be considered linguistic human rights. One example would be regulations about the size of lettering in each language on various labels (e.g., in Canada, Latvia, or Slovakia). On the other hand, their definition is also narrower: it does not allow anything that has not yet been codified in any country, that is, innovative proposals are by definition not (yet?) language rights. Their “fundamental” is defined legally, whereas my “basic” is more a moral judgement. Even when various central human rights treaties and declarations enumerate fundamental rights, the definer’s ethics determine what is seen as basic or fundamental for a dignified life.1 On the other hand, my definition opens up a space for LHRs which have not yet been codified as rights. One example would be an unconditional right to at least elementary education through the medium of one’s own language (or mother tongue—see Skutnabb‐Kangas & McCarty, 2008 for definitions). I see LHRs, just as most other human rights, to some extent as relative. Even one of the most basic rights, the right to life (which should be much easier to define once and for all than concepts such as “freedom of expression,” also a LR) is relative from a legal point of view, because there are exceptions where taking somebody’s life is not totally prohibited; wars are the main example but also extreme cases of self‐defence or euthanasia relativize the right to life. The death penalty is also against the absolute right to life. In trying to define a concept, it is often useful to see what it is NOT, that is, what its antithesis is. “Full” or “maximal” LHRs (whatever they are) can be seen as one end of a continuum, where the other end could be linguicide, linguistic genocide (see the discussion on this in Skutnabb‐Kangas & Dunbar, 2010). Many language/linguistic rights would come somewhere in the middle of the continuum, meaning that, even though they may be seen as important LRs, do not belong in the realm of linguistic human rights. Mancini and de Witte (2008) also distinguish between core rights and ancillary rights: The core linguistic right is the right to speak one’s language, or, more precisely, the ­language of one’s choice. The core right is, or can be, accompanied by a series of ­ancillary rights without which the right to speak a language becomes less valuable for its beneficiaries, such as: the right to be understood by others (for example, by public authorities), the right to a translation or an interpretation from other languages (for example, in the course of a meeting or trial at which those other languages are spoken), the right to compel others to speak one’s language, and the right to learn the language. (pp. 247–248; emphases added)

One might imagine that what Mancini and de Witte define as “core rights” could be seen as LHRs, whereas their “ancillary rights” might deemed to be “only” LRs. Not so. The “right to learn the language” should obviously be a core LHR; this would follow from Mancini & de Witte’s own argumentation. Learning and

Language Rights  189 knowing one’s language/mother tongue is a necessary prerequisite for being able to enjoy the right to speak it. If children are not allowed to learn their parents’ or ancestors’ language at a high level (which presupposes the right to use it as the main medium of education for the first many years), there will be nobody left to “speak one’s language” after a few generations. We have to conclude that a more strict and principled definition of LHRs is urgently needed. It requires much analytical work, which is yet to be done. Of the world’s about 7,000 mainly spoken languages (7,106; see the Ethnologue, 17th edition, www.ethnologue.org, for the estimated numbers of languages)2, at least some 4,500 are tribal/Indigenous (Oviedo & Maffi, 2000; Terralingua, www. terralingua.org). Estimates claim that minimally half, maybe up to 90–95% of today’s spoken languages will be extinct or at least no longer be learned by ­children by the year 2100.3 But would this loss, which obviously reduces the world’s linguistic diversity, be important? “Respect for linguistic and cultural diversity” figures in many preambles of constitutions, declarations, and other documents. Often it is only vapid Eurospeak (Phillipson, 2011) or pious rhetoric. In Europe, the maintenance of diversity is counteracted by the increasing dominance of English—in EU institutions, in EU schemes such as the Bologna process, and in many societal domains in member states. Global processes of linguistic capital dispossession dovetail with the consolidation of the U.S. empire and push and pull factors in English worldwide (Phillipson, 2009). In most countries which receive refugees or immigrants, this added linguistic diversity is efficiently killed by the education system (e.g., Skutnabb‐Kangas & Dunbar, 2010). Dispossession of linguistic capital is happening today faster than ever before in human history, and especially in the linguistically, culturally, and biodiversity‐ wise richest parts of the world (in Asia, Africa, the Pacific, and partly also Latin America). The consequences for human life on earth can be devastating, because of the connections between biodiversity and linguistic and cultural diversity. I shall problematize the ways many people look at linguistic diversity, with ­reference to a linguistic diversity continuum. At one end of this continuum one can place Minimal Linguistic Diversity: only one language is maintained and developed. It does not take much to guess which language might be chosen today as the “hypercentral” language. At the other end of the continuum, one might place Maximal Linguistic Diversity. For many people that could mean that all today’s languages are maintained and developed. I claim that this kind of demagogical diversity continuum can construct any support for linguistic diversity as extremism. Few people would argue in terms of Realpolitik for an approach in which the world has one language only and all others have disappeared or been made to disappear. For some people this might be an ideal, but people who worked in earnest to kill off all other languages would be considered extremists. But is the maintenance of all or most of today’s languages extremism too? Even when KNOWING that diversity (also linguistic diversity) is positive, and homogenization is negative and often disastrous? Yet many people claim that maintenance is unrealistic.

190  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education On the contrary, I claim that this maintenance of all the worlds’ languages is both sensible and realistic (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000). What would a diversity continuum that normalizes both diversity itself and work to maintain diversity (also through multilingual education at all levels) look like? The other extreme end of the continuum could be to actively create as many new languages as possible: more or less every idiolect (and certainly every dialect, sociolect, genderlect) would have the same rights that (speakers of) some “big” languages have today. The maintenance and development of today’s languages might be a sensible diversity‐oriented compromise around the middle of the continuum. It would mean that all today’s “languages” (language is a contested and partially unclear concept…) are maintained and supported. For each point on the continuum, one can assess the relative benefits and costs of the position of supporting/not supporting diversity in terms of both quantifiable factors and qualitative, intangible factors (e.g., UNESCO’s concept of “Intangible Heritage”). Approaches at various points on the continuum can result in more, or less, linguistic (and cultural) diversity (LCD). Today most educational approaches both for ITM children AND even for linguistic majority children result in less linguistic diversity Maintenance of diversities should be seen as something normal and healthy, as a guarantee for the survival of humankind and even the planet, also because LCD is correlationally and most probably also causally connected to biodiversity (again, see Terralingua). For diversities maintenance, we need not only Language Rights but Linguistic Human Rights.

Placing language rights on continua: linguistic genocide and crimes against humanity in education, or “full” linguistic human rights LRs themselves can be placed on several continua, from the “worst” to the “best.” Building further on Figure 1 in Skutnabb‐Kangas and Phillipson (1994, p. 80), I use two continua. The first covers the relative degree of rights granted, from assimila­ tion‐oriented negative “rights” such as prohibition and toleration of languages and non-discrimination prescription (people are not allowed to be discriminated against because of language), to positive rights, permission to use certain languages and promotion of them. The second continuum covers the relative overtness or covertness of the rights—as mentioned above, many constitutions and international instruments are vague and covert on LRs. What is likely to follow from a lack of LRs? At the negative end of the degree of rights (regardless of their degree of overtness), linguistic genocide and crimes against humanity in education may follow. Rights at the positive end may lead to maintenance and further development of languages, and thus linguistic diversity. Revitalization of languages (which is often a result of earlier sometimes “successful” attempts at linguistic genocide) also needs promotion of the languages involved. Skutnabb‐Kangas & Phillipson (1994) placed LRs in selected countries and in covenants on the two continua.

Language Rights  191 Next I present some of the intricacies of the legal issues covering the most ­ egative results of lack of LHRs, especially lacking the core right: education mainly n through the medium of one’s mother tongue/first language. This can lead to linguistic genocide and crimes against humanity in education. When what became the UN International Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (E793, 1948, http://www1.umn.edu/humanrts/instree/x1cppcg.htm) was being prepared after the Second World War, its final draft had in Article III definitions of linguistic and cultural genocide; it also saw them as crimes against humanity. Article III was voted down by 16 states in the UN General Assembly in 1948, and is thus NOT part of the final Convention. But all states then members of the UN agreed about the definition of what should be considered linguistic genocide: “Prohibiting the use of the language of the group in daily intercourse or in schools, or the printing and circulation of publications in the language of the group.” The final Genocide Convention (see United Nations Human Rights, 1948 http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/CrimeOfGenocide.aspx has five definitions of genocide in its Article 2: In the present Convention, genocide means any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: (a) Killing members of the group; (b) Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; (c) Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; (d) Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; (e) Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group (emphases added).

Articles 2(b) and 2(e) are highly relevant for ITM education; possibly also (c) and, especially (d), at least for many Indigenous and tribal peoples (in connection with dispossessing them of land rights, the destruction of forests or seas, the lack of the right of Indigenous peoples’ “prior informed consent,” as formulated in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People (UNDRIP). There is massive literature on these violations—the website of the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues, UNPFII (http://undesadspd.org/indigenouspeoples.aspx) is a good starting point. Human rights lawyer Robert Dunbar and I have explored the questions of genocide and crimes against humanity in education in several publications. Our first expert report for UNFPII (Magga et al., 2005) contains sociological and legal argumentation showing that to educate ITM children through a dominant language in a submersion (or even early‐exit transitional) program prevents access to education, because of the linguistic, pedagogical, and psychological barriers it creates. Thus it violates the human right to education which is encoded in several International HRs instruments, also in the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child of 1989, CRC, Article 29 (see below). This education can also have harmful effects socially, psychologically, economically, politically. This includes very serious mental harm: social dislocation, psychological, cognitive, linguistic, and educational harm, and, partially through

192  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education this, also economic, social, and political marginalization. It also often causes serious physical harm, for example, in residential schools, and as a long‐term result of marginalization—for example, alcoholism, suicides, incest, violence. Indigenous peoples are overrepresented throughout (there are countless examples in, e.g., Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000 and Skutnabb‐Kangas & Dunbar, 2010). ITM education in most countries is organized against solid research evidence about how best to reach high levels of bilingualism or multilingualism and how to enable ITM ­children to achieve academically in school. Dominant‐language‐only submersion programs “are widely attested as the least effective educationally for minority ­language students” (May & Hill, 2003, p. 14, a study commissioned by the Māori Section of the Aotearoa/New Zealand Ministry of Education). Kathleen Heugh (e.g., 2010) states, on the basis of a number of large‐scale studies, that early transition (i.e., early‐exit transitional programs) to English and other ex‐colonial languages in Africa (see articles in McIlwraith, 2012, on the present situation) is accompanied by poor literacy in L1 and L2, poor numeracy/mathematics and science, high failure and drop‐out rates, and high costs/wastage of expenditure. Heugh also states that if learners switch from an African MT to FL/L2 medium, they may seem to do well until half way through grade/year four. After this, progress slows down and the gap between L1 and L2 learner achievement steadily widens. We now know from comprehensive studies in second language acquisition on most continents that it takes 6–8 years to learn enough of a second or foreign language to be able to learn through it. Heugh and I follow this up in our 2012 book. Thomas & Collier’s very large‐ scale studies (summarized 2012) show this convincingly too. In both Dunbar and Skutnabb‐Kangas (2008) and Skutnabb‐Kangas and Dunbar (2010) we conclude that, when states persist in subtractive educational policies (as most states today do), implemented in the full knowledge of their devastating effects on ITM children, this can, from an educational, linguistic, psychological and sociological point of view be described as a form of linguistic and cultural genocide. However, to claim legally that this education is genocide, more court cases are needed to ascertain the precise interpretations of some concepts (e.g., “intent”) in the Genocide Convention’s definitions. But there are several recent examples already where lawyers conclude that the “intent” need not be expressed directly and openly—no state says: we intend to harm children. Instead, it can be deduced from the results, that is, if the state organizes educational structures which are known to lead to negative results, this can be seen as “intent” in the sense of Art. 2. Ringelheim (2013, p. 104–105), for ­ instance, discusses a landmark judgment where the European Court of Human Rights makes clear that no intention to discriminate is required for the discrimination to exist: the sole fact that a measure has a disparate impact on a minority is sufficient to establish the existence of differential treatment—whatever the intent behind the policy. This opens the possibility of addressing structural or systemic forms of discrimination.

Language Rights  193 Skutnabb‐Kangas & Dunbar (2010) also consider the extent to which the v ­ arious forms of submersion education could be considered to give rise to international criminal responsibility. The term “crime against humanity,” first used in the modern context in respect of the massacres of Ottoman Turkey’s Armenians in 1915, was translated into international legal principle in 1945. The most complete description of what constitute “crimes against humanity” is now set out in the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court of 17 July 1998 (the “International Criminal Court Statute” (ICC), http://www.un.org/law/icc/index.html). Although long associated with armed conflict, it is now accepted that they can also be perpetrated in times of peace; this can now be seen as part of customary international law. We look at four common features that apply to both war‐time and peace‐time crimes against humanity, using Cassese’s (2008, pp. 98–101) definitions and interpretations, and conclude that today’s ITM education may, when legal interpretations become clearer through court cases, also lead to criminal responsibility in terms of being crimes against humanity.

L(h)rs in education – what are they and where can one find them? The core education‐related LHRs are the right to learn one’s own language thoroughly, at the highest possible level, and likewise to learn thoroughly a dominant or official language in the country where one is resident. The press release about the United Nation’s 2004 Human Development Report (http://hdr.undp.org/en/ content/human‐development‐report‐2004) exemplifies how not having the core educational LHRs excludes people not only from access to education but also from other areas of life: “Limitations on people’s ability to use their native language— and limited facility in speaking the dominant or official national language—can exclude people from education, political life, and access to justice.” To what extent do these core LHRs exist today in international or regional HR instruments? Here I summarize some of the most important current LHRs in education from these instruments, mainly in relation to education. A much more thorough presentation can be read online in Chapter 2 of Skutnabb‐Kangas and Dunbar (2010), the main source of this part of the chapter. It is clear that those ITM children who have been taught in a dominant foreign language which they, at least initially, did not understand, have NOT had access to education, even if it should have been their basic human right. The result of this foreign‐ or dominant‐language‐ medium education has in most cases been that they have not learned to read or write their own language; often their competence in the dominant language has not reached the level that dominant‐language peers have; their school achievement at least at a group level has been low, and many have been ashamed of their language and culture, and have therefore not taught it to their own children, in the (mistaken) belief that this would help the children. This vicious circle has also in most cases been the main reason for the present need for language revitalization. Those children who have succeeded as a group have done it despite the way their formal education has been organized, not because of it.

194  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Below I summarize the documents that set out the general right to education, followed by the right to learn and be taught through the medium of one’s mother tongue: • Paragraph  1 of Article 26 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/, adopted on 10 December 1948 by the United Nations General Assembly), guarantees the right of everyone to education. Paragraph 2 provides that such education shall be directed to the full development of the human personality, and shall promote understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial and religious groups. • The International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) of 1966 (http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/ CESCR.aspx), paragraphs 1, 2 and 3 of Article 13 recognize the right of everyone to education; refer to the sense of the dignity of the human personality, and add “ethnic groups” to the list in the Universal Declaration (above) amongst whom understanding shall be promoted. It also notes that education shall enable all persons to participate effectively in a free society. • The 1960 Convention against Discrimination in Education (http://portal. unesco.org/en/ev.php‐URL_ID=12949&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_ SECTION=201.html), Article 5, subparagraph  1 (a) provides that Education shall be directed to, amongst other things, the full development of the human personality. • The United Nations’ Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) of 1989 is important (http://www.unicef.org.uk/Documents/Publication‐pdfs/UNCRC_ PRESS200910web.pdf, Article 17, para 4, Article 28, paragraph  1, Article 29, para 3, and Article 30, para 2). The basic right to education is set out in Article 28, paragraph 1, in which the States parties to the CRC recognize the right of the child to education. The paragraph also provides that, with a view to achieving this right progressively and on the basis of equal opportunity, States will take a range of steps, including, in subparagraph (e), measures to encourage regular attendance at schools and the reduction of drop‐out rates. Article 29, subparagraph (a) stipulates that education shall be directed to the development of the child’s personality, talents, and mental and physical abilities to their fullest potential. Article 29, subparagraph (d) stipulates that education should be directed to the development of respect for the child’s parents, his or her own cultural identity, language, and values. Article 30 provides: In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities or persons of indigenous origin exist, a child belonging to such a minority or who is indigenous shall not be denied the right, in community with other members of his or her own group, to enjoy his or her own culture, to pro­ fess and practice his or her own religion, or to use his or her own language (emphasis added). • The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) of 1966 (http://www.ohchr.org/en/professionalinterest/pages/ccpr.aspx), Article 27, has the same famous “minorities provision,” except the CRC has added “or is indigenous” and “he or she.”

Language Rights  195 • ILO Convention No.169 on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples (http://www.ilo. org/public/english/region/ampro/mdtsanjose/indigenous/derecho.htm) Art. 28, para 1, asks states to implement indigenous children’s right to be taught to read and write in their own indigenous language, wherever practicable, or in the lan­ guage most commonly used by the group to which they belong, as well as the national language(s) of the country in which they live. • UNDRIP, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Resolution A/61/L.67), September 13, 2007) http://www.docip.org/ declaration_last/finaladopted_UNDRIP.pdf provides in Articles 13 and 14: 13.1. Indigenous peoples have the right to revitalize, use, develop and transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures, and to designate and retain their own names for communities, places and persons. 13.2. States shall take effective measures to ensure that this right is protected and also to ensure that indigenous peoples can understand and be understood in political, legal and administrative proceedings, where necessary through the provision of interpretation or by other appropriate means. 14.1. Indigenous peoples have the right to establish and control their edu­ cational systems and institutions providing education in their own ­languages, in a manner appropriate to their cultural methods of teach­ ing and learning. 14.2. Indigenous individuals, particularly children, have the right to all levels and forms of education of the State without discrimination. 14.3. States shall, in conjunction with indigenous peoples, take effective measures, in order for indigenous individuals, particularly children, including those living outside their communities, to have access, when possible, to an education in their own culture and provided in their own language. The first two articles imply that the child has the right to learn the mother tongue. Since most forms and levels of the “education of the State” (14.2) use the “State” languages as a medium, the child cannot have access to this education without knowing the State language. These quotes together might imply that high levels of at least bilingualism must be a goal in the education of an Indigenous child. But since state education through the medium of the dominant state language is “free” (even if there are school fees even in elementary education in many countries where Indigenous peoples live), most Indigenous children are forced to “choose” the “state education.” Their parents are “free” to establish and control their own educational systems, with their own languages as teaching languages—but at their own cost. How many Indigenous and tribal peoples can afford this? There is nothing about the State having to allocate public resources to Indigenous‐language‐medium education. • The Council of Europe’s European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages (the “Minority Languages Charter” http://conventions.coe.int/Treaty/ Commun/ListeTraites.asp?CM=1&CL=ENG&NT=&NU=148) and the Frame­ work Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (the “Framework

196  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Convention,” http://conventions.coe.int/Treaty/Commun/QueVoulezVous. asp?NT=157&CM=1&DF=2/17/2007&CL=ENG); both came into force in 1998, and fit well with the “when possible” drawback in Article 14.3 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (see above). The Minority Languages Charter’s education Article, 8, includes a range of modifications, including “as far as possible,” “relevant,” “appropriate,” “where necessary,” “pupils who so wish in a number considered sufficient,” “if the number of users of a regional or minority language justifies it,” as well as a number of alternatives, as in “to allow, encourage or provide teaching in or of the regional or minority language at all the appropriate stages of education” (emphases added). The Article in the Framework Convention, covering medium of education is so heavily qualified that the minority is completely at the mercy of the state: In areas inhabited by persons belonging to national minorities traditionally or in substantial numbers, if there is sufficient demand, the parties shall endeavour to ensure, as far as possible and within the framework of their education systems, that persons belonging to those minorities have adequate opportunities for being taught in the minority language or for receiving instruction in this language (emphases added for modifications).

Thus there are so far very few binding and unconditional rights, with financial support, to mother‐tongue‐medium education. The situation is even worse for any right to revitalization programs. In Europe and Europeanized countries, the more overt the rights are, the more implementation often follows, especially where both a monitoring system and sanctions are in place. On the other hand, especially in Europeanized countries, there are few LRs, especially in education; the USA has not (05 January 2015) even ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) (see https://treaties. un.org/Pages/ViewDetails.aspx?src=TREATY&mtdsg_no=IV-11&chapter=4& lang=en; the only other UN member country that have not ratified it is Somalia). CRC has, together with Article 27 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (see above), the best LHRs protection so far. In the case of Africa and Asia, where there often are several fairly overt but general LRs in constitutions etc., implementation is often largely lacking. Short examples from Kenya, Malawi and India follow.

Some examples: Kenya, Malawi and India Kenya’s 2010 Constitution (Chapter 2, Article 7, clauses 3a and 3b) “clearly articulates the government’s commitment to ‘promote and protect the diversity of languages of the people of Kenya [and to] promote the development and use on indigenous languages, Kenyan sign language, Braille….” Articles 35, 44, 50, 54 and 56 in Chapter 4, the bill of rights of the Constitution, “establish the linguistic rights of the people of Kenya such as the right to use a language of a person’s choice”;

Language Rights  197 this includes free interpretation. The government also commits itself to “put in place affirmative action programmes designed to ensure that minorities and ­marginalised groups develop their cultural values, languages and practices” (all quoted in Kioko, 2013, p. 119). Despite this protection of LRs, there is next to no implementation; Kioko (2013) has a sharp analysis of the reasons. In Malawi, the 1994 revised Constitution includes a bill of rights; one of the rights is “the right for citizens to use the language of their choice” (Mtenje, 2013, p. 96). In 1996 “the ministry responsible for education produced a circular which permitted primary school teachers to use local languages to explain difficult concepts wherever necessary” (Mtenje, 2013, p. 96). The government asked the Center for Language Studies (CLS) of the University of Malawi to do a study of the acceptability of the new language policy; the sociolinguistic surveys showed, in contradiction to criticism presented earlier, that “the majority of respondents supported the use of local languages in education provided that English would continue to be taught as a subject and also be used as a medium of instruction at a later stage of primary education” (Mtenje, 2013, p. 97). In 1999 a first multilingual education policy draft was produced, suggesting that “local languages will be used as media of instruction from Grades 1–4 and thereafter English [which is taught as a compulsory subject from Grade 1] takes over up to tertiary level” (Mtenje, 2013, p. 97). Local languages shall be permitted as optional subjects from Grade 4 onwards where circumstances permit this. Likewise, Chichewa, the largest language which is spoken and understood by over 70 percent of the population of nearly 14 million (Mtenje, 2013, p. 95), “shall continue to be taught as a subject from Grade 1 up to the secondary level” (Mtenje, 2013, p. 98). However, “despite numerous efforts by the Center for Language Studies and other stakeholders to get the policy approved, this, unfortunately, has not happened since 1999 and there is almost no indication of its being implemented in the foreseeable future” (Mtenje, 2013, p. 98). Mtenje (2013) lists strengths in Malawi which would make the policy perfectly applicable, and analyzes the reasons why this has not happened; the lack of the political will among the (English‐knowing) elites seems to be the main reason. This echoes the situation in many, if not most, African and Asian countries. India’s Constitution has the following to say: Para 350A (“Facilities for instruction in mother‐tongue at primary stage”). It shall be the endeavour of every State and of every local authority within the State to provide adequate facilities for instruction in the mother‐tongue at the primary stage of education to children belonging to linguistic minority groups; and the President may issue such directions to any State as he considers necessary or proper for securing the provision of such facilities. Para 350 B (“Special Officer for linguistic minorities”) (1) There shall be a Special Officer for linguistic minorities to be appointed by the President. (2) It shall be the duty of the Special Officer to investigate all matters relating to the safeguards provided for linguistic minorities under this Constitution and report to the President upon those matters at such intervals as the President

198  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education may direct, and the President shall cause all such reports to be laid before each House of Parliament, and sent to the Governments of the States concerned (http:// lawmin.nic.in/olwing/coi/coi‐english/Const.Pock%202Pg.Rom8Fsss(23).pdf).

According to Ajit Mohanty (personal email, April 11, 2013), there have been no Presidential directives for the enforcement of 350A. Under 350B there is a National Commission for Linguistic Minorities. It has looked into specific issues or complaints from linguistic minorities in different parts of India and has come up with some status reports on linguistic minorities but nothing on the protection and vitalization of languages. The commission has become a body for dealing with grievances of the linguistic minority groups but has not taken up the question of protection and promotion of minority languages as such (see Panda & Mohanty, 2013 for details of policy; see also Mohanty & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013 for projects on mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education in India and Nepal; see also Chapter 34 South Asia, this volume). In neither Kenya nor Malawi is there a regular monitoring mechanism, and no sanctions follow when the state does not do what it has promised. In India, the monitoring body has little power. Still, if one is optimistic, one might see a trend today for rights to develop from negative towards positive, and from tolerance‐ oriented to promotion‐oriented.

Some challenges There are many “practical” challenges in achieving LHRs, especially in education. Some are more real than others. There are economic constraints on developing small languages so that they can be used in formal education, especially in higher grades, on materials development, and there are cost–benefit arguments relating to publishing in small languages and the training of teachers who have had their (often inadequate) initial training through the medium of a dominant language. If basic education is to be “fixed”, higher education needs to be reformed too. All these challenges have to be tackled. On the other hand, there is incredible waste when children learn very little in a foreign‐language‐medium classroom, and the country then has a labor force with few high‐level qualifications and faces serious economic drawbacks. But there are also completely misplaced linguistic fears and attitudes that could be changed through information and practical examples of how mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education works, and how countries with more LHRs can manage extremely well. These fears also play on discriminatory attitudes based on both ethnicity‐ and class‐related hierarchies. Some of the basic theoretical and methodological issues and challenges have to do with monodisciplinary views: sociolinguists and educationists often do not relate their work on rights to power relations, or economics, or the philosophical underpinnings of various kinds of rights, in the way that some political scientists, language economists, or philosophy of science scholars may do. In addition, most other scholars know too little about how lawyers, especially human rights lawyers,

Language Rights  199 see language rights. Many do not know the difference between recommendations, declarations, conventions, covenants, etc., and they often do not know their contents, or how lawyers interpret them. Sociolinguists may treat instruments which are drafts only (e.g., the Draft Universal Declaration of Linguistic Rights, which was never accepted by UNESCO) as binding documents; they may see instruments that have been signed but not ratified by states as binding for the state, and may refer to instruments that are not in force because they have too few signatories (e.g., the UN Declaration in the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic Minorities, http://www.unesco.org/most/ lnlaw7.htm) as valid. When (some) researchers and educational administrators in the United States wanted to get rid of stigmatizing negative terminology used about immigrant minority students (such as LEP—Limited English Proficiency, or NEP—Non English Proficient), legal advice might have been useful. The present term ELLs, English Language Learners, even if positive in some ways (despite still making students’ mother tongues and bilingualism invisible) does not grant these students any rights in international law, the way “linguistic minority” might have done. Using the words “populations” or “groups” to describe Indigenous peoples may deprive them of the right to self‐determination in a legal sense—this is something that only “a people,” plural “peoples” can have. Similarly, few lawyers know how scholars from other disciplines use concepts central to language rights in education, including “language,” and lawyers seldom problematize sociolinguistic or educational concepts relating to LRs. Too few researchers relate their intellectual activities to ongoing struggles for rights (Phillipson, 2012; Phillipson & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2012). Many scholars in the field are working together with the Indigenous/tribal/minority and minoritized peoples and groups who are most directly concerned, because they lack language rights in education. Still, there is too much theoretical‐only ivory‐tower work that does not support, or that may even harm, those who lack basic language rights. Some of the work “deconstructing language” simply amounts to neoliberalism‐supporting intellectual games. Historically, ITM parents have not “chosen” for the children to learn the dominant languages at the cost of the mother tongues. The languages have disappeared as a result of linguicism (linguistically argued racism) and linguistic genocide. Subtractive education continues today all over the world, including the USA. But this IS possible to change, both on a large scale, and for very few. The 2014 MLE Policy and Implementation Guidelines for Odisha, India, is extending mother-tonguebased multilingual education (MLE) to all tribal children, with their mother tongues as the teaching languages for at least the first five years, and subjects thereafter. Odia, the official language, is a subject from grade 2, and English from grade 4. Teacher training, materials, monitoring, research and development, etc., will soon be in place. Tribal communities, with 72 languages, make up over 22% of Odisha’s population. Over 14,000 primary schools have more than 50% tribal children; of these over 6,800 have more than 90%. In comparison, Indigenous Aanaar Saami in Finland has fewer than 400 speakers. They have three language nests, and their primary education is in Aanaar Saami.

200  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education There are today many examples of not only experimental, but even large‐scale programs where ITM children have mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education that is starting to ensure their basic LHRs (in the Saami country, the Basque country, Wales, Thailand, Ethiopia, Bolivia, Nepal, India, Peru, and many other countries; see, e.g., Skutnabb‐Kangas et al., 2009; Skutnabb‐Kangas & Heugh, 2012; Walter, 2010; Walter & Benson, 2012, and references in them). Likewise, many small revitalization programs are being implemented (e.g., Hinton, 2012; Olthuis et al., 2013). There are several organizations working to support endangered languages (see UNESCO on Endangered languages). ITM parents who demand and choose mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education (MLE) rather than dominant‐­ language‐medium education are, in fact, promoting their children’s social mobility even economically, a conclusion using theories by Amartya Sen, economics Nobel laureate. More transdisciplinary work is needed, to make this possible. Good analysis and activist research/ers, cooperating with ITMs and their organizations, is a precondition for LRs and LHRs to be implemented.

Notes 1  Katarina Tomaševski, the former UN Special Rapporteur on the Right to Education, has discussed “a dignified life” in several publications. “Dignity” is mentioned in many international human rights instruments (e.g., Article 43 in UNDRIP). 2  All references to web‐pages were checked for accuracy when the article went to print; therefore no dates for accessing them are given. 3  The figures come from various writings by Michael Krauss from Alaska; UNESCO uses both 50% and 90–95%.

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Language Rights  201 Heugh, K. (2010). Into the cauldron: Interplay of indigenous and globalised notions of literacy and language education in Ethiopia and South African. Language Matters, 40(2), 166–189. Hinton, L. (Ed.). (2013). Bringing our languages home. Language revitalization for families. Berkeley, CA: Heyday Books. Kioko, A. N. (2013). Language policy and practice in Kenya: Challenges and prospects. In H. McIlwraith (Ed.), Multilingual education in Africa: Lessons from the Juba Language‐in‐Education Conference (pp. 117–126). London: British Council. Magga, O.‐H., Nicolaisen, I., Trask, M., Dunbar, R., & Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2005). Indigenous children’s education and indigenous languages. (Expert paper). New York: United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. Mancini, S., & de Witte, B. (2008). Language rights as cultural rights—a European perspective. In F. Francioni & M. Scheinin (Eds.), Cultural human rights (pp. 247–284). Boston, MA: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. May, S., & Hill, R. (2003). Bilingual/ immersion education: Indicators of good practice. (Milestone Report 2). Hamilton, NZ: Wilf Malcolm Institute of Educational Research, School of Education, University of Waikato. Mtenje, A. (2013). Developing a language policy in an African country: Lessons from the Malawi experience. In H. McIlwraith (Ed.), Multilingual education in Africa: Lessons from the Juba Language‐in‐Education Conference (pp. 95–102). London: British Council. Mohanty, A. K., & Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2013). MLE as an economic equaliser in India and Nepal: Mother tongue based multilingual education fights poverty through capability development and identity support.” In K. Henrard (Ed.), Socioeconomic participation of minorities in relation to their right to (respect for) identity

(pp. 159–187). Leiden: Brill/Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Olthuis, M.‐L., Kivelä, S., & Skutnabb‐ Kangas, T. (2013). Revitalising indigenous languages: How to recreate a lost generation. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Oviedo, G., & Maffi, L. (2000). Indigenous and traditional peoples of the world and ecoregion conservation. An integrated approach to conserving the world’s biological and cultural diversity. Gland, Switzerland: WWF International & Terralingua. Panda, M., & Mohanty, A. K. (2013). Language policy and education: Towards multilingual education. In R. C. Tripathi & Y. Sinha (Eds.), Psychology, development and social policy in India (pp. 103–129). New Delhi: Springer. Phillipson, R. (2009). Linguistic imperialism continued. New York: Routledge. Phillipson, R. (2011). The EU and languages: Diversity in what unity? In A. L. Kjær & S. Adamo (Eds.), Linguistic diversity and European democracy (pp. 57–74). Farnham, UK: Ashgate. Phillipson, R. (2012). How to strengthen the sociolinguistics of globalization: A review article based on challenges in The Sociolinguistics of Globalization by Jan Blommaert. Critical Discourse Studies, 9(4), 407–414. Phillipson, R., & Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2012). Getting language rights right: A response to Makoni. Journal of Multicultural Discourses, 7(1), 29–35. Ringelheim, J. (2013). Between identity transmission and equal opportunities: The multiple dimensions of minorities’ right to education. In K. Henrard (Ed.), The interrelation between the right to identity of minorities and their socio‐economic participation (pp. 91–114). Boston, MA: Martinus Nijhoff. Sheyholislami, J., Hassanpour, A., & Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (Eds). (2012). The Kurdish linguistic landscape: Vitality, linguicide and resistance. International Journal of the Sociology of Language (special issue), 217.

202  Foundations for Bilingual and Multilingual Education Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2000). Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human righs? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. (South Asian updated edition published in 2008 in Delhi by Orient Longman). Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2008). Human rights and language policy in education. In S. May & N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of language and education (2nd edn., Vol. 1) (pp. 107–119). New York: Springer. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Dunbar, R. (2010). Indigenous children’s education as linguistic genocide and a crime against humanity? A global view. Gáldu Čála. Journal of Indigenous Peoples’ Rights, 1/2010. http://www.tove‐skutnabb‐ kangas.org/pdf/Indigenous_ Children_s_Education_as_Linguistic_ Genocide_and_a_Crime_Against_ Humanity_A_Global_View_Tove_ Skutnabb_Kangas_and_Robert_Dunbar_ grusweb_2010_04_22.pdf (accessed November 16, 2014). Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Heugh, K. (Eds.) (2012). Multilingual education and sustainable diversity work. From periphery to center. New York, NY: Routledge. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & McCarty, T. (2008). Clarification, ideological/epistemological underpinnings and implications of some concepts in bilingual education. In J. Cummins & N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of language and education (2nd edn., Vol. 5) (pp. 3–17). New York: Springer.

Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Phillipson, R. (1994). Linguistic human rights, past and present. In T. Skutnabb‐Kangas & R. Phillipson (Eds., in collaboration with Mart Rannut), Linguistic human rights: Overcoming linguistic discrimination (pp. 71–110). New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., Phillipson, R., Mohanty, A. K., & Panda, M. (Eds.). (2009). Social justice through multilingual education. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters Thomas, W. P., & Collier, V. P. (2012). Dual language education for a transformed world. Albuquerque, NM: Dual Language Education of New Mexico and Fuente Press. United Nations Human Rights. (1948). UN International Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ ProfessionalInterest/Pages/ CrimeOfGenocide.aspx (accessed November 16, 2014). Walter, S. L. (2010). Mother tongue‐based education in developing countries: Some emerging insights. http://www. globalpartnership.org/media/library/ blog/Steve‐Walter‐Mother‐TongueInsights. pdf (accessed November 16, 2014). Walter, S., & Benson, C. (2012). Language policy and medium of instruction in formal education. In B. Spolsky (Ed.), The Cambridge handbook of language policy (pp. 278–300). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Section 2 Pedagogical Issues and Practices in Bilingual and Multilingual Education Practices and Pedagogies for Bilingualism and Multilingualism

12 Programs and Structures in Bilingual and Multilingual Education Nelson Flores and Hugo Baetens Beardsmore Bilingual education programs serve many functions in the societies where they exist. Perhaps the simplest way of differentiating their nature is to examine the basic function that they serve for language‐majority students versus the basic function that they serve for language‐minoritized populations. For language‐ majority populations they are most often seen as a vehicle for increasing their privileged position in society through the development of marketable skills (de Mejía, 2002). At the same time, they may also help stimulate greater openness and tolerance for other cultures, greater opportunities for creative thinking, and increased mutual understanding (Beacco, 2007). For language‐minoritized populations they are often the outcome of political struggles for autonomy and self‐determination and serve as a tool of community empowerment. However, they can also be used by schools to segregate language‐minoritized students and exclude them from the mainstream curriculum (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000). Therefore, bilingual education programs can be tools for reinforcing privilege, tools for emancipatory efforts, or tools for celebrating and appreciating cultural diversity. Often, they serve all of these functions simultaneously. A frequently overlooked aspect of how these programs both reinforce and challenge relations of power is through the way in which they are structured. These program structures include the student population that is being served, the allocation of the languages in instruction, the ways that students are grouped, and the ways that cultural knowledge is addressed in the classroom. These program‐ level decisions are both informed by and inform larger societal understandings of language and language learning. In this chapter, we seek to situate these programmatic decisions within the sociohistorical context that has made them possible. The purpose of this is to expose the power relations and possibilities for social change embedded within current bilingual education program structures, with The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

206  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism the hope of theorizing bilingual program models that resist rather than reinforce social inequality. This chapter will begin by examining traditional ways of organizing bilingual education programs informed by monoglossic understandings of bilingualism. It will then provide examples of bilingual education programs that are informed by this traditional understanding of bilingualism and demonstrate both the counterhegemonic possibilities of these programs, as well as examine the ways that these programmatic structures may inadvertently marginalize the language practices of language‐minoritized students. The second half of this chapter will examine recent shifts in the field, informed by heteroglossic understandings of bilingualism that have begun to push scholars and policy makers to rethink the way that bilingual education programs are structured. It will then provide examples of programs and practices informed by this heteroglossic perspective and examine the potential of these programs to create societal change. We will argue that, in order to challenge social inequalities, a heteroglossic perspective must explicitly engage with the epistemological dimensions of language and culture and consciously work to incorporate the perspectives of language‐minoritized populations into the curriculum. Only by doing this, will heteroglossic language ideologies live up to their potential to develop empowering bilingual education programs for all students.

Monoglossic language ideologies Many bilingual education programs are informed by monoglossic language ideologies (García, 2009). Monoglossic language ideologies begin with the assumption that monolingualism is the norm. This assumption leads to two different schools of thought. Subtractive bilingual education, which makes an explicit case in support of monolingualism, advocates a temporary use of students’ home languages with the ultimate goal of creating monolingual speakers of the dominant language of society. Additive bilingual education, though explicitly rejecting monolingualism, advocates the creation of balanced bilinguals—bilinguals who develop equal competencies in both languages of instruction. Though programs that fit this model may not actually be successful in creating these idealized balanced bilinguals (Lyster, 2007), this remains the stated goal of most of these programs. Therefore, though this perspective ostensibly advocates bilingualism, it nevertheless takes monolingualism as the norm and is based on an ideal conceptualization of bilingualism as “double monolingualism” (García, 2009). Monoglossic language ideologies are often taken for granted as simply the way that language works. In actuality, these ideologies emerged within a specific sociohistorical context alongside the rise of nation‐states in Europe. Specifically, the origin of monoglossic language ideologies lies with the invention of the printing press. Anderson (1991) argues that the printing press allowed for a movement away from religious communities and their use of Latin toward ethnic communities and their use of vernacular languages. Framing it in terms of the capitalist economic system that was also beginning to emerge at this time, Anderson (1991, p. 38)

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  207 argues: “the logic of capitalism thus meant that once the elite Latin market was saturated, the potentially huge markets represented by the monoglot masses would beckon.” In short, the Latin elite were a very small market for printing companies and new markets had to be discovered for the printing press to be profitable. The solution was to produce markets through the codifications of vernaculars that would then be used to mold linguistically heterogeneous speakers of various language varieties into a homogenous linguistic group. The creation of homogenous linguistic communities would eventually lead political elites to favor their vernacular to Latin. The process of standardization that resulted from the invention of the printing press happened over several centuries and occurred alongside other social changes including religious, political, and social revolutions. By the nineteenth century national leaders began to systematically codify standardized languages to represent their “imagined communities” of ethnic homogeneity (Anderson, 1991). Gal (2006) describes the process that political elites utilized in the codification of a national language. As she describes it, European nationalist grammarians began to see heterogeneity in language practices as an impediment to the creation of nationalist subjects and the move toward purified nation‐states. It was, therefore, necessary to create a codified standardized language to cleanse the language of perceived impurities. Once nationalist grammarians codified standardized varieties they were named “a language” that represented “a people,” with rights to “a land,” with other varieties now deemed improper dialects or completely erased. This was certainly not the first time in European history that certain ways of speaking were privileged over others. However, these nationalist language ideologies differed from previous European language ideologies in that they positioned monolingualism in the standardized variety as the expectation for full citizenship and connected this monolingualism to a homogenous ethnic identity. This monolingual language ideology and monolingual ethnic identity certainly represented a shift from previous language ideologies. This monolingual language ideology was also an integral component of European interaction with its colonies. For example, Mühlhäusler (1996) looks at the imposition of a modernist conception of homogeneous and enumerable languages on the Pacific Rim as part of a larger process of colonization. Colonial grammarians, many of whom were missionaries whose main goal was to convert colonial subjects to Christianity and spread the Gospel, sought to codify and name the languages of the Pacific Rim, thus ignoring the fluid language practices that made communication possible in this linguistically heterogeneous setting. To Mühlhäusler, the categorization of language practices into enumerable and autonomous “languages” was a form of epistemic violence that did not represent the actual language practices of people. In short, monoglossic language ideologies are not natural but have instead been produced within a specific sociohistorical context of nationalist and capitalist expansion. Pointing out this fact is not meant to discredit all programs that have been informed by monoglossic language ideologies. On the contrary, many of the program models that will be described below have served important functions

208  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism in many different contexts. The intended purpose of this history is simply to ­contextualize the emergence of the different program models that will be discussed below, as well as offer a caution to readers about the power dynamics that have informed the structure of the various program models.

Monoglossic language ideologies in action As mentioned above, the two overarching schools of thought that emerge from monoglossic language ideologies are subtractive bilingual education and additive bilingual education. Each of these different schools of thought will be examined below.

Subtractive bilingual education Subtractive bilingual education is a form of bilingual education that targets ­language‐minoritized populations living in societies where their home languages are either completely excluded from, or minimally included in, public spaces. The goal for these programs is to develop student proficiency in the dominant language of society, with little or no interest in the development of the home language. The most extreme form of subtractive education is not bilingual at all. Known as submersion, this type of education is not a program model per se but simply entails a complete prohibition of the use of the home language in school. Unfortunately, this is the educational approach that describes the experiences of the majority of language‐minoritized students across the world (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000). Yet, there are subtractive bilingual education programs that use the home language for limited purposes in the early years. These programs fall under the broad umbrella of transitional bilingual education. Transitional bilingual education programs come in a variety of forms depending on the context and resources available. Some programs have no clear structure and may simply leave it to the teacher’s discretion as to whether and how the minoritized language will be used as a bridge to the majority language (García, 2009). Other programs may use the minoritized language for instruction for a percentage of time that gradually declines as students progress in their schooling. This is the case in Mexico where indigenous languages are used for 80% of instruction in the early grades and are gradually replaced with Spanish (García & Velasco, 2012). Yet other programs may use the minoritized language exclusively for a few years before there is an abrupt shift to the majority language. For example, in Niger students are taught in the first three grades in one of the five national languages. French becomes the language of instruction in third grade with the national language continuing as a subject of study, but no longer used to teach content (Hovens, 2002). Though the structures may differ, the underlying goal of all of these programs is the same: the minoritized language is simply a tool for the development of the dominant language. That is, the assumption is that, in order for language‐minoritized students to become full members of society, they must give up their home language

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  209 and replace it with the dominant language of society. This is not meant to be a ­dismissal of such programs and the important work that many of them are doing to improve the education of language‐minoritized students. In fact, Hovens (2002) demonstrates that students in Niger who participated in the transitional bilingual education programs outperformed students who were taught in French from the beginning of schooling. In addition, García and Velasco (2012) note the symbolic importance that the utilization of indigenous languages had for the Mayan indigenous communities of Chiapas, Mexico. In short, acknowledging the limited goals of these programs in terms of home language development does not negate the many ways that these programs have improved and continue to improve the education of language‐minoritized students worldwide. That being said, it is important not to mistake the goals of these programs as anything other than the transition of s­ tudents from their home language to the dominant language.

Additive bilingual education The second school of thought that has emerged from monoglossic language ideologies is additive bilingual education. Unlike subtractive bilingual education programs, which are focused exclusively on serving language‐minoritized populations, additive bilingual education programs can serve language‐majority students, language‐minoritized students or both student populations simultaneously. In addition, in contrast to subtractive bilingual education programs, additive bilingual education seeks to promote the development of both languages of instruction with the ultimate stated goal being the development of equal competency in both languages. The primary additive bilingual education program model that serves language‐ majority students is immersion. Immersion, a form of elite bilingual education, is a stark contrast to submersion in that it seeks to teach language‐majority students an additional language. In addition, unlike submersion, these programs are designed with the specific linguistic needs of second language learners in mind. There are three different models for immersion programs. The early immersion model immerses students in the new language from the beginning of their school career, the mid immersion model begins immersion in fourth or fifth grade, and the late immersion model begins immersion in the sixth or seventh grade. Immersion can be full, with the new language used for 100% of instruction for at least a year, or partial, with the new language used for 50% or less of instruction (Johnson & Swain, 1997) This model has been most popular among the Canadian Anglophone population interested in having their children learn French, though other language‐majority populations across the globe have also sought similar immersion programs for their children (de Mejía, 2002). Because they cater to elite populations, these programs may inadvertently reinforce societal inequalities by providing linguistic capital to already affluent student populations. This is especially the case when we consider the fact that the vast majority of language‐minoritized students are not provided with bilingual instruction (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000).

210  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism A variant of the immersion model that focuses on meeting the needs of indigenous communities are immersion revitalization programs. Unlike traditional immersion programs, where students are immersed in a language to which they have no ethnic ties, immersion revitalization programs seek to immerse indigenous ­children in their heritage language—most often a language that is threatened with extinction because of a long history of colonization and marginalization. Though these programs can be structured in various ways, the most common and most successful program structure is the language nest model (Hinton, 2011). In the language nest model, preschool children are sent to “language nests” where they are immersed in the indigenous language through interaction with community elders. Once they reach school age, they continue to be immersed in the indigenous language. They also receive instruction in the dominant language of the society, though the languages are kept separate from one another. Hinton (2011) describes an immersion revitalization program in Hawaii where it is possible for a student to be immersed in Native Hawaiian in a language nest, continue to develop Native Hawaiian in the K‐12 system and go to college and pursue a PhD with Native Hawaiian as the primary language of instruction. She notes how students who have participated in immersion revitalization programs have a nonexistent dropout rate and high rates of college attendance. Based on the success of additive bilingualism for language‐majority students and indigenous populations, advocates for nonindigenous language‐minoritized students have argued for similar programs for these marginalized populations. These programs go by various names, though most recently in the United States they have fallen under the umbrella term dual language bilingual programs. As with transitional bilingual education programs, these programs vary in their structure and implementation as well as the student populations that they serve. However, unlike transitional bilingual education programs, the stated goal of these programs is to develop competency in both languages with the ultimate goal being for students to be balanced bilinguals. Though sharing the same underlying stated goal of balanced bilingualism, dual language bilingual programs differ as to the student population that they serve as well as in how they allocate the two languages for instruction. In terms of the student population served, there are two different types of programs. One‐ way programs (also known as developmental maintenance bilingual education programs) exclusively serve language‐minoritized students from one ethnolinguistic community. The goal of these programs is for students to maintain their home language and master the dominant language. Two‐way programs serve language‐ minoritized students from one ethnolinguistic community as well as language‐ majority students with little or no background in the minoritized language. The goal of these programs is for both groups of students to become bilingual and develop cultural knowledge of the other culture. Some programs work to maintain a 50/50 balance between language‐majority and language‐minoritized students while others may not have a balanced population. According to Collier and Thomas (2004) a program can only be considered two‐way if at least 30% of the students come from a language‐majority background.

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  211 There are typically two major ways of allocating language in dual language bilingual programs––90/10 and 50/50. In the 90/10 type, the minoritized language is used for 90% of initial instruction with the use of the majority language gradually increasing until both languages are used equally. Typically, all students are taught initial literacy skills in the minoritized language and do not start to read in the majority language until after one to two years. By the fourth and fifth year of the program both languages are used equally and continue to be used equally throughout elementary school. In contrast, the 50/50 type uses both languages equally from the beginning of schooling with initial literacy typically either taught through each student’s home language or through both languages simultaneously (Gómez, Freeman, & Freeman, 2005). In both types the languages are kept separate, though how this separation is allocated may vary. Some ways in which both 90/10 and 50/50 dual language bilingual programs separate the languages is by using each at different times of the day or by assigning languages to specific content areas. For example, in a 50/50 program implemented in Texas the languages were divided by content area with language arts taught separately in English and Spanish, social studies and science in Spanish and math in English (Gómez, Freeman, & Freeman, 2005). In addition, 50/50 models, as well as 90/10 models, at the upper grades may also use alternate days or alternate weeks for each language as well as different teachers. For example, in a 50/50 model in Macedonia that serves ethnic Macedonians and ethnic Albanians, each classroom has four teachers—two who use Macedonian with the students and two who use Albanian (Tankersley, 2001). In the United States what is common among dual language bilingual programs is that the ­languages are strictly separated, despite the fact that their language allocation ­policies differ. The rationale for this is that only by separating the languages can dual language bilingual programs aspire to develop balanced bilingualism among their student population (Collier & Thomas, 2004). The question remains as to how the monoglossic language ideologies that inform additive bilingual programs marginalize the language practices of bilingual populations who don’t fit neatly into monolingual norms. One way that this marginalization may occur is through the conceptualization of language and culture that underlies their structure. In the case of immersion revitalization and one‐way dual language bilingual programs, the focus on maintenance of the home language may result in the marginalization of the fluid language practices of language‐minoritized students growing up in a bilingual context. For example, McCarty, Romero‐Little, Warhol, and Zepeda, (2009) document the ways that the fluid language practices of indigenous children growing up in a multilingual environment are stigmatized within a context where community leaders desire the maintenance of the indigenous language. Similarly, Otheguy and Stern (2010) point out that the Spanish‐language practices of U.S. Latinos are qualitatively different from the language practices of monolingual Spanish speakers in Latin America. Therefore, nationalist desires for maintaining the language practices of the “old country” may unintentionally position those of U.S. Latinos as deficient, and reproduce, rather than challenge, their marginalization in U.S. schools.

212  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism These same monoglossic conceptualizations of language and culture are also reproduced in two‐way dual language bilingual programs. This is most stark in the simplified division of students into native speakers of the majority language and native speakers of the minoritized language. This simplified dichotomy may serve unintentionally to erase the bilingualism of language‐minoritized students and position them as “non‐native” perpetual outsiders to the dominant language (Fitts, 2009). As with the focus on maintenance in one‐way dual language bilingual programs, this dichotomous way of sorting students may be complicit in perpetuating monoglossic language ideologies that erase the fluid ethnolinguistic ­identities of language‐minoritized students who are growing up in a context of bilingualism. Their lived experience is a stark contrast to the strict separation of languages that their language‐majority counterparts may experience as well as to the strict separation of languages that lies at the core of many dual language programmatic structures. In addition to a possible erasure of the bilingualism of language‐minoritized students, dual language bilingual programs must also confront other social hierarchies. Specifically, one‐way dual language bilingual programs face the added challenge of advocating for a disenfranchised student population. Because these students and their communities have little political power, these programs often lack the necessary resources to support students’ bilingual development and are constantly threatened by xenophobic discourses that see them as threats to the imposed monolingualism of the nation‐state (García, 2009). Two‐way dual language bilingual programs are often positioned as the solution to the challenges faced by one‐way dual language programs since they also serve language‐ majority students. For example, after the state of California restricted bilingual education for language‐minoritized students, many bilingual education advocates utilized waivers and loopholes within the law to continue offering bilingual programs, including the creation or expansion of two‐way dual language bilingual programs that served both language‐majority and language‐minority populations (Linton, 2007). Yet two‐way dual language bilingual programs cannot be accepted uncritically as the solution to improving educational outcomes for language‐minoritized ­populations. Valdés (1997) argues that, in a society with hierarchies between language‐majority and language‐minoritized communities, two‐way dual lan­ guage programs will likely benefit the language‐majority community more than the language‐minoritized one. She specifically notes two ways in which these programs may benefit language‐majority students more than others. One is through the simplification of the minoritized language in classroom instruction in order to make it accessible to language‐majority students whose parents may have more influence on the curriculum of the school. A second is through providing language‐ majority students with linguistic tools that they can then use to seek jobs that were once reserved for bilingual language‐minoritized people. In short, though the presence of language‐majority students may provide political cover for these programs, if the latter are done uncritically their presence may serve to reinforce, rather than undermine, the marginalization of language‐minoritized populations.

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  213 In summary, additive bilingual education programs currently serve a contradictory role in many societies. They challenge imposed monolingualism through advocacy of bilingual development for students, but, at the same time, their conceptualization of bilingualism as “double monolingualism” erases the fluid language practices of language‐minoritized students growing up in a context of bilingualism. These students do not compartmentalize their language practices into neat and discrete languages (García, 2009). They also do not have identical language practices to monolingual populations (McCarty, Romero‐Little, Warhol, & Zepeda, 2009; Otheguy & Stern, 2009). In short, their language practices do not fit neatly into the ideals currently espoused by dual language bilingual programs. This lack of fit, along with larger societal hierarchies, has the potential to turn dual language bilingual programs into tools of continued marginalization. As was the case with our comments related to transitional bilingual education above, this critique is not intended to undermine the important role that additive bilingual programs have played and continue to play in many societies. In the U.S. context, these programs have been shown to be the most successful in terms of academic achievement for both indigenous and non‐indigenous language‐ minoritized students (Collier & Thomas, 2004; Hinton, 2011; McCarty, Romero‐ Little, Warhol, & Zepeda, 2009). These programs have also been used in many contexts to alleviate tensions between different ethnic groups (Bekerman, 2005). Yet, this critique may be used to inform ways of reconceptualizing these programs so that they challenge, rather than reinforce, monoglossic language ideologies. It is to this reconceptualization of bilingual education that we now turn.

Heteroglossic language ideologies A critique of monoglossic language ideologies has recently emerged in bilingual education scholarship. García (2009) is representative of this shift away. As illustrated above, monoglossic language ideologies continue to treat bilingualism as the mastery of two separate and distinct languages and treat it as “double monolingualism.” To replace this type of thinking, García argues for a heteroglossic perspective, with languages seen neither as separable and countable, nor as associated with nation‐states. Instead, a heteroglossic perspective makes bilingualism the norm and acknowledges multilingual speakers’ fluid language practices in their full complexity. García refers to the dynamic meaning‐making discursive processes of bilingual and multilingual populations as translanguaging. In bilingual education, translanguaging offers an important alternative to current monoglossic language ideologies, monolingual practices, and traditional pedagogies. Yet, the emergence of heteroglossic language ideologies is not occurring in isolation. Just as monoglossic language ideologies emerged alongside the printing press, capitalism, and the rise of nation‐states, heteroglossic language ideologies have emerged alongside changes in our society associated with globalization. Mignolo (2000) argues that one aspect of globalization that is of great concern is the commodification of difference. This kind of commodification is in stark contrast

214  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism to nationalist language ideologies, in that fluidity is no longer seen as a threat to society, but is instead a desirable attribute in a consumer and citizen. In short, ­heteroglossic language ideologies emerging as a critique of monoglossic language ideologies are occurring alongside a larger political and economic shift away from nation‐states toward globalization. This indicates that, just as monoglossic language ideologies developed within a particular sociohistorical context embedded in specific relations of power, heteroglossic language ideologies are emerging within new relations of power (for more on this see Flores, 2013). This is not meant to be a dismissal of heteroglossic language ideologies, but is rather meant to be a note of caution for their uncritical acceptance. This cautionary note will be used as a lens for analyzing the emergence of heteroglossic language ideologies below in the hopes of theorizing them in ways that empower, rather than marginalize, ­language‐minoritized communities.

Heteroglossic language ideologies in action Heteroglossic bilingual education is consonant with ideas being promoted in the European Union. Specifically, in contrast to balanced bilingualism the concept of plurilingualism has emerged as the ideal for all citizens of the European Union. Beacco (2007, p. 10) defines plurilingual competence as follows: Plurilingual and pluricultural competence is the ability to use languages for the ­purposes of communication and to take part in intercultural action, where a person, viewed as a social agent, has proficiency, of varying degrees, in several languages and experience of several cultures. It is not seen as a juxtaposition of distinct competences, but as a single competence, even though it is complex.

Therefore, in opposition to monoglossic language ideologies that treat bilingualism as double monolingualism, plurilingualism utilizes heteroglossic language ideologies to conceptualize bilingualism and multilingualism as a single complex competence in contrast to mastery over distinct languages. Within this context of support for plurilingualism, The European Commission, the executive branch of the European Union, regularly produces language policy guidelines and studies that underline the significance of multilingual skills in the economy, promotes the learning of “the mother tongue plus two other languages” for all citizens, and ensures that citizens have access to European Union legislation and information in their own (officially recognized) language. In contrast to additive bilingualism, the stated goal of “the mother tongue plus two other languages” is not for students to develop equal competencies in all three languages. Instead, the goal is for students to develop plurilingual competence that they can continue to develop throughout their lives as the need arises (Beacco, 2007). The promotion of “mother tongue plus two other languages” in education encourages member states to use a variety of permutations in programs, depending on regional needs and desires. In Spain, for example, the autonomous regional

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  215 governments may implement programs where the regional language, for example, Catalan, Basque, Galician, etc., may be used as medium of instruction, together with varied doses of Castilian, and often English as a third target language. In  the Val d’Aoste region of Italy the combination will be Italian, French, and English; whereas in Ireland it could be Irish, English, and another language like Italian, French, or Japanese. In the case of Luxembourg, the national language, Luxemburgish, is only used for content matter until the third grade, but continues as a subject of study. This is based on a conscious decision to promote “trilingualism for all” and because the national language is not sufficiently codified to engage in advanced academic literacy practices. In fact, Luxembourgers claim that “plurilingualism is the mother tongue” (Tozzi & Étienne, 2008). Though each nation has their differences, in most European countries the choice tends to be to prioritize the national language, provide English instruction as an L2, and encourage the take‐up of a third language. One element of language promotion undertaken by European Union member states is the development and proliferation of what might be considered a type of bilingual education program –– Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL). There are important differences between CLIL and immersion programs. One major difference is that in CLIL programs teachers often work in pairs, and the subject specialist (e.g., science, geography) coordinates with the language specialist in building up both the linguistic and the cognitive skills necessary for the subject in hand. In addition, CLIL is primarily content‐driven, not language‐ driven. This is not to say that language is not taught. However, in CLIL programs language is taught within the context of social interaction between learners and teachers that operate on three dimensions: language of learning, language for learning, and language through learning (Coyle, Hood & Marsh, 2010). Teachers working in CLIL programs must analyze the “language of learning” since they must be explicitly aware of the linguistic demands of the subject being taught through an additional language. They must then concentrate on the “language for learning” by developing a repertoire of speech acts which relate to the content matter subject. This involves developing skills required for co‐operative group work, pair work, asking questions, which relate to the content. The third element in CLIL concerns “language through learning,” where interaction and dialogic activity around the assimilation of content matter lead to a deeper level of learning that is not possible in traditional language lessons (Coyle, Hood & Marsh, 2010, p. 37). Coyle (2007) refers to 216 different types of CLIL programs within Europe based on such variables as compulsory status, intensity, age of onset, starting linguistic level, or duration. Mehisto and Asser (2007) illustrate programs in Estonia designed for minority Russian speakers who are learning the majority Estonian language. They found that Russian speakers studying Estonian through CLIL show high levels of satisfaction, commitment, and engagement, resulting in plurilingual competence. In Germany there are CLIL programs where the target language may be English, French, Dutch, Russian, Italian, among others, and where certain studies show how the bilingual outcomes on history or geography are as good as, if not

216  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism better, than, those of comparable monolingual groups (Wode 1999). In the Basque Autonomous Region of Spain, where different trilingual programs are the norm, many studies reflect strong positive outcomes on general language competence in the three languages involved, though with differences depending on the amount of contact with each language. Overall results in the Basque Country show positive results on vehicular language learning at no cost to subject discipline mastery, and favorable attitudes towards trilingualism (Ruiz de Zarobe, 2008). In short, CLIL has been demonstrated to both develop plurilingual competence among students and provide them with content knowledge. Because CLIL is informed by heteroglossic language ideologies, CLIL programs do not subscribe to the strict separation of language that has informed the monoglossic perspective of dual language bilingual programs. Serra (2004) gives an example of a history lesson in the Val d’Aosta region of Italy where Italian and French both come into play in a highly structured fashion, and where translanguaging is prevalent. In one unit of study, 11‐year‐olds find historical sources for the topic of “witches” in the castles of the region, with the Italian history teacher working in collaboration with the French language teacher to support students’ content knowledge and language development. Other lessons in the same region of Italy encourage learners to produce written reports which reflect the three languages used as source materials for a given task––Italian, French, and English–– and where different interconnected passages may be presented in written form as a single trilingual text. In short, these programs often break out of the strict separation of languages of dual language bilingual programs and seek to create spaces where students can demonstrate their understanding through the use of their entire linguistic repertoire. In summary, there is sufficient research‐based evidence in many languages, with many potential combinations, that CLIL‐type programs, with their great variety and flexibility, their adaptability to different contextually determined groups, and their general learning advantages, can be adapted to suit a wide variety of populations. Not only do these programs improve academic achievement for students participating in them, but they also challenge monoglossic language ideologies that have been complicit in the marginalization of the fluid language practices of bilingual communities. In this way, they offer insight into how to structure bilingual education programs in ways that build on, rather than erase, the language practices students bring with them to school. However, though CLIL shows great promise it is still in its infancy in terms of implementation and it remains to be seen how effective it will in the long run—especially with the reported lack of support for teachers as the program spreads more broadly (Vázquez & Rubio, 2010). Though CLIL is one example of a heteroglossic program emerging in Europe, one area where heteroglossic programs have not been adequately developed is in the case of immigrant minority home languages, or the languages of highly mobile groups such as the Rom. Hélot (2005) talks of the “ignored bilingualism” of such groups in the general education systems in France, but her comments are equally valid for most parts of Europe. Many countries propagate some form of bilingual

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  217 education in prestigious languages, but fail to show much interest in promoting bilingual recognition of immigrant languages in education. In other words, these programs break out of monoglossic language ideologies for speakers of prestigious European languages (whether the language of the dominant society or that of another European nation‐state), but they continue to ignore, and in many ways erase, the language practices of immigrants and other marginalized populations living in the European Union. The ignoring of immigrant and minority languages points to larger societal inequalities that also need to be addressed in order for heteroglossic language ideologies to be used in ways that challenge the marginalization of language‐ minoritized population. As was the case with immersion bilingual programs and two‐way dual language bilingual programs described above, CLIL bilingual programs are likely to benefit language‐majority students and speakers of prestigious languages more than they benefit language‐minoritized students and speakers of less prestigious languages. A failure to examine these social inequalities poses the risk that CLIL and other heteroglossic bilingual programs reinforce, rather than challenge, current relations of power. That is, CLIL and similar programs could become complicit in the production of a new elite class of plurilinguals who have mastered multiple linguistic codes and participate in fluid linguistic practices solely at the service of corporate global expansion (Flores, 2013). In short, these programs could become tools to reinforce, rather than counteract, the continued marginalization of language‐minoritized populations who do not speak prestigious languages, while reifying the privileges of Europeans who speak prestigious languages. In the next section, we examine ways that heteroglossic language ideologies could be used in ways that inform bilingual education programming for marginalized populations that do not speak prestigious languages. We will argue that incorporating their languages into instruction is only the first step in developing bilingual education programs informed by heteroglossic language ideologies that are empowering for these students. In addition to this, these programs must engage with epistemological concerns that incorporate subaltern perspectives in ways that challenge dominant ways of understanding the world.

Heteroglossia for marginalized populations Postcolonial scholars have begun to bring language‐minoritized perspectives into formulations of heteroglossia. Anzaldúa (1987) offers an example of the ­epistemological issues that it raises. Anzaldúa, a Chicana lesbian feminist, theorizes her life and the life of others in the borderlands through the concept of mestizaje. While mestizaje literally refers to Latin Americans who are of mixed European, Indian, and African blood, Anzaldúa uses the term more broadly in an attempt at challenging monoglossic Euro‐American understandings of the world. Anzaldúa’s argument parallels heteroglossic language ideologies by critiquing idealized monolingualism, which she argues is designed to marginalize

218  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism borderland populations. Yet, Anzaldúa explicitly brings in indigenous knowledge and nondominant perspectives to her understanding of the borderlands. That is, the fluidity of the borderlands is positioned within epistemological concerns that challenge the universalizing discourse of Euro‐American colonial and neocolonial projects. Lu (1992) builds on Anzaldúa’s work to argue that epistemological concerns must be addressed head‐on in classrooms that serve language‐minoritized populations. Specifically, she argues that conflict and struggle between the competing discourses that language‐minoritized students must engage with on a daily basis must be placed at the center of any pedagogy. She adds that this conflict and struggle should be part of a process of developing in students a mestiza consciousness that allows them to blend different discourses and reposition themselves in relation to these conflicting discourses. Lu and other scholars have built on this idea through the development of a translingual approach which: Argues for (1) honoring the power of all language users to shape language to specific ends; (2) recognizing the linguistic heterogeneity of all users of language both within the United States and globally; and (3) directly confronting English monolingualist expectations by researching and teaching how writers can work with and against, not simply within, those expectations. (Horner, Lu, Royster, & Trimbur, 2011, p. 305)

Translingualism differs from the balanced bilingualism of dual language bilingual programs in that it challenges monoglossic ideas of discrete languages that students must master separately. Yet, at the same time, it challenges the plurilingualism of CLIL in that it also seeks to bring in epistemological concerns related to conflicting discourses that students must confront in their daily lives. This framework offers an alternative to plurilingualism that directly confronts issues of inequality and attempts to bring subaltern perspectives into the conversation. Unfortunately, a translingual approach has not been systematically attempted and it remains unclear what kind of program structures would be needed to facilitate such an approach. Yet, there are elements of this approach in the educational practices of many educators who work with language‐minoritized populations. For example Fitts (2009) describes a fifth grade dual language bilingual teacher who engages students in a discussion of “code switching” which allowed students to reflect on the ways that they use their entire linguistic repertoire and for what purposes. She noted that this activity was especially engaging for the minoritized Spanish‐speaking students whose bilingual skills were acknowledged as an asset and affirmed. Similarly, Cummins et al. (2005) describe how some teachers of language‐minoritized students use “dual language identity texts” to allow students to use their entire linguistic repertoires to describe issues related to their identity and their sense of self. These activities that affirm the bilingualism of language‐ minoritized students are an important step in developing a translingual approach. Yet, affirmation of students’ bilingualism is only the first step toward the development of a translingual approach to bilingual education. Some educators

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  219 have gone further in breaking down the binaries produced by monoglossic ­language ideologies while bringing issues of power into the classroom. Flores and García (2013) describe how one bilingual teacher in New York City created linguistic third spaces that allowed for heteroglossic language practices to occur through a weekly ritual that she referred to as Hip‐Hop Monday. Each lesson centered on a social justice theme relevant to students’ lives and followed the same format. Students would listen to a song related to the theme in Spanish and juxtapose it with a song related to the theme in English. The constant going back and forth that this format developed between seemingly static languages and ethnolinguistic identities allowed for the emergence of ethnolinguistic identities that transcend national borders and challenge homogeneous language constructs. Some bilingual educators have also sought to tackle epistemological concerns head‐on. Harrison and Papa (2005) describe a Māori immersion program that seeks to develop the Māori language among the next generation of Māori children through a combination of traditional Māori and Western cultural knowledge. The intended goal of engaging with these conflicting discourses was to provide students with the knowledge needed for self‐determination while also providing them access to tools that would allow them to exert this self‐determination in their interactions with the larger New Zealand and global society. It is this type of epistemological engagement that offers the possibility of empowering language‐ minoritized populations. In summary, a translingual approach to bilingual education must provide spaces for students to (i) use their entire linguistic repertoire, (ii) engage in experiences that allow them to shuttle back and forth between various aspects of their linguistic repertoire, and (iii) have opportunities to engage with conflicting epistemological tensions that emerge between the various discourse communities that they engage with throughout their education. As can be seen, these principles do not fit neatly within the language allocation percentages of transitional bilingual education or dual language bilingual education programs or the apolitical conceptualization of language utilized by CLIL. And yet, utilizing these principles or aspects of these principles is not mutually exclusive with working within larger programmatic structures that may not explicitly support them. In short, it is possible to adhere to these principles while also working within either monoglossic program structures or apolitical heteroglossic program structures.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted to examine the contradictory role that bilingual education programs play in societies where they exist. These programs often serve to both reinforce and challenge existing societal hierarchies. One way that this ­contradiction is manifested is through the ways in which these programs are structured. Monoglossic language ideologies, developed as part of the rise of nation‐ states in Europe, create structures and goals that normalize monolingualism and erase the bilingual language practices of language‐minoritized students. Yet, at the

220  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism same time, these programs have increased the academic achievement of these ­students and allowed many of them access to the larger society. Similarly, heteroglossic language ideologies, developed as part of the spread of globalization, often take an apolitical view of language that threatens to reinforce social inequality. However, programs informed by such an approach have also improved academic outcomes for students and have served as a bridge between different ethnolinguistic communities. Of course pointing out these contradictions is not intended in any way to argue for an abandonment of bilingual education programs. On the contrary, as has been demonstrated, all of the different bilingual program models have, and ­continue to have, counterhegemonic effects in the societies in which they are ­situated. Yet, at the same time, these contradictions push us to offer a more nuanced analysis of bilingual education programs and the role that they may or may not be able to play in improving the lives of language‐minoritized students. There are no easy answers to the issues we raised. That being said, we must continue to ask these questions in the hopes of continuing the endless process of reworking bilingual education programs so that they affirm and empower all of the students that they serve.

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Cummins, J., Bismilla,V., Chow, P., Cohen, S., Giampapa, F., Leoni, L., Sandhu, P., & Sastri, P. (2005). Affirming identity in multilingual classrooms. The Whole Child, 63, 38–43. de Mejía, A. (2002). Power, prestige, and bilingualism: International perspectives on elite bilingual education. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Fitts, S. (2009). Reconstructing the status quo: Linguistic interaction in a dual language school. Bilingual Research Journal, 30, 337–365. Flores, N. (2013). The unexamined relationship between neoliberalism and plurilingualism: A cautionary tale. TESOL Quarterly, 47, 500–520. Flores, N., & García, O. (2013). Linguistic third spaces: Translanguaging across the continuum of bilingualism. In P. Van Avermaet, D. Little, & C. Leung (Eds.), Managing diversity in education: Key issues and some responses (pp. 245–258). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters.

Programs and Structures in Bi/Multilingual Education  221 Gal, S. (2006). Contradictions of standard language in Europe: Implications for the study of practices and publics. Social Anthropology, 14, 163–181. García, O. (2009). Bilingual education in the 21st century: A global perspective. Malden, MA: Wiley‐Blackwell. García, O., & Velasco, P. (2012). Insufficient language education policy: Intercultural bilingual education in Chiapas. Diaspora, Indigenous, and Minority Education, 6, 1–18. Gómez, L., Freeman, D., & Freeman, Y. (2005). Dual language education: A promising 50‐50 model. Bilingual Research Journal, 29, 145–164. Harrison, B., & Papa, R. (2005). The development of an indigenous knowledge program in a New Zealand Māori‐language immersion school. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 36, 57–72. Hélot, C. (2005). Bridging the gap between prestigious bilingualism and the bilingualism of minorities: Towards an integrated perspective of multilingualism in the French education context. In M. Ó  Laoire (Ed.), Multilingualism in educational settings (pp. 15–32). Tübingen: Stauffenburg Verlag. Hinton, L. (2011). Language revitalization and language pedagogy: New teaching and learning strategies. Language and Education, 25, 307–318. Horner, B., Lu, M., Royster, J., & Trimbur, J. (2011). Language difference in writing: Toward a translingual approach. College English, 73, 303–321. Hovens, M. (2002). Bilingual education in West Africa: Does it work? International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 5, 249–266. Johnson, R., & Swain, M. (1997). Immersion education: International perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Linton, A. (2007). Spanish–English immersion in the wake of California Proposition 227: Five cases. Intercultural Education, 18, 111–128.

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introduction of CLIL programmes. Porta Linguarum, 14, 45–58. Wode, H. (1999). Immersion teaching: European perspectives. In F. Federica Ricci Garotti (Ed.), I’immersione linguistica: Una nuova prospettiva (pp. 78–94). Milano: FrancoAngeli.

13 Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education Ofelia García and Li Wei Bilingual education distinguishes itself from other forms of language education in that content and language learning are integrated; that is, two languages are used as a medium of instruction. In 1974 Wallace Lambert proposed what became the two classic models of viewing bilingualism in schools during the twentieth ­century––subtractive bilingualism and additive bilingualism. Subtractive bilingualism is what happens when schools take away the home language of the child who speaks a minoritized language and substitute it with a majority language. Additive bilingualism, on the other hand, builds on the child’s home language as the additional language is learned. However, these models of bilingualism have proven to be insufficient in the twenty‐first century, with interactions increasingly occurring in contact spaces such as schools between speakers of different origins, experiences, characteristics, and histories. Bilingual education cannot be simply subtractive or additive, for there are no homogenous groups using the same language practices. García (2009a) has proposed another two types of bilingualism for schools–– recursive bilingualism and dynamic bilingualism. Recursive bilingualism refers to the complex and dynamic nature of the bilingualism of ethnolinguistic groups who have undergone substantial language shift as they attempt language revitalization. For these groups, immersion revitalization bilingual education programs are organized to move their very different language practices (some speakers having experienced more loss than others) into a bilingual future. Developmental bilingual education programs also embody this recursive bilingualism because the ethnolinguistic group is not monolingual to start with, but rather has diverse language practices and multiple identities. These programs are usually found in language‐ minoritized communities that have undergone some degree of language loss, but have not suffered the language shift of those who need immersion revitalization bilingual education programs. Dynamic bilingualism refers to the multiple language interactions and other linguistic interrelationships that take place on different scales and spaces among The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

224  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism multilingual speakers. Today most bilingual education programs include children who have various language practices and who are from many dominant and nondominant groups. Bilingual education types known as dual‐language, two‐way bilingual education, two‐way immersion, poly‐directional bilingual education, bilingual immersion, deliberately include students with diverse language practices. Beyond these programs, some countries aspire to have their entire population fluent in at least three languages. In these places multiple multilingual education uses three or more languages as media of instruction and in literacy instruction. As in other programs, the students are not assumed to be homogeneous. In this chapter, we discuss how a translanguaging lens has the potential to transform structures and practices of bilingual education.1 The emphasis on the “trans” aspects of language and education enables us to transgress the categorical distinctions of the past. In particular, a “trans” approach to bilingual education liberates our traditional understandings and points to three innovative aspects in considering language on the one hand, and education on the other: 1. Referring to a trans‐system and trans‐space; that is, to fluid practices that go ­between and beyond language and educational systems, structures, and practices to engage diverse students’ multiple meaning‐making systems and subjectivities. 2. Referring to its transformative nature; that is, as new configurations of language and education are generated, old understandings and structures are released, thus transforming not only subjectivities and identities, but also cognitive and social structures. In so doing, orders of discourses shift and the voices of Others come to the forefront. 3. Referring to the transdisciplinary consequences of the languaging and education analysis, providing a tool for understanding, not only language on the one hand and education on the other, but also human sociality, human cognition and learning, social relations, and social structures.

Translanguaging in education The term translanguaging was coined in Welsh by Cen Williams to refer to a practice of deliberately changing the language of input and the language of output. Williams (2002) further clarifies that translanguaging in education refers to using one language to reinforce the other in order to increase understanding and in order to augment the pupil’s activity in both languages (p. 40, as cited in Lewis, Jones & Baker, 2012b, our emphasis). “Translanguaging,” as used by Williams, refers to a pedagogic theory that involves students’ learning two languages through a process of deep cognitive bilingual engagement. Lewis, Jones and Baker (2012a, 2012b), following Williams, point out that the cognitive processing involved in translanguaging is more relevant for retaining and developing bilingualism, rather than just for emergent bilinguals at the initial stages of the bilingual continuum. As Colin Baker (2011) explains: “To read and discuss a topic in one language, and then to write about it in another language, means that the subject matter has to be

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  225 processed and ‘digested’” (p. 289). Translanguaging not only promotes a deeper understanding of content, but also develops the weaker language in relationship with the one that is more dominant. In addition, translanguaging promotes the integration of those who are emergent bilinguals with those who have fuller use of bilingualism in a classroom (Lewis, Jones & Baker, 2012b). In parts of the world where bilingualism is valued, translanguaging for the purposes of sustaining bilingual practices is moving to the educational mainstream. García’s use of the Welsh‐inspired term translanguaging (2009a) goes beyond the use of two separate autonomous languages in education: Translanguaging, or engaging in bilingual or multilingual discourse practices, is an approach to bilingualism that is centered not on languages as has been often the case, but on the practices of bilinguals that are readily observable. These worldwide translanguaging practices are seen here not as marked or unusual, but rather taken for what they are, namely the normal mode of communication that, with some exceptions in  some monolingual enclaves, characterizes communities throughout the world. (p. 44, our emphasis)

She continues, “translanguagings are multiple discursive practices in which bilinguals engage in order to make sense of their bilingual worlds” (2009a, p. 45, emphasis in original). Translanguaging, García says (2011a), goes beyond code‐switching and translation in education because it “refers to the process by which bilingual students perform bilingually in the myriad multimodal ways of classrooms––reading, writing, taking notes, discussing, signing etc.” (p. 147, emphasis added). Translanguaging is not only a way to “scaffold instruction, to make sense of learning and language; rather, translanguaging is part of the metadiscursive regime that students in the twenty‐first century must perform” (García, 2011a, p. 147). Describing the work of the International Network of Public High Schools in the United States, García and Sylvan (2011) refer to the fact that students use “diverse language practices for purposes of learning, and teachers use inclusive language practices for purposes of teaching” (p. 397). In the context of U.S. bilingual classrooms for immigrant students who are developing English, García and Kleifgen (2010) describe how educators encourage emergent bilinguals to translanguage in order to think, reflect, and extend their inner speech. García (2009b) describes the role of translanguaging in the process of developing students’ bilingualism in the following way: Emergent bilinguals do not acquire a separate additional language, but develop and integrate new language practices into a complex dynamic bilingual repertoire in which translanguaging is both the supportive context and the communicative web itself.(n.p.)

In education, García and Kano (2014) say, translanguaging is “a process by which students and teachers engage in complex discursive practices that include ALL the language practices of ALL students in a class in order to develop new language practices and sustain old ones, communicate and appropriate knowledge, and give voice to new sociopolitical realities by interrogating linguistic inequality.”

226  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism Hornberger and Link (2012) explicitly connect translanguaging to Hornberger’s continua of biliteracy, enabling the potential “to explicitly valorize all points along the continua of biliterate context, media, content, and development” (p. 268). Drawing on ethnographic research in complementary schools in the United Kingdom, Creese and Blackledge (2010; also Blackledge & Creese, 2010) describe how the students’ flexible bilingualism, their translanguaging, is used by teachers to convey ideas and to promote “cross‐linguistic transfer.” That is, as a flexible bilingual pedagogy (Blackledge & Creese, 2010), translanguaging offers learners the possibility of accessing academic content with the semiotic resources they bring, while acquiring new ones. The notion of translanguaging highlights two concepts that are fundamental to education, but hitherto under‐explored dimensions of multilingualism, namely creativity and criticality. Li Wei (2011a, p. 1223) defines creativity as “the ability to choose between following and flouting the rules and norms of behaviour, including the use of language.” Creativity is about pushing and breaking the boundaries between the old and the new, the conventional and the original, and the acceptable and the challenging. Criticality refers to the ability to use available evidence appropriately, systematically, and insightfully to inform considered views of cultural, social, and linguistic phenomena, to question and problematize received wisdom, and to express views adequately through reasoned responses to situations. These two concepts are intrinsically linked: one cannot push or break boundaries without being critical; and the best expression of one’s criticality is one’s creativity. Translanguaging, as a socioeducational process, enables students to construct and constantly modify their sociocultural identities and values, as they respond to their historical and present conditions critically and creatively. It enables students to contest the “one language only” or “one language at a time” ideologies of monolingual and traditional bilingual classrooms. Translanguaging in education also pays attention to the ways in which students combine different modes and media across social contexts and negotiate social identities. Kenner (2004) reports on how bilingual/biliterate young children in the UK learn different writing systems (Chinese, Arabic, and Spanish) at home, in complementary schools, and in the mainstream primary school. Her work illustrates how a focus on different modes, including the children’s sets of linguistic resources, can foreground the different culture‐specific ways multilingual children mesh the visual and actional modes (i.e., make use of shape, size and location of symbols on the page, directionality, type of stroke) in the process of learning how to write in two languages. Moreover, such a focus shows the different ways multilingual children combine and juxtapose scripts as well as explore connections and differences between their available writing systems in their text making. By translanguaging, that is, drawing on more than one set of linguistic and other modal resources to construct bilingual texts in settings where multilingual communication was encouraged, Kenner (2004, p. 118) argued, children could “express their sense of living in multiple social and cultural worlds.” Translanguaging in schools not only creates the possibility that bilingual students could use their full linguistic and semiotic repertoire to make meaning, but

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  227 also that teachers would “take it up” as a legitimate pedagogical practice. Rather than just being a scaffolding practice to access content or language, translanguaging is transformative for the child, for the teacher, and for education itself, and particularly for bilingual education. Although translanguaging is simultaneously transformative, In the next section we consider how translanguaging transforms bilingual education structures and practices, before we review its effects on learners, enabling them to engage with cognitively difficult material and to construct multiple and valid subjectivities. We then look at how translanguaging is transformative for the teacher, able to use translanguaging strategically to cognitively engage every child in the class, to make herself understood, and to truly assess what students know. We start, however, by exploring the meaning of adopting a translanguaging space when working within bilingual education structures.

Translanguaging and bilingual education structures As national education systems have adopted more responsibility for educating all children, and not just those of dominant majorities, translanguaging has been increasingly used to transgress monolingual education structures. And as bilingual education has increasingly incorporated children with different languaging practices, translanguaging has disrupted school structures. Translanguaging in classrooms is precisely a way of working in the gap between, on the one hand, the global designs of nation‐states and their monoglossic education systems, and on the other, the local histories of peoples who language differently. For monolingual education, adopting a translanguaging lens means that there can be no way of educating children inclusively without recognizing their diverse language and meaning‐making practices as a resource to learn and to show what they know, as well as to extend these. This is so for language minorities, and most especially for language majorities who need a translanguaging space that would enable them to build dynamic plurilingual practices for the twenty‐first century. Gutiérrez, Baquedano‐López and Alvarez (2001) have convincingly demonstrated the diversity of, and interplay between, linguistic codes and literacy practices in the familiar and ever present multilingual classrooms of the twenty‐first century. For bilingual education, adopting a translanguaging lens means that we would build flexibility within strict language education policies to enable children to make meaning by engaging their entire linguistic repertoire and expanding it. Many bilingual education types, and most especially immersion and two‐way dual language bilingual programs, pride themselves in controlling carefully the language use within the different spaces they construct. The argument is made that children need to be given opportunities to practice languages as if they belonged to different nation‐states or different speech communities. In so doing the two languages remain in what Cummins (2008) calls “bilingual solitudes.” But in the twenty‐first century language has been deterritorialized as diasporic communities interact with other communities of practice in what Mary Louise Pratt

228  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism has called contact zones (1991). In this more dynamic world of interaction it is practice in translanguaging that students need. Furthermore, in the twenty‐first century, the exigencies of learning and of using language have become more complex. For example, bilingual education and ­“second language education” programs in the 20th century emphasized communicative skills. Today, however, the emphasis is on the development of critical thinking skills and deep comprehension. Schools cannot afford to focus on just developing linguistic communicative skills to later teach students to use these skills to learn and think. They also cannot afford to use solely languaging associated with one socially constructed autonomous language, before introducing other language practices. If languaging and knowing are constitutive, then schools must pay attention from the beginning to getting students to use their emergent language practices to think critically. But this, of course, cannot happen without translanguaging, for students cannot engage in meaningful discussion, comprehension, or design of texts with only a set of emergent language practices. Instead, all the child’s language and semiotic practices must be put in the service of making meaning and engaging intellectually. Even if schools only value certain standard language practices, those cannot emerge except in interrelationship with others with whom children have practice making meaning at home, in the community, and within themselves. We agree that bilingual education programs must build spaces where certain language practices or others are sometimes expected. On the one hand, this is what dominant government schools and their assessment mechanisms continue to require, and thus, it is important to give students an opportunity to engage in these practices that in themselves violate translanguaging. On the other hand, these spaces are sometimes needed to protect and sustain minoritized language practices that are often stigmatized in schools. García (2009a, p. 301) argues: While it is important to put the minority language alongside the majority language, thus ensuring for it a place in powerful domains, it is important to preserve a space, although not a rigid or static place, in which the minority language does not compete with the majority language.

But within those separate spaces, schools must also construct tranlanguaging spaces, spaces where, as Li Wei (2011a) has proposed, children are given agency to act linguistically by being both creative and critical. In this translanguaging space, children’s language practices are brought together in ways that not only develop an extended bilingual repertoire capable of deeply involving them cognitively, but also a more sophisticated metalinguistic awareness. That is, in these translanguaging spaces linguistically diverse students are able to co‐construct their language expertise, recognize each other as resources, and act on their knowing, doing, and languaging. Gutiérrez, Baquedano‐López and Tejeda (1999) refer to these translanguaging spaces as third spaces in which students’ language and cultural practices transform the official practices in school. Whereas some traditional bilingual education program types control language practices rigidly, there is a new type of educational program emerging that

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  229 structures itself within this translanguaging space. The secondary programs for immigrant newcomers to the United States that García and Sylvan (2010) have described fall within this space. In these programs, students are given the agency to negotiate their linguistic and meaning‐making repertoires. That is, the locus of control of the language rests with the students, as they move to expand their home language practices to include those in English for academic use. In so doing they rely especially on peers and resources such as iPads, and certainly not solely on the teacher who rarely shares the language practices of the students. The teacher then becomes the facilitator, generating opportunities for language use, and seeing herself not as the linguistic authority, but as another language learner. A limitation of such programs is that translanguaging is valued because of its potential to educate the children in English, more than for its capacity to sustain the students’ own languaging. García and Kleifgen (2010) have called programs that give students agency to negotiate their language practices while developing bilingualism and biliteracy dynamic bi/plurilingual education. These educational spaces of negotiation and contact exist rarely in established school systems. A translanguaging space changes the nature of learning, as well as of teaching. We consider below how students use translanguaging to learn, even when a translanguaging space has not been officially available. That is, we look at how learners open up their own translanguaging spaces.

Translanguaging to learn: students Developing new language practices, and especially academic ones, is not easy for learners. Learning new ways of languaging is more difficult than just learning new subject content in school because, as A. L. Becker (1995, p. 227) has said, it also involves learning “a new way of being in the world.” If language constitutes us, then adding to a linguistic and semiotic repertoire means that we acquire not only new ways of speaking and acting, of languaging, but also of being, of knowing, and of doing. For new languaging to be learned then, much more is needed than just picking it up as in the “acquisition” promoted by communicative language teaching, or learned as a system of structures as in grammar‐translation methods. New language practices can only emerge in interrelationship with old ones, without competing or threatening an already established sense of being that ­languaging constitutes. Norton (2000) has called this investment in learning a ­language. To invest in learning new language practices some things are needed. On the one hand, learners need a secure sense of self that allows them to appropriate new language practices as they engage in a continuous becoming. On the other, learners must be able to cognitively engage with the learning and to act on the learning. That is, it is not enough simply to listen and take in forms or to output new forms. It is important to engage with the material and interact cognitively and socially in ways that produce and extend the students’ languaging and meaning making. Translanguaging is important to mediate students’ identities, but also cognitive complex activities.

230  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism Translanguaging is also important for students to embrace positioning, which according to Davies & Harré (1990, p. 48) is “the discursive process whereby selves are located in conversations as observably and subjectively coherent participants in jointly produced story lines.” It is through meaningful participation in the act of learning enabled by translanguaging that bilingual students can create for themselves academic identities and thus invest in learning. Translanguaging enables even emergent bilinguals to model forms of knowing and talking and to serve as “language brokers” to other learners (Lee, Hill‐Bonnet, & Raley, 2011). Translanguaging not only allows for shuttling between acts of language that are socially and educationally constructed as being separate, but integrates bilingual acts in ways that reflect the unified constitution of the learner. That is, translanguaging allows us to go from the concept of transfer that Cummins so long ago introduced to the field of bilingual education to a conceptualization of integration of language practices in the person of the learner. Translanguaging goes beyond having to acquire and learn new language structures, rather it develops the integration of new language practices into one linguistic repertoire that is available for the speaker to be, know, and do, and that is, in turn, produced in the complex interactions of bilingual speakers. Rather than learning a new separate “second language,” learners are engaged in appropriating new languaging that makes up their own unique repertoire of meaning‐making resources. The language practices then don’t belong to the school or to the home; the languaging is that of the learner, his or her own being, knowing, and doing. If languaging is being, doing, and knowing, then it stands to reason that learners cannot appropriate language practices without also knowing. Development of new language practices are acts of knowing and doing. For those who are still developing new language practices; that is, for emergent bilingual students, knowledge cannot be accessed except through language practices with which they are already familiar and language practices cannot be developed except through their existing knowledge. Thus, translanguaging enables emergent bilinguals to enter into a text that is encoded through language practices with which they are not quite familiar. At the same time, translanguaging enables students to truly show what they know. Furthermore, the more students know about a text, the more they can “language” and make meaning. Translanguaging refers to the flexibility of bilingual learners to take control of their own learning, to self‐regulate when and how to language, depending on the context in which they are performing language. Williams (2012) refers to this in the classroom as natural translanguaging. Lewis, Jones and Baker (2011a) call it pupil‐ directed translanguaging. This means, for example, that when bilinguals have to find new information by reading or speaking to others, they can language and use meaning‐making resources that are not found in the classroom and with which teachers may not be familiar. Translanguaging strategies promote a high sense of self‐efficacy, as students self‐regulate their learning. Embedded in this practice is the belief that learning is not a product, but a process, mediated by peers and teachers. According to sociocultural theory (Vygotsky, 1978), knowledge is acquired interpersonally; that is, in relationships with others and the world, before it becomes

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  231 internalized. And thus, translanguaging is important for metatalk (talk about talk), metacognition (talk about the task), and whispered private speech (Kibler, 2010), all essential for learning. During cooperative tasks, translanguaging has been found to be helpful to move the task along, as well as to attend to vocabulary and grammar (Swain & Lapkin, 2000). Bilingual students at different points of the bilingual continuum seem to use translanguaging differently to learn. In a study by García and Kano (2014) that used translanguaging as pedagogy (more on this below), emergent bilinguals were shown to have a tendency to translanguage because they were dependent on their expertise with other language practices in order to complete the task; the more experienced bilinguals translanguaged to enhance the task, demonstrating their greater autonomy and ability to self‐regulate. In all cases, however, both languages seem to be continuously activated, but to different degrees. The Japanese students interviewed in the García and Kano study revealed that all students, regardless of where they were positioned in the bilingual continuum, translanguaged frequently in order to make meaning. They demonstrated much linguistic awareness of their own linguistic needs and were cognizant of their strengths and weaknesses. Beyond that, the students demonstrated much autonomy and control in languaging appropriately for the task in which they were involved. Many scholars have convincingly shown how students themselves use translanguaging in order to learn. In a study of a two‐way dual language bilingual kindergarten (5 year olds), García (2011b) considers how translanguaging is used by children who enter school speaking what the school considers only English or only Spanish. These young kindergarteners use translanguaging for six metafunctions, as they develop their bilingualism: 1. To mediate understandings among each other 2. To co‐construct meaning of what the other is saying 3. To construct meaning within oneself 4. To include others 5. To exclude others, and, 6. To demonstrate knowledge. What is interesting about the translanguaging of these very young learners is that they were not shy about using their entire language repertoire to make meaning, successfully communicating across “languages” and “modes” by combining all the multimodal semiotic signs at their disposal. Translanguaging always included linguistic signs from their growing repertoire, accompanied by gestures, pointing, physical imitations, noises, drawings, and onomatopoeic words. One of the most influential aspects of schooling is the development of literacy. Written‐linguistic modes of meaning are also intricately bound up with other visual, audio and spatial semiotic systems (Kress, 2003), but also with languaging practices that vary depending on situations, sociocultural contexts and complex social interactions (Street, 1995). García, Bartlett, and Kleifgen (2007) speak about pluriliteracy practices to emphasize that literacy practices are interrelated and flexible, and have

232  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism equal value; that is, translanguaging is important for literacy development because students develop the agency to use their entire semiotic systems. We now have much research evidence that students’ translanguaging builds deeper thinking, provides students with more rigorous content, affirms multiple identities, and at the same time develops language and literacy practices that are adequate for specific academic tasks (Blackledge & Creese, 2010; Creese & Blackledge, 2010; García, 2009a, 2014 a,b; García, Flores, & Woodley, 2012; García & Li Wei, 2014; Hornberger & Link, 2012; Lewis, Jones & Baker 2012a, 2012b; Li Wei 2011a, 2011b; Li Wei & Wu, 2009; Palmer & Martínez, 2013; Sayer, 2013). Whereas translanguaging for learners is a way to become more knowledgeable as language practices are expanded, for teachers, as we will see, it is a strategy to e­ ducate children holistically, but also to teach all the students in the classroom. And yet, as we will also see, a translanguaging pedagogy that works within an educational space that encompasses a multiplicity of signs and issues without privileging one over the other is difficult to construct. We focus next on translanguaging as a tool for teachers, a less understood and less developed area.

Translanguaging to teach: teachers and pedagogies Given that translanguaging was originally coined in Welsh to teach bilingually, Welsh scholars have paid much attention to its development as pedagogy. Williams (2012) distinguishes between natural translanguaging and official translanguaging. Natural translanguaging refers mostly to acts by students to learn, described in the previous section, although it also includes the teachers’ use of translanguaging with individuals, pairs and small groups “to ensure full understanding of the subject material” (p. 39). In contrast, official translanguaging is mostly conducted by the teacher, although it can also include students, as described by Williams (2012, p. 39) and summarized here: By the teachers • Orally when it is needed. • To explain a term relating to the subject or a general term. • To explain complex parts of the topic being taught, using clauses, sentences or fuller discussions rather than individual words within sentences. • In writing, where a short appropriate translation is needed. By the students • To explain something in the other language so as to show full understanding of the subject area. • To explain to parents who do not speak the language. • In tests and examinations when students feel they cannot convey the exact information. Lewis, Jones and Baker (2012b) also differentiate between the pupil‐directed translanguaging described in the previous section and teacher‐directed translanguaging. Teacher‐directed translanguaging involves planned and structured activity

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  233 by the teacher and is related to translanguaging as a transformative pedagogy. In the diverse classrooms of today, learners have diverse profiles––linguistically, but also socially, educationally, experience‐wise, etc. For teachers, then, translanguaging is important not only because it allows them to engage each individual child holistically, but also because it is a way of differentiating instruction to ensure that all students are receiving the appropriate linguistic input, producing the adequate linguistic output, and are cognitively involved. Teachers use translanguaging strategically as a scaffolding approach to ensure that emergent bilinguals at the beginning points of the bilingual continuum engage with rigorous content, access difficult texts, and produce new language practices and new knowledge. But translanguaging is also a transformative ­pedagogy capable of sustaining bilingual identities and bilingual performances that go beyond one or the other binary logic. Opposite from what translanguaging requires of the learner who takes control of his or her language practices in  order to access texts and knowledge, the teacher who uses translanguaging gives up her authority role in the classroom. Rather than teachers, they become facilitators, able to set up the project‐based instruction and collaborative groupings that maximize translanguaging to learn. The teacher sets up the affordances for students to engage in discursive and semiotic practices that respond to their cognitive and social intentions. Translanguaging in teaching is always used in the service of providing rigorous instruction and maximizing interactions that would expand the students’ language and meaning‐making repertoire, including practices that fall under what some consider standard language for academic purposes. Adopting translanguaging to teach requires what Busch (2011) calls a “critical gesture” of language practices that aims to develop a high degree of linguistic awareness. Following Busch (2011), one can say that teachers’ translanguaging practices not only acknowledge the use of all students’ language practices as a resource (what Bakhtin called raznojazycie), but in so doing also entail a commitment to multidiscursivity (what Bakhtin called raznorecie) that includes students’ discourses, concerns, and topics of interest. But, beyond this, a teacher who uses translanguaging as pedagogy participates as learner; that is, she adopts a multivoicedness, a raznoglosie in Bakhtin’s terms. Scholarship on bilingual education has focused on language allocation policies, as two or more languages are assigned to one structure or another (either time, content, person, place). These macro‐alternation policies require attention, but are easily established. Teachers have to be taught to work within these structures efficiently, but the structure itself is easy to grasp. More difficult, however, is how to educate teachers to use translanguaging strategically moment‐by‐moment and as a critical gesture. This is the art of translanguaging as pedagogy. Translanguaging as pedagogy refers to building on bilingual students’ language practices flexibly in order to develop new understandings and new language ­practices, including language practices for academic purposes. Translanguaging pedagogies are important for language‐minoritized students, whether they are emergent bilingual or not, because they build on students’ linguistic strengths. They also reduce the risk of alienation at school by incorporating languaging and

234  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism cultural references familiar to them. Translanguaging as a pedagogical practice is increasingly being used not only to enable language‐minoritized students to learn meaningfully, but also to sustain their dynamic languaging (Creese & Blackledge, 2010). The translanguaging pedagogy used in the experimental curriculum developed by Kano (2010) and referred to above, enabled Japanese students to become more aware of the differences in the construction of Japanese and English written texts, so that they would be able to produce better English essays. Her translanguaging pedagogy followed three steps: 1. Students read bilingual texts on the topic about which they were assigned to write. These bilingual texts were presented side‐by‐side, or there was an English text coupled with a parallel translation in Japanese, or a set of English and Japanese texts about the same subject, but not parallel translations; 2. Students discussed the bilingual readings mostly in Japanese; 3. Students wrote an essay in English on the topic of the bilingual reading and the discussion in Japanese about the readings. As reported by García and Kano (2014) a translanguaging pedagogy that took into account the entire linguistic and discursive repertoire of Japanese students produced better written texts in one language, English. And although this was not the purpose of the study, in some cases evidence was provided through the interviews that students’ greater awareness of language differences also had repercussions on their understanding and construction of Japanese written texts. The translanguaging pedagogy, enabling students to move back and forth along their entire linguistic repertoire actually overcame the differences in language, discourse, and idea inventory of Japanese American students writing in English. That is, their English essay repertoire was enriched through the inclusion and attention paid to their Japanese language and cultural practices, including their entire semiotic repertoire. García, Flores, and Woodley (2012) have documented how teachers with different language proficiencies working in two secondary New York City schools with a large number of emergent bilinguals use translanguaging as pedagogy. Three metafunctions for translanguaging are identified: (i) the contextualization of key words and concepts, (ii) the development of metalinguistic awareness, and (iii) the creation of affective bonds with students. Paying attention to the teaching of writing in a dual language bilingual first grade classroom, Michael‐Luna and Canagarajah (2007) identified translanguaging pedagogical strategies, which they refer to as code‐meshing strategies. These strategies included selecting multilingual texts; that is, including texts in different languages and with different semiotic resources, so as to activate prior knowledge. Translanguaging strategies also included modeling oral and written code‐meshing so as to encourage student agency in language choice. Finally, translanguaging strategies were also used by the teacher to scaffold the negotiation with the text. Schecter and Cummins (2003) described how some teachers supported their students’ creation of identity‐texts that were bilingual dual language books. In so doing, students used their families’

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  235 multilingualism as a resource, and were engaged in translanguaging exercises, supported by the teacher. What all these examples show is that despite much monolingual instruction and language separation, teachers use translanguaging to enable students to make meaning and learn, even though they mostly continue to see the school language and the child’s language as separate and autonomous practices. We see translanguaging as used by teachers for seven different purposes: 1. To differentiate among students’ levels and adapt instruction to different types of students in multilingual classrooms; for example, those who are bilingual, those who are monolingual, and those who are emergent bilinguals. 2. To build background knowledge so that students can make meaning of the content being taught and of the ways of languaging in the lesson. 3. To deepen understandings and cognitive engagement, develop and extend new knowledge, and develop critical thinking. 4. For cross‐linguistic transfer and metalinguistic awareness so as to strengthen the students’ ability to translanguage in order to meet the communicative exigencies of the socioeducational situation. 5. For cross‐linguistic flexibility so as to translanguage competently. 6. For identity investment and positionality, to engage learners. 7. To interrogate linguistic inequality and disrupt sociopolitical structures so as engage in social justice. That is, translanguaging as a transformative pedagogy deepens communication and appropriation of knowledge, develops new language practices and sustains knowledge, and gives voices and shapes new sociopolitical realities by interrogating linguistic inequality. Translanguaging strategies correspond to three categories (for more on translanguaging strategies, see Celic & Seltzer, 2012): 1. Teacher attentiveness to meaning‐making, by: • Translanguaging when appropriate for understanding, • Encouraging translanguaging in inner speech. 2. Teacher use of classroom resources for translanguaging, which include: • The availability and design of multilingual and multimodal texts, • The availability and design of technological enhanced media, • The availability and design of a multilingual/multimodal classroom landscape that includes, among others, listening and visual texts, technologically enhanced media, multilingual word walls, multilingual sentence starters, cognate walls. 3. Teacher design of classroom and curriculum structures for translanguaging, which include: • Peer grouping, according to home language, to enable collaborative ­dialogue and cooperative tasks, using translanguaging, • Project and task‐based learning, to build on multimedia and kinetics,

236  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism • Research tasks, so that students can translanguage, as they find new information, • Curriculum thematic units, to integrate ways of languaging and knowledge‐ building, • Language‐inquiry tasks to build translanguaging capacities and extend metalinguistic awareness of lexicon, syntax and morphology. Beyond the inclusion of different language practices, translanguaging opens up a space of resistance and social justice, since language practices of minoritized youth are usually racialized and stigmatized. Gutiérrez (2008) reports on how instructors in a summer program for youth from migrant farmworker backgrounds privileged “hybrid language practices” to “incite, support, and extend students’ repertoires of practice” (p. 160); what she calls their sociocritical literacy. Translanguaging as pedagogy requires a sociocritical approach to teaching. This is precisely the position of the high school teacher (C. Leiva) whom García portrays in her study of translanguaging for social justice (2014). In that “English” classroom for Latino immigrants, translanguaging releases students from the constraints of both an Anglophone ideology that demands English monolingualism for U.S. citizens, and a Hispanophone ideology that blames U.S. Latinos for speaking “Spanglish.” By exposing alternative histories, representations, and knowledge, translanguaging has the potential to crack the “standard language” bubble in education that continues to ostracize many bilingual students, and most especially immigrant and other minoritized students. Because this sociocritical positioning is often not allowed in classrooms in state schools, studies of translanguaging as pedagogy are many times situated in informal educational settings, and especially in after‐school or supplementary programs. Blackledge and Creese (2010) studied the flexible bilingualism present in eight complementary schools in four UK cities, and for four linguistic communities. The chapters in García, Zakharia, and Otcu (2013) address the translanguaging pedagogies used by bilingual community programs in the city of New York to teach the increasingly diverse students who attend these programs. In an innovative after‐school program, Gutiérrez, Bien, Selland, and Pierce (2011) leverage translanguaging as a pedagogical resource (although they refer to it as hybridity), as they challenge the divide between “everyday and school‐based literacies” (p. 258). All of these cases give evidence how translanguaging is the norm used to teach and learn in communities. The potential of a translanguaging pedagogy to develop more sophisticated discourse, deeper comprehension of texts, production of complex texts, evaluation of what students know, and to include the voices of learners who have been minoritized, is increasingly being recognized by educators. However, it is not always officially sanctioned by educational authorities. But even this is beginning to change. One example is the City University of New York–New York State Initiative on Emergent Bilinguals (CUNY‐NYSIEB, www.cuny‐nysieb.org), where CUNY scholars are working with school leaders and teachers in failing schools with large numbers of emergent bilinguals to incorporate translanguaging pedagogies.

Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education  237 Although translanguaging as pedagogy is being increasingly used by teachers, whether in sanctioned or unsanctioned situations, it is rare to actually find schooling situations in which students are being taught to translanguage as a legitimate practice. As Canagarajah (2011, p. 8) writes: A further set of questions relate to the possibility of teaching translanguaging in classrooms. The pedagogical side is underdeveloped in general. While we have studied the practice of translanguaging in social life—i.e., in urban youth encounters, linguistic landscapes, and the Internet—we haven’t figured out how to develop such proficiency among students in classrooms.

If translanguaging is an important ability for students in the twenty‐first century; then the question becomes: Where does one learn to translanguage? Is it enough to provide translanguaging spaces in schools and communities where children develop this expertise on their own? Or do schools need to do more than just acknowledge and leverage translanguaging practices to develop “standard” language practices for academic contexts? Can those academic contexts also accommodate translanguaging for its own sake? Translanguaging contests and transcends all scripts of the larger dominant society. It is unlikely that schools will accommodate translanguaging as more than what it is today, an adaptive space. An established translanguaging space in schools would require more. It would require that translanguaging practices be accepted, for example, in assessment, since a bilingual student’s linguistic repertoire cannot be measured in a single language. And it would demand that we stop penalizing students who translanguage, extending this ability to all. It would authorize the translanguaging norm of bilingual communities as valid and as an equal meaning‐making and cognitive mechanism to the “standard academic” norm. It would require, in other words, that we structure learning and teaching taking into account the tension of different meaning‐making signs so as to bridge the social spaces that, despite much translanguaging, remain ­separate today.

Conclusion This chapter has considered what a translanguaging approach means for bilingual education. Although translanguaging is quite apt to describe the languaging practices of bilinguals from the user perspective, it has not been sufficiently extended in the practice of education. Translanguaging refers to the ways in which bilinguals use their complex semiotic repertoire to act, know, and to be. Yet translanguaging is seldom used in schools as a tool to mediate cognitive complex activities. We need to question why this is so, as we continue to legitimize translanguaging in schools to ensure that students, and especially bilingual students, learn content and ways to language, and find an equitable meaning‐making generous and ­liberating space.

238  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism

Note 1  A fuller treatment of translanguaging and the issues discussed here is available in García and Li Wei (2014).

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14 Multiliteracies, Pedagogies, and Academic Literacy Madhav Kafle and Suresh Canagarajah Historical overview Multiliteracies in academic communication have been marked by some striking imbalances. Though the notion of multiliteracies has drawn the attention of scholars since the programmatic work of the New London Group in the mid 1990s (see Cope & Kalantzis, 2000), if not earlier through the empirical work of New Literacy Studies in the mid 1980s (see for a review, Baynham & Prinsloo, 2009), it has been slow to transform pedagogies of academic literacy. The imbalance is manifested in many intriguing ways. Perhaps because academic literacy is considered a high‐stakes communicative activity, with a lot of pressure on students to pass composition classes and scholars to publish in journals, teachers have been slow to introduce changes in their approaches. Multiliteracies have been researched with greater relevance to Internet communication (Williams, 2009), children’s writing (Gere, 1988), and community practices (Hornberger, 2004). In other words, multiliteracies have made more advances in nonacademic contexts and genres compared to academic essays and literacy. It is not that professional organizations have not recognized the relevance of multiliteracies for academic literacy. There are many outcomes and position statements that include the need to help students and scholars develop proficiency in negotiating diverse languages, modalities, and genres in their writing (see statements by the Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC), the Council of Writing Program Administrators (CWPA), the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE), Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL), etc.). However, these statements have not changed pedagogical p ­ ractices too much. This imbalance is so striking that some scholars have started calling for more discussion and help on “enacting” multiliteracies in the place of further policy statements (see Tardy, 2011; Creese & Blackledge, 2011a). Indeed policy

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

242  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism statements are easy to produce; pedagogies need more risk taking, experimentation, and creativity. Within multiliteracies, certain domains of consideration have advanced further than others. If we treat multiliteracies as constituting a mixing of languages, modalities, and cultures, the consideration of how cultures need to be negotiated in academic literacies has progressed much further than the other two. Since the discussion of contrastive rhetoric in the 1960s (Kaplan, 1966), teachers have worked hard to understand and teach how the different cultural traditions of literacy students bring with them can inform their English writing. Though contrastive rhetoric was characterized by somewhat deterministic and essentializing tendencies in the past, the consideration of culture has received new impetus under writing pedagogies that value voice and multiculturalism. The reason why this area has advanced far is perhaps attributable to the fact that culture and voice considerations have been treated as involving changes on the surface level features of the text, not affecting grammar or form. Including diverse varieties of English, different languages, or diverse visual, oral, and multimedia resources in academic writing is considered too radical and involve unsettling changes in the form and structure of the text. To consider a final imbalance, research on multiliteracies in academic settings is progressing much faster than pedagogical developments. Scholars are studying diverse areas in the product and process of academic literacy. We have developed more knowledge on the multimodal nature of academic writing, the ways students negotiate their multilingual repertoires in academic writing, and strategies of language socialization in everyday life when graduate students and scholars develop their literacies in multilingual and multimodal ecologies. We also have an emerging genre of studies on classroom development of academic multiliteracies in courses where teachers did not set up their pedagogies according to principles of multiliteracies (see Creese & Blackledge, 2011b; Canagarajah, 2009). Though research and theoretical discussions are less threatening, as they can be separated from practical effects of teaching, they are helpful in developing pedagogies in the long run. In the light of the history articulated above, we will focus more on reviewing the research on academic literacies in diverse settings in this chapter. We have no well‐developed pedagogical models to review at present. We will move on to consider the future directions in teaching and research that will lead to more constructive pedagogical models and approaches in the final section.

Current state of knowledge As multiliteracies are a new area of consideration in academic literacy, more scholars are studying their implications for understanding and teaching academic communication, but have been slow to develop pedagogies relating to them. We will therefore review the emerging traditions of research on academic literacy from a multiliteracies perspective. We use language socialization, new literacy

Multiliteracies, Pedagogies, and Academic Literacy  243 studies, activity theory, classroom ethnographies, and studies of expert writers to juxtapose various multiliteracies research.

Research Language socialization  Researchers of language socialization have approached multiliteracies from multiple perspectives including genre, discourse, diversity in schools and workplaces, and language learning in multilingual settings (see Janks, 2008). Regardless of their focus, recent studies of language socialization have shown that academic literacies is “a dynamic, socially situated process that in contemporary contexts is often multimodal, multilingual, and highly intertextual as well” (Duff, 2010, p. 169). Since multiliteracies include forms of “oral and written language and communication—genres, registers, graphics, linguistic structures, interactional patterns” (p. 175), Duff calls for addressing the imbalance in the research of both oral and written modes. While written‐discourse socialization has been widely researched, oral‐discourse socialization as well as new forms of hybrid discourses, such as “multilingual discourses and ‘intermodal and intertextual’ relationships between them” (p. 172) have been not addressed. Even though Duff uses the term academic discourse socialization to refer to academic literacies, she shows that academic literacy is learned effectively by multilingual students in communities of practice. Similarly, Margaret Early and colleagues in a large‐scale study—From Literacy to Multiliteracies: Designing Learning Environments for Knowledge Generation within the New Economy—show that learning in our changing times is different and new pedagogies are needed to successfully transform our practices. In a study that involved more than 50 teachers and 500 students, Early, Cummins, and Willinsky (2002) explored ways of revisualizing new pedagogies. Their overall goal was to develop twenty‐first‐century literacy skills and to use technological and social change for opening up new possibilities to promote pedagogies. They argue that, while there exists a democratic discourse about the economics of the multi‐skilled workers and multiliteracies in the knowledge economy, such discourses can take the form of hegemonic purposes. Therefore, pedagogy should be able to connect classrooms and the outside world, and be built around what learners bring to the classroom. Overall, pedagogies should be related to the social practices of the learners. Thus language socialization studies tell us that academic literacies pedagogies should bridge the disconnect in our practice and the everyday lives of the learners. New Literacy Studies  Instead of viewing literacy as a measurable cognitive‐ psychological skill, many studies have investigated how people actually use literacy in their life worlds on a daily basis. These studies primarily draw from research on literacy as a social practice. The New Literacy Studies (NLS) team and others have studied everyday literacy practices of the people under various names such as situated literacy, vernacular literacy, local literacy, and social literacy. Building on Street’s (1984) pioneering work, in which he made a crucial distinction between autonomous and ideological forms of literacy, many scholars have

244  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism pursued this line of research by focusing on community‐based literacy research (e.g., Barton & Hamilton, 1998; Barton, Hamilton, & Ivanic, 2000; Heath, 1983), on multilingual literacy (Bhatt, Barton, Martin‐Jones, & Saxena, 1996; Martin‐Jones & Jones, 2000), and cross‐cultural perspectives on literacy (Street, 1984). Whereas autonomous referred to the traditional alphabetic and western nature of the literacy, ideological literacy focused on the local, situated, and vernacular forms that people used to do things in their lives. Looking at the everyday practices of what people do with the texts would show the actual cultural context of uses of literacy. Although some scholars have criticized NLS’s overemphasis on the local (see Brandt & Clinton, 2002), there have been recent efforts to use theory from NLS in academic settings as well (e.g., Street, 2005). According to Heath and Street (2008), we can summarize various literacy models in the university as the skills, literacy socialization, and academic literacies models. Whereas the skills model would see literacy as essential skills to accomplish various tasks, the language socialization model sees it as discourse used in different communities. The academic literacies model, according to Heath and Street, subsumes both models and highlights issues of power and agency. Activity theory  As in the social practice perspective, writing is seen as an embedded act through the lens of activity theory. Activity theory sees human behavior “determined by its motive, goal, and the material circumstances in which it is enacted” (Lantolf, 2011, p. 28). In activity theory “context is not separated from activity, or from texts, which are seen as tools for the mediation of activity” (Russell, 2009, p. 41). Examining real‐life problems and analyzing the ways in which people appropriate new learning strategies, activity theory negates individual methodism (Mahn & John‐Steiner, 2013). Without such dialogical process, Prior (1998) argues that writing would be too partial and contextually thin. For Prior, writing should be seen as a literate activity and an outcome of hybrid moments that include personal, interpersonal, artifactual, institutional, and sociocultural factors, as well as disciplinary histories. What this entails is the need for accounting for the social histories of the learners and, indirectly, understanding what they have done in their previous literate activities. (For elaboration on connection of activity theory and writing, see Lantolf, 1994; Lantolf & Thorne, 2006). Classroom ethnographies  The studies reviewed above duly highlight the role of situatedness for the various literacies. To broaden the field even more, some researchers have focused on classroom‐based ethnographies. They also have contributed significantly to the understanding and implementation of multiliteracies by demonstrating how students negotiate multiple literacies in various settings. Canagarajah (2009), in a study of a graduate writing course, documents how one of the students, Buthainah, effectively meshes multiple languages and semiotic resources in her academic essays. She mixed various codes and modes from her repertoire, including Arabic, French, and many signs/symbols throughout her English essay. Canagarajah identifies the writing strategies she adopts to produce such texts as follows: (i) recontextualization strategies: framing the context of the

Multiliteracies, Pedagogies, and Academic Literacy  245 text to favor such meshing, (ii) voice strategies: making spaces for one’s linguistic strengths and resources; (iii) interactional strategies: developing equal footing with readers and helping them negotiate effectively; and (iv) textualization strategies: adopting process‐oriented composing strategies to mesh one’s resources in strategic spaces in the text (see also Canagarajah, 2011a; 2011b). Other scholars such as Lu (1994) and Lu and Horner (2013) have reported on similar classroom studies to provide insights into the ways multilingual students renegotiate dominant norms of English in their favor. Accounts from expert writers  Finally, pedagogy can be also drawn by studying the multiliteracies practices of expert writers. Young (2004) recounts how he negotiated his own identity while facilitating a classroom interaction. He tells us how he code‐switched and code‐mixed and code‐meshed to achieve his goals. Relating to one of his student’s predicament of feeling excluded and forced to hide his identity by being forced to speak Standard English, Young conveys that he too felt insufficiently masculine and insufficiently black when he started to succeed academically. For the sake of linguistic and identity integration, Young argues that we should be able to provide students opportunities of code‐meshing. Similarly, expert writers such as African American sociolinguist Geneva Smitherman and Sri Lankan social scientist K. Sitamby tactfully code‐mesh to suit their audience (see Canagarajah, 2006a, 2006b for studies on the writing strategies of both writers). Whereas Sitamby, a university professor, uses his English–Tamil literacies to craft effective articles based on the types of journals he is sending the articles to and the readership of the audience, Smitherman creatively mixes Black English and Standard Written English to achieve her purpose. As Cook (2002) would argue, if we want to see the language learners succeed, we need to show the portraits of successful multiliterate lives. Belcher and Connor (2001) is a collection that brings together the writing practices of multilingual writers in first person accounts. The collection shows the struggles and triumphs of established scholars who have succeeded in making spaces for their voices in academia.

Pedagogy In this section, we distinguish code‐switching and code‐meshing models, review the position statements of major professional associations on academic literacy, and emphasize that available models of pluriliteracy and biliteracy should be developed for academic literacies as well. Code‐switching and code‐meshing models  Prompted by NCTE’s 1974 Resolution on Students’ Right to their Own Language (STROL), scholars have argued in favor of letting students use their home languages in the beginning drafts and slowing transitioning them to standard English (see Bean et al., 2003). While these models do provide avenues for minority students to develop standard proficiency without treating them under a rhetoric of deficiency as the earlier pedagogy models did, they still fail to provide students with agency in developing their own voice.

246  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism Table 14.1  Code switching vs. Code meshing. Code switching

Code meshing

1. Primarily, separate morphosyntactic systems 2. Switch or shuttle between discourses

1.  Integrated morphosyntactic system

3. Binary codes (e.g., first language, second language, Matrix/ Embedded) 4. Lexical‐, phrasal‐, or syntactic‐level switches only under consideration 5. Focus on balanced bilinguals 6. Used as a way to negotiate identities not conventional in a context or discourse 7. The discourses (e.g., academic discourse, vernacular discourse) are kept distinct even when they are integrated. They are not viewed (exclusively) as a sign of resistance and transformation. 8. Norms of both languages respected and maintained

2. All discourses are active and integrated into a coherent sociolinguistic space 3. Codes integrated into hybrid language 4. Rhetorical and discoursal mixing also under consideration 5. Focus on full continuum of bilingualism 6. Used as a strategy to resist identities and redefine discourses 7. The dominant discourse is mastered, resisted, and rewritten strategically through integration of local, vernacular discourse within established discourse 8. Norms of both languages resisted and reconstructed into new wholes

Source: Reprinted with permission from Michael‐Luna and Canagarajah, 2007, p. 58. © Equinox Publishing Ltd 2007.

Code‐switching models treat the languages of the learners as discrete entities and encourage the learners to keep the academic and vernacular discourses distinct. Code‐meshing models, on the other hand, see the languages as integrated into the repertoire of the students and aim to teach the strategic use of both the standard and minority languages in hybrid texts. Thus rather than seeing competence as compartmentalized, code meshing models see it as a combined ability. Table 14.1 nicely highlights the major differences between the two models. Michael‐Luna and Canagarajah (2007) argue for reconceptualizing the possibilities for multilingual academic literacies through code meshing by showing examples from a primary school class of how teachers can effectively use code meshing to teach academic writing. Canagarajah (2006a) and Young (2004) put forward the theoretical framing behind the feasibility of code meshing. Similarly, in a recent edited book by Young and Martínez (2011), the authors show how code meshing can contribute to policy, practice, and performance. In all

Multiliteracies, Pedagogies, and Academic Literacy  247 these studies, the main emphasis is on enabling the learners to appropriate the utterances to establish their agency. Writing position statements and pedagogy  Next, many professional organizations’ position statements on writing outcomes have begun to acknowledge the nature of academic writing as multilingual and multimodal, but do not offer any pedagogical models. For example, the CWPA statement of academic policy maintains there should be an equally representative way of teaching and similar method of internationalization throughout the world. As mentioned on its website, as “multimodal texts become more prevalent, teachers will also need to attend to the evolving conventions of these new forms, developing appropriate conventions with new students and colleagues” (CWPA, NCTE, & NWP, 2011, p. 9). Its emphasis on composing in multiple environments to multiple audiences suggests that the issue of multiples literacies is paramount in pedagogies. Likewise, the TESOL position statement on academic literacy acknowledges that learning an academic language is a time‐consuming process and literacy sponsors “need to be flexible with respect to the amount of time and financial support allotted for language study. Setting strict time and/or financial limits on the length of English studies, or pressure to exit students from such studies prematurely, are counterproductive and will undermine opportunities for academic success” (TESOL, 2010). Additionally, the CCCC (2001/2009) encourages collecting information on the language needs of multilingual populations and establishing cross‐institutional collaborations. It points out that hiring multilingual faculty and promoting awareness of the local multilingual populations might facilitate the process of making multimodal and multilingual composition. However, despite these statements the pedagogies have not yet changed significantly. Continua of biliteracy and pluriliteracies  While the above approaches derive from scholars in composition, literacy specialists in multilingual studies have also given attention to pedagogies. Nancy Hornberger and Ofelia García both have developed language and literacy pedagogies for children and community development programs. The implications of these approaches need to be developed for academic literacies. In her continua of biliteracy model, Hornberger (2003) argues that, although biliteracy is very common worldwide, not much scholarly work has been done regarding how to build on biliteracy skills in academia. Hornberger’s model proposes that biliteracy is best understood through a series of interrelated continua including micro–macro, oral–literate, monolingual–bilingual, reception– production, oral language–written language, first and second language transfer, simultaneous–successive exposure, similar–dissimilar language structures, and convergent–divergent scripts. These continua define the contexts, individual development, and media of biliteracy. Such a multifaceted model of the continua of biliteracy has implications for teaching of and research in biliteracy. Along the same lines, García (2009) argues that, rather than biliteracy, we should start to look at the dynamic system of linguistic development from the perspective of the pluriliteracies approach (see also García & Flores, 2013). García and Flores

248  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism argue that models of literacy that separate the languages only care about the ­dominant ones and miss vital parts of the emergent bilingual’s competence. They call the pluriliteracy approach a flexible multiple model of biliteracy as it provides a framework which can fully account for the complex and dynamic process of meaning making by using the students’ full linguistic repertoire. For example, Manyak (2006) relates in his study how teachers can create a space for using biliteracy materials to develop the literacies of learners. As Schwinge (2010, p. 477) argues, the more opportunities we can create for the learners to draw from a ­“continuum of possible linguistic varieties, modes of expression, and types of knowledge in learning events,” the better the chance of developing their biliteracy and bilingualism. However, these models are primarily developed in the context of young learners. Therefore, more work is required to extend these models to the university level. There are a few studies that have explored biliteracy in graduate students (e.g., Gentil, 2005); however, more studies that take into account the contextual situations, mixing of genres, and trajectories of learners’ literacies are sorely needed. Following this trend, a recent edited collection by Canagarajah (2013) calls for a translingual orientation in academic literacy. Within a translingual framework, the pedagogy is not a one‐way approach from the teachers to the students, but it is a dialogic process where a lot of negotiation is encouraged and practiced. While teachers might feel initially helpless implementing such a new definition of literacy, with informed choices they can manage classroom practice. For example, Hanson (2013) uses creative strategies by encouraging her “native speaker” students to explore multilingual websites so that they not only do their research but also have a deeper understanding of additional languages. Negotiation strategies should not always come from the teachers; if teachers can create feasible environments in the class, students might be able to negotiate on their own, as Krall‐ Lanoue (2013) has demonstrated. Thus, with translingual pedagogy, we will be able to narrow the gap and connect classrooms and communities. We need to ask what we mean by proficiency, communicative success, and meaning making in translingual practice. Patricia Bizzell (2010) has recently asked, “When there is a lot of mobility across borders, when people from all parts of the world are in one composition class, then how does one read a translingual text?” If we keep hanging on to the traditional notions of literacy, we will not only end up labeling the discourses of the multilingual students as deficient, but also find the new forms of literacies unproductive. Of course, questions such as the following have yet to be solved: How do we interpret a code‐meshed text when it uses languages we may not be familiar with? How do we assess deviations from standard written English? How do we judge the rhetorical effectiveness of texts which challenge traditional notions of coherence? However, new orientations to literacy would help us if we use them to  question the power of dominant pedagogical discourses (see Sohan, 2009). Teacher‐fronted pedagogy and product‐oriented use of literacies may not be our best bets anymore when we are living in a super diverse cosmopolitan world (Blommaert, 2010).

Multiliteracies, Pedagogies, and Academic Literacy  249

Future directions We must consider ways to develop relevant pedagogical approaches for academic multiliteracies. At the same time, we need to identify some efforts that might help in the future. To begin with, there is a need to move from product‐oriented studies to understanding processes and practices. Discussions in composition, for example, have largely focused on appreciating the poetics and politics of code‐meshed texts (Canagarajah, 2006a; Young, 2009). Such discussions do not help directly in developing pedagogical strategies. We need to understand how writers compose such products, what strategies they adopt to navigate competing languages, and how they negotiate uptake with their audience. In this way, we would be able to identify teachable strategies of academic multiliteracy. There is also a need to learn from students’ own learning strategies outside the classroom. Multiliteracies are not new. The activity has been going on far back in history, though academic recognition is only recent. Multilingual students practice multilingual literacies in their community contexts. More recently, in the global contact zones of transnational communication, students are adopting multiliteracies in their communication with others. In digital social spaces, popular media, and youth interactions, students are adopting useful strategies and practices that can inform classroom work. In fact, drawing from the practices students themselves use to develop their academic literacies is a constructive pedagogical strategy. While some studies of such practices are going on in sociolinguistics (Blommaert, 2010) and digital studies (Williams, 2009), this research is disconnected to pedagogical contexts. There is a need for teachers to learn from this research and consider developing them for classroom purposes. More importantly, there are multiliteracies right under our noses in our own classrooms. Even in cases where teachers actively discourage multiliteracies or promote alphabetic literacies, perceptive classroom ethnographers have found that students are engaging in multiliteracies, drawing from their interactions outside the classrooms and in their communities (see Creese & Blackledge, 2011b). Teachers can learn from these strategies and foster students’ own learning practices by being sensitive to these possibilities. To do that, teachers have to become learners. They have to understand that teachers cannot be authorities always, especially on pedagogies that are new to the academic environment, and develop collaborative teaching practices to learn from students. Canagarajah (2011b) constructs such a dialogical pedagogy in one of his courses, and combines teaching and research to foster the writing strategies of his students. Finally, to identify a less tangible future development, we need to change the assessment procedures and norms for academic communication. The dominant norms are still monomodal and alphabetical. Classroom norms for assessing writing still focus more on product and grammar and less on voice (see Matsuda & Jeffery, 2012). Such assessment practices have a washback effect on teaching, encouraging teachers to focus on traditional approaches to writing. Similarly, in academic publishing, reviewer and editorial decisions are often based on narrow grammatical and structural criteria, with insensitivity to voice and creativity.

250  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism For these assessment criteria to change, we have to also work harder in challenging autonomous literacy ideologies (see Street, 1984). Till such broader ideological and normative changes take place, teachers and students will be reluctant to engage in academic multiliteracies.

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15 Language Assessment Past to Present Misuses and Future Possibilities Elana Shohamy and Kate Menken Introduction Assessment in bilingual and multilingual education has largely been determined by ideologies towards immigrants and their languages. Throughout the past century, immigrants’ knowledge of the dominant language(s) of nations has played a central role in their immersion in nation‐states, entities rooted in an ideal of homogeneity, uniformity, collective ideology, and monolingualism. Immigrants have been expected and required to integrate and make efforts to become members of “the nation” in terms of mutual identity, culture, loyalty, and patriotism. With regard to language, this has meant that immigrants and their families, adults and children alike, were—and still are—expected to acquire, master, and adopt the new language(s) of the nation in subtractive ways, by dropping their home languages to instead function in the “new” and prestigious language. Within this paradigm, language indexes belonging and hence is a prerequisite for national, societal, and educational membership while bilingualism is perceived as a “problem” and positioned in opposition to a “one‐nation‐one‐language” ideology. In immigrant‐receiving countries, these ideologies are manifested through formal and informal assessments of language and content. Adult immigrants are typically required to learn the dominant state and national language(s) as a condition for employment and, more recently, as a criterion for residency, citizenship, and basic services such as health and social security that go along with residency status. This demand often occurs with limited access to resources such as language courses or materials, and enduring restrictions on the use of home languages in the workplace. Children in schools are typically expected to study all academic content via the new language as the only medium of instruction and take tests in that language long before they are proficient in it, in spite of the difficulties and length of time it takes to acquire a new language—especially the The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

254  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism language variety used for academic purposes. Moreover, language testing is spreading internationally to determine citizenship and to demonstrate required academic knowledge in schools. Because immigrants and other minoritized groups have historically been far more vulnerable to testing misuses than others, this chapter assumes a critical stance on language testing policies for immigrant adults and children. We point to the injustices of monolingual testing policies in various countries around the world as well as the (mis)uses of testing as a criterion for civic participation. We offer an historical survey of testing policies and practices in various countries, focusing on their consequences for test takers, and highlight how testing can serve as a tool to create and/or reinforce societal divisions, marginalization, and discrimination. We focus on the power of testing in shaping language policies, particularly in educational contexts. We then address the question of testing validity and reliability for immigrants who are emergent bilinguals, and thus in the process of acquiring a second language, in light of research on the length of time it takes to acquire a language along with the lack of appreciation for the home languages they speak. In the section on future directions, we move beyond the discussion of testing purposes and consequences, and build upon recent research that highlights the dynamic and creative language practices of bilinguals; in that section, we argue for the need to expand the language proficiency construct for emergent bilinguals in  recognition of the students’ proficiency and literacy practices in their home languages. We offer a new approach towards bi‐/multilingual testing (Shohamy, 2011) that is more construct‐valid and that builds upon a broader knowledge of language, consisting of all the languages that immigrants possess and most often maintain throughout their lives. These bi‐multilingual tests, we claim, offer a new direction for creating tests that are more relevant, that minimize the misuses and biases described in this chapter, and that more accurately show what emergent bilinguals know and can do. Thus, while our chapter provides a critical survey of past and present language assessment policies for immigrants, we also provide proposals for the use of tests in the future, in ways that are more inclusive, valid, and fair.

The relationship between language testing and language policy In most societies tests have been constructed as symbols of success, achievement and mobility, and reinforced by dominant social and educational institutions as major criteria of worth, quality, and value (Shohamy, 2001; Spolsky, 1995). Tests, then, have been associated with standards and merit, and, in the context of immigration, are markers of productivity in the workplace, citizenship, and achievement in school. Tests are accepted as objective measures, which serve to enforce conformity and ensure the continuity of various declared agendas of policy makers. Governments and other central authorities use tests to impose their

Language Assessment  255 policies and agendas, knowing that those who are affected by such tests will change their behavior, given their fear of failure and its associated high stakes consequences; accordingly, they are eager to succeed. Yet attention to tests as powerful policy tools is a relatively new topic (Menken, 2007; Shohamy, 2001). Language policies are often stated explicitly to serve the aims of policy makers, for example, in official documents such as national constitutions, laws, or declarations that identify certain languages as holding official or national status. The crucial role of education in disseminating top‐down language policies or in creating de facto language policies has been well documented (Corson, 1999; Menken, 2008; Shohamy, 2001). In countries with centralized educational systems, language education policies are typically established by central authorities (e.g., government agencies, parliaments, ministers of education, and/or regional and local education boards). On the other hand, the introduction of language testing and its concomitant standards and curricula provides an indirect and implicit tool that is just as powerful for changing and establishing language policies. Shohamy (2006a) termed this phenomenon “hidden language policy” because it is so often covert and away from the public eye. The reality is that much of language policy is realized through a variety of indirect actions and practices that override and contradict existing policies and can easily be manipulated—particularly by tests, given their powerful status. Accordingly, testing can serve as an effective means of social control. As a result, authorities often use propaganda and rhetoric about language loyalty, patriotism, collective identity, and the need for “correct,” “pure,” or “native” languages as strategies for maintaining their control and suppressing the demands of “others.” Language policies therefore provide a strong lens through which to observe and expose the tensions surfacing between homogeneity and diversity, as minoritized groups begin to demand their rights while established groups fight to retain their privileged status. On the surface, language policies appear to follow the rules of pluralist democratic societies, including advocating that all citizens should have the opportunity to use a variety of languages, but it is in the face of these tensions that language tests serve as an effective tool for those in authority. Testing thus serves as a major, covert mechanism for central authorities to create, perpetuate, and manipulate language policies and thereby assert control (Shohamy, 2004, 2006a).

Testing as de facto language policy in schools Testing within schools offers a case in point. Since tests are often more powerful than any written policy document, when tests are monolingual they can raise the status of the tested language on one hand, and on the other lead to the elimination and suppression of non‐tested languages in schools and societies (Evans & Hornberger, 2005; Menken, 2006; Menken & Solorza, 2014). Tests also privilege certain language practices, particularly when high stakes are attached. When language tests establish correct grammar and native‐like accents as criteria for

256  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism passing, they serve to marginalize the language practices of minoritized individuals and groups, barring them from educational and/or workplace opportunities. Given their societal power and influence, language testing thus lies at the nexus of complex political controversies. In the passages that follow, we describe specific international cases of testing acting as de facto language policy to clarify how this takes place. In most nation‐states, tests of national and official languages are given priority, which serves both to establish and perpetuate a hierarchy of languages and marginalize speakers of minoritized languages. In Israel, for example, Arabic students conduct their schooling through Arabic but need to pass tests in Hebrew as a condition for entering higher education, which perpetuates the low status of their language. Similarly, U.S. education policy under No Child Left Behind (NCLB) mandates testing in English, thereby asserting and reinforcing the status of English over other languages. The law requires that even students learning English— termed emergent bilinguals—must be included in each state’s testing regimen within one year of their arrival in the country. A number of studies (Evans & Hornberger, 2005; Menken, 2006, 2008; Menken & Solorza, 2014) show how this policy of English‐only testing1 devalues and even abolishes all other languages that immigrants possess, as it has directly contributed to the elimination of bilingual education programs. In the case of immersion programs whereby content is taught via other languages, such as Navajo or Hawaiian in U.S. schools serving indigenous students (McCarty, 2003), NCLB provides a direct message that indigenous languages have no meaningful worth or prestige. Students likewise are not rewarded for mastering languages other than English under NCLB; in fact, they are only penalized, as exemplified in the case of emergent bilinguals whose language proficiency impedes their performance on tests administered in English. Menken and Solorza’s (2014) study in New York City shows how the testing and accountability requirements of NCLB, in combination with further layers of test‐based accountability imposed by state and city authorities, are the main cause identified by school principals and administrators for their decision to dismantle their school’s bilingual education programs. In 2000, emergent bilinguals in city schools were evenly divided between bilingual education and English as a second language (ESL) programs.2 Since then, the proportion of emergent bilinguals enrolled in bilingual education has decreased to 22% while ESL enrollment has increased to over 76% (New York City Department of Education, 2013). This research demonstrates how testing policy is de facto language policy, by identifying the causal link between testing and the elimination of bilingual programs in U.S. schools. We return to the topic of standardized testing misuses later in this chapter.

Testing and linguistic standardization Another dimension of the language policy effects of testing pertains to standardizing and homogenizing languages, and perpetuating narrow notions of correctness. Most tests impose homogenous criteria for correctness and thus

Language Assessment  257 deliver a message that languages are uniform and standard, and therefore follow the same written norms. Tests in schools typically privilege language for academic purposes, and particularly written academic language, over all other language practices (excluding oral language and especially language for social purposes), thereby redefining what language is and who possesses “correct” language (Milroy & Milroy, 1999). These authors note that language tests allow only for standardized answers in terms of grammar and lexicon. They do not usually attempt to measure these more subtle but important aspects of language ability…[I]t is clearly these popular correctness doctrines, rather than careful linguistic analysis, which underlie the design of many language tests. (Milroy & Milroy, 1999, p. 142)

As such, tests oversimplify language which, they claim, is characteristic of most doctrines of correctness. Test results are then used to support seemingly objective arguments that nonstandard English‐speaking candidates lack language ability in some unspecified way. Scores are thus used to lend legitimacy to judgments based on prescriptive ideologies and “unjustifiable notions of correctness” (Milroy & Milroy, 1999, p. 145) inherent in test design.

Testing prescribing language learning In addition to dictating which languages and varieties should be learned, language testing in schools also drives what should be learned and how it should be learned. For instance, there is a sizeable body of research in what is termed testing “washback,” referring to the effects and impact of tests on teaching and learning (Cheng, Watanabe, & Curtis, 2004) and “rooted in the notion that tests or examinations can or should drive teaching, and hence learning” (Cheng & Curtis, 2004, p. 4). Research has shown how language tests have been introduced by authorities to change the curriculum, resulting in the narrowing of curricula and instruction to only cover tested topics (Menken, 2008; Shohamy, 2001) or to intentionally change pedagogical approaches (Cheng, 2004; Qi, 2005). A number of cases show how testing policy has been intentionally introduced by government agencies to force teachers to teach certain topics that they had previously overlooked, even though they were included in the curriculum (Shohamy, 2001, 2006a; Inbar‐Lourie & Shohamy, 2009). In these studies, the introduction of the tests meant that teachers started preparing students for the tests by focusing on neglected areas, or simply “teaching for the test,” such that teaching was mostly aimed at test preparation rather than holistic, meaningful, and genuine learning. Another context in which testing purposefully imposes uniformity in language learning is through proficiency rating scales provided by U.S. Government agencies, such as the Foreign Service Institute (FSI), the Defense Language Institute (DLI), and the Peace Corps, and in Europe through the widespread use of the Common European Framework of Reference (CEFR). These different proficiency scales have been designed as criteria for determining the language proficiency of

258  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism learners, and view language development as linear. Thus learning progresses along the second/foreign language continuum, from breakthrough or basic level (A1 in the language of the CEFR) through several stages to “mastery” level (C2). Though different terms describe this progression, the Association of Language Testers of Europe (ALTE) has translated these specifications into similar descriptors for language exams aligned to the common reference levels (North, 2000, 2004; North & Schneider, 1998). Such scales establish set stages of second language learning, as though it ­followed a prescribed and controlled linear order, without any empirical basis for this assumption. For example, there is little convincing evidence for the claim that language learning actually works in their prescribed clean, linear, and homogeneous fashion for all learners. And yet the proficiency descriptions have deeply influenced the views of language learning that schools and universities have adopted. The CEFR takes on a particularly powerful position in educational decision‐ making in most nations in Europe (Morrow, 2004). In terms of policy, Fulcher (2004) writes that, over time, CEFR guidelines have created a “false truth” for teachers and bureaucrats, with no evidence of their validity, and serve as ­“prescriptions” that dictate proficiency levels in a way that is detached from reality. Instead of defining levels of language proficiency, they have become institutionalized and reified as “language.” The main danger, Fulcher (2004) claims, is that teachers are beginning to believe that the scales represent an acquisitional hierarchy, rather than a common perception. Amidst critiques of the CEFR, Shohamy (2006b) asserts that such descriptors within these scales are especially problematic for advanced language proficiency use, the components of which are not addressed in these scales (e.g., cognitive abilities, content knowledge, context awareness, input processing capacities, interactive abilities, and multilingual performance options). Furthermore, they are detached from contextual variables (e.g., the purpose of the assessment, the specific uses of the language, the context in which the language has been learned, the age of the learners, the learning conditions, and especially the multiple functions of different languages in different contexts), and tend to view language learning in homogenous terms that can be generalized across domains, drawing their validity into question. Moreover, problems arise when tests or even test criteria define in rigid terms what it means to “know” a language.

Past and present misuses of standardized testing It is only in the past two decades that attention has been given not only to the role of language testing in language policy and relevant social justice concerns, but also to the difficulties that immigrants face in learning a new language, including the length of time this process takes. Tests have been used throughout history against immigrants in different parts of the world in ways that disregard this process.

Language Assessment  259 The standardized tests used today in schools around the world first enjoyed popularity in the United States as part of the mental measurement movement, and have spread globally since World War I (Spolsky, 1995; Wright, 2010). It is not by coincidence that the development of intelligence tests, and specifically Intelligence Quotient (IQ) testing, became popular during the period of rapid immigration to the United States at the turn of the twentieth century, as immigrants have been particularly vulnerable to decisions made on the basis of IQ testing (Hakuta, 1986). In 1917, for example, Henry Goddard employed IQ testing with immigrants and determined that 25 of 30 adult Jews were “feeble minded,” without accounting for the fact that the test was administered in English (Hakuta, 1986, p. 19). Likewise, Carl Brigham, a key founder of the testing movement, tested two million World War I draftees and found that “Alpine and Mediterranean races” were inferior to the “Nordic race” (Hakuta, 1986; Wiley & Wright, 2004). Brigham successfully used his findings to influence US Congress to pass an act restricting immigration by “non‐Nordics.” It should be noted that racial minorities were all affected, as Brigham likewise found blacks to be inferior in IQ to whites, and IQ tests were used to sustain racial segregation in schools during the twentieth century. Brigham later developed the Scholastic Achievement Test (SAT), which is still relied upon heavily in the United States to determine university admissions amidst ongoing accusations of bias (Freedle, 2003). Literacy testing has also been used for purposes of discrimination in the United States, as English literacy tests were a tool that served to bar African Americans from voting until the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and since 1917 have been a requirement for immigrants to become naturalized U.S. citizens (Leibowitz, 1969), a topic we return to later in this chapter. In schools around the world today, emergent bilinguals are required to take tests of language and academic content that are typically administered solely in the state language. These students are expected to perform to the level of their monolingual peers, with whom their scores are compared, even if they have only just arrived in the country. Language proficiency mediates performance on tests administered in the national or official language, such that many researchers have drawn into question the validity of using results to determine high‐stakes decisions for emergent bilinguals (see Solórzano, 2008 for a review). That emergent bilinguals are required to take tests in the state language soon after their arrival disregards the sizeable body of research pointing to the length of time it takes immigrant students to perform well academically in the new language (Collier & Thomas, 2002). In a large study conducted in Israel involving a national sample (Levin & Shohamy, 2008; Levin, Shohamy, & Inbar, 2007; Levin, Shohamy, & Spolsky, 2003), it was shown that the length of time needed for immigrants to reach academic levels equal to those attained by native speakers of Hebrew on tests administered in Hebrew ranged from 9 to 11 years in both Mathematics and in Hebrew. Yet most national tests administered to immigrants overlook such findings and set unrealistic requirements that have major negative consequences on students’ educational experiences and future opportunities.

260  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism Not surprisingly, emergent bilinguals underperform when compared to monolinguals on standardized tests. A 2006 report compares Programme for International Students Assessment (PISA) performance of immigrant students to nonimmigrants in 17 Organisation for Economic Co‐operation and Development (OECD) and partner countries, finding that “[I]mmigrant students often perform at significantly lower levels than their native peers in key school subjects” (OECD, 2006, p. 3). It is worth noting however that the PISA exams are administered in the national language, not in immigrant languages, making the results questionable. Test failure comes at a high cost for immigrant students when high‐stakes decisions are attached to their test scores. In the United States, NCLB highlights the bias, discrimination, and misuse of standardized tests in relation to immigrants. Emergent bilinguals there experience higher grade retention rates, higher dropout rates, lower graduation rates, and are far more likely to attend schools targeted for punitive measures such as restructuring or closure under NCLB mandates (Abedi & Dietal, 2004; Government Accountability Office, 2006; Menken, 2010, 2013). This occurs even though it is clearly impossible to function as well in a language the students are still in the process of acquiring. Likewise, as described above, test‐based accountability has resulted in a loss of bilingual education programs and other educational approaches identified in research as effective for meeting the needs of these students (Menken, 2008; Menken & Solorza, 2014). In an effort to redress the poor performance of emergent bilinguals on tests administered in English in the US, policymakers have adopted test accommodations—a change in testing conditions that should not affect the test’s validity or reliability but that seeks to erase the impact of language proficiency on test performance (Solórzano, 2008). Scholars have experimented with different types of test accommodations to ease the burden on immigrant students including extra time, test translations, the use of dictionaries or glossaries, linguistic simplification, and flexible scheduling (Abedi, 2001, 2004; Abedi & Lord, 2001; Abedi, Hofstetter, & Lord, 2004; Durán, Brown, & McCall, 2002; Solano‐Flores & Trumball, 2003). Of these, the accommodations most commonly permitted in state policies are those found to be least linguistically effective, such as extra time and allowing emergent bilinguals to take the exam in a separate room. Indeed, a recent doctoral dissertation shows how the use of accommodations for emergent bilinguals is a form of “policy‐enforced washback” that does not significantly enhance test performance (Schissel, 2012). Luke (2011) argues that this “culture of accountability, performance, and measurability” (p. 370) is global rather than limited to the United States, greatly impacting emergent bilinguals in many different countries. Emergent bilinguals in Canada must take and pass high school exit exams administered in English in British Columbia and are at least twice as likely as monolinguals to fail and be prevented from graduating (Odo, 2012). Accordingly, the dropout rate for emergent bilinguals in Canada is extremely high, reported at 74% in Calgary (Watt & Roessingh, 2001), and over 50% in British Columbia (Duffy, 2004) and Ontario (Cummins et al., 2005). In Australia, for example, emergent bilinguals have been required since 2008 to  participate in an English‐only national assessment program with their

Language Assessment  261 monolingual peers. Test scores are made public and therefore place great pressure on educators and schools, thus shaping the instruction and educational experiences of immigrant students (Lobascher, 2011; Polesel, Dulfer & Turnbull, 2012). Accordingly, researchers have critiqued the Australian high‐stakes exams at length as unsuitable for emergent bilinguals (McTaggart & Curró, 2009; Quinnell & Carter, 2011; Wigglesworth, Simpson, & Loakes, 2011).

Testing for residence and citizenship for adults A common policy in the past decade in most immigrant‐receiving countries has been the introduction of citizenship testing, another instance of testing being used as a tool by those in power to implement public policy. This form of language testing serves as the main gate‐keeping tool in immigration processes to select immigrants, make repatriation decisions, and investigate the claims of undocumented asylum seekers. The format and administration of the language tests vary: sometimes these are conducted in the new country of residence; in other cases, such as in the Netherlands, the tests are administered in the country of origin before ­permission to enter the new country is granted (Extra, Spotti, & van Avermaet, 2009). In a number of cases, the language tests are accompanied by additional testing to assess “cultural knowledge” of history and civics in the receiving country. McNamara and Shohamy (2008) show how language tests are increasingly being used to control the entry of immigrants and refugees, and their subsequent access to social participation (Gysen, Kuijper, & van Avermaet, 2009). In procedures introduced in Sweden 20 years ago, which have since spread throughout the world, asylum seekers are interviewed by an immigration officer through an interpreter, and thus are required to speak either in their first language (even though their language may be a non‐standard variety) or in a second language used as a lingua franca. A recording is made of their speech, which is then sent for analysis of its pronunciation and lexical and grammatical features to determine what it reveals of their geographical origin. The analysis is often carried out by private companies claiming expertise to do so. Systematic evaluation by linguists of the quality of such procedures, however, has shown that they are often unreliable and lead to erroneous conclusions (Eades, 2009). Appeals to government to improve the quality of the analyses have generally been met with flat rejection in spite of their flaws (McNamara & Roever, 2006). What is crucial, if these assessment procedures are to be used at all (some would advocate their abandonment altogether), is that the language sample is sufficient to make an accurate determination, and that the analyst possesses the appropriate skills, including sociolinguistic knowledge about the variety/ies involved. However, this information is not always readily available, given the instability and violence of many of the regions concerned (see the guidelines in Language and National Origin Group, 2004). In a points system developed originally in Australia to discriminate among classes of potential immigrants (subsequently adopted in Québec and more

262  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism recently in the United Kingdom), testing is typically conducted prior to entry and candidates gain points for age, health, occupation, and educational level, as well as for proficiency in the national language. It is this last area that is often enough to make the difference between acceptance and rejection. Sometimes the language requirement is applied to very specific groups of immigrants—for example, clerics, following controversy about the role of foreign‐born clerics in promoting adherence to hardline Islamist positions among their congregations. In some countries (e.g., the Netherlands, as described in De Jong, Lennig, Kerkhoff, & Poelmans, 2009), the prospective spouses of residents or citizens are targeted, through tests of spoken proficiency often delivered over the telephone prior to entry in the language of the country concerned. Recent policies (e.g., in the United Kingdom, Denmark, Germany, and Australia) have extended the use of language tests to those who have already been admitted to the country concerned but are now seeking permanent residency. The most firmly established use of language tests is as a condition for access to full citizenship; some countries have required a basic knowledge of the national language for many years (a century in the case of the United States, and since 1948 in Australia). Traditionally, such requirements have been interpreted very liberally. For example, applicants in Australia until recently only had to be able to answer questions in simple English about themselves. Over the past 20 years, however, geopolitical developments in a number of societies have led to a change in attitude toward such tests and to marked policy changes in reaction to the growth of ethnic diversity, internal ethnic tensions, and security concerns (Extra, Spotti, & van Avermaet, 2009; McNamara & Shohamy, 2008). Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, countries such as Estonia and Latvia adopted language policies favoring the non‐Russian speaking population and discriminating against ethnic Russians (Shohamy, 2001; Zabrodskaja, 2009). These policies demand competence in the national language (Estonian or Latvian) as a condition for citizenship as well as employment and social welfare benefits, and thus use language testing to enforce the policies. In a differing example, the German government has implemented tests in a traditional regional variety of German as a means to reduce the eligible numbers of so‐called Spätaussiedler, members of German ethnic minorities in the former Soviet Union, wishing to emigrate to Germany. Forty‐two per cent of the applicants in the period 1996–2000, or some 77,000 people, were denied the right to reside in Germany on these grounds (McNamara & Roever, 2006; see Schupbach, 2009 for an updated account). Further citizenship testing, used in seven of the European countries employing the ALTE survey, requires the demonstration of knowledge of the society of the host country—usually of its institutions, history, and cultural and political values. What is not generally recognized is that such tests are tantamount to a de facto language proficiency requirement, in that the tests are typically linguistically demanding and only available in written form, thus demanding literacy skills. Certain top immigrant‐receiving countries have also recently revised their language requirements for citizenship, motivated for the most part by discourses of

Language Assessment  263 national identity in the context of external threats of terrorism. The U.S. language test is closely tied to the knowledge of society test and is highly artificial, requiring the applicant to write out at dictation one or more sentences comprised of words drawn from a published list, in violation of current wisdom about the design of valid language tests (Kunnan, 2009), in that any inferences about relevant real‐ world competencies are difficult to draw. It at least has the virtue of not involving the introduction of drastically higher language proficiency requirements, and in this the United States is in marked contrast to almost every other democratic society. For example, a series of measures introduced in Britain in the last five years have systematically and drastically increased the language proficiency requirements at every stage of the immigration, settlement, and citizenship ­process (Blackledge, 2009; Cook, 2009). Australia has followed the lead of Britain and other European countries in its recently introduced changes to citizenship procedures, introducing a knowledge of society test that is demanding in terms of its language proficiency and literacy requirements. The many variations in the language tests used to determine citizenship cast doubt on the rhetoric that the exams are functionally necessary and serve the interests of immigrants themselves. It seems instead that the language proficiency levels that the exams demand tend to be highest in contexts where immigration debates have been the most intense. A case in point is the Netherlands, which has pioneered the use of language tests in immigration and extended the immigration requirement to spouses of Dutch citizens (Gysen, Kuijper, & van Avermaet, 2009)—a very exacting requirement for those applying from countries where access to the language, for instance through appropriate courses, is likely to be very limited.

Challenges These developments pose a challenge to the profession of applied linguistics, ­particularly but not exclusively to those who are involved in the development and administration of tests (McNamara & Shohamy, 2008). There is a need first to identify and articulate the underlying assumptions and goals of the policies requiring tests. Applied linguists and their professional associations are often called upon for their technical expertise in developing and implementing testing policies. For instance, the organizations of Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL) and the American Association for Applied Linguistics (AAAL) have played a role at various times in reforming the procedures in the United States. Large language‐testing organizations in Britain develop language tests for immigrants, and applied linguistics research centers have been approached to assist in the development of new citizenship testing policies in Australia. Given this is the case, what are their responsibilities, and possible courses of action? In general, the articulation of the issues involved in such policies even within the field itself is handicapped by the overspecialization within areas of

264  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism applied linguistics, and by the narrowness of the training that applied linguists receive, to the neglect of more broadly theorizing the social context in which the work of applied linguists takes place. This is perhaps particularly true of language testers, given the relatively asocial intellectual traditions on which language testing draws (McNamara & Roever, 2006). But language testers, like all applied linguists, have moral consciences as well as political and social responsibilities. Even more difficult is the dialogue with policy‐makers, in which we as researchers and advocates need to develop greater expertise. The experience of language professionals in getting their voice heard is not encouraging. We urgently need to consider and develop more effective forms of advocacy and mobilization of constituencies whose voices policy‐makers will simply be unable to ignore.

Alternative proposals: More valid approaches to assessing language knowledge in the era of the multilingual turn It is also the responsibility of applied linguists and psychometricians to contribute towards the development of language assessments that are appropriate, valid, and fair for immigrants. As language testing in its various forms today is implemented across different contexts, it promulgates ever narrower definitions of “correct” language use, and serves as a gatekeeper in determining who can claim ownership to a language or not. In so doing, these forms of language testing have fallen out of step with new research in applied linguistics that highlights the complex, dynamic and fluid ways that bilinguals actually use their languages (termed “dynamic ­languaging” by Flores, 2012). Rather than holding each of their languages in isolation, distinct and disconnected, as if they were monolinguals in two languages (Brutt‐Griffler & Varghese, 2004), recent research shows how the minds of bilinguals work differently. These researchers break away from outdated notions of “parallel monolingualism” (Heller, 1999, p. 271), the “two solitudes” (Cummins, 2005, p. 588), or “monolingualism times two” (García, 2009, p. 70) in describing the cognitive processing of bilinguals. García (2009) instead discusses “translanguaging” to describe the language practices of bilinguals, and how they use their languages flexibly and creatively to make meaning (see Chapter 13 Translanguaging, Bilingualism and Bilingual Education). With the expansion of multilingualism and super‐diversity across the world today emblematic of this “multilingual turn” (May, 2013), or the shift in thinking wherein multilingualism rather than monolingualism has become the accepted norm, we argue that this body of research should and will guide the next wave of language assessment research and practices. In specific, for assessments of emergent bilinguals to be valid and fair, it is essential that they too use language flexibly, creating affordances for home languages as well as practices in the new language. If, for instance, our purpose is to measure a student’s understandings of

Language Assessment  265 math content, then assessments must be created that allow for this knowledge— rather than language proficiency—to be what is truly measured. In a thematic issue of the Modern Language Journal exploring multilingual teaching and learning, edited by Cenoz and Gorter, Shohamy (2011) brings the reality that emergent bilinguals continue to use their home languages throughout their lives and especially in the processing of academic content into the language testing arena. Specifically, she proposes the use of bi/multilingual tests to match the actual language practices of bi/multilinguals in school and society. Unlike test accommodations, which offer only temporary support with limited success, empirical research by Shohamy (2011) as well as Rea‐Dickins, Khamis, and Khamis (2011) suggests that the use of multilingual assessments significantly contributes to higher scores on academic tasks and more accurately reflects the knowledge of  bi/multilingual test takers. This is because what we term here “dynamic assessment” offers affordances for emergent bilinguals to use their entire linguistic repertoire flexibly and creatively to process and produce language for academic purposes through various procedures such as mediation and displaying test ­questions simultaneously in two languages. Rather than suppress students’ home language practices, given the power and prestige of language tests, dynamic ­multilingual assessments not only offer more accurate information about students and improve their outcomes, but also serve to raise the prestige of students’ home languages in schools and society. Although translanguaging approaches in language assessment hold the potential to curtail many of the testing misuses and oppressive de facto language policies endemic in past language testing practices, as identified in this chapter, very little research has been conducted on the topic, and multiple challenges and questions remain. Researchers and language testers are just beginning to explore dynamic assessments that allow emergent bilingual adults and children to demonstrate their knowledge and skills using their entire linguistic repertoire, and together set an agenda for new directions in language assessment. This recognition of multilingualism and super diversity in language testing as the new norm, we believe, not only provides fairer assessments that more accurately reflect how immigrant ­children process content, but is also deeply rooted in the belief that bilingualism is a resource and an asset.

Notes 1  While a small handful of states permit testing of subjects such as math and science in languages other than English, the vast majority of states do not. And even when translations are permitted, NCLB mandates that all students participate in English language arts testing (tests of academic language and literacy skills) as well as English language proficiency testing, thereby establishing and asserting de facto English‐only policy in all states (Menken, 2008; Menken & Solorza, 2014). 2  Instruction in ESL programs is typically monolingual in English.

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16 Teacher Education and Support Anne‐Marie de Mejía and Christine Hélot Introduction Ofelia García and Tatyana Kleyn (2013) maintain that, in today’s increasingly diverse and mobile world, it is difficult to find any teacher who has not had to face a multilingual classroom at some stage of their career and that the consequence of this is that “all teacher education programs in the 21st century must prepare teachers for multilingual education” (p. 5543). However, this is not as simple as it might seem. As the two authors recognize, in many parts of the world teacher ­education programs train teachers as specialists in traditional disciplines. Thus, it is often the case that the complexities of the bi/multilingual classroom are underestimated by practitioners who have either not been trained to cope with or exploit multilingual realities, or who may implicitly subscribe to the notion of a monolingual norm, considering that multilingualism may lead to confusion and difficulty in learning through the dominant school language(s). However, it is also true that teachers have the power to make critical choices about the language and education policies that they enact in their classrooms daily and the pedagogical strategies they use, which are based on their beliefs about ­languages and linguistic diversity (Hélot & O’Laoire, 2011). These beliefs may be inarticulate or unexamined from a critical perspective and teachers may well ­consider pedagogical or educational issues as separate from political or social ­concerns. However, as Pennycook (2001) reminds us, education is not neutral. A political dimension is inherent in the way schools, classrooms, and programs are governed. Yet, as many teacher educators know, understanding reality is not the same thing as changing it. As Shor (1992, p. 6) declares, “Knowledge is not exactly power, knowledge is the power to know, to understand, but not necessarily the power to do or change. Knowledge is power only for those who can use it to change their conditions.”

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Teacher Education and Support  271 In this chapter we will explore some of the issues that relate to these concerns from a historical perspective. We will also discuss ways in which both future and experienced teachers can be helped to work with bi/multilingualism in their classrooms. We argue for the need for teacher education programs (both preservice and in‐service) to help practitioners develop new understandings about the role of multiple languages both in social and in educational contexts. We will maintain that the developing of a critical and reflexive attitude to teaching and learning in bi/multilingual educational settings will help teachers to become more sensitive to the possibilities of exploiting the multilingual resources often present but unacknowledged in the classroom. We will also argue that, if teachers and trainee teachers are helped to become aware that some languages and some learning ­contents are excluded from the curriculum and that such choices are political in nature, they may also be enabled to become aware of their ability to challenge and resist coercive power relations in the context of their teaching (see Cummins, 2000).

Historical overview Traditionally, discussions of teacher education in relation to language learning have been framed within the bounds of second or foreign language teaching and learning. Thus, von Hoene (2008), in her review of foreign language teacher ­education, notes that before the 1950s “publications … focused primarily on secondary school instructors … [while] publications from the mid‐1950s to the early 1980s … focus primarily on the need to establish systematic preparation for teaching assistants” (pp. 269–270). Margaret Hawkins (2004), for her part, refers to a paradigm shift from “viewing language learning as an isolated, individual phenomenon to viewing it as one ­inherently embedded in and shaped by situated social interactions” (p. 3). She also discusses a parallel shift in teacher education, from “a view of teaching as a technical endeavor … to critical teacher education, a view of teacher as transformative agents” (pp. 4–5). This vision reflects a much earlier recognition by García (1993) of the “true” role of teachers in transitional bilingual classrooms, where she argues for the need for teachers to abandon their “limited role as instructor, merely knowledgeable about educational approaches and materials”; instead she urges them to become “true educators, questioning and shaping the societal goal of the educational program and providing students with the knowledge and resources needed” (p. 25). In 1998, Nunan and Lam adapted parameters originally designed for language teacher education programs in general to specifically focus on teaching in multilingual settings. They outlined six main areas of importance. These include: • Whether there exists an overt multilingual education policy in the country concerned • The degree of competence in both non‐dominant and dominant society ­languages and cultures that is required of teachers • The expected educational level that teachers will be working at

272  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism • The background of the course participants • The type of qualification awarded in the teacher education program • The support for both dominant and nondominant languages in the home. The above list implies that teacher education programs need to take into account the context where the trainees will be working. However, this is obviously not something which has been widely implemented, as can be seen by the fact that in 2004, Brutt‐Griffler and Varghese, in their overview of the roles of bilingual teachers, criticize the static and prescriptive nature of the professional development programs offered to bilingual teachers in the United States, where much of the knowledge presented is decontextualized and where they maintain that “the knowledge base has failed to include many of the roles that bilingual teachers are involved in” (Brutt‐Griffler & Varghese, 2004, p. 99). However, they also acknowledge the importance of providing “mainstream or content area teacher with techniques in language support” (p. 98). In this way, there is a clear change of emphasis from the division between language and content‐area specialist teacher training and education towards the recognition that it is necessary to formulate the knowledge basis of bilingual teaching and learning differently. For their part, in articles in the same volume, Benson, Morgan, and Varghese also question the limitations of traditional programs offered to teachers who work in bilingual settings. Benson (2004) considers that the major roles that these types of courses should address for teachers in developing countries are: bilingual teachers as pedagogues (languages and content), as linguists (including literacy), as intercultural communicators, as community members, and as advocates for bilingual programs. Morgan (2004) acknowledges a deep contradiction between “the ways that language teacher education programmes teach and the ways that teachers teach (and learn)” seeing these as “incompatible pedagogies” (p. 177). Varghese (2004), from her experience in the U.S. context also shows how there has been “a lack of dialogue about the roles of bilingual teachers” (p. 233). She claims that their pedagogical roles go beyond a linguistic focus and include issues of advocacy for their students. Thus, these researchers argue that professional development programs for bilingual teachers in the United States should be seen as situated practice, linked to actual classroom practice in local settings.

Discussion of current state of knowledge According to Tedick and Fortune (2013), who carry out research on immersion programs in the United States, there are few adequate preservice courses currently available which prepare teachers to work in bilingual or immersion programs and, therefore, most teachers have to learn while on the job or through in‐service provision. If we turn now to teacher education for multilingual programs in Europe we can see that the panorama is fairly similar. As Anderson, Hélot, McPake, and Obied (2010) note, in spite of the fact that there are increasing numbers of students with diverse language histories at school in different European

Teacher Education and Support  273 countries, there is a scarcity of initial teacher education and professional development courses designed to prepare teachers and educational managers to work in multilingual schools. These researchers maintain that there are three main areas that professional development for staff working in multilingual educational contexts needs to address. The first, supporting language acquisition and development, stresses support for “students’ linguistic acquisition and development, both in the language of schooling and in the other languages they use outside the school, as well as those (‘modern’ or ‘foreign’ languages they are learning at school” (Anderson, Hélot, McPake, & Obied, 2010, p. 5). These authors also make reference to the importance of professional education for in‐service teachers to link language and learning in order “to develop effective educational programmes which … build on the potential benefits of diverse experiences and linguistic competences” (Anderson, Hélot, McPake, & Obied, 2010, p. 7), thus seeing multilingualism as a resource rather than a problem (Ruiz, 1984). The third area that professional development courses for teachers should include involves language policy and social justice. This area focuses on issues such as social inclusion, social cohesion, and respect for diversity. The researchers argue here that professional development relating to language policy can help teachers and educational managers to “respond sensitively to questions of which languages can or should be used in which contexts, for which purposes, and by whom, whether in classrooms or in communal areas within the school” (Anderson, Hélot, McPake, & Obied, 2010, p. 7).

In Europe These three areas situate teacher education and support programs in the interstice where educational and pedagogical concerns meet learners’ use and development of their multiple linguistic repertoires in their daily lives, both inside and outside educational institutions. No longer can teachers only be worried about academic issues. In the light of these considerations, they must also become aware of both the prevalent linguistic and cultural diversity which characterizes many schools in today’s world and, in doing so, learn how to develop strategies which can help them to rethink their relationship to language, from the singular to the plural (de Mejía & Hélot, 2011). In this way we feel that they will be helped to make their classrooms more hospitable to linguistic and cultural diversity, more inclusive of social difference, and more open to learning through several languages. However, this hopeful scenario belies some of the difficulties involved in how to actually bring teachers to develop a critical relation to knowledge, schooling, and society— in other words, how to help them recognize that social and economic values are embedded in the structure of the institutions they work in, as well as in the school knowledge they are supposed to “transmit” (de Mejía & Hélot, 2011). There have been various attempts to bridge the gap between the traditional concerns of classroom practitioners and those of researchers interested in the possibility of facilitating a critical vision among teachers and teacher educators. In France, Hélot and Young (2006) have documented a language awareness (L.A.)

274  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism project in an Alsatian primary school in Didenheim, which has had far‐reaching effects on the teachers, parents, and children involved in the experience. The researchers also maintain that it “fills a gap in teacher education” (p. 87) in that it helps teachers to recognize that multilingual practices outside school can constitute legitimate classroom resources. They argue that, as language awareness focuses on attitudes rather than on aptitude (a concern of foreign language teaching and learning), L.A. should help teachers to reflect on the relationships between language and power in the classroom and in the curriculum (Hélot & Young, 2006). On similar lines, Mary and Young (2010), within the framework of a European project called Teacher Education for the Support of Second Language Acquisition, discuss ways in which they tried to sensitize trainee teachers to plurilingual and pluricultural students’ needs by creating a didactic model based on Problem Based Learning (PBL) in which “student teachers are encouraged to reflect on their values and beliefs, make comparisons with those of others and engage with the research findings of the scientific community” (p. 196). The researchers make ­reference to the gap between helping the student teachers to understand the needs of culturally diverse students and their putting appropriate professional strategies into operation, particularly since many of them come from the dominant cultural group and therefore often subscribe, consciously or unconsciously, to a vision of “a singular, normative, national identity, language and culture” (p. 198). By means of the completion of initial and final questionnaires by two groups of  primary student teachers in Colmar, Alsace, and the analysis of the minutes of group activities related to PBL activities, the researchers sought to establish the impact of the teacher‐education course on changing trainees’ perceptions and beliefs in relation to multilingualism and pluriculturalism both in the community and in the school setting. The post‐course evaluations provided evidence to ­suggest that participants had gained new insights into the importance of language and identity in learning as well as “an adjustment of the students´ initial, essentially monocultural, world views in relation to languages, bilingualism and learning” (Mary & Young, 2010, p. 214). However, the researchers do not include systematic data on how far this awareness was actually put into practice by the newly qualified teachers. In another study carried out in a similar context with a similar aim, Adam Le Nevez (2010) reports on an action‐research project he conducted with primary student teachers in Alsace in order to explore the extent to which their attitudes and ideologies about languages and learners might be culturally and linguistically specific. Through analysis of data collected by means of a research questionnaire and from a subsequent discussion and feedback session with the same participants, the researcher came to the conclusion that many of the trainees were more interested in looking for “instrumentalist solutions to the problem of linguistic diversity, rather than taking a broader, more critical approach to the problem of treating classes as normatively monolingual” (p. 192). In the same line of argument, a number of other student teachers were of the opinion that they needed more practical help and less theory to find solutions to this difficulty, while others saw the problem as a “lack of correct training on managing diversity” (p. 192). The author

Teacher Education and Support  275 concludes that diversity of language skills among classroom participants is frequently seen by teachers and teacher trainees in France as a problem, complicating the teacher´s role in transmitting knowledge, rather than as a resource for learning. These three case‐studies carried out in Alsace reveal certain common aspects. First of all, there is an emphasis on the virtue of promoting a critical and reflexive attitude among student teachers and their in‐service counterparts to the implications of linguistic and cultural diversity for them, both personally and professionally. Secondly, there is the recognition that student teachers come from the dominant linguistic and cultural group and that, even in Alsace, a plurilingual region of France where Alsatian and German are regularly used in daily life, as well as French, there seems to be a great lack of awareness among the trainees who participated in the studies as to the educational benefits of being bilingual or multilingual. Furthermore, there are few student teachers who come from minority language communities. However, the three studies also provide different conclusions in relation to the ­perceived success of the initiatives. While the Didenheim experience is seen as positive, there is no indication of whether, in fact, the recommendations for teacher education programs have been put into effect and with what result. The second study, in Colmar, is shown to have had an impact on changing student teachers attitudes and perceptions during their studies, but, as the authors themselves admit, there is no evidence of whether this helps to change classroom practices. The final study provides evidence of the degree of resistance on the part of some of the teacher trainees to attempts to get them to reflect critically on aspects of multilingualism and multiculturalism in the classroom and their insistence on clinging to transmission‐oriented pedagogy, with its emphasis on solutions to “problems” involving “correct training.”

In North America Turning now to work carried out recently in North America, we will report briefly on two studies, one by Ofelia García and Patricia Velasco (2011) in the U.S. context which, in contrast to the studies conducted in Alsace, focuses specifically on minority language teachers and the results of teacher education programs based on Collaborative Descriptive Inquiry (CDI) and the second by Cécile Sabatier in British Columbia, Canada. García and Velasco (2011) recognize one of the main difficulties with both ­preservice and in‐service teacher education programs in the United States as “their great lack of sensitivity to what the teacher brings, what s/he knows, what s/he sees, what his/her experience is based on” (p. 31).1 The researchers present various examples of the use of CDI as a tool enabling in‐service teachers and teacher trainees to reflect on and analyze their classroom practice by observing a particular student´s work through the lens of a structured process of reflection and self‐ observation on the part of the student‐teacher and the teacher educator. Thus, this process involves first of all, observation, then collaboration and finally, description. In one of the examples directly related to teacher education, the authors refer to the use of a strategy they call “double‐entry diaries.” The student‐teachers, who were all from minority communities, were instructed to copy a paragraph from

276  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism one of the academic articles set for reading and discussion that they found particularly meaningful for themselves. Then, they had to reflect in writing why this was important, sharing personal and academic experiences related to this idea. The teacher educator then responded to the diary by writing a comment. The results of the initiative, after a five‐year period, were considered highly positive, not only for the trainee‐teachers but also for the teacher educators themselves. As the researchers note, by means of CDI, a culture of collaboration and description was created among all the  students[teachers] who felt supported and part of a group. But the process also involved the faculty [teacher educators], who were mostly monolingual North‐ Americans … who gradually became learners about other cultures and other languages. (García & Velasco, 2011, p. 37)

In Canada, Cécile Sabatier (2011) discusses the results of a longitudinal study focusing on the construction, negotiation, and transformation of the professional identity of student‐teachers of French in a teacher education program in British Columbia. In a similar fashion to the study carried out in New York, the student‐ teachers were asked to reflect individually in writing during their course on notions such as their professional, linguistic, and social identities in a predominantly English‐speaking context. Teacher education in this research project is seen as a dynamic process of identity development within an evolving community of practice, recognizing the political nature of these processes. The analysis highlights the relevance of investigating how student teachers are impacted by teacher education programs in order to understand the multiple factors that influence these processes. The focus is on understanding how professional learning takes place, as well as how academic demands and social expectations may empower these student teachers into ways of thinking and teaching. The results of Sabatier’s study show how, through their representations and ­discourses on the communities of practice they are about to become part of, these trainee teachers begin to recognize that learning to teach is a long and complex ­process which is not reducible to skills and competencies alone. They gradually learn the importance of affective and social dimensions in this process, which involves the developing of new professional practices and identities. Furthermore, they are helped to question their identities and their legitimacy as teachers of French and this enables them to become more conscious of their social and professional identities in an ideological setting which assigns different values to different languages.

In South America Finally, in this section, we will report on work carried out on this topic in Latin America, in Colombia, to be precise. The first study, a collaborative research project, was conducted in a school in Cali, Colombia with in‐service‐teachers, academic coordinators, members of the school administration, and university teacher educators. Thus, it differs from the studies reported in preservice situations in France, the

Teacher Education and Support  277 United States, and Canada. However, the expressed aim of the project was similar: to facilitate the empowerment of the participants in the project, by raising consciousness of “their capacities, potential, knowledge and experiences in the area, so that they can assume responsibilities in the development of autonomy and full participation in decision‐making” (de Mejía, Tejada, & Colmenares, 2009, p. 148). Through discourse analysis of interactive focus group sessions based on categories such as directive speech acts and perceived relationships between theory and practice, as well as data from participant diaries and interviews, there was evidence to suggest that rather than a “linear process” there was “a fluctuating co‐existence of consent and resistance to processes of empowerment” (de Mejía, Tejada, & Colmenares, 2009, p. 160). Thus, on balance, during the second phase of the project, there was an increase in the relative number of directive speech acts carried out by “less powerful participants” (p. 150), categorized in the study as those who did not have directive status within the school hierarchy or who were not considered to have specialized knowledge of the topics discussed, particularly the preschool teachers. However, at the same time, there was also a countercurrent of resistance to the notion of teacher empowerment, aimed at maintaining the traditional directive role of the university teacher educators. This is clearly related to the feelings of uncertainty and questioning which characterized many of the participants during the study, some of whom were helped to change and broaden their understanding of classroom interaction, while others felt increasing insecure and anxious. The final study referred to here, (Torres Jaramillo & Monguí Sánchez, 2008), was also carried out in Colombia, but this time in Bogotá. It was similar in conception to the project described above, in that it was of a collaborative nature, involving a partnership between a university teacher education unit in foreign languages and a school through the implementation of a Professional Development School. The researchers stress the importance of setting up interinstitutional alliances and clarifying the implications of working collaboratively and ensuring a smooth process of interaction between trainee‐teachers, their mentors and the administrative staff. Throughout the process, there was an emphasis on helping student teachers who came to do their practicum in the school to feel a sense of ownership towards the institution by encouraging them to work on committees set up to provide solutions to certain issues in the school, such as material design, evaluation techniques, and parental involvement. Thus, the trainees felt valued by the school and became increasingly committed to their work. Their mentors also documented the positive transformations experienced, in spite of the difficulties experienced, such as lack of support from some of the administrators, lack of resources and a certain degree of confusion about participants´ roles.

Discussion of future directions Some of the greatest challenges facing teacher educators have been identified recently by Tedick and Fortune (2013, p. 440) as the lack of a critical mass of teachers, as well as difficulties in how to narrow the gap that often exists between

278  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism teacher education programs and practitioner realities. The researchers also blame the clear separation and lack of integration that exists between tertiary level programs that offer trainees “grade‐level appropriate licensure,” those that provide “ongoing support for … second language proficiency” and those that help to deepen “bilingual/immersion‐specific knowledge and skills.” García and Kleyn (2013), while acknowledging these difficulties in the connection and integration of current provision for teacher education for multilingual education, propose three ways forward for teacher education curricula in the twenty‐first century, echoing the recommendations drawn up by Anderson, Hélot, McPake, and Obied (2010). First of all, they stress the importance of developing understandings of bilingual/multilingual students and their families in order to become more aware of “the many home languages and cultural practices of the children and to be able to build on that knowledge … to share it with all the ­children in the multilingual classroom” (García & Kleyn, 2013, p. 5544). They thus recommend close collaboration with learners’ families in order to have a more integrated vision of how students use their languages in different scenarios in their lives. The second recommendation for teacher education curricula is that practitioners need to have a knowledge base that includes knowledge about language in general, and about bilingualism, biliteracy, translanguaging, and ­ processes of acquisition of multiple languages, in particular. The final recommendation has to do with helping teachers to construct pedagogy for multilingualism, based on social justice and equity, as well as social practice, which the authors see as connected to students´ worlds and identities. Thus, the call is for more knowledge, understanding, and reflection on how student teachers can be helped to make connections between their own experience as learners, their understanding of general pedagogical principles, and the real‐life linguistic, educational, and cultural contexts of which their students are part. In this way, future teacher education programs can help to provide novice teachers and their more experienced colleagues with more appropriate tools and a change of mindset so that they are able to face the challenges of the multilingual classroom with more resources both professionally and personally.

Conclusion In this chapter, we have traced the changing demands on teacher education programs from the mainly linguistic concerns of the 1990s to the acknowledgement of the need for situated pedagogies based on concrete knowledge of the realities of multilingual students in today´s world. We have shown, in different countries, how it is not always easy to help student teachers to become reflexive, informed, and sensitive practitioners. We have also focused on how teacher identities— professional, cultural, and linguistic—are often involved in processes of evolution and change which can cause participants to suffer anxiety and confusion on their journeys towards deeper understanding of their new and changing relationships and practices.

Teacher Education and Support  279 We have argued that teacher educators have an important role to play in the process of helping teachers and future teachers to understand complex multilingual realities in their classrooms and how to implement pedagogical strategies which will allow all their students to make full use of their bilingual and multilingual repertoires. They can help practicing and future teachers to reflect on their own language‐learning experiences, to recognize their own attitudes towards the differential value and status of the languages present in their classrooms, as well as to probe their insecurities about the position of teachers who are valued as “native speakers” as opposed to high‐level bilingual or multilingual professionals. It is interesting to note that in the 2004 edition of The Handbook of Bilingualism, edited by T. K. Bhatia and W. Ritchie, there is no chapter devoted to teacher education or development for bilingualism or multilingualism. This is also the case in the second edition, published in 2013. Whether this can be attributed to a lack of interest on the part of the editors, or whether this omission reflects the idea that teacher education for bilingualism/multilingualism is part of the domain specifically relating to educational concerns is unclear. In any case, we would maintain that teacher education is key to future developments in bilingual and multilingual education and needs to be able to support and challenge practitioners and future teachers to take decisions and implement pedagogical practices appropriate for their individual students, within a framework of increasing awareness of their roles and responsibilities and realization of their importance in changing practices and relationships within their own classrooms and school contexts.

Note 1  Quotations from this chapter are the authors’ translations from Spanish to English.

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17 Parent and Community Involvement in Bilingual and Multilingual Education M. Beatriz Arias Introduction Parents of language‐minority students, like all parents, play a critical role in their children’s socialization and success in school. This important parental role is more easily facilitated when their children attend schools with bilingual and m ­ ultilingual education programs, and in schools where there are teachers, administrators, and staff members who speak the languages of the students and their families. Indeed, many effective bilingual and multilingual programs around the world feature strong parental involvement—as classroom volunteers, on parent and community advisory boards, and in some cases in parental administrative control over the schools. Many bilingual programs are also the direct result of grassroots efforts by parents who lobby and who have used the legal system to ensure that local schools were addressing their children’s linguistic and academic needs. However, most linguistic‐minority children in the world attend schools lacking bilingual programs, bilingual personnel, and clear models of parental involvement. Nonetheless, these schools must still communicate with parents and seek ways to engage them in their children’s education. In the United States, for example, with a significant increase in the immigrant population over the last two decades, school personnel who value the participation of parents in their children’s education have had to reconsider the manner in which parents are informed of their children’s progress, invited to participate in school events, and incorporated in the school/community dialogue. New accountability initiated by the No Child Left Behind Act of 2000, requires schools to reach out to families, include parents in their advisory committees, and partner with families to promote student achievement. Only recently have educators begun a two‐way dialogue to inform themselves of the values and strengths immigrant communities represent. For immigrant parents, contact with schools is often the

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  283 first step in interactions with personnel who embody the values and expectations of the new host culture. The expectations and the values that immigrants bring around schooling need to be recognized and incorporated into successful school outreach to families and communities. This review of immigrant parental and community involvement in the c­ ontext of the United States will provide a history of the federal government’s role in constructing parental involvement, and address the deficit model within ­ which much of the parental involvement paradigm evolved. It will review the most ­prevalent models of parental involvement and contrast them with non‐­ traditional parental involvement models which have been used successfully with immigrant parents in the United States. Finally, this review will briefly provide examples of immigrant parent–community partnerships supported ­ by  bilingual community‐based organizations which have led to advocacy for educational reform.

Role of the U.S. federal government in constructing parental involvement In the United States, federal education policy has long maintained that parental involvement in children’s education has the potential to positively affect student achievement (Kainz & Aikens, 2007). In the mid‐1960s, with the emergence of federal initiatives supporting bilingual and multicultural education came the ­ concurrent requirement for parental involvement and participation in these ­programs. Scholars note that these early programs were characterized by “deficit” thinking (Valencia & Black, 2002) and constructed as a remedy for “problem” minority populations (Bacquedano‐López, Alexander, & Hernández, 2013; Delgado‐Gaitan, 2004). Students classified as English learners (ELs) and their immigrant families were characterized as missing key socialization attributes necessary for school success (Valdés, 1996). Ignorant of cultural values in immigrant homes, some thought that these families did not support education (Valdés, 1996). This cultural deficit model continues to shape much of the discourse regarding minority families (Flores, Cousin, & Diaz, 1991). Bacquedano‐López, Alexander, and Hernández (2013) characterize the federal role supporting parental involvement as a remedy for a “problem” minority population. The War on Poverty w ­ itnessed the enactment of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) of 1965, which established Title I “to provide financial assistance to local education agencies servicing areas with concentrations of children from low‐income families to expand and improve their education programs by various means” (ESEA, 1965). Continuing with the focus on low‐income families, the 1983 publication of A Nation at Risk by the National Commission on Education stressed the role of parental involvement as a key c­ omponent to schools’ restructuring efforts. Since the enactment of the 1988 Hawkins–Stafford Amendments, Title 1 schools have expanded their parental involvement activities.

284  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism These amendments acknowledged the significant role ­parents have in their children’s education and the methods by which schools can enlist parents as partners. However, the role emphasized by the government was influenced by a normative perspective, based on middle class values and situated immigrant families in a deficit model (Bacquedano‐López, Alexander, & Hernández, 2013; Valencia, 1997). Parental involvement programs targeted at immigrant families in the 1980s met with limited success due to their emphasis on “one‐way communication” efforts and the fact that they ignored the cultural ecology and dynamics that immigrant families bring to American schooling. With the passage of the Goals 2000: Educate America Act, the commitment to improve the education of all students has become a national priority. In an effort to encourage and increase the participation of parents in their children’s schooling, Goal 8 of the National Education Goals specifies that schools will actively engage parents and families in a partnership that supports the academic work of children at home and shared educational decision making at school. Today’s initiatives on parental involvement still struggle to be culturally inclusive, particularly in schools lacking bilingual programs and personnel. According to Hill and Tórres (2010) current policies to promote achievement in the United States emphasize the role of the family, however, they note that “school relations have not considered culturally embedded strategies or beliefs about parental involvement” (p. 96). Recently, more ecological models of parental involvement have emerged, stressing inclusion and alternative ­perspective for immigrant parental perspectives to be voiced (Arias & Morillo‐ Campbell, 2008).

U.S. demographic contexts English Learners (ELs) are the fastest growing segment in the U.S. K‐12 education system (Fix & Passel, 2003). The EL population grew by 37% ­between 2000 and 2010 compared with the 3% growth of the general K‐12 population, and now total over 5 million across the country. By 2025 ELs will comprise one‐fourth of the national enrollment. One in four school‐age children reside with an immigrant parent (Fix & Passel, 2003), and a large proportion of these students will be ELs. It is important to state that though increases in the immigrant and EL student populations have occurred concurrently, most EL students are not immigrants. Most EL students are born in the United States either as children of immigrants or, in some cases as children with native‐born parents. The EL student population is very diverse: 30% has been in the United States for 10 years or more; 48% for five to nine years; and 21% for less than five years. Only about a quarter (24%) of EL children in elementary school were foreign–born. At the secondary level, a higher share (44%) of EL students was foreign‐born. Despite the fact that over 50% of EL students are native‐born, the fate of all ELs is inextricably linked to their families, who may be immigrants (Capps et al., 2005). All ELs are subject to the consequences of the current anti‐immigrant sentiment.

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  285 Relevant demographic features that are shared by ELs and many immigrant families are segregation, poverty, and lack of English ability. In the last decade ELs have become the most highly segregated segment of students; they are segregated by language, ethnicity, and socioeconomic status. In 2000 six out of seven elementary and two out of three secondary EL students lived in households in which languages other than English were spoken. EL students attend schools that are mostly linguistically segregated and that level is rising. Many times they get “tracked” into English as a Second Language (ESL) “ghettos” where their exposure to native English‐speaking peers is further compromised. Such segregation also occurs in traditional bilingual education programs in which ELs are taught in ­separate classrooms from their English‐proficient peers. Nationally, most EL students are concentrated in a few schools. Nearly 70% of EL students enroll in only 10% of elementary schools, and in these schools EL ­students account for almost 50% of the student body (on the average). This is in strong contrast to the 5% of EL students enrolled in the average low‐EL school. Most schools with a large EL student population have a large low‐income population, as confirmed by data from the 2000 Census that indicates a strong ­correlation between lack of English proficiency and poverty. In 2000, 68% of the EL students in Pre‐K to fifth grade were low‐income, as were 60% of EL students in grades 6 to 12. These rates are nearly twice as high as rates for English‐proficient students in comparable grades. With the higher levels of poverty come attendant hardships in schools. For example, EL immigrant students are typically concentrated in high‐poverty schools that generally suffer from shortages of trained teachers, instructional materials, and quality bilingual programs (Cosentino de Cohen, Deterding, & Clewell, 2006). As a result, poor schools serving concentrated populations of low‐income ELs have a generally low instructional capacity. Latino ELs are more isolated than the national average. In an analysis of large city school districts, Frankenberg and Lee (2002) found that “nationally, the average Latino English Language Learner (EL) attends a school where over three‐fifths of the students are Latino” (p. 20). There is little opportunity in a school with a majority EL population for social contact with native English speaking peers. Linguistic isolation is not limited to Latino EL students. While EL children with parents born in India and the Philippines were relatively less likely to be attending linguistically integrated schools, almost 40% of all children with parents born in Vietnam and China attend schools where the other children speak Vietnamese or Chinese. EL children of Korean parents were also identified as attending schools with a majority of Korean‐speaking students, despite the fact the parents reported high parental education levels. It is clear is that most EL students, Latino or Asian, attend schools that are linguistically segregated and that this pattern of linguistic isolation is on the increase. Due to their race, class, immigrant status, language proficiency, and level of education, many immigrant parents fit the description of a marginalized group. The term has been used to describe individuals who are labeled “outsiders” on the basis of race, class, gender, sexual orientation, immigrant status, and physical

286  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism ability. Researchers describe “marginalized” parents as those who are not “involved at the same rate as many White, middle class parents” (Hudak, 1993, p. 173). Marginalized parents often appear less involved than White middle class parents due to their limited exposure to schools, or prior negative experiences with school organizations. Schools with a high EL population face the challenge of communicating with parents, many of whom have comparatively low levels of literacy in their native language, in addition to not speaking or reading English. Many parents of ELs have not completed a high school education and have little formal education compared with native‐born parents. The 2000 Census reports that almost half of EL children in elementary school had parents with less than a high school education, and a quarter had parents with less than a ninth‐grade education. In comparison, only 11% of English‐proficient children had parents without high school degrees and just 2% had parents who had not completed the ninth grade. In secondary school, a lower share of ELL students had parents without high school degrees (35%), but this was still several times the share for children of native‐born parents (4%). The fact that many parents of ELs have not completed a high school education may contribute to the perception that they are marginalized. The 2000 Census reports that parents of EL students completed less high school than parents of immigrant students in general. Almost half of the elementary parents of ELs had completed some high school, but had not graduated. In secondary school, more parents of ELs had completed high school. Schools with high EL populations but which lack bilingual programs and personnel face the challenge of communicating with parents, many of whom have comparatively low levels of literacy in their native language, in addition to not speaking or reading English. The challenge for school personnel is to identify and recognize the cultural and educational strengths of marginalized families, while realizing that parents may not have the social currency/capital to negotiate the unfamiliar terrain of the schools. Immigrant parents often experience confusion and frustration with an educational system that not only misunderstands their cultural values and beliefs, but also places additional barriers that impede their full involvement in their ­children’s schooling. Parents and families of ELs, because of their low English‐­ language proficiency, low‐income status, lack of formal knowledge of the school system, and marginalization may be less involved at school because they feel less welcome at the school, less confident to communicate in English, and less familiar with school expectations. Even parents who have had positive experiences with education may feel uncomfortable entering the school if they have recently arrived in the United States. Immigrant parents, who are often dealing with culture shock, may see the school as a foreign environment which they choose to avoid. How schools reach out to their marginalized populations is the challenge they confront in constructing opportunities for parental involvement. What are key components to effective parental outreach and parental empowerment for EL parents and families?

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  287

Models of parental involvement Most U.S. schools lack bilingual programs and personnel, but even schools with such programs and personnel vary in terms of their level of engagement with ­parents and the models of parental involvement they follow. Parental involvement focused on immigrant parents has followed two trajectories: a traditional and a nontraditional model. In the traditional model, outreach to parents focuses on the formal process of schooling itself. This type of parental involvement seeks to get parents into schools and educate them on how they can support the school’s efforts at home by doing things like reading to their children in English or the home ­language (Valdés, 1996). This type of parental involvement is unidirectional: it focuses on the classroom, the school, the teachers and leaders, and what they need. The focus rarely extends to the parent, family and community, to understand how the school fits in their lives. In traditional forms of parent involvement, the school organizes and orchestrates the activities, rendering the parent passive (Delgado‐Gaitan, 2004). Conventional parent involvement activities in the schools engage parents in raising funds, attending teacher‐parent conferences and supplying input on selected decisions. One of the most cited typologies is Epstein’s (2001) model which emphasizes the partnership between families and schools. It includes six components explaining how schools can work with families and communities to assist them to be informed and involved in children’s education at home and at schools: 1. Parenting: Assist families with parenting and childrearing skills, setting home conditions to support learning. 2. Communicating: Two‐way communication with families about school programs and student progress. 3. Volunteering: Improve recruitment to involve families as volunteers and audiences. 4. Learning at Home: Involve families with their children in learning activities at home, including homework and other curricular‐linked activities. 5. Decision Making: Include families as participants in school decisions, governance and advocacy through councils and organizations. 6. Collaborating with Community: Coordinate the work and resources of community based agencies, colleges and other groups to strengthen school programs. Epstein’s model has been the focus of much of the literature on effective partnerships or collaborations with parents. It is important to stress that each of the components in the Epstein model is mediated by issues of linguistic, cultural and socioeconomic background. For example, parenting and what constitutes “effective” parenting is culturally based (Valdés, 1996). Acting like a student’s teacher at home is not a universally accepted value. Communicating with parents requires

288  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism schools to be aware of the languages spoken in the home, parent’s literacy skills in English and their home languages, and to have bilingual and multilingual teachers, administrators, and/or staff members who can communicate with parents in their languages, and assure that home–school communication is linguistically appropriate. The concept of volunteering in a child’s school is clearly influenced by socioeconomic factors. Parents of ELs frequently work several jobs and may have transportation issues which preclude them from volunteering in the school. Facilitating the learning of subject matter at home, requires parents to be knowledgeable of their students’ curriculum. Asking parents to become involved in school decision making requires parents to be familiar with the operation of the school and to recognize the expectation that they can participate. It also requires that the school provides opportunities for decision making in a culturally and linguistically relevant setting, for example, by conducting meetings bi/multilingually. One way to address the lower levels of participation in these traditional activities would be for schools to provide additional resources to help parents overcome structural barriers that prevent them from participating. For example, by providing translation services, transportation, child care, or greater flexibility in scheduling events, schools might increase participation rates among parents who may not be English‐proficient, have access to cars or child care, or work jobs that do not allow them flexibility in scheduling (Marshall, 2006). Epstein’s final component, Collaborating with Community, highlights one particularly successful component for family involvement. Community Based Organizations (CBOs) have consistently engaged immigrant parents and have educated them to enable their participation in their children’s education. It has become clear that parental involvement models need to account better for the socioeconomic, linguistic, and cultural differences between families, acknowledge family resources including language and culture, and seek ways to improve ­children’s achievement (Chávez‐Reyes, 2012). Non‐traditional models of immigrant parental engagement stress what the school‐community can do to support parents and families. Non‐traditional activities are more likely to be co‐designed by parents and teachers and involve parents as active participants. Proponents of nontraditional parental involvement see parents and families contributing to school success in terms of informal activities such as nurturing, instilling cultural values, talking with their children, and sending them to school clean and rested. Nontraditional parent involvement focuses on family integration into the school culture, and underscores a stronger role for parents in the schools. Table 17.1 compares the components of traditional and non‐traditional approaches to parental involvement. Both traditional and non‐traditional models of parental involvement share two  broad goals: including parents in the decision making process about their ­children’s education and, through that, improving student’s overall persistence in school and academic achievement.

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  289 Table 17.1  Traditional and Non‐Traditional Approaches to Parental Involvement. Traditional

Non ‐Traditional

Assists families with parenting and Develops reciprocal understanding of childrearing skills, and creating schools and families. home conditions to support learning. Communicates with families about Situates cultural strengths of family and school programs and student community within the school progress with two‐way curriculum. communications. Recruiting efforts to involve families as Provides parental education that volunteers and audiences. includes family literacy and understanding school community. Involves families with their children in Promotes parental advocacy that learning activities at home, informs and teaches parents how to including homework and other advocate for their children. curricular‐linked activities. Instills parental empowerment through Includes families as participants in parent‐initiated efforts at the school school decisions, governance, and and community level. advocacy through councils and organizations. Collaborates and coordinates with the Implements culturally and linguistically appropriate practices in all aspects of work and resources of community‐ communication. based agencies, colleges and other groups to strengthen school programs.

Example of non‐traditional parental involvement: PIQE Parents Involved in Quality Education (PIQE) formed in San Diego County in the state of California as a nonprofit organization in 1987. Owing to the absence of parent education programs, PIQE was established to address the concerns of parents, to assist low‐income parents and limited‐English‐speaking families, to translate concern for their children’s education into effective work, and to encourage and assist school success. PIQE trains these parents to work on behalf of their children and to transform their educational, social, and economic opportunities to improve their quality of life. In its work with school districts, PIQE has four goals: (i) to empower parents to be teachers of their children, (ii) to connect low‐income parents with their community schools, (iii) to increase home‐school communication and collaboration, and (iv) to establish an effective home/school‐support team.

290  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism PIQE stresses an active relationship with schools and community organizations to create a full partnership between parents and schools on behalf of the children. The work of PIQE is inclusive and consciously seeks to integrate the schools, administrators, instructors, and family members into a communication and coordination network responsive to issues of change and empowerment. PIQE’s work in the metropolitan urban centers of Southern California has clearly shown that most immigrant and minority parents not only want to be involved, but they will make significant sacrifices for their children. The schools involved with PIQE had a track record of involving no more than 5% to 10% percent of their parents. Yet, PIQE’s parent training intervention has increased parent participation at each of the school sites. Parents improved their understanding of home–school relationships and of the importance of helping in the education of their children at home and at school. Initial studies conducted after the program’s inception reported its effectiveness in promoting parent participation in the schools (Ochoa & Mardirosian, 1996). Recent findings based on interviews conducted with Latino parents who participated in PIQE in the San Diego area revealed a 93% high school graduation rate and a 79.2% enrollment in higher education (Vidano & Sahafi, 2004). To date, over 375,000 parents representing various school districts in California have participated. The program has also expanded to other cities such as in Phoenix, Arizona and Worthington, Minnesota where over 25,000 parents have participated. Other nontraditional approaches to parental involvement include Funds of Knowledge and Joinfostering. These approaches to working with immigrant ­parents articulate a “strength‐based” approach utilizing what students and families do well. Funds of Knowledge represents an ecological approach to inclusive parental involvement, and can be defined as engaged participation (González, Moll, & Amanti, 2005). A Funds of Knowledge approach searches for community representations of broad skill sets and builds on them to develop classroom curricula. A Funds of Knowledge approach might bring students family members to the classroom to share the work they do and then design a curriculum around this work. What can students learn from bricklayers, bakers, tellers, auto‐mechanics, and cooks? There are math and science components in each of these careers which then becomes more relevant for students. Bilingual and multilingual education programs facilitate this process as parents can share their funds of knowledge in their own languages. But such sharing can also be facilitated in non‐bilingual classrooms when parents are bilingual, or through the use of translators. Faltis (1993) recommends a pedagogy that invites ELs and their families to be active participants in classrooms. He calls Joinfostering “the organization and implementation of conditions to promote two‐way communication and social integration within the linguistically diverse all‐English classroom” (p. 1). This approach invites ELs and their families to be fully active participants in the classroom using culturally responsive methods of communication. This ecological approach takes into account the child, the family, the belief system and ideologies, and cultural expectations. Rather than the two domains envisioned by the partnership model, the ecological model is inclusive and interactionist. There is a growing awareness that cultural values and behaviors are factors that affect how parents

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  291 involve themselves. Many immigrant parents are very much involved in their children’s education, but educators may not be aware of the kinds of positive support parents provide in the home. Parental involvement does not solely revolve around academic scaffolding in the home. It also encompasses important teaching about real life and the world around them (Tórres‐Guzmán, 1991).

Consensus on barriers Schools serving diverse populations have been criticized for their deficit view of EL parents and communities. Concerns have been raised that educators view immigrant students and their families as “the problem,” rather than looking at their own lack of preparedness to work with diverse populations. Others claim that the lack of cooperation between school, parents, and community has played a role in Latino student underachievement. Parental involvement does increase achievement for immigrant students, but many barriers need to be overcome in order to attain high levels of involvement. Developing effective strategies for attracting immigrant parents to schools and classrooms is critical in order to reach those parents. Researchers have identified the following common barriers to immigrant parental participation in schools (Floyd, 1998; Moles, 1993; Zhou & Logan, 2003). These include: 1. Inability to understand English. Parents may feel that no‐one in the school will listen to them if they cannot communicate in English. Their feelings of self‐ worth are diminished because they do not understand forms that are sent home and cannot help their child with homework. A lack of literacy skills in their own native language can create an even greater sense of helplessness and embarrassment. Parents may believe they cannot offer their child any help, much less help or support their child’s teacher. 2. Involvement equals interfering with school. Teaming with the school is not a tradition in many immigrant cultures. For example, Latinos have a high level of respect for educators and treat them as professionals who should be left alone to do their jobs. Parents often feel that interference with school activities would be counterproductive. 3. Unfamiliarity with the school system. Parents new to the country, or those who have had no experience with the schools, may not realize that they have a right to ask about their child’s education. 4. Lack of education. Many parents feel that they do not have the required education to participate in schools. Parents feel inadequate having academic discussions with teachers because they are not familiar with educational terms. They believe that they might cause more harm than good if they try to help their children at home with homework. 5. Too many responsibilities. Parents often work two jobs, which interferes with their  attendance at school meetings. Parents might also have very physically demanding jobs and may be too tired to attend school functions.

292  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism 6. Negative experiences with school. Prior negative experiences with schools may also affect parents’ willingness to become involved. If they have only been contacted by the school for negative reasons, then the chance of their becoming involved is slim. 7. School personnel’s negative or condescending attitudes. Parents will tend to not visit the school if they feel that school personnel do not view them as equals. 8. Lack of transportation and childcare. The lack of transportation and childcare are major deterrents for immigrant parents, especially in urban neighborhoods. Parents cannot attend meetings if they cannot get to the school site or if they have small children and no support for childcare These barriers are not insurmountable. Scholars emphasize that parental involvement efforts have failed to reach large numbers of ethnic and linguistic minorities because “the educational system has not demonstrated the necessary flexibility to accept, integrate, and communicate the values shared by minority cultures” (González, 1992, p. 2). There is a need to identify appropriate ways to reach and involve parents and students who have different linguistic and cultural practices (González, 1992). Despite the Anglo‐centric approach to parental involvement taken in many U.S. schools, there is considerable evidence that parent involvement leads to improved student achievement, better school attendance, and reduced dropout rates, and that these improvements occur regardless of the economic, racial, or cultural background of the family. Trumbull, Rothstein‐Fisch, Greenfield, and Quiroz (2001) has stressed that studies of immigrant Latino families have repeatedly shown that parents are highly interested in being involved in their children’s education. What are the strengths that immigrant families bring to school settings? How can the above barriers be addressed? In an effort to identify value systems for parents and students from non‐European backgrounds, Rodríguez‐Brown ­ (2010) has underscored values essential to many immigrant families which can  be emphasized in developing opportunities for parental outreach. These include: 1. Familism: Many immigrant families share the concept of an extended family. Grandparents, uncles and aunts, godmothers and godfathers contribute to a social network beyond the nuclear family. This value is a foundation for many behaviors: including reciprocity between family members and expectations of each other. This value provides a sense of belonging and interdependence, it requires loyalty and obligation. It includes responsibilities to each other, especially elders (Valdés, 1996; de la Vega, 2007). 2. Educar (to educate), Enseñar (to teach): In Spanish, the word educate translates as educar. The more prevalent meaning attributed to educar is to be well‐­educated as demonstrated by being well‐behaved in social settings, an asset to your family. Parents often believe that it is their role to inculcate in their children the norms and behaviors that lead to developing children who will be bien educados

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  293 or well educated/behaved. In contrast, parents often feel it is the role of the teacher to teach, and parents would not want to show a lack of respect to the teacher by intervening in his/her professional role. 3. Respeto/Respect: In many Latino and Asian families, elders are accorded a place of honor in the family. Respect is shown to elders, and mothers and fathers. Adult roles are different from children’s roles. Adults have certain rights and privileges and children must acknowledge them. For example, it shows a lack of respect to interrupt your mother when she is speaking (Valdés, 1996). 4. Confianza/Mutual Trust. Mutual trust is essential for partnerships, for establishing equitable relationships between teacher and parents (Zentella, 2005). Rodriguez‐Brown suggests that parental outreach which recognizes these values, can successfully build on them to develop parental partnerships. Research examining parents’ perceptions of their role in their children’s education has found that immigrant parents care very much about their children’s education (Chavkin & González, 1995; Trumbull, Rothstein‐Fisch, Greenfield, & Quiróz, 2001), they have high goals for their children (Shannon, 1996), and they want to be involved in schooling (López, 2001). Chávez‐Reyes (2010) noted that research has shown that for immigrants and their children, ethnic maintenance and integration are healthier adaptive strategies than assimilation and marginalization.

Community‐based organizations promoting parental involvement There is a growing body of research suggesting that partnerships between community‐based organizations (CBOs) and schools serving culturally and ­linguistically diverse students promote parental involvement. Adger (2001) has noted that for language‐minority students, including immigrants and the U.S.‐ born children of immigrants, a mismatch between the language and culture of the schools and those of students’ communities can make school success difficult. If school systems do not address their academic needs appropriately, these ­students are placed at risk for poor performance and school failure. Partnerships between CBOs and schools have been recommended as vehicles to assist s­ tudents in achieving academic success and engage parents in school‐related activities, and represent another model for parental involvement. Such partnerships are currently connecting schools directly with the community and assisting students in ways that go beyond the schools’ traditional methods. In the last thirty years the number of CBOs has grown in ethnic group communities and often focus on  school improvement and reform. CBOs are private, non‐profit grassroots ­organizations located in a representative segment of the community (Osterling & Garza, 2004).

294  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism CBOs address the mismatch between school and family in a variety of ways: 1. They act as community centers where newcomers and succeeding generations of immigrants can interact in their home language and within the comfort zone of their cultural norms, retain their ethnic or national identities and find stability. 2. They act as advocates and civic and political representatives of immigrants and racial/ethnic minorities. They promote civic engagement and train individuals to be leaders and advocates in their own communities. 3. They serve as linguistic and cultural brokers between immigrant families and the schools. Partnerships between CBOs and schools serving culturally and linguistically diverse students play a critical role in supplementing the work done by the more traditional parental involvement approaches. For example, The National Council of La Raza has supported parental involvement though its member organizations. Garza (2002) has identified six different types of parental engagement opportunities that CBOs and school can foster. These include: 1. Parent as Leader: shows leadership and advocacy skills 2. Parent as Collaborator: participates in school‐wide decision making 3. Parent as Teacher: academic partner, supports learning 4. Parent as Supporter: attends cultural and athletic events 5. Parent as Parent: parenting skills/socio‐emotional support. A recent review of CBOs which are focusing on Latino parental involvement in the United States found that the CBOs served as a safe haven for those parents who feel unwelcome when they first step into their child’s school. They help demystify the educational system, informing parents of their rights and responsibilities and building their skills. Commonalities between the four CBOs studied included: 1. Strong Family Involvement Focus: Family involvement was either the central focus or a strong focal point within the organization. 2. Multiple levels of family involvement: Many options for participation including attending sporting events, volunteering, academic partners, etc. 3. Needs‐based program: Organizations conduct a needs assessment to tailor their outreach efforts. 4. Cultural Representation: Staff from the organization are bilingual and bicultural in the languages and cultures of the parents, and often reside in the same community. 5. Multiple service offerings: These CBOs offer a variety of services including health, employment, and education. 6. Established relationship with local schools: Most CBOs have established relationships with schools, including after‐school programs, tutoring, mentoring, and other age appropriate programs.

Parent and Community Involvement in Bi/Multilingual Education  295 An example of a CBO partnership in the United States focused on developing parental involvement skills is the Padres Comprometidos program development by the National Council of La Raza (NCLR). Padres Comprometidos is a parent‐­ engagement program with the goal of fostering a strong connection between schools and parents. This program builds the capacity of Latino parents to acquire the skills they need to effectively engage with schools and play a leading role in preparing their children for college. An important aspect of this program is that it addresses language and culture as assets—rather than obstacles—upon which skills, confidence, and empowerment are built. In addition to the recognition of language and culture as assets, the Padres Comprometidos project addresses the role of the school personnel to work with ­linguistically and culturally diverse parents and families. The program builds the capacity of school staff to implement a parent involvement program, bridging what can be a wide gap between parents and schools. The bilingual Padres Comprometidos curriculum is designed to reach parents who are typically not connected to schools or preschools as a result of linguistic and cultural differences, economic background, negative perceptions about a school and lack of knowledge about how to become involved. The curriculum is available in three levels: preschool, elementary and secondary. To date, the program has been implemented in over 30 sites in more than 10  states, including California, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Texas, Wisconsin, and New Mexico. The parents who participate are primarily Spanish‐speaking, first‐ and second‐generation immigrants who come predominately from Mexico and Central America. An independent evaluation found Padres Comprometidos to be a highly effective parent engagement curriculum that consistently increased the engagement of Latino parents in schools.

Conclusion The history of parental involvement in the United States for parents who come from diverse linguistic and cultural backgrounds, has evolved over the last 50 years. Originally, parental involvement was cast in an Anglo‐centric model, as a vehicle for getting parental support for school activities and for getting parents to be teachers of children in the home with little recognition of the meaning that these activities held for immigrant parents. Parents and their culture were often cast in a deficit mode, and their support for their children’s education was questioned. Since the enactment of Goals 2000, a new perspective on parental involvement has emerged which attributes positive value, status, and importance to the linguistic and cultural practices of immigrant parents. Nontraditional models of parental engagement stress what the school‐community can do to support parents and families, are more likely to be codesigned by parents and teachers, and involve parents as active participants. Nevertheless, it is important to stay aware of the barriers that keep immigrant parents from engaging in school activities so that school personnel can actively work to address them. These barriers can easily be

296  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism addressed in schools with strong bilingual and multilingual education programs, where non‐traditional models of parental involvement should be a key component of the school. Most recently, Community Based Organizations (CBOs) have emerged as an important link between schools and family/community. Due to their unique placement in the community, CBOs offer an innovative way to strengthen immigrant parental involvement. The CBO approach uses the home language and culture as a way to help support parent engagement. As Osterling and Garza (2004) have noted, strengthening parental involvement––particularly of parents who speak languages other than English or have low incomes and who often face a wide range of cultural, language, and transportation constraints––requires non‐traditional outreach mechanisms that already exist in other communities. Finally, we are reminded that research shows that parents prefer to participate in programs in which they can be partners in the planning of program activities (Rodríguez‐Brown, 2010). Parents are more open to programs that respect and recognize their language and cultural practices to support their children’s learning. It is through these types of programs that parent create congruency between learning at home and at school, and facilitate their children’s transition to formal education. While this chapter focused primarily on the context of the United States, the use of non‐traditional models of parental involvement, and the important role of community‐based organizations may be put into effective practice in bilingual and multilingual programs in schools throughout the world that serve language‐minority students and their families.

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Capps, R., Fix, M., Murray, J. et al. (2005). The new demography of America’s schools: Immigration and the No Child Left Behind Act. Washington, DC: Urban Institute. Chávez‐Reyes, C. (2012). Inclusive approaches to parent engagement for young English language learners and their families. National Society for the Study of Education, 109(2), 474–504. Chavkin, N. F., & Gonzalez, D. L. (1995). Forging partnerships between Mexican American parents and the schools. Eric Document No. ED138848. http://eric. ed.gov/?id=ED388489 (accessed November 19, 2014). Cosentino de Cohen, C., Deterding, N. & Clewell, B. C. (2005). Who’s left behind? Immigrant children in high and low LEP

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298  Practices and Pedagogies for Bi/Multilingualism linguistic‐minority families on their children’s learning. In E. Garcia, & E. Frede (Eds.), Young English language learners. New York: Teachers College Press. Shannon, S. M. (1996). Minority parent involvement: A Mexican mother’s experience and a teacher’s interpretation. Education and Urban Society, 29(1), 71–84. Tórres‐Guzman, M. E. (1991). Recasting frames: Latino parent involvement. In M. E. McGroarty & C. J. Faltis (Eds.), Language in school and society: Politics and pedagogy (pp. 529–552). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Trumbull, E., Rothstein‐Fisch, C., Greenfield, P. M., & Quiroz, B. (2001). Bridging cultures between home and school: A guide for teachers. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Valdés, G. (1996). Con respeto: Bridging the distances between culturally diverse families and schools. New York: Teachers College Press. Valencia, R. R. (1997). Conceptualizing the notion of deficit thinking. In R. R. Valencia (Ed.), The evolution of

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School Levels and Special Populations

18 Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners Eugene E. García and Amy M. Markos Introduction Millions of children around the globe are acquiring more than one language in the home and in early childhood education (ECE) settings (García & García, 2012). The growing body of evidence indicates that young children around the world can attain proficiency in more than one language at early ages (Baker, 2000; Barak & Bialystok, 2012; Genesee, 2010) and that instructional arrangements targeting these children specifically can produce positive developmental and learning outcomes (Calderón, 2010; California Department of Education, 2010; Castro, Páez, Dickinson, & Frede, 2011; Chan, 2004; David & Wei, 2008; Fairbairn & Jones‐Vo, 2010; Guofang, Edwards, & Gunderson, 2010; Oller & Eilers, 2002; Wright, 2010). Yet, the processes by which development and learning occur for young children acquiring two or more languages are quite complex. Currently, research indicates that for dual language learners (DLLs)—young children, birth to age five, who are learning a majority language as a second language, while acquiring a minority language as their first, growing up between two cultures and languages––have the potential for low performance on developmental outcomes assessments and later school failure.1 National statistics and evaluation studies in the United States indicate that DLLs of immigrants and indigenous families have lower school achievement than students who speak the dominant language as their only language. At the beginning and throughout their K–12 schooling, DLLs lag behind their monolingual same‐age and grade peers at all proficiency levels of reading and mathematics by at least a half of a standard deviation (García & Miller, 2008). Although some of the differences are accounted for by socioeconomic variances between groups (on average DLLs have lower socioeconomic status (SES) and lower indicators of median family income and educational level of adult family

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

302  School Levels and Special Populations members than monolingual whites and Asian Americans), much of it is not (Reardon & Galindo, 2006). As early as 2001, The Early Childhood Longitudinal Study (NCES, 2001) reported that DLLs scored .3 to .5 of a standard deviation lower in mathematics and reading than their monolingual peers within all five SES quintiles (SES in ECLS‐K is a composite of household income and parent’s level of education and occupation). A separate analysis of ECLS‐K data noted that these achievement differences by SES and race/ethnicity from kindergarten through first grade were attributable to processes within‐, between‐, and out‐of‐schools (Reardon, 2003). That is, practices in the home and school, including the use of a language other than English, bear meaningful influences on racial/ethnic and SES achievement gaps in early education. Similar analysis of achievement gaps are not readily available in other countries; however, significant research related to the linguistic, cognitive and socioemotional development of DLLs has provided a more extensive view of bilingual development and is addressed in this review (Campbell & Sais, 1995; Carlson & Meltzoff, 2008; De Houwer, 1995; Döpke, 1998; Junker & Stockman, 2002; Kim, 2009). With the growing numbers of DLLs in the United States and globally, the impact of dual language exposure on developmental and learning attributes and circumstances of this population is important for ECE settings. Therefore, in this chapter we present an overview of what is known about DLLs in ECE settings. We begin with an historical overview of early learning circumstances, highlighting p ­ rograms and policies that have been influential in recent years, particularly those in the United States where attention to this population has grown significantly because of the large number of DLLs, some 25% of the overall 0–5 age range (García & García, 2012). We then discuss what is currently known about DLLs in early ­education, specifically, the research on (i) program models in ECE settings, (ii) curricular and instructional best practices in ECE, (iii) early language and literacy development, and (iv) the academic benefits of bilingualism. We close the chapter with a discussion of future directions necessary for improving not only the academic achievement of DLLs, but also for expanding what we know and how we understand bilingual development and learning in early childhood.

Historical overview: DLLs and early education circumstances in the United States The common phrase, “demography is destiny,” is applicable to present educational circumstances. Currently, at least one in five children aged 5–17 in the United States have a foreign‐born parent (Capps et al., 2005) and many of these children learn English as their additional language. The overall child population speaking a language other than English in the United States rose from 6% in 1979 to 14% in 2010 (García & Náñez, 2011). DLLs have been the fastest growing segment of the U.S. population over the past few decades, due primarily to increased rates in

Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners  303 (legal and illegal) immigration as well as high birth rates among immigrant families (Hernández, Denton, & Macartney, 2008). The representation of children who are developing English as an additional language in U.S. schools has its highest concentration in early education (preschool and kindergarten). While the majority come from Spanish‐speaking immigrant families, DLLs represent many national origins and more than 350 languages.

Head start: The federal effort in the United States and DLLs Historically, DLLs have been underrepresented in all forms of early learning provided in the private sector or in the public sector (state and locally funded efforts) including Head Start (García & García, 2012). However, their participation rates are steadily increasing. The percent of Latino children in Head Start has grown steadily since 1992 when only about 19% of Latino children were served in the program to 32% in 2007. Notwithstanding this steady progress, participation in Head Start remains a challenge for DLLs, particularly those who reside in states where immigrants have not traditionally targeted for residence. In addition, a lack of resources to expand the Migrant and Seasonal Head Start and Early Head Start programs thwarts the participation of thousands of DLLs eligible for these programs. On December 12, 2007, President Bush signed into law the Improving Head Start for School Readiness Act of 2007 (Public Law 110‐134). This was the first reauthorization of Head Start in nearly ten years. Various provisions were included in the new law, which will help to ensure that DLLs—the vast majority of whom are Latino—fully benefit from Head Start’s services. The Improving Head Start for School Readiness Act of 2007 provides a framework for expanding Head Start in two important ways. First, it creates a mechanism for accurately determining the percentage of eligible children compared to the number children served on a consistent basis. Second, the legislation requires that the U.S. Health and Human Services Secretary ensures a plan be developed to identify and alleviate enrollment barriers to programs. The reauthorization and more recent investments in Head Start improve the funding structure for programs over the next five years. This expansion and stability in Head Start could offer more opportunities related to early learning specifically for the growing population of DLLs. Accompanied with these opportunity enhancements are the principles adopted by Head Start with regard to DLLs. In the revised Multicultural Principles for Head Start Programs, several principles are outlined (García & Frede, 2010): • Every individual is rooted in their culture and language; • Every individual has the right to maintain his or her own identity while acquiring the skills required to function in a diverse society; • Effective programs for children who speak languages other than English require development of the first language while the acquisition of English is facilitated.

304  School Levels and Special Populations Unfortunately, beyond Head Start, these principles are not adopted in many early learning venues serving DLLs (Espinosa, 2010a). However, emerging research has begun to shed light on the circumstances and effectiveness of early childhood education for DLLs.

Current state of knowledge: DLLs in ECE settings Early education program models for DLLs While there are many possible program options for bilingual students and c­ hildren learning English as a second language in K‐12 educational settings (see Chapter 12 Programs And Structures in Bilingual and Multilingual Education), the variation in program options for DLLs in ECE settings is not as great. Typical programs include English Immersion, Transitional Bilingual Education, or Dual Language Bilingual Education (DLBE). Each of these programs differ in the way in which they use the language other than English and English during instruction and within the learning environment (Ovando, Collier, & Combs, 2006). They also differ in theoretical rationale, language goals, cultural goals, academic goals, ­ ­student characteristics, and instructional materials. At one end of this continuum of programs are those characterized by the minimal use of the students’ home language (English Immersion). At the other end of this continuum are programs that have as their goal bilingual proficiency (Dual Language Bilingual Education [DLBE]). Along this continuum, a critical ­feature considered is how the program optimizes individual achievement and literacy development. In the early years, a holistic approach is especially important. Variations across programs can be descried by the ways in which programs support the development of the whole child and how language exposure and use (in one or more languages) sustains the cognitive, social, emotional, and psychological development of DLLs. The extent to which a program is successful depends on local conditions, choices, and innovations. Because communities ­differ (e.g., on account of sociodemographic conditions) and local and state policies demand assorted objectives from early learning environments, no single program works best in every situation. Evidence in various U.S. sites is beginning to emerge indicating that DLBE can be an excellent model for academic achievement for both bilingual and monolingual children. At the early education level, an experimental study compared the effects of a DLBE and a monolingual English immersion (EI) preschool program on children’s learning (Barnett et al., 2007). Children in the study (N = 150) were from both English and Spanish home language backgrounds. Eighty‐five were randomly assigned to the DLBE program and 65 were randomly assigned to the EI program in the same school district. The two programs were compared on measures of children’s growth in language, emergent literacy, and mathematics. Compared to those in the EI group, children in the DLBE program produced large and significant gains in Spanish vocabulary. In addition, all children (including native Spanish and

Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners  305 native English speakers) in the DLBE program made greater phonological awareness gains in English, yet no group differences were found on measures of English language and literacy development. This study, therefore, suggests that early DLBE programs can provide support for home language development without sacrificing gains in English language development. Moreover, English‐monolingual children also made gains in Spanish language and literacy without hindering their English language development.

Effective practices for DLLs in early education Features of high‐quality early learning programs serving monolingual English speakers have been studied for some time (Barnett et al., 2007; Camilli, Vargas, Ryan, & Barnett, 2010; Dickinson, 2011; Dickinson & Neuman, 2006; Espinosa, 2003). There is overlap between effective practices for DLLs and effective practices for all students (Espinosa, 2010b). However, the emerging research suggests that, in order to create optimal development and learning environments, general best practices for ECE must be enhanced for young students developing two languages simultaneously. These include bilingual exposure and use in early learning programs, bilingual instruction and assessment practices, and appropriate teacher training/development. Language exposure and use  While the debate on bilingual education in the United States is often politically charged (Gándara & Hopkins, 2010) with varying profiles internationally (Genesee, 2010; Oller & Eilers, 2002), there is general consensus across educators, researchers and policy makers that, in order to be successful in formal schooling, all students need to develop proficiency in the languages of the school. The debate focuses around how to best support young language learners’ acquisition of schooling ­language; whether academic proficiency in the school ­language must come at the cost of the loss of a student’s home language or whether a student’s home language can play role in language and academic development in the formal education setting. Specific to the language use and exposure in ECE settings in the United States, research indicates that supporting DLLs’ home languages while adding English promotes higher levels of achievement in English (Barnett et al., 2007; Bernhard et al., 2006; Durán, Roseth, & Hoffman, 2010; Farver, Lonigan & Eppe, 2009; Winsler, Diaz, Espinosa, & Rodriguez, 1999). These studies reflect themes from separate meta‐analysis on the effectiveness of bilingual instruction: at best, ECE instruction that systematically includes a DLL’s home language contributes to growth in both English and the home language; at worst, there is no difference in English achievement, but an advantage in home language development (Greene, 1998; Slavin & Cheung, 2005; Rolstad, Mahoney & Glass, 2005). On a more international scale, research evidence suggests highly positive benefits in areas of language and cognitive sensitivities and executive function for dual language instruction in ECE settings (Yow & Markman, 2011; Zelazo, Muller, Frye & Marcovitch, 2003).

306  School Levels and Special Populations Curriculum, instruction, and assessment  Effective ECE instructional practices in the United Sates appear to be beneficial for both English‐only‐speaking students and DLLs (Farver, Lonigan & Eppe, 2009; Jackson et al., 2006). Similar evidence is reported for this benefit in other countries (Romaine, 2004; Luk & Bailystok, 2008). However, some elements of effective teaching in ECE settings prove to be especially necessary for DLLs. These include strategies to support comprehension, vocabulary development, and literacy. Effective strategies for developing comprehension for DLLs include supporting students’ oral language skills. The use of shared reading and activities that promote listening compression have proven effective in this area (University of Chicago, 2010). Context‐embedded learning also supports comprehension (Lindholm‐Leary & Genesee, 2010; Mathematica Policy Research, 2010; Rasmussen et al., 2006). DLLs benefit from the use of visuals, songs, chants, rhymes, physical gestures, and concrete objects. Strategies for developing comprehension, even through listening activities, will have lasting effects on students’ reading comprehension abilities as they progress into elementary school. Another area linked to later reading success is vocabulary development. Strategies proven effective for DLLs include taking the time to explain new words encountered during reading, and helping students learn how words are used in different contexts (Collins, 2010; Kim, 2009; Paik & Mix; 2003). Along with comprehension and vocabulary, there are strategies related to literacy development that are effective for DLLs. First, incorporating the home language and culture into learning engagements, such as read alouds or curriculum themes, helps DLLs stay engaged and interested in learning (August & Shanahan, 2006; González, Moll, & Amanti, 2005). Teachers can use select words from a child’s home language to activate prior knowledge and connect new learning to what a child already knows (Bransford, Brown, & Cocking, 2000; Gillanders & Castro, 2011). Parallel to effective curriculum and instructional approaches, assessment practices must also be specific to DLLs. Unfortunately, assessments are not always available in languages other than English and/or have been normed to monolingual development (Espinosa & López, 2007). Without appropriate ­ assessment measures, ECE teachers and program developers cannot accurately assess DLLs’ development and learning; ineffective assessments affect practice, as teachers may adjust instruction and curriculum based on incorrect assessment data. While more appropriate measure are being developed, ECE teachers must understand the ways in which assessments accurately and inaccurately portray bilingual development and learning. Once teachers have analyzed assessments for their appropriateness, then they need to assess and monitor bilingual and b ­ iliteracy development. Classroom assessments are necessary for adjustments to curriculum and the identification of students who may need extra support (Lesaux & Siegel, 2003). In order for teachers to understand and use the effective practices discussed above, teacher preparation and teacher development programs must promote the qualities, knowledge, and skills specific to working with young bilingual learners (see Chapter 16 Teacher Education and Support).

Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners  307 Language and literacy development  Research on the language and literacy development of DLLs is relatively new in comparison to the research that exists on the language and literacy development of monolingual language users. However, based on two recent, comprehensive reviews of the literature, there are some things we know about their language and literacy development. Hammer and colleagues (2014) note four key findings from their review of 139 peer‐reviewed articles. First, through studies investigating phonology, grammar, vocabulary, and pragmatics, strong evidence indicates that young bilingual learners know how to differentiate between the two languages from very early in life; that the two languages influence each other; and that they are not negatively affected from exposure to, and use of, two languages during the early developmental years. Second, development of abilities in the two languages varies depending on when they were exposed to each language and opportunities to use both languages. Third, when compared to monolinguals, bilingual and biliteracy development differs in some important ways. With regard to phonological abilities, as infants DLLs are behind monolinguals, but then catch up during the preschool years. Also, while their vocabulary in their individual languages is smaller than that of monolinguals, when both languages are combined, their vocabulary is equal to that of monolinguals. Finally, in relation to overall literacy development, there is evidence to suggest that often DLLs enter preschool with literacy skills in English that are lower than those of monolinguals. Hammer and colleagues end their review by noting that there is still much to learn about the language and literacy development of DLLs and that more research is needed (Hammer et al., 2014). The second review, by Dixon and colleagues (2012), focused on literature about second language acquisition. Their review synthesized information from 71 empirical studies across four bodies of work: foreign language education, child language research, sociocultural studies, and psycholinguistics to highlight an integrated understanding across typically isolated perspectives on the optimal conditions for second language acquisition. While this review focused on second language acquisition more broadly (studies included participants of all ages, infants to adults), there are implications from the review that can inform our understandings about the language and literacy development of DLLs. First, findings from the review suggest that strong home literacy practices in a learner’s first language (L1) and strong L1 skills are characteristics of a successful second ­language (L2) acquisition experience. This is consistent with one of the key findings stated above, that the development of two languages does not hinder bilingual development, but rather, strengthens language development in a second language. Dixon and colleagues also report that effective teachers of language learners are proficient in their students’ first language. Effective teachers and caregivers know and use the languages of their young learners. Lastly, the review found that younger learners typically take longer to become proficient in a second language. This finding is pertinent to ECE contexts (and correlates with the review by Hammer and colleagues) as it shows that while DLLs are developing two languages from birth to age 5, they may need additional time to reach proficiency in

308  School Levels and Special Populations their two languages. Even though, at the start of kindergarten, DLLs may appear behind their monolingual English‐speaking peers, with time and opportunities for exposure and use of both languages, not only will they acquire proficiency in multiple languages but also catch up to their monolingual peers in regard to English language and literacy achievement. Problems with their bilingual development arise when support for their bilingualism is taken away. When classrooms place emphasis solely on English development as early as kindergarten, DLLs’ development in their first language is stunted and their abilities in English continue to fall behind those of their English‐speaking grade‐level peers. Unfortunately, the disconnect between ECE policies and practices and those typically used in K‐12 classrooms means that once they enter kindergarten, DLLs are not provided with the time and support they need to reach their optimal development in either language. This means that they cannot reap the cognitive benefits that research on bilingualism has identified (see Bialystok et al., 2005; Kormi‐Nouri et al., 2008; see also Chapter  3 Bilingualism and Creativity: An Educational Perspective).

Future directions What are researchers to do? The majority of current research compares the development and learning outcomes of young bilingual learners to that of monolingual, majority language speaking students (Hammer et al., 2014). In this vein, research aims to explain the low performance of DLLs, when compared to monolingual majority language populations, by focusing on what these children and their families are lacking. However, we assert that relying solely on a comparison methodology can lead to misinterpretations and biased conclusions about DLLs; we argue that understanding their development and learning must focus on the factors and experiences specific to young learners developing two or more languages simultaneously in ECE settings. A new conceptual model for understanding the development of dual language learners  Along with considering the features specific to ECE environments, in order to better understand and ultimately better support young DLLs, researchers and practitioners must consider the constellation of interrelated features that influence their development and learning. Recently, a group of researchers working with the Center for Early Care and Educational Research designed a conceptual framework for understanding the development of children growing up as DLLs (Castro, García, & Markos, 2013). The framework is founded on sociocultural and historical perspectives. As such, it emphasizes that an individual’s development cannot be understood isolated from the social, cultural, and historical contexts in which it occurs (Vygotsky, 1978) and that children approach developmental tasks in particular situations based on the cultural practices in which they have

Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners  309 previously participated (Rogoff, 2003). This perspective is particularly relevant for understanding the development of DLLs because these children’s experiences differ in many ways from those of monolinguals. We present their conceptual model as an archetype for future research, believing it is helpful for determining factors that need to be taken into consideration when designing, conducting, and interpreting findings from new studies on early bilingual development. It moves research away from assumptions and expectations about developmental competencies rooted in monolingual perspectives and mainstream cultural practices. The model includes a constellation of interrelated features that may facilitate or impede DLLs’ optimal development across society, community, and family contexts; individual child characteristics; and early care contexts. The model broadens the view of development beyond the ECE classroom. With regard to features of development included in the society context, the conceptual framework notes that understanding the development of DLLs must include attention to social and educational policies and the immigration and integration history of their families. They advise that researchers critically examine educational policies; even those that promote high‐quality early care and education, noting that many times such initiatives do not include explicit provisions to address the cultural, linguistic, and educational needs of DLLs. Also whether the DLL is a child of an immigrant or native‐born parent, and the extent to which the DLL’s family has integrated into mainstream society are both associated with their development and learning (Castro, García, & Markos, 2013). Features included in the community context are more immediate to DLLs’ daily experiences. For example, one feature highlighted in the conceptual model in the community context is the presence and value of different languages in a community, as observed in spaces where the people who live in that community come together and interact. It is within these spaces that DLLs and their families have more or fewer opportunities to hear different languages, to interact with speakers of different languages, and to observe every day and academic uses of language and literacy. Opportunities for diverse and frequent linguistic interactions increase the likelihood that they will become bilingual. Along with language use, values related to bilingualism and multiculturalism and the feelings of acceptance are features of development included in the community context. The family context is also important in the development of young bilingual learners. Castro and colleagues emphasize that over‐reliance on demographic characteristics may be insufficient for describing how family features influence development (Chang & Sandhofer, 2009). One example they give is how DLLs are more likely to live in homes with grandparents, other relatives, or nonrelatives, than their monolingual English‐speaking peers. While such living environments may initially be viewed as overcrowded (and a detriment to development), upon further investigation living in a home with a larger number of people may provide enriched language and other cultural experiences. Beyond family demographics, other features in the family context include culture specific parenting practices, beliefs, and goals, as well as the language and literacy practices promoted in the home in both the home language and English.

310  School Levels and Special Populations The conceptual model encourages researchers in particular to consider a complexity of features, both within and outside of early education settings, to fully understand the development and learning of DLLs. In concert with the evidence that educational achievement patterns of virtually all racial/ethnic groups are established during the early years of school (and change little thereafter) and the significant population growth of DLLs, it is critical to understand the complexities surrounding their development and learning in ECE settings, including the features that influence development in the society, community and family contexts. Without attention to these interrelated features, achievement gaps between DLLs and English‐only students will continue to grow (Comeau & Genesee, 2001).

What are policymakers to do? Along with changes to how researchers and practitioners approach the understanding of early bilingual development and learning, there is a critical need for education policies in early education to directly address language development issues and appropriate curricular and instructional approaches. While available evidence on schooling, language development, and related policy remain limited—particularly in the development and testing of classroom strategies for diverse segments of the DLL population—current evidence suggests rich language environments, DLBE programs, universal prekindergarten programs, and high‐quality teachers can improve learning opportunities and outcomes for these children (National Task Force on Early Childhood Education for Hispanics, 2007). In light of such, below we touch on recommendations for each area of government. National governments  As the United States and other countries with large numbers of DLLs advance educational policy for students in an ever‐diversified population, Wiley, Lee and Rumberger (2010) remind us that many nation‐ states deal with issues of children entering early care and education settings, as well as public schools, not speaking the language of the schools. The United Nations (1948) has spoken directly to the rights of a minority group to its language by indicating that prohibitions on the use of the language of a group in daily discourse or in schools or the printing and circulation of publications in the language of the group fall within the agreed upon constraints regarding linguistic genocide. In 1994 the United Nations Human Rights Committee spoke again to this international issue, providing the most far‐reaching human rights articulation of an international body addressing linguistic rights: “In those states in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities exist, persons belonging to such minorities shall not be denied the right, in community with other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practice their own religion, or to use their own language” (United Nations, 1994). Skutnabb‐Kangas (2002) has summarized this UN position as: (i) protecting all individuals on the State’s territory or under its jurisdiction such as immigrants

Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners  311 and refugees irrespective of their legal status, (ii) recognizing the existence of a linguistic right, and (iii) imposing positive obligations on the State to protect that right. Under this interpretation, the United Sates and many other countries might very well be in violation of the U.N. position (see also Chapter 11, Language Rights). Here we offer three related recommendations. First, we recommend that national governments underwrite tests of programs designed to produce large increases in the number of culturally knowledgeable, bilingual preschool and early elementary teachers. The most fundamental element to the provision of rich language environments and high‐quality programs for DLLs across the early care through third grade spectrum (0 to 8 years old) is high‐quality caregivers/teachers who are bilingual and knowledgeable regarding the cultural and linguistic circumstances of bilingual families and children. Indeed, research shows that the transfer of academic skills between languages is heightened and early achievement outcomes increased for young bilingual and emergent bilingual students when teachers use students’ languages in the classroom. The most successful teachers are bilingual or multilingual in the languages spoken by their students, understand learning patterns associated with bilingual/second language acquisition, have a mastery of appropriate instructional strategies (i.e., cooperative learning, sheltered instruction, differentiated instruction, and strategic teaching), and have strong organizational and communication skills. Second, we recommend that national governments fund and experiment with teacher preparation programs to recruit more early childhood bilingual teachers who are trained in bilingual acquisition to work as language specialists. The responsibility of “language specialists” is to help classroom teachers in preschools with substantial numbers of DLLs to be responsive to students’ linguistic and academic needs. Language specialists serve as consultants to teachers and aides in the classroom to help DLLs learn and achieve, recognizing and leveraging existent strengths. Having a language specialist in school can also help monolingual teachers make essential links with parents and families. Ongoing relationships with parents are an invaluable resource to connect educational practices between the home and school and thereby increase student engagement and learning. Third, we recommend that national governments continue to explore and expand DLBE programs (in the United States through Head Start, Early Head Start, and other grant programs). Young DLLs should have access to high‐quality bilingual programs that teach English and home language skills through content. Integrating English‐speakers and non‐English speakers in the same classroom fosters linguistic and ethnic equity among children. State governments  In most cases the sort of work needed from state governments in the United States necessitates meaningful collaborations with school districts and other community‐based organizations. First, we recommend state governments collaborate with local communities to offer high‐quality educational experiences with a variety of schedule options. DLLs aged 3 and 4 years should be

312  School Levels and Special Populations given access to free, state‐funded preschool. Evidence suggests that high‐quality prekindergarten programs improve school readiness for DLL children and decrease achievement differences between racial/ethnic groups at kindergarten entry. As mentioned, these programs should have high‐quality bilingual and culturally competent teachers and staff to effectively engage students and to develop sustainable relationships with family members. State governments should work alongside immigrant integration organizations and other community institutions to provide information to parents on these programs and encourage meaningful collaborations between the home and school. Second, we recommend state governments provide pay and benefits to qualified preschool teachers that are equal to those of elementary and secondary school teachers. This would provide the economic incentive to recruit and maintain a well‐educated, reasonably stable group of preschool professionals. Local governments  Local governments (including school districts and other community organizations) should serve as liaisons between families and state governments. To this end, we offer two recommendations. First, we recommend that local governments collaborate with state governments and/or their national government to provide information to parents. In the United States this would include prekindergarten, Head Start, and Early Head Start programs focusing on increasing enrollment of DLLs. In other countries, universal and targeted early childhood and family interventions may be available (García & García, 2012). Continuing to increase early childhood enrollment remains important considering available evidence demonstrating improvements in school readiness for DLLs and decreases in achievement differences at school entry. But the improvement of education for DLLs cannot occur without the involvement of non‐governmental actors. The role of private foundations, community‐based organizations, and education researchers is highlighted in the next section. Beyond government  We recommend private foundations fund long‐term efforts to design, test, and evaluate language and academic development strategies for DLLs in early learning settings from all SES groups (particularly across levels of parent education and immigrant status). These include systematic, value‐added studies to explore, develop, and determine the efficacy and scalability of instructional and curricular approaches. In order to maximize the chances of determining if the strategies are able to contribute to improvements in school readiness at scale, funding for ten or more years of support for promising approaches should be made available. Additionally, private foundations should seriously consider creating two or three new foundations specialized in funding these areas, thereby ensuring that sustained investments in strategy development are made in the long term.

Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners  313 In the United States, children of Mexican origins represent the largest group of DLLs nationwide. An approach of growing interest to develop improved educational practices and student‐learning opportunities during the early years of schooling (and across the early care‐12 spectrum) is through bi‐national collaborations between researchers, practitioners, and policymakers in the United States and Mexico (Jensen, 2008). To date, the Foreign Affairs Office of the Mexican government has launched a number of programs (including teacher exchange, online courses, community plazas, the “transfer document,” among others) to enhance educational opportunities for Mexicans living in the United States (Gándara & Rumberger, 2009). A preliminary study of these programs found they have a great deal of potential to serve Mexican American children and families (not to mention the expansion of binational cooperation in education), but are constrained by low visibility, inadequate funding, poor integration with U.S. institutions (particularly the schools), and limited research and evaluation (Gándara & Rumberger, 2009). Ongoing study of programs like these is an example of the sort of innovation needed to enhance early educational opportunities for young bilingual children throughout the world.

Conclusion With the increasing numbers of DLLs in ECE settings it is essential that researchers, practitioners, and policy makers continue to expand knowledge about early bilingual development and learning. From a developmental perspective, research, policy and practice have not conformed neatly into a cohesive framework that can be of benefit for better understanding and promoting bilingual development and learning in early childhood. Our intent in this chapter has been to broaden the view of competencies to include aspects that are particularly of interest in the study of young bilingual learners. To that end, we have identified “what we know about” and “what we should do” through an expanded discussion around the key components of an emerging conceptual framework that identifies and takes into consideration key elements/contexts of the DLL experience: societal, community, and family contexts; early care and education contexts; child characteristics; and developmental competencies. This emerging conceptual framework is intended to help us better understand the integrated development and early learning knowledge base, identify gaps in knowledge, as well as determine factors that need to be taken into consideration when designing, conducting, and interpreting findings that could address issues of equity in early care and education of DLLs. To support the growing DLL population, ECE teachers must be prepared with the additional qualities, knowledge, and skills specific to young learners developing in two languages simultaneously. The curriculum, instruction, and assessment practices used in ECE settings should be those that have been proven

314  School Levels and Special Populations essential for the success of bilingual learners. Finally, researchers must promote new research that moves away from comparison models and towards efforts that aim to understand the specific complexities and uniqueness of the experience of young bilingual learners.

Note 1  In this chapter, we purposely use the term dual language learners (DLLs) and not “young bilingual learners” for a number of reasons. First, not all DLLs are bilingual, but all are growing up and developing in contexts where they are exposed to two languages. Second, using the term DLL is a way to distinguish research and literature about young children (ages birth to five) from the research and literature relating to school‐age ­(kindergarten through twelfth grade) language learners, students typically referred to as bilingual or English as a second language learners. Finally, we use DLL because this is the term currently used by researchers and practitioners in the United States, where our work is situated (Castro, García, & Markos, 2013).

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19 Primary School Bilingual Education Pedagogical Issues and Practices María Estela Brisk, Ester J. de Jong, and Meredith C. Moore In this chapter, primary bilingual education will be used to refer to formal schooling where more than one language is used as medium of instruction for language (arts) and for content area instruction for students aged 5 to 10. A successful bi/ multilingual program develops students’ language and literacy proficiency in two or more languages, leads them to successful academic achievement, and nurtures sociocultural integration, where students accept their bi/multilingual identity. In addition, programs embedded in ethnic communities can strive to have an impact on the community as a whole. This chapter provides an overview of the main research trends on bi/multilingual education at the primary (elementary) school level over the past 30 years within a framework of three principles that constitute the foundation of educational equity: affirming identities, additive bi/multilingualism, and structuring for integration (de Jong, 2011). The chapter concludes with recommendations for further research and practice needed to strive for educational excellence for bilingual learners.

Bi/multilingual education models at the primary school level Since the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) declaration of 1953 promoting the use of mother tongues in education, there have been efforts around the world to establish programs that include the students’ home language in school. In response to sociopolitical and economic trends, many different models have evolved and are implemented worldwide. They typically differ according to their goals, type of students served, and how and when languages are used in the curriculum (see Chapter 12, Programs and The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

320  School Levels and Special Populations Structures in Bilingual and Multilingual Education for details and various program models). They can be implemented as a program within a school or they can serve the entire school. A challenge in identifying different program models is the absence of unifor­ mity in applying program labels. For example, transitional bilingual education (TBE) is implemented around the world. Students receive instruction in the mother tongue for a few years. When they are deemed able to function in their second ­language, they are mainstreamed. Some TBE programs enforce gradual transition to the second language (Gersten & Woodward, 1995). In other cases, the change from one medium of instruction (local language, mother tongue) to the official or national language of instruction is abrupt. In Papua New Guinea the national policy calls for three years of schooling in a local language (Grades K–2), followed by three years of an early exit TBE program (Grades 3–5) (Franken & August, 2011). The lack of consistency in using program labels becomes problematic partic­ ularly when different programs are compared. For example, Canadian “immersion programs” were classified by Rossell and Ross (1986) as “immersion” programs (i.e., where instruction is completely in the target language) whereas others would identify them as strong bilingual education programs.

Research trends Achieving linguistic, cognitive, and cultural outcomes depends not only on student variables but also on the quality of implementation of the program. Leadership, school climate, curriculum, instruction, resources, assessment practices, prepara­ tion of personnel, and partnership with families all contribute to program quality (Brisk, 2006). As a result, practices and models supporting bilingual development vary greatly and are highly contextualized. Research in bi/multilingual education has rarely taken into consideration this complex picture. Although different parts of the world have focused on distinct aspects at different times, two themes have dominated the research. First, many studies or reviews describe and critically analyze historical developments in offi­ cial language‐in‐education policies and the evolution of specific program models as reflected in official documents and explicit policies (e.g., Alidou et al., 2005; Bangma, van der Meer, & Rimersma, 2011; Rappa & Wee, 2006). The second dominant theme is a focus on program evaluations in an effort to answer the question, “Is bilingual education better than monolingual education?” Findings from around the world consistently show that bilingual students partici­ pating in some form of bilingual education outperform similar students schooled monolingually in the societal, dominant language (e.g., Benson, 2002; Cummins, 2000; Dutcher, 2003; Genesee, Lindholm‐Leary, Saunders, & Christian, 2006). The program evaluation studies have been critiqued on methodological and ideological grounds. For instance, the outcome measures tend to focus on discrete language skills and on outcomes in the majority language. Native language indicators are rarely included as part of the design. In a recent meta‐analysis, only four out of the

Primary School Bilingual Education  321 17 studies included results on native language measures (Rolstad, Mahoney, & Glass, 2005). Absence of documentation of program outcomes in the native ­language has also been noted for Māori and Samoan bilingual education programs in New Zealand, despite more than 20 years of implementation and international recognition (May, Hill, & Tiakiwai, 2004). In contrast, research on elementary two‐ way immersion (TWI) programs consistently reports on both English and the partner language (for a recent overview of these studies, see Lindholm‐Leary & Howard, 2008). August & Hakuta (1997) refer to these studies as “advocacy‐oriented” research and argue that they are limited in scope and impact: because they aim to promote a particular model, they do not contribute much to our understanding of the underlying processes of language and literacy development. Moreover, the minimal information provided about the program and actual program practices make these studies less useful as a tool for school reform or professional development (see also Chapter  7, A Synthesis of Research on Bilingual and Multilingual Education).

Framework for review The two themes described in the previous section reflect the dominance of a top‐down approach to research on primary bi/multilingual education. Few studies document localized practices and connect micro and macro develop­ ments. Such a focus would shift the attention to broader underlying issues of bilingual education, such as educational equity and the role of linguistic diversity in schools. It would also focus attention on bilingual practices within local contexts. For the purpose of this review, a framework that stresses the importance and value of linguistic and cultural diversity in schools while responding to local con­ textual realities is used (de Jong, 2011). The framework proposes the “Principle of Educational Equity” as the first, overarching principle. Educators who foreground educational equity create school environments where each individual feels valued and respected. They work together to ensure that formal and informal language policies and practices at the school, program and classroom levels fairly represent the diversity in the school and do not discriminate systematically against certain groups of students. (de Jong, 2011, p. 170)

Educational equity is realized through three principles: affirming identities, additive bi/multilingualism, and structuring for integration (see Figure 19.1). The Principle of Affirming Identities stresses the importance of validating students’ cultural identities and building on what they already know. The Principle of Promoting Additive Bi/Multilingualism views and uses students’ language reper­ toires as additive resources for teaching and learning. The Principle of Structuring

322  School Levels and Special Populations

School

Curriculum

Classroom

Assessment

Affirming identities

Additive bi/multilingualism

Structuring for integration

E d u c a t i o n a l

E q u i t y

Figure 19.1  Guiding principles for bi/multilingual education.

for Integration looks at how a school and its components (students, parents, teachers, as well as programs and activities) connect, relate, and interact with each other and how these relations reflect and promote equal status among those involved. The implementation of these principles occurs within the school, curric­ ulum, classroom, and assessment. The following sections illustrate how these principles have been enacted in ­primary school bilingual programs around the world. They suggest potential areas of research that are needed to support our understanding of effective bilingual education and to move beyond program models.

Affirming identities Educators who apply the Principle of Affirming Identities validate diverse cultural experiences in their school policies and classroom practices. They purposefully create spaces for diverse students. (de Jong, 2011, p. 184)

To affirm bilingual students’ identities, members of the primary school community need to know these students as learners and people (Brisk, 2006). Otherwise, important aspects of their lived linguistic and cultural experiences will be over­ looked and schools can easily fall into stereotypes about the students’ cultural backgrounds. In addition to selecting a bilingual program model, the organization of the schools can be sensitive to students’ home cultures. A primary school in New Zealand with a significant Māori population organized students into vertical groups called ropu (group) on the model of the family. Each ropu included students of all ages; the older students helped the younger students, mirroring the relation­ ship between siblings (Cazden, 1989).

Primary School Bilingual Education  323 Maintaining high expectations implies that educators explicitly take into consideration the role that culture plays in schooling. Teachers can affirm students’ identities by incorporating into the curriculum content the knowledge and inter­ ests that emerge from the students’ lived experiences, whether at school, home, or in the community. Bilingual educators also supplement and augment national cur­ riculum standards and content to further support students’ cultures, although it is not always easy to integrate local, indigenous knowledge (Semali, 1999). Studies document a wide range of practices in support of this principle through material selection and development, incorporating diverse perspectives into the curric­ ulum, and creating spaces for students’ voices. Several programs integrated students’ and families’ experiences with literature to develop reading and writing in both languages (Calderón, Hertz‐Lazarowitz, & Slavin, 1998; Dworin, 2006; Hunt, 2007) and chose literature that positively reflects students and their cultures and languages (Chappell & Faltis, 2007; Flores‐Duenas, 2005; Martínez‐Roldán & López‐Robertson, 1999). The Six‐Year Primary Project in Nigeria introduced values, customs, and practices from the community through social studies classes. Curriculum developers consulted village elders and family members with respect to content area knowledge. Teachers collected artifacts and recorded stories, songs, proverbs, and other aspects of the culture shared by the parents (Fafunwa, Macauley, & Sokoya, 1989). Multiple perspectives are included by writing history from the perspective of indigenous people (Wilhelm, 1994), by studying famous people from the culture of the students (Orellana, 1995), or by looking critically at the representations of dif­ ferent groups in the curriculum in relation to their own groups’ experiences (Freeman, 1998). Primary school two way immersion (TWI) programs in Chicago and Washington, D.C. included Latino, African American, African, and Caribbean cultural contributions throughout the content areas (Freeman, 1996; Reyes & Crawford, 2012). Multiple identity spaces and room for student voices were created by allowing students to shape curriculum content by choosing topics to write about (Salmon, 1999) and writing bilingual books centered on their lives (Cummins, 2006). Student voices can be given multilingual spaces through integrating the arts and student autobiographies (Berriz, 2000). In a primary school TWI program in Germany, the German‐ and Italian‐speaking students had control over which activities and groupings they chose to create a bilingual community (Budach, 2009). In addition to curricular and content choices, many bi/multilingual programs support this principle by recruiting teachers and staff from the students’ commu­ nities. In the case of indigenous education, such efforts often align with issues of sovereignty and community’s linguistic and cultural autonomy (e.g., Agbo, 2004; Begay et al., 1995; May & Aikman, 2003). Assessments can affirm students’ identities through self‐assessment and other authentic assessment tools (Reyes & Kleyn, 2010). Shields (1997) notes that teachers can make the cultural assumptions embedded in standardized tests explicit and teach students how to interpret these assumptions given their own cultural and linguistic understandings. Student assessments affirm identity when they do not

324  School Levels and Special Populations restrict the content or the language in which it is expressed. For example, bilingual portfolio assessments can holistically tap the students’ knowledge using either language, while also being able to assess proficiency in each language (Stefanakis & Meier, 2010). Designing bilingual programs that enact the affirming diversity principle implies that primary schools and programs within these schools not only respect students’ bi/multicultural identities but also purposefully support them, create spaces for multiple perspectives and voices, and use students’ cultural experiences as a resource for learning.

Additive bi/multilingualism Educators who apply the Principle of Promoting Additive Bi/Multilingualism view lan­ guage minority students’ native language or languages as resources for teaching and learning. They make languages other than the standard school language visible and work to increase their status. They intentionally create opportunities for using, devel­ oping, displaying, and engaging with multiple languages. (de Jong, 2011, p. 200)

Students’ linguistic repertoires can be expanded through selecting a bilingual program model that is designed to support high levels of bilingualism and bilit­ eracy development (see Chapter  12, Programs and Structures in Bilingual and Multilingual Education, for such program models). When embedded within an additive context that adheres to the principle of affirming diversity and bilin­ gualism, less additive oriented programs can also still create learning environ­ ments where bi/multilingualism is valued and promoted. At the Rachel Carson Elementary School in Chicago with 92% Latino students, the TBE program oper­ ated in the context of a school that promoted bi/multilingualism through the presence of bilingual personnel throughout the school, Spanish materials in all the classrooms, a bilingual secretary, and bilingual parents involved in numerous school programs. Other cultures were also introduced, for example, with an exchange program with Japanese teachers. Bi/multilingual development depends on the affordances provided within the school and the classroom (Aikman, 1995). Access to bilingual and biliterate per­ sonnel (staff, teachers, administrators) and high‐quality, age‐appropriate materials are essential (Beaumont, 1999; Castro Feinberg, 1999; García & Colón, 1995; Hornberger, 1990; Shannon, 1995). It is important to provide quality materials in both languages in the classroom (Shannon, 1995) as well as in libraries (Gold, 2006). Providing good materials is challenging, however, when students’ native languages are not widely used in print in the outside world (Brock‐Utne, 2001; Vawda & Patrinos, 1999). In Nigeria a special project was necessary to create ­materials in Yoruba for supplementary reading, math, and science. In addition, they created materials in English that supported a more modern approach to ­second language learning (Bamgbose, 2004; Fafunwa, Macauley, & Sokoya., 1989). Supported by a foundation, Proyecto Kuatiañe’e in Paraguay published stories

Primary School Bilingual Education  325 told by Ava Guaraní elders as well as a dictionary and audio materials (Aquino & Kirylo, 2005). Others have created bilingual materials across “sister classes” using technology (Cummins & Sayers, 2000). Teachers also provide different opportunities for language use in their class­ rooms. There is ongoing debate over whether or not teachers should keep the two languages strictly separate in order to provide sufficient access to each language and opportunities to use and develop each language for social and academic pur­ poses (see Cummins, 2005). Some consensus appears to be developing that effec­ tive bilingual programs purposefully create both monolingual and bi/multilingual spaces that are clearly linked to learning goals and students’ linguistic and academic needs (Freeman, Freeman, & Mercuri, 2005). Teachers’ use of both lan­ guages has been found effective, particularly in post‐colonial settings, in clarifying content, engaging students in more advanced thinking, and other communicative purposes, such as giving directions, managing classroom routines, and getting students’ attention (Arthur, 2001; Lin, 2006). In Brunei Darussalam, the language of instruction transitions from Bahasa Melayu to English in the fourth year of pri­ mary school for most of the subjects. To facilitate comprehension of complex con­ cepts during the early years of transition to English, teachers switched between English, Bahasa Melayu, and Brunei Malay—the language commonly used by most of the country for daily communication (Martin, 1996). Teachers also used the practice of code‐switching to facilitate comprehension of textbooks in English and of mathematical concepts (Setati & Adler, 2000). Students’ use of both languages is more accepted as a practice, particularly when students are still in the earlier stages of second language acquisition. Even in a science class that adhered to alternating the languages on a daily basis, code‐ switching was common practice when students talked among themselves about their long‐term projects (Buxton, 1999). Allowing the students to respond in their native language can be a better measure of comprehension (Martin, 1999). Thus, some teachers allow students to communicate orally and in writing in either lan­ guage (Cazden, 1989; García & Colón, 1995; Heras, 1993; Hornberger & Link, 2012; see also Chapter 13, Translanguaging, Bilingualism and Bilingual Education). Access to the minority language is influenced by affordances within the school as well as the community (Reese & Goldenberg, 2006). In response to the domi­ nance of English and the need to expand students’ opportunities to use Spanish, one two‐way immersion school decided to establish an after‐school program in Spanish (Smith & Arnott‐Hopffer, 1998). An after‐school computer‐based project in California, La Clase Mágica, supported and extended primary school students’ bilingual oracy and biliteracy practices (Vasquez, 2003). The approach to assessment in bilingual programs depends on its purpose. Formative and summative classroom‐based assessments are more likely to be sensitive and inclusive of students’ performance in both languages. For example, in the Nigerian program mentioned earlier, students were assessed in Yoruba or English matching the language of instruction (Fafunwa, Macauley, & Sokoya, 1989). In a transitional program in the United States, students were given weekly assessments in the language of instruction (Calderón, Hertz‐Lazarowitz, & Slavin,

326  School Levels and Special Populations 1998). In a TWI Spanish‐English program in Washington, D.C., ongoing performance‐based assessments were used to identify and document students’ strengths in both languages (Freeman, 1998). The Literacy Squared program used in a TBE program in Colorado explicitly recognized bilingual writing strategies as part of its writing assessment rubric (Escamilla et al., 2014). It is important to recognize that efforts at bi/multilingual assessments are often undermined by externally imposed examination or testing requirements that solely value outcomes in the majority language (Amrein & Pena, 2000; Freeman, 1998). In many post‐colonial countries, English proficiency is an important gate­ keeper to secondary and higher education. In Kenya, primary schools are expected to prepare students for the terminal year (standard 8) examination. This exam is in English for all subject matter, except for the Kiswahili language exam (Merritt, 1992). Bi/Multilingualism is a desired educational outcome in the twenty‐first century. Widespread implementation requires knowledgeable personnel capable of orga­ nizing schools, creating curriculum, and providing instruction in a variety of ­languages and content areas. They need materials and assessments to support this work. Primary schools that serve immigrant populations need to cope with constant shifts in the sizes and mother tongues of their groups.

Structuring for integration A sound context for bilingual learners where students, their families, and their teachers feel like full members of the community is essential for quality programs. Educators who apply the Principle of Structuring for Integration establish inclusive policies and practices that encourage equal‐status relationships among and partici­ pation by different constituencies. They take linguistic and cultural diversity and the  implications for effective practices as their starting point for decision making. (de Jong, 2011, p. 221)

Equality of status within the school relates to programs, students, and their fam­ ilies. This integration is particularly relevant in places where there are distinct groups of students in the school and some students’ languages and cultures do not enjoy the same social status as the language and culture of the dominant group, as is, for example, the case for immigrant language speakers and indigenous lan­ guage speakers. In the case of more homogenous enrollment in a bilingual program (as is the situation in many African countries), inequality of status among students tends to be less pervasive, although there exists inequality of status between tribal and colonial languages. Schools that adhere to this principle ensure that bilingual and mainstream pro­ grams maintain equal status whether the instruction is separate for each group or together. If the bilingual program is a strand within the school, the school provides

Primary School Bilingual Education  327 meaningful integrated activities. “The bilingual program is not a separate part of the school but rather participates in, partakes of, and contributes to the positive student and educational climate outcomes” (Carter & Chatfield, 1986, p. 226). An essential aspect of program integration is “the value and status given to the lan­ guage and culture of the … children by the school as a whole and the recognition of the program within the whole school policy and development plan” (Barratt‐ Pugh & Rohl, 2001, p. 675). Informed, knowledgeable, and supportive leadership is essential for this goal (Hunt, 2011; Scanlan & López, 2012). Successful schools equitably allocate resources to bilingual programs and other programs in the school (Amrein & Peña, 2000; Freeman, 1996). They acquire books and textbooks in both languages and establish libraries that have books available in multiple ­languages. They set aside funding to support assessments in and through both languages (Gold, 2006). School‐wide or programmatic collaboration contributes to the integration of bilingual students and programs into the fabric of the school. At a primary school in New Zealand, teachers from bilingual and mainstream classes collaboratively planned the social studies curriculum and created resource materials that were shared between all classrooms (Cazden, 1989). To improve the education of bilingual students, a district in the U.S. Southwest adopted a system where teams that included the principal and bilingual, special education and general education personnel met weekly to discuss bilingual students referred to special education and plan appropriate instructional programs (Harris, 1995). A TBE program cre­ ated grade‐level teams that included the bilingual and mainstream teachers and the reading specialists. They worked with the bilingual and mainstream class­ rooms in different configurations allowing for teaching in the native language and the second language and smaller groups (Brisk, 1991). Quality bilingual programs provide for the integration of learning within and across languages through interdisciplinary, thematic units (Berriz, 2000; Freeman & Freeman, 2005; Howard & Sugarman, 2007; Reyes & Crawford, 2012). Teachers make conceptual and linguistic connections between what is being learned in each lan­ guage (Beeman & Urrow, 2012; Escamilla et al., 2014) and systematically integrate language and content. Few bilingual programs are designed to enroll students with different back­ grounds and language needs. TWI programs and the consolidated or coordinated classes implemented in Scandinavia in the 1980s are examples in which immigrant children and dominant‐language speakers are purposefully integrated (Glenn & de Jong, 1996). In TWI programs, classrooms include native speakers of both lan­ guages. Another approach to integration is having classes with children of differ­ ent language backgrounds taught by two teachers, each instructing in a different language. This approach proved successful for math instruction in Norway, bring­ ing Norwegian and immigrant students together. Immigrant students performed better than when immersed in a Norwegian‐only class (Ozerk, 1996). While students in TBE programs are often separated from students in the rest of the school for as long as they attend the program, there are transitional programs that achieve integration by coordinating content classes and integrating students

328  School Levels and Special Populations for specific lessons or units (de Jong, 2006). In Germany, Neumann and Roth (2009) found that team‐teaching heterogeneous, integrated groups was more effective in supporting bilingualism and biliteracy development than placing students in separate programs. Student integration is achieved through classroom activities that promote equal participation when members of each group work together. Collaboration among students of both language groups helps to develop an alternative view to language hierarchies from the dominant society (Budach, 2009; Buxton, 1999). Some teachers encourage the formation of linguistically heterogeneous groups to work together and help each other (Buxton, 1999). Having the two student groups together in the same classroom does not guarantee equal participation or language use. Teachers need to use well‐designed cooperative learning structures to encourage peer inter­ action to support cross‐cultural understanding and second language development (de Jong & Howard, 2009). Students’ families need to have equal participation in school‐wide or program‐ based events, acknowledging differences in parent engagement and involvement activities. Bilingual administrators can play a key role in encouraging parent partic­ ipation by reaching out to parents in their home language (Castro Feinberg, 1999). This participation can be related to academics, extracurricular activities, or school policies. Some schools have involved parents from the planning phase (Freeman, 1998). Others incorporate their cultural knowledge when developing relevant cur­ riculum (Fafunwa, Hertz‐Lazarowitz, & Slavin, 1989; Hayes, Rueda, & Chilton, 2009). In some countries where school resources are very limited parents help with the infrastructure of the school. For example, in Malawi primary schools, parents built bathrooms and chicken coops, secured drinking water, maintained a garden and provided kerosene so teachers could tutor into the evening (Baker, 1996). Integration plays a role in the sustainability of the program. When bi/multilin­ gual education is part of the school’s agenda, it is more likely that it will endure (Howard & Sugarman, 2007; Ngai, 2007). On the other hand, programs that exist on the periphery of schools are frequently threatened with dissolution. It took many years for bilingual programs for aborigine in Australia to get established. The initial efforts were at the mercy of swinging political ideologies (Nicholls, 2005). While admiring the accomplishment of the Community Language Teaching programs in British schools, administrators doubted that they could be sustained. Although these programs were created to bring bilingualism to schools serving many immigrant populations, instruction in the students’ native language occurred mostly in isolation from other curricular aspects of the school, including the schools’ foreign language departments. Occasionally mother‐tongue teachers worked together with others to create thematic units (Schmitt & Oomen‐Welke, 2005). As Brisk (2006, p. 135) notes: Improvement of bilingual education cannot be sustained in isolation but must be ­carried out within the agenda of improving education for the whole school. … A school has a better chance to develop global qualities when it incorporates in its mission the needs of bilingual populations.

Primary School Bilingual Education  329

Suggestions for future developments Our review of the literature highlights the continued emphasis that research on bilingual education has placed on program models and program evaluation studies, reflecting a search for “the one best model” and defining medium of instruction as the main independent variable affecting student outcomes. As a result, the structural, linguistic, and cultural complexities surrounding bilingual learners in primary schools have been greatly simplified and there is a dearth of studies that consider practices for bilingual learners within the broader school and community sociopolitical and economic contexts. To move the field forward, there is a need to change the paradigm of research questions: rather than ask whether to use mother tongues and for how long, the integration of students’ languages and cultures should be treated as a given. More important is to inquire how to use these languages and the second languages in the school, curriculum, classroom practices, and assessments to enhance educa­ tion. This core understanding calls for contextualized studies that examine how bilingualism and biliteracy in primary schools can be effectively supported for diverse learners who live in sociopolitically, linguistically, culturally, and techno­ logically complex settings. Using the principles framework as a guideline, we can identify several direc­ tions for future research. Research on the principle of affirming identities is relatively well‐developed in the area of curriculum content and ways of including students’ voices, although implementation often lags behind scholarly insights. Particularly in the case of indigenous languages, much work is still needed on negotiating, including, and integrating substantially different ways of being in the world. There is also a need for studies that consider how bilingual students’ diverse multiple identities (race, gender, ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, lan­ guage) interact and intersect and how spaces are provided for these identities to be expressed and heard. Henze and Vanett (1993), for example, noted tensions bet­ ween traditional and modern Yup’ik culture in Alaska, between home/community and school, and between English varieties that were not addressed by teachers. How these identities are constructed, reconstructed, and positioned in the school and a particular program or classroom through classroom practices is another question that needs more research. Issues of language allocation within specific program models have dominated the research related to the principle of additive bilingualism. The role of nonstan­ dard varieties of the languages used in bi/multilingual programs and additional languages that may be spoken by students have received less attention, yet these varieties constitute students’ lived linguistic experiences. Ways of describing and assessing students’ full linguistic repertoires within and across languages and ­literacies and studies that examine how these repertoires can be used to build on and extend students’ access to the register of school are needed. Moreover, much research on bilingual learning in bi/multilingual programs has been grounded in second language acquisition rather than bilingual development. More research is

330  School Levels and Special Populations needed on how young children develop their bilingual oral and written reper­ toires simultaneously in school settings. The current emphasis on the development of academic discourse mostly in the second language calls for research on its coex­ istence with affirming students’ identities through parallel development of their languages, even when not used for academic discourse. Studies that examine the role of integration and inclusion for linguistically and culturally diverse students at the school, program, and classroom level and how to balance issues of status among learners or speakers of different languages are still scarce. Peer interaction (in small groups) and the importance of parent/community involvement have received some attention. Broader issues of inclusive practices at the school, program, and classroom level are less likely to be considered. Even in the context of TWI programs, the question of fluent/less fluent speaker integration and participation at the classroom level has received relatively little attention.

Conclusion The struggle for primary school bi/multilingual education may always be ­“standard procedure” in educational policy, especially where minority language speakers are concerned. Rather than concentrating on “winning the battle” through evaluation studies that aim to prove which type of program is “the best,” our understanding of the complexities of linguistic and cultural diversity in school calls for research that supports bi/multilingual education as quality education wherever it emerges. The framework of the principles presented in this chapter is one route to achieve fair and good schooling for bilingual/multilingual learners within bi/multilingual programs as well as in schools that do not use the students’ mother tongues as the language of instruction.

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20 Secondary Bilingual Education Cutting the Gordian Knot Christian Faltis and Frank Ramírez‐Marín Introduction For the purpose of this chapter, we define bilingual education as a set of local ­language practices in secondary schools, which in the United States most often comprise grades 9–12, whose goal is to teach youth the core academic subjects that are required for high school graduation in the national language, by providing instruction in that language (and perhaps others), and instruction in the students’ home language with a focus on building their language practices for academic ­contexts. Nations vary considerably in what the meaning and length of secondary school and high school are for youth between ages 10 and 18. The national language instruction provided may be carried out in separate classrooms according to students’ language proficiency levels for part of the school day, especially for newly arrived immigrant youth, or through support from specialized teachers who work with emergent bilingual youth in content‐area classes. We acknowledge that this definition of bilingual education may not cover some practices that are called bilingual education or multilingual education outside of the United States. For example, while we will address heritage language teaching in this chapter, we will not be referring to foreign language education as bilingual education as is the case in some European countries (Datton‐Puffer, 2011), even though students may become bilingual, multilingual, and biliterate as a result of such instruction. We will, however, refer to what Krashen (1999) calls de facto bilingual education, instruction only in the national language for immigrant and refugee youth with prior schooling in their home language. We do so acknowledging that it is a misapplication of how we understand bilingual education, because de facto bilingual ­education omits from the discussion the goal of making schools places that affirm and appreciate language diversity (see García, 2009). The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Secondary Bilingual Education  337 Our focus is on current research and trends in secondary bilingual education, paying particular attention to programs and practices developed in the United States to address (and not address) the needs of emergent bilingual youth. We will also discuss secondary bilingual programs and practices in other countries throughout the chapter to compare and contrast what happens in bilingual programs and classrooms highlighted herein. The concept of “emergent bilingual youth” in this chapter refers to linguistic minority students who enroll in elementary or secondary school as documented or undocumented immigrants as well as to students who are native‐born in the United States, whose parents may be documented or undocumented. In both cases, these youth are adding the national language taught in school to their home language, and becoming “dynamically” bilingual in the process. Following García (2009, p. 53), we define dynamic bilingual youth as adolescents who gain multiple language practices that are “ever adjusting to the multilingual multimodal terrain of the communicative act” and that are at times linear, at times elliptical, and that comprise a user’s bilingual communicative repertoire. Dynamic bilingualism, as we are using it, corresponds to García’s (2009) notion that bilingual youth do not depend on two separate, autonomous languages for communication; rather the language practices of bilingual youth necessarily draw on the languages of other bilinguals (Bartlett & García, 2011). We focus on several profiles of secondary emergent bilingual youth: Newcomers, latecomers, long‐term language learners, and generation 1.5 students. Immigrant youth who enroll as first time students in secondary schools are often referred to as “newcomers” (Faltis & Coulter, 2007). Newcomers may or may not have had uninterrupted or prior parallel formal school experiences in their home language. Immigrant youth who enroll in secondary school after the school year has begun and the curriculum is underway are referred to as “latecomers” (Allard, 2013). Latecomers often have challenges enrolling in secondary schools because of missing transcripts, medical verifications, and legal guardianship issues. Many latecomer students are what Hamann (2001) refers to as “sojourners,” students who migrate from one place to another, as they or their undocumented family members seek new work opportunities. The bilingual practices of these youth vary considerably from true beginners to more proficient emergent bilingual users. Children of immigrants or immigrant students who began formal education in elementary school and continue as language learners well into secondary school are labeled “long‐term learners”; in the United States, they are called “long‐term English language learners” (Olsen, 2010) because not only do they not make gains on national language proficiency assessments, they also show little progress in academic achievement measures over several grade levels. Generation 1.5 are immigrant children who enroll in school in their pre‐teen or early teenage years. These students typically have formal education in their home language up to the time they enroll in U.S. schools and continue to identify strongly with their home cultural practices while in secondary school. Generation 1.5 students can share points of commonality with long‐term English learners. Throughout this chapter, we use the term “emergent” associated with bilingual youth to emphasize that the language practices of bilingual youth enrolled in

338  School Levels and Special Populations secondary bilingual programs emerge as a function of the bilingual language ­practices in their school and local community and build on the students’ prior schooling and language experiences. Following Hopper (1998), we conceive “emergent” to mean engaged in a perpetual, constant process of movement towards particular uses of language, with deferred completion because of contextual variation. Language practices are instantiations of social processes involving language uses that are constantly reconstructed in ways that are sensitive to the contexts in which they occur. As such, language practices are inherently local and emergent, and at the same time represent uses that are a part of everyday social organizations. This does not mean that language practices already exist and that students learn them as part of localized social activity. Language practices are not the source of emergent bilingualism, but rather a by‐product of language acquisition. The localized social activity from which the language practices of emergent bilingual students emerge, moreover, is not constrained by time and place. Language acquisition occurs in relation to activity that is already developing or in the process of developing in many other places and times (Pennycook, 2010). What is important here for our purposes is that language users’ emergent bilingualism, mainly as a result of schooling experiences, is necessarily a function of repeated sedimentation of frequently used language in the service of making meaning (Hopper, 1998). In this way, emergent bilingual users’ language is constantly changing, because opportunities for repeated language change and flow differently depending on interactional demands in the classroom. To the extent that emergent bilingual students engage in language practices that are repeated in sufficiently and meaningfully diverse ways, language practices become partially settled, and hence, available for new, dynamic and extended language uses.

Overview of the chapter We begin with an overview of secondary bilingual programs to discuss the frameworks that inform their organization within the goals and the mission of secondary schools in general, and the particular organizational structures designed to serve students who come into secondary school from elementary feeder schools and enroll as first‐time newcomer and latecomer secondary bilingual youth. We question the relevance and usefulness of these organizational structures for meeting the learning needs of these youth. Drawing on new understandings of language as “languaging” and bilingualism as “translanguaging,” we argue that secondary bilingual education needs to be conceptualized differently from the foundational, twentieth‐century research literature on bilingual education that separates instruction by language and sorts emergent bilingual students by language proficiency levels. Following this, using two case recent studies we discuss some of the challenges emergent bilingual youth face in secondary schools depending on the extent to which school administrators and teachers advocate for or promote the strong development of emergent bilingual practices. We conclude with recommendations, based on promising practices in secondary schools serving English

Secondary Bilingual Education  339 learners and bilingual youth and new understandings of language, bilingualism, and language development, to cut the Gordian knot of practices that have proved harmful to emergent bilingual youth. A Gordian knot symbolizes a difficult problem. In Greek mythology, a king tied a knot that was deemed impossible to untie, and many tried. Alexander the Great approached the knot with his sword, and simply cut it, thus solving the problem. We use this metaphor herein to suggest that improving secondary education for emergent bilingual youth requires straightforward, bold steps. We are at a point in the development of secondary bilingual education where substantial improvements can be made by teachers (Faltis & Coulter, 2007) and whole‐school sites (Bartlett & García, 2011; Cummins, 2012).

Contemporary secondary school Contemporary secondary schools (middle, junior, and high) in the United States and most post‐industrialized nations continue to be sites for stratifying students depending on race and language categories and for developing knowledge about the dominant society. Preadolescents and adolescents (ages 13–19) who enroll in secondary schools are expected to take a range of coursework, taught by professionally prepared and state‐certified teachers in separate classes or blocks of classes that are stratified into levels or tracks—typically vocational (called Career and Technical Education in the United States) or college preparation tracks. Secondary students from residentially isolated districts enrolled in school tend to congregate by group identities, social class backgrounds, language affiliations, and gender affinities. It is not uncommon for students to spend their entire time in high school having interaction with students who are just like them and, likewise, to have minimal contact with peers outside their language and ethnic group. Some students engage in afterschool sports and other extracurricular activities. In U.S. urban areas, some high schools resemble prisons, with fenced‐in yards and security guards; others in more suburban areas and small cities have vast sport fields, multiple building complexes, and open campuses. Classes in secondary school are taught in 55‐minute periods or longer block schedules and follow a scope and sequence that is tied to state standards of education (see Gunderson, 2007, for a description of secondary schools in Canada, with a focus on English learners; African, Asian, European, and Latin American countries use various configurations and often break up secondary and high school into distinct tracks and levels based on national exams). This subject‐by‐time block model of imparting secondary level curriculum by individual content area teachers has not changed since its inception. In recent years, since the implementation of No Child Left Behind (2002), U.S. high schools have become particularly influenced by a new high‐stakes assessment regime, focused on English language arts and mathematics assessments and, increasingly, on the use of exit exams for high school graduation. Under No Child Left Behind, all students must be assessed in English, which means that their

340  School Levels and Special Populations instruction, and preparation for assessment, for the most part, is also done in English, with little concern for the value of emergent bilingual or multilingual practices among language‐minority students. Schools are held accountable for the test scores each student receives, and federal funding for schools is tied to those test scores. The added pressure of high‐stakes testing linked to federal funding and high school graduation makes attention to the needs of emergent bilingual students both more urgent and more challenging. In many instances, the response to increased enrollment of emergent bilingual students has been the introduction of English Language Development (ELD) or English as a Second Language (ESL) classes, taught by teachers with varying degrees of background and experience in language teaching (Bunch, 2013; Ramírez‐Marín, 2011; Coles‐Ritchie, 2009). In some states, Arizona for example, newcomer and latecomer students spend four hours a day studying English for up to two years, making it exceptionally difficult for students to eventually pass the English, Math, and other content area exams required for graduation (Arias & Faltis, 2012). Odo (2012) also reported that emergent bilingual students in Western Canada are up to four times more likely to fail the high school high‐stakes exams than English speakers, because they were administered the exams while they were still enrolled in English classes for much of their school days. The United States began implementation of Common Core State Standards (CCSS) for Language Arts and Mathematics and Next Generation Science Standards in 2014. The new CCSS standards have been adopted in 45 out of 50 states, in addition to the District of Columbia, Guam, American Samoa, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and the Northern Mariana Islands. Beginning in 2016, students attending public schools in these states will be assessed on their knowledge of the new standards through instruments that align to the standards. The Common Core and Next Generation Science Standards rely heavily on language uses (such as arguing from evidence and critiquing the reasoning of others), often referred to as language in academic contexts or academic language, which heretofore have not been the focus of teaching and learning (Bunch, 2013). It remains to be seen how well teachers with little or no background in language and language uses will be able to scaffold academic interactions, interpretations, and performance of newcomer, latecomer, and other types of emergent bilingual users at the secondary level. Across European nations, schools have been preparing teachers in Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL), where academic content at the secondary level is taught through the medium of the lingua franca, the language that emergent bilinguals will mainly encounter in the classroom and for school activities, by teachers with more expertise in language teaching than content teaching (Lyster, 2007). CLIL shares characteristics with Canadian immersion education and the sheltered content instruction found in some U.S. secondary schools. The focus of these types of bilingual programs is to develop language practices while learning the academic content, through the use of scaffolding, formative feedback on meaning, and a high incidence of language interaction by students. There is some focus on form, but this is often accomplished through recasting and other types of feedback that intend to extend language comprehension and use (Dalton‐Puffer, 2011).

Secondary Bilingual Education  341

Early research on secondary bilingual education Research on bilingual instruction and teaching English learners from the early 1970s through the late 1990s concentrated almost exclusively on young emergent bilingual children in elementary school settings (Faltis & Wolfe, 1999), under completely different conditions. Prior to No Child Left Behind, bilingual instruction was more readily available and promoted in teacher education programs and through professional development. Moreover, there were no demands for high‐stakes assessment. The first major research study to examine school‐wide features that promoted success for English language learners was conducted in 1990. Lucas, Henze, and Donato (1990) found that among the six high schools they studied, immigrant English learners did well in school and graduated from high school at rates not significantly different from English speaking students (i) when their languages and cultural practices were valued and their education was made a school‐wide priority;(ii) when there were a variety of programs and courses offered to support English language development and content learning; (iii) when school counselors and community liaisons paid special attention to language‐minority youth and supported interaction across ethnic and social class groupings; and (iv) when ­parents and family members were informed of and engaged in school goals and activities. This research did not focus on the development of bilingualism or multilingualism, per se; rather, it examined the structural conditions that advocated for and promoted the success of language‐minority students, with success defined as high school graduation, and a school‐wide advocacy as the pedagogical and socio‐cultural attention to the needs of language‐minority students. In fact, it could be argued that students’ emergent bilingualism developed in ways that some ­educators would at that time refer to as subtractive: students learned the school language at the expense of their home language. We challenge this argument below, drawing on a conceptually different understanding of emergent bilingualism, for reasons we hope will become clear. Early research also spotlighted the potential benefits of separating newcomers and latecomers from English speakers for a period of time while they adjusted to high school settings and learning new language practices in English, in preparation for integration into high school. Enabling immigrant students to become adjusted to U.S. high schools and familiar with using English along with their home languages blossomed in the 1990s. The 1990s were also when immigration from Mexico and Central American burgeoned to new levels that had not been seen since the 1950s, and many secondary schools were experiencing huge enrollment boosts of newcomer, latecomer, and generation 1.5 students. Between 1995 and 2005, children of immigrants and immigrant children and youth in U.S. schools grew by 56%, compared to the rest of the student population, which increased by less than 3% (Batlova, Fix, & Murray, 2007). The growth among ­language‐minority students was greatest in secondary school, with the majority of students identified as Latino and Spanish‐speaking.

342  School Levels and Special Populations From early 1990s to the mid‐2000s, many newly arrived and continuing immigrant students enrolling in U.S. schools at the secondary level entered newcomer programs, where they were taught for a half or a whole day for up to a full year or until they were deemed ready to enter mainstream academic content classes. Minicucci and Olsen (1992) studied 19 high schools with high newcomer immigrant enrollments and found that most schools separated English learners from English speakers for most or all of the school day for up to two years. They also reported that, while they were in newcomer programs, emergent bilingual students had little or no contact with English speakers. The bulk of their access to English came from their English‐speaking teachers. Prior to No Child Left Behind, six high schools across the United States were designed entirely for immigrant students and refugee students; the most well‐known then was the International High School at La Guardia Community College in New York (García, Flores, & Chu, 2011). Meanwhile, in thousands of other secondary schools, the needs of hundreds of thousands of emergent bilingual adolescents were largely left unattended. Emergent bilingual youth designated as English learners were placed in classrooms with underprepared novice and seasoned teachers, and in schools that remained focused on teaching academic content in ways that did not tap into emergent bilingual students’ knowledge or scaffold their language learning needs. This was equally the case in regions with long‐standing experiences with immigrant children and youth and in regions that had experienced rapid growth in immigrant populations (Hamann, 2003). Research that examined the effects of the extent to which emergent bilingual students, especially secondary students, were largely ignored in secondary schools pointed out that these students were failing courses, not being promoted to the next grade level, and dropping out of school before graduation in disproportionally higher numbers than students who entered school speaking the national language (Ruíz de Velasco, 2005; Suárez‐Orozco & Suárez‐Orozco, 2001). Similar findings have been reported in other locales: Austria, Australia, France, Germany, New Zealand, Sweden, and Switzerland (Organisation for Economic Co‐Operation and Development, 2006). The OECD report found that, in addition to language and literacy measures, immigrant youth in general also lagged behind nonimmigrant peers in math achievement, prompting many to leave secondary school prior to graduation (Menken, 2013). Levin and Shohamy (2008, cited in Menken, 2013) also found that immigrant youth from the former Soviet Union took 9–12 years to perform at the level of Israeli‐born children, and that immigrant youth from Ethiopia were unable to achieve at the level of Israeli‐born peers in academic language and math achievement assessments. Immigrant youth in Canada also have difficulties in school compared to native‐born peers. Canada’s drop‐out rate for emergent bilingual and immigrant students has averaged 74%, significantly higher than native‐born peers (Watt & Roessingh, 2001). During this time period (1990 to early 2000), some U.S. secondary schools with large language‐minority populations, which included among them second‐ and third‐generation students of the same language background, began adding

Secondary Bilingual Education  343 heritage language classes to the offerings in the foreign language department. Mainly carried out at the secondary level, heritage language education was touted as a way to promote the development of immigrant languages, and in some cases indigenous languages, for secondary students whose families or themselves had experienced English‐only education for the bulk of their formal schooling. While heritage language programs shone light on new ways to bolster student engagement and to promote language development, they were few in number, and most lacked materials and well‐prepared teachers. Heritage language programs did little to interrupt the large‐scale failure of secondary schools to address the needs of newcomer, latecomer, generation 1.5 students, or long‐term English learners. These programs, similar to newcomer ESL programs organized for immigrant ­students, continued to perpetuate dichotomies such as “good or bad,” “standard or nonstandard,” and “conversational or academic” language. The focus of most was to learn the standard, academic variety of the heritage language, the variety perceived to have the most cultural capital, in line with the broad secondary school mission of promoting academic language within and across all content areas.

New challenges for language‐minority students in secondary schools After No Child Left Behind came into effect, and after the September 11, 2001 attack on the Twin Towers in New York City, support for newcomer, latecomer, generation 1.5, and long‐term English students, and especially for undocumented youth at the secondary level began to wane considerably. Secondary schools across the United States became increasingly focused on raising school‐wide test scores by gearing instruction in mainstream secondary classes to English language arts and mathematics. Local, state, and federal support for programs for immigrant youth and English learners decreased in direct proportion to efforts aimed at increasing state and local test scores, which, as mentioned above, were also linked to support from the federal government, and increasingly to state funding for schools. In the post‐9/11 era, calls for English‐only instruction increased dramatically at the secondary level, and many newcomer and any non‐English language support programs closed down or were cut back considerably. Instead, English learners were placed in content area classes to “sink or swim,” partly in response to the language‐as‐unity movement spearheaded by proponents of “English for the Children” and partly due to the increase in anti‐immigrant discourse developing in regions with burgeoning enrollments of emergent bilingual students, including the border states (Arizona, California, Colorado, Nevada, and Texas) (Arias & Faltis, 2012) and the new diaspora states (Alabama, Georgia, Pennsylvania, and South Carolina) (Hamman, 2001; Allard, 2013). As the new Common Core Standards and Next Generation Science Standard gain traction in schools, new issues are likely to appear in schools with large numbers of English learners and emergent bilingual students (Bunch, 2013).

344  School Levels and Special Populations

Two recent examples of secondary monolingual programs for emergent students Secondary newcomers in Phoenix Ramírez‐Marín (2011) documented a set of language practices implemented for the teaching of English as a Second Language for newcomer students in a large public urban high school in Phoenix, Arizona. This qualitative study investigated the experiences of seven Mexican immigrant students in a beginning English as a Second Language classroom in a high school with a large number of immigrant, or children of immigrant, students (mainly of Mexican origin—92%), many of whom were bilingual or spoke a language other than English as their primary language (97% Spanish speakers). The documentation of language practices by Ramírez‐Marín was done at three specific levels: (i) instructional language practices in the ESL classroom; (ii) students’ perceptions of their experiences learning English in high school; and (iii) the language practices for the teaching of English at the larger institutional level (school, district, state). The intersection of the language practices for the teaching of English at the three levels of inquiry that guided the study resulted in limited access to English for the student participants. At the instructional level, findings indicated that the ­language practices for the teaching of English enacted by the ESL teacher were influenced by a prescribed ESL curriculum, which the teacher was required to implement by state and district mandates. The ESL curriculum reflected two foci: the first was a theoretical conception of language and second language acquisition in the form of formal knowledge of linguistic rules and forms; the second was the students´ performance conceptualized as the “acquisition” of a set of a fixed inventory of discrete skills that language learners were expected to master. Language practices at the classroom level overwhelmingly favored an instructional approach to teaching English referred to in the literature as a structure‐based approach to learning and teaching. This instructional approach was realized through the explicit teaching of grammatical forms and the direct teaching of lexical items through memorization and direct translation of fixed meanings of vocabulary words. “Interactions” and “communication” in the classroom were characterized as the transfer or exchange of known information and nonauthentic questions and responses, a type of discourse well documented in the literature as Initiation–Response–Evaluation exchanges. This instructional context provided students with limited access to authentic interactions in which language was used to interpret and extend meaning. At the larger institutional level, the practices documented in the study (i) promoted the sorting of individuals based on their language backgrounds and ­language abilities as determined by standardized measures of language proficiency; (ii) resulted in the implementation of a separate curricular track for English learner students; (iii) resulted in the extreme reduction of contact between English

Secondary Bilingual Education  345 learners and English speaking students; and (iv) resulted in the virtual elimination of provisions and accommodations that could have been implemented for teaching English learners in the academic content areas. This study showed that the intersection of the institutional practices resulted in limited access to English as they restricted the student participants from being in contact with the very source of linguistic input—English speakers and academic and school contexts—in which they use English. The institutional arrangements for teaching English in this high school promoted instructional practices that ignored the fact that these students had few, if any, opportunities for interaction with English‐speaking peers at school. Findings suggested that learning or not learning English at this school did not solely depend on the learners’ investments, but also on how institutional arrangements foster or restrict access to people and school contexts that may be conducive to learning English among emergent bilingual youth. Finally, Ramírez‐Marín (2011) documented aspects of the relationship between language and identity through the students’ accounts of their English‐learning experiences. The study showed that for newcomers to be successful English learners entailed more than learning class content and passing their language examinations. Instead, learning English involved taking on new ways of being, feeling, believing, valuing, and acting, all of which were enacted through the learning of a new language. Nevertheless, evidence illustrated that, for newcomers, taking on a new identity and joining new communities at school was problematic. At the personal level, the student participants struggled with the idea of taking on new identities and being perceived as members of a new community with languaging practices that were not compatible with their own. At the same time they tried to keep their identities in relation to their membership of a specific community of Mexican immigrant students, in which the use of the Spanish ­language was a crucial marker of identity and belonging. It is important to state that restrictive language and immigration policies in place in Arizona at the time of the study played an important role in the co‐ construction of the student participants’ identities as language learners. Laws were in place to ban the use of Spanish in Arizona schools and roundups were justified by the office of the Maricopa County Sheriff on the grounds of skin color, national origin, and linguistic practices (the use of Spanish). In this social context, evidence supported the claim that the assumed “natural language learning environment,” cited in SLA research as providing countless and rich opportunities for students to practice, is not necessarily valid because language learners’ opportunities to learn English are socially structured and thus language learners are not always free to interact with whom they want.

Secondary latecomers in Philadelphia Allard (2013) studied the secondary schooling experiences of secondary students she refers to as “latecomers,” immigrant students who enroll in school after the academic year has started. Allard’s ethnography focused attention on latecomer

346  School Levels and Special Populations students mainly from Mexico, who enrolled in Marshall High School (a pseudonym) in a semi‐rural Philadelphia suburb that had experienced a 1,000% increase in Mexican immigrant families between 1990 and 2010. Allard sought to uncover the kinds of experiences 17 latecomer students of out a class of 22 had while they struggled to make sense of a new schooling context. Many of the latecomer students Allard studied held manual labor jobs while attending high school and, because all were undocumented youth, they worked in the secondary job market, where they were paid under the table. Latecomer students also had transnational identities, which, according to the literature on sojourner students, maintain strong ties to family and friends in their home countries and express a longing to “go back” (Hamann, 2001). One of the main reasons students enrolled as latecomers was because of incomplete or nonexistent medical and academic records. Some youth also had to find an adult to sponsor them if were both undocumented and under 18 without a family member present. When they enrolled in school, they were placed into two 90‐ minute ESL classes (ESL Reading, ESL Grammar), for most of their school day and, depending on their prior schooling experiences, into leveled Math, Science, or Social Sciences classes, taught in English, with some push‐in support twice a week from an ESL specialist. Marshall High had one bilingual liaison from Mexico who interacted with Spanish‐speaking parents and guardians. The bulk of instruction in all classrooms observed in the ESL and content‐area classes was teacher‐centered, conducted almost exclusively in English. The teachers relied on a grammatical syllabus that moved students through high‐­ frequency vocabulary, the verb to be, and here‐and‐now action verbs, often referred to as level‐one lexical items. Students filled in the blanks on sentence starters, and answered questions to “practice” sentence structure and new vocabulary. Students in the ESL classes interacted very little with English‐speaking students outside of classes. While seated in Math, Science, or Social Studies classes, students’ participation was minimal, because the instruction and interactions were mostly beyond their comprehension. Allard learned that none of the content‐area teachers she observed and interviewed provided latecomer students with any instruction about what had already been covered up to their point of their enrollment. Latecomers at Marshall High made minimal gains in English proficiency after many months of classroom instruction. Teachers decried the fact that their latecomer students were not able to transfer what they learned from rote activities into their independent use of language, as was expected. One teacher explained ­students’ lack of progress as follows: They’re not getting grammar.… Like, it’s one thing to hear it, and do, like, rote drills, but to apply it. They need … — like this time of year they should be able to apply it. It’s the end of the year, they should be … — for next year when they move up, they’re supposed to be moving up to low‐intermediate. I don’t think they are going to be ready because they don’t know how to associate it between, like, grammar class and reading, or grammar and even social studies. They don’t know how to write a paragraph about something [Santos] taught. (Allard, 2013, p. 298)

Secondary Bilingual Education  347 Teachers also knew very little about their latecomer students’ lives outside of school. Latecomer students relied heavily on language peers for developing help with academic and personal needs. This was one of the benefits of spending the bulk of the school day with peers. But this also meant that students and teachers and other school adults outside the ESL program knew little about latecomer students. Outside of ESL, adults in the school did not develop either a caring or a nurturing relationship with latecomer students. They were invisible. The findings of these contemporary studies bear resemblance to what Valenzuela (1999) learned from her study conducted in Seguín High (a pseudonym), a large, urban high school in Houston, Texas, a dozen years earlier. Valenzuela’s work was the first major longitudinal study to show how Mexican youth, many of whom were bilingual users of Spanish and English, were divested of social and cultural resources through practices and structures that contributed to their eventual academic achievement in high school. Informed by caring theory and critical ­ethnography, Valenzuela sought to understand the relationships cultivated between teachers and students at Seguín High. What she discovered was a school that cared mainly about assimilating Mexican students and not in ways the students understood about what it means to care about people. Students were placed in too many ESL classes; they felt disconnected from teachers; teachers held low expectations of Mexican and Mexican‐origin students; Mexican and Mexican‐origin ­students were tracked into the lowest academic courses. All of these practices ­contributed to a type of “subtractive schooling” that not only worked to assimilate Mexican and Mexican‐origin youth, but also to ensure lower graduation and higher dropout rates that would normally be expected.

Changing secondary education for emergent bilingual youth: New directions The Ramírez‐Marín and Allard studies, as well as the early literature on secondary school programs, show that structures and practices based on separate ESL classes that separate and sort emergent bilingual students for much of their secondary school experiences are harmful in multiple ways for long‐term, newcomer, and emergent bilingual users. Educators at the secondary level of schooling who continue to view language as something that students develop separately from their home languages, as an object that can be honed and improved to perfection (native‐like proficiency), contribute to the unsuccessful schooling of emergent bilingual youth. The separatist view of language is tethered to twentieth‐century thinking about language as a fixed, bounded object inside the heads of learners, an object that can be added on to or subtracted from students’ communicative repertoires. A fixed, bounded view of language based on monolingualism enables schools to sort and define students by single‐language proficiency as measured by a monolingual‐ referenced language tests—beginning, intermediate, advanced, and reclassified— and to linguistically isolate newcomers and latecomers from access to

348  School Levels and Special Populations multicompetent English speakers in content‐area classrooms, usually until they have reached advanced proficiency in the language of the school. There is a growing counterliterature to the monolingual view of bilingualism that conceptualizes language as inherently local, multi‐faceted, and hybrid and language development as a matter of having a range of opportunities in secondary school communities to interact with a range of students and to enroll in academic courses that lead to graduation (Reyes & Her, 2011). In a study of one high school, Casanova (2010) chronicled the efforts of an entire school faculty and staff to ensure that students, the majority of whom where emergent bilinguals from working‐class families, were provided with academic guidance, instructional support, and access to challenging academic content. At Cibola High School, counselors greeted all students upon arrival at school. Freshmen students met weekly with academic counselors to review their academic progress in English and other content areas. The school instituted an intergroup interaction plan for the entire school, so that English learners purposefully interacted with English speakers in and outside of classroom settings. All students were encouraged to take honors and AP Spanish classes. Emergent bilingual students had multiple avenues for enrolling in subject matter coursework, in both sheltered content and mainstream classes to ensure their bilingualism flourished. The graduation rate at Cibola High was near 100%, and with more than 85% of bilingual students continuing on to higher education venues (Casanova, 2010). In New York, García, Flores, and Chu (2010) reported on the efforts of faculty and staff at Cooperation Academy in the Bronx to promote school‐wide bilingual practices among faculty and students. The school used a team‐teaching approach and, similar to the efforts at Cibola High, Cooperation Academy, employed three guidance counselors to keep in constant touch with 400 students across the grades. Two out of the three guidance counselors for the schools, the parent coordinator, and the community liaison are bilingual in Spanish and English, as are the two assistant principals. Two of the four subject matter teachers on the 9th‐ and 10th‐ grade English‐learner teams are bilingual. Students are encouraged to use their two languages for interaction, and for making sense of content area materials. Here is how García, Flores, and Chu (2011, p. 11) describe the languaging practices at Cooperative Academy: Emergent bilingual students are given the option of doing their projects in English or in Spanish, or where appropriate, in both. Students are given language support during the presentations by teachers in the form of a teacher translator when necessary. When appropriate, students are paired up with other Spanish‐speaking students. Some emergent bilingual students complete their projects in Spanish and then share the oral presentation in English. Others do their projects in English and then present in Spanish.

Gregorio Luperón High School in New York was the site for a four‐year study of Dominican immigrant education. In this study, Bartlett and García (2011) followed 20 Dominican immigrant youth over a period of three years, observing their

Secondary Bilingual Education  349 ESL and Spanish classroom, along with their other academic content classrooms to understand what contributed to the success of students at this high school. They refer to their findings as an example of “additive” bilingual schooling. From this work, Bartlett and García point to several features within the school that contribute to the successful education of Dominican immigrant students. Below, we highlight a few: • Youth benefitted from a school planned by and for Latino immigrants. • The school leadership matters for building a community of educators and students. • Teachers are important agents in the generation of social capital. • Bilingual faculty members draw on experience and emotional knowledge of language development to relate to immigrant students. • Immigrant students benefit when their home language maintains a high status at the school, for learning, interactions with faculty and staff, and when bilingualism is the norm and goal for all. • Bilingual education promotes learning in and through English. In these three secondary schools, emergent bilingual users acquire multiple competencies emerging from varied opportunities for extensive interaction with others, interpretation of thoughts, images, and text, and modeled and scaffolded language practices. Language development resulting from these experiences is fluid and nonlinear, depending on opportunities to comprehend and produce oral and written language to accomplish social and academic purposes. Most importantly, in all three settings, emergent bilingual youth are welcomed, their languaging practices are pervasive and normalized, and teachers and school leaders, with support from the community, collaborate for the success of all students. The images of emergent bilingual practices in Cibola High, Cooperative Academic, and Gregorio Luperón differ substantially from twentieth‐century ­conceptualizations of language as separate inside the heads of learners, as a set of grammatical structures that have a natural linear order, that separate conversational from academic language—conceptualizations that appear as a common knowledge base for secondary teachers (see Faltis, Arias, & Ramírez‐Marín, 2010; Faltis, 2013). These three schools, though different in local contexts, show that, when deep changes are made in how teachers understand language and language development in school, schools can meet the language and learning needs of newcomer, latecomer, and other secondary emergent bilingual students. The ­ schools sought out and hired bilingual teachers, counselors, and other staff, enacted intergroup learning across the curriculum and among diverse students, and made demanding academic coursework available to all students, through teaching and authentic learning that was constantly modeled, scaffolded, supported, and formatively assessed. The majority of secondary schools in the United States, as well as other countries, with immigrant and emergent bilingual youth fall somewhere between the two extremes we have highlighted above. While many secondary schools do little

350  School Levels and Special Populations or nothing pedagogical to support newcomers, latecomers, long‐term emergent bilingual users or generation 1.5 students, few are as focused on ensuring the success of emergent bilingual youth as Cibola, Cooperative Academic, and Seguín High, none of which have traditional bilingual education programs. As we look into the future of secondary bilingual education, what stands out are six school‐ level areas that promote success: • Teacher Assignment: Teachers assigned to subject matter classes with emergent bilingual youth need to know about their students, about profiles of different kinds of emergent bilingual students, and know how to model and scaffold interactions to ensure these students are learning. • Access to Subject‐Matter Content: Emergent bilingual students must have access to rigorous academic content classes taught by teachers with pedagogical language and content knowledge, including AP and other specialized ­ coursework. • Academic Counselors: Newcomers to reclassified English learners must have continuous contact with bilingual academic counselors who advocate for them and ensure that their academic and social needs are protected. • School‐Wide Advocacy: Emergent bilingual youth must have multiple opportunities to interact with teachers, librarians, counselors, and peers to develop school‐wide relationships and support. • Beyond Academics: Emergent bilingual students must have access to extracurricular activities, including after school sports for boys and girls, school clubs, and community‐based programs. • Informed Class Assignments: Course scheduling for emergent bilingual students must be based on a full understanding of students’ prior schooling experiences and future academic goals, in consultation with academic counselors, teachers, and parents. In addition to these school‐level changes, teachers who work with emergent bilingual youth, from newcomers to reclassified English learners, need to reject linear models of language development focused on learning language forms and embrace an understanding of language development as emerging from complex practices in which students comprehend language used in academic contexts and communicate widely about new thematically interconnected topics. This new perspective promotes an understanding that language mediates all actions used in interaction and instruction and that purpose and meaning take precedence over form and accuracy. Teachers need to accept that emergent bilingual users in secondary school will construct meaning using imperfect language. Classroom interaction that involves a range of language competencies, including using the students’ home language in combination with the developing language for purposeful communication, must become a sine qua non of bilingual education at the secondary level. In secondary schools, it is important that all teachers acknowledge and affirm that the language practices of emergent bilinguals will always include

Secondary Bilingual Education  351 “translanguaging” (see García, 2009 for a brief history of the term and Chapter 13 of this volume, Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education), defined as “multiple discursive practices in which bilinguals engage in order to make sense of their bilingual worlds” (García, 2009, p. 45). Translanguaging has been characterized in the literature internationally as flexible bilingualism, pluralingualism, hybrid language practices, and polylingual languaging. In the classroom locality, translanguaging practices entail translating, paraphrasing, interpreting, and code‐switching, language interactive practices emergent bilingual students use to comprehend and produce new language practices valued and reinforced in schools. All bilingual communities use translanguaging practices for purposeful communication (García & Wei, 2014). Secondary schools must cut the Gordian knot that has separated emergent bilingual students by language levels only to teach grammatical structures and vocabulary lists, that has isolated these students from the diverse worlds and experiences of peers and school adults, and that has denied them access to the subject‐matter content courses required for graduation from high school. Severing the Gordian knot means that secondary schools can and must take bold, comprehensive steps to ensure that emergent bilingual youth have access to the full social and academic curriculum offered to all students.

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Secondary Bilingual Education  353 Arizona State University, Tempe, Arizona. Reyes, R., & Her, L. (2011). Creating powerful high schools for immigrants and English language learning populations: Using past and present ideas in today’s schooling paradigm. In C. Faltis & G. Valdés (Eds.), Education, immigrant students, refugee students, and English learners (pp. 527–547). National Society for the Study of Education the 109th Yearbook, Issue 2. New York: Teachers College Press.

Suárez‐Orozco, C., & Suárez‐Orozco, M. (2001). Children of immigration. Cambridge: MA: Harvard University Press. Valenzuela, A. (1999). Subtractive schooling: U.S.‐Mexican youth and the politics of caring. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Watt, D., & Roessingh, H. (2001). The dynamics of ESL drop‐out: Plus ça change. Canadian Modern Language Review/ La Revue canadienne des langues vivantes, 58(2), 203–222.

21 Bi/Multilingual Higher Education Perspectives and Practices Christa van der Walt Introduction The statement that the globalization of higher education (HE) is both an opportunity and a threat is self‐evident, and the way in which globalization plays out in HE offers opportunities and threats in immediate ways. The opportunity of recruiting transnational students who (usually) pay high fees is offset by the challenge of providing adequate social and academic support for them; the opportunity to widen local students’ experience must be balanced against the possibility that they may not always learn as efficiently when lectures are presented in English (to support trans­ national students); the opportunity to collaborate with research partners from all over the world must be weighed against the problems of contextualizing such research. In terms of student as well as academic staff activity, globalization demands access to resources, meaning that the degree to which higher education institutions (HEIs) can lay claim to participating in global academic activities is very much a matter of how wealthy and well‐resourced such institutions and their staff and ­students are. In a historical overview of transnational mobility, Kim (2009) shows how ­students and lecturers have always travelled the world, but, he argues, “in the contemporary period of globalization, the scale and speed of cross‐border academic mobility has changed” (Kim, 2009, p. 387). HE has become far more accessible to all school‐going citizens, but governments and education authorities still struggle to increase access to HE by minoritized communities who are underrepresented in so‐called developing (Egron‐Polak, 2009) as well as developed countries (Crosier, Purser, & Smidt, 2007). To the extent that such communities may also use a ­language or variety of a language that is not the language of learning and teaching (LoLT) in HE, pressure is created to not only create spaces for the use of English for “foreign” students, but also to plan for local students who may bring other languages The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  355 or varieties of the LoLT to the institution. In the case of postcolonial contexts, these minoritized communities may in fact be the majority of the population who need to develop adequate proficiency in a former colonial language to study success­ fully at HE level. HE institutions need to balance the demands of internationaliza­ tion with a local responsibility to widen access. Focusing mainly on academics, Kim (2009) comments that UK institutions have gained from transnational mobility because of the role of English as a lingua franca. From the perspective of student mobility, Varghese (2008) shows that, although the United States has the biggest number of transnationally mobile students, such ­students “account for less than 3.4% of the total tertiary education students in the USA” (p. 18). When one compares this to countries like New Zealand (28%) and Australia (19.9%), Germany (11.2%), and France (11%) it becomes clear that “smaller countries attract a disproportionably large share of the cross‐border stu­ dents” (Varghese, 2008, p. 18). This proportionality is important, because it would increase the visibility and awareness of such students on campus, which could contribute to greater sensitivity and willingness to accommodate them. On the other hand, a visible presence of students who do not use the language(s) of a particular community, may increase feelings of marginalization or threat among local students, particularly when managers of HE are also pushing for the intro­ duction of English to increase their institutions’ competitive edge and to accom­ modate students who do not use the institutional LoLT. The way in which these consequences and contexts play a role in HE will be elaborated upon next. First, I will focus on the discourses and practices that support English as the sole LoLT, then the discussion will turn to existing bi‐/multilingual HEIs and the challenges they face. Finally, I will argue for the acknowledgement of bi‐/multilingual students by discussing multilingual practices in HE.

The Perceived Inevitability of English Monolingual teaching and learning are the result of a long history of simplistic notions about the role that a language can play to achieve national unity combined with biased notions of the dangers of bilingualism for young minds. As a result, overtly multilingual countries are seen as unmanageable—the languages standing in the way of national unity (Chimbutane, 2011). In a similar process English has become emblematic for progress and global access to jobs and education, as is ­evident in documents like a report on the implementation of the Bologna pro­ cess in European universities, where Crosier, Purser, and Smidt (2007) link progress explicitly to the introduction of program offerings in English. The implication is clear: English eases transnational student mobility. Students share these perceptions. In countries that formed part of the former Soviet Union, Coleman (2006) indicates that “[t]he need for an international lingua franca arising from the demise of the Soviet Union and integration into global markets led more than half of school pupils across Central and Eastern Europe to learn (rather than study) English” (p. 7).

356  School Levels and Special Populations Although internationalization is taken to refer to the use of English, many c­ountries exploit familiarity with other languages to encourage cross‐border ­student mobility. Gacel‐Ávila (2007, p. 404) notes of Latin American countries that “the number of interinstitutional programs is on the rise, especially with Spanish‐ speaking countries.” Crosier and colleagues (2007) show how similarities in Czech and Slovak enable movement to the Czech Republic. Of course, the same movement has been seen for centuries between colonies and their colonizers’ homelands, for example, from African countries to France, Portugal, and Britain or the United States. The aura of inevitability that surrounds English is not only seen in transnational mobility, but also, and most prominently, in academic publishing. Since publishing houses prefer larger print runs, it seems to make sense to publish in a language that is perceived to be understood by all students. The pressure on academics to publish in English increases, both from their own managers and from publishing houses: The “value of English is sustained through both formal and informal systems that reward publishing activity variably for the purposes of annual salary, promotion and attracting research grants” (Lillis & Curry, 2010, p. 59). Formal surveys of the use of English in HE often focus on stu­ dent mobility and program offerings, but academics themselves are under pressure to teach and publish in English on the assumption that they are proficient and comfortable users of English. Even when this is the case, they may experience the discomfort described by Canagarajah (2005), who argues that “[t]he western discourse may present one as incompetent or unproficient, if one doesn’t succeed in erasing all traces of local identity in the alien discourse” (p. 48). Although there is evidence that researchers make decisions to publish in a local language for local audiences and in English for international audiences (Lillis & Curry, 2010), the availability of textbooks in English and the use of English at HE level lead to changes in language use at secondary and primary schools, as seen particularly in Europe. The development of Content and Language Integrated ­ Learning (CLIL) as an effort to support learning in an additional or second language focuses almost exclusively on the introduction of English as a LoLT at school level, as Whittaker, Llinares, and McCabe (2011) indicate in Madrid primary schools. In Africa and India the use of colonial languages at school and HE level is wide­ spread and well‐documented. Even in Francophone and Lusophone countries, English is increasingly used in HE alongside French, Portuguese, and Arabic, ­creating increasing pressure for the use of English at school levels that prepare ­students for HE.

Bi/Multilingual HE: Models and Language Arrangements Cenoz and Genesee (1998, p. 14) point out that “multilingual education can take different forms because it is necessarily linked to the sociolinguistic context.” This state of affairs is evident in the variety of models and practices that exist in

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  357 multilingual HE. In the case of institutions and programs that are explicitly bi/ multilingual, both languages are officially accorded equal space and importance. In her categorization of language arrangements at school level, García (2009) ­distinguishes between arrangements that separate languages in terms of time, subject, space, and the language proficiency of the teacher. Similar arrangements are found at HE level, although there are significant differences, since the aim in HE teaching is not to develop and elaborate initial literacy, as is the case at primary school level in particular. Official bi/multilingual HEIs, particularly in the case of research‐driven and comprehensive universities in Europe, Canada, and my own country, South Africa, offer examples of language arrangements across all four dimensions. In some of the institutions mentioned below, all programs can be followed in either of the institutional languages, although the proficiency of lecturers may restrict students’ options at times. The universities of Fribourg (Switzerland), Luxemburg (German, French, and Luxemburgish) and Barcelona (Catalan and Spanish) offer examples of languages separated in terms of subject and lecturers’ language proficiency. It is clear that not all subjects can always be offered in all the official languages. The official language policy of the University of Helsinki (2007) hints at problems with the provision of services in Swedish, and Lamoureux (2011) describes problems with the provision of French at the University of Ottawa. An example of a ­language arrangement that is emblematic of deeper sociocultural divisions is that of the University of Leuven (using Flemish as a LoLT) and its partner institution, the University of Louvain‐la‐Neuve (using French as a LoLT). Although these two institutions started out as one French‐speaking institution, its history led to the current separation. The use of more than one language can often be linked to the location of insti­ tutions; the University of Ottawa in Ontario (Canada) is close to the border with French‐speaking Quebec. The University of Bozen/Bolzano, in a region of Italy that used to be part of Austria, uses German, Italian, and English as LoLTs. The history and location create a multilingual context that makes multilingual teaching and learning both inevitable and matter of fact. A list of officially bi‐/multilingual HEIs always runs the risk of excluding some. The following is a living list of European institutions (Van der Walt, 2013, p. 69): In Ireland and Wales, using English alongside Irish and Welsh • The University of Wales Trinity Saint David • National University of Ireland (Galway) In Finland, using Finnish, Swedish, and increasingly English • The University of Helsinki • Åbo Akademi In Germany, on the border with Poland, where German and Polish and increasingly English are used • The Europa University Viadrina

358  School Levels and Special Populations In Spain, in Catalonia (using Catalan and Castilian) and in the Basque region (using Basque and Castilian) • The University Autònoma of Barcelona • The University of Lleida • The University of the Basque Country In Switzerland, using German and French and increasingly English • The University of Fribourg In Italy, using Italian, German, and English • The Free University of Bozen/Bolzano (Italy) In Luxemburg, using French, German, and Luxemburgisch • The University of Luxemburg. In Canada, particularly in the border region with Quebec, the University of Ottawa advertises itself as the largest French–English bilingual university in the world. At undergraduate level all Canadian students are expected to have a certain level of either French or English for entrance to university programs. McGill University does not advertise itself as bilingual, but it notes that 18% of its s­ tudents have French as a home language and students can submit their work in either French or English. In the north of the country, Nunavut Arctic College, an English– Inuktitut bilingual institution, is the only HEI in the region. Arguably the best‐known bilingual university in the United States, Gallaudet University, offers HE in American Sign Language and English to deaf and hard of hearing students. The University of Puerto Rico chose to use English alongside Spanish for the reason that most HEIs are including English as a LoLT, that is, to exploit the growing mobility and access to funding offered by English. In South Africa, former Afrikaans HEIs are increasingly using English alongside or instead of Afrikaans as the only LoLT. In the wake of the 2000 Language in Higher Education policy, South African institutions developed materials and ­terminology in the other official languages of the country. Attempts are made to offer programs in both English and Afrikaans, with support in African languages in the form of multilingual dictionaries, glossaries, or notes. The practice of simul­ taneous interpreting (from Afrikaans to English) is also used for lectures. All these examples do not even begin to typify HE across the world where English is being introduced in a variety of ways: as an access mechanism, a c­ ompulsory language subject, or as a LoLT. In the case of African HE, English is introduced in institutions alongside other colonial languages (e.g., French and Portuguese) and/or Arabic. In the Middle East, Gallagher (2011) claims that English is so dominant in HEIs of the region that it is almost impossible to study at that level through Arabic. Using English as an access mechanism and then offering some subjects or programs in English occurs in South America and is combined with efforts to increase proficiency among students as well as academics (Gacel‐Ávila, 2005). In China, bilingual education is meant to refer to the use of Chinese and English, with a language arrangement based on subjects: Science, Mathematics,

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  359 Business Studies and Computer Studies seem to be offered primarily in English at high‐status institutions (Li & Wang, 2010). In the case of bilingual programs in nominally monolingual institutions, the focus is usually on the professional training of students. Such programs can cater for local, multilingual students, for example the dual medium bachelor degree offered at the University of Limpopo (South Africa) in English and SeSotho sa Lebowa (Ramani, Kekana, Modiba, & Joseph, 2007) for language practitioners. European examples focus specifically on bilateral cooperation with other coun­ tries. This is the case with, for example German binational bachelor and master’s programs in law.1 At the University of Cologne, for example, law students can choose bachelor and m ­ aster’s programs from: • German–French programs, where, according to their website, 30 students from Germany and 30 from France study together for two years in Cologne and then in France, at the Paris I Panthéon Sorbonne. • German–English programs, with the University College London; and • German–Turkish programs, with the Istanbul Bilgi University. The master’s program can be completed in two semesters, the winter semester in Turkey and the summer semester in Germany. The forward‐looking nature of the programs as well as their focus is clear in the boast on the German–French program’s website that “graduates work in German– French and international law firms and businesses, as judges, as well as top man­ agers in national, European, and international contexts.”2 Bilingual students obviously profit from their linguistic capital. An additional advantage of such pro­ grams can be seen in the recent introduction of the German–Turkish master. According to the information provided on their official Facebook site, the program started in 2010 and places a high premium on students’ integration into the com­ munities and cultures of the host countries.3 A trilingual International Business Management degree at the University of Applied Sciences and Arts in Northwestern Switzerland (FHNW School of Business) exploits the proximity of the three HEIs: the Université de Haute Alsace in Colmar, France, the Duale Hochschule Baden‐Württemberg in Lörrach, Germany and the Basel campus of the FHNW School of Business in Switzerland. Using English, German, and French, the program builds on students’ multilingual competencies. More significantly, it builds on secondary school programs that strengthen academic language proficiency in these languages. What is clear from the South African as well as the German examples is the acknowledgment of context: far from simply supporting English as the language of mobility, the programs focus on employment in multilingual communities. In their introduction to a volume on student experiences of internationalization, Jones and Caruana (2010) indicate that contact with and understanding of other cultures need to be linked to the job market, as the above programs do. As this section has shown, formal language arrangements are diverse, as they should be, to cater for both local contexts and global demands. The various

360  School Levels and Special Populations bi/multilingual programs and models also show that the introduction of English adds yet another dimension to existing multilingual arrangements and, in fact, turns most monolingual institutions into bilingual ones and bilingual institutions into multilingual ones. The introduction of English to support internationaliza­ tion and global drives for competitiveness is at best an additional burden on students and lecturers that may affect the depth and breadth of learning and teaching (Hellekjaer & Wilkinson, 2003; Airey, 2004; Knapp, 2012) and at worst a barrier that can be in conflict with local demands for increasing access to HE (Seelen, 2002).

Towards a multilingual pedagogy Multilingualism and student access to HE As mentioned in the first section, HEIs all over the world feel the pressure to increase not only access, but epistemological access (Morrow, 1993) to its p ­ rograms and curricula. To the extent that knowledge is developed and expressed in a particular language, this means that the (unacknowledged) languages students bring to the classroom are a crucial resource that can enable success (for the student) and improved throughput (for the institution). Epistemological access means sustained engagement with students to ensure the best chance of graduating. The perceived costs of a multilingual education model must be weighed against the real costs of students dropping out or failing repeatedly because they cannot develop enough proficiency to study successfully in the dominant LoLT. Internationalization as a goal in HE is in sharp contrast to minoritized commu­ nities’ desire for HE. In the short term, international students who use English constitute a source of income, whereas local students may be seen as a financial burden. Perceptions of transnational student enrollment as a measure of competi­ tiveness and responsivity to global markets, may cast international students in the golden light of opportunity, rather than a risk. However, Schumann (2008) notes the poor throughput rates of international students. The competing demands of these two groups may result in much needed time and resources being diverted to  so‐called internationalization drives, rather than increasing access for local, minoritized students. From governmental level there may be pressure to increase access as well as throughput rates of local students, which may demand different prioritization of developmental academic support. For example, in the South African context there is a difference between academic development for local students whose schooling (and not only language development) may have been inadequate and international students who have successfully developed advanced academic literacy in another language but may be struggling with a particular institutional LoLT. The point at which local and international students meet in the same class for the same language support, is an uncomfortable space where disappointment (at having to take the class), low motivation, and anxiety form a barrier to learning. At this exact point the resources

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  361 that students bring to the class, including the “other” languages that they know, can support and enhance disciplinary discourse proficiency.

A monolingual orientation to teaching and learning The crucial difference between HE students and school‐level learners is that stu­ dents have already developed advanced academic literacy; what they require at HE level is the development of discipline‐specific discourse practices and meta­ cognitive and critical awareness of how and why such discourse differs from other kinds of language use. For many students disciplinary discourses become the stumbling blocks towards completion of their studies (Jacobs, 2007). The main problem in strengthening disciplinary discourse competence in the LoLT is that such support is often located outside the discipline in the form of lan­ guage centers or writing programs. The challenge for lecturers is to integrate ­discipline‐specific knowledge and more general language support (Basturkmen, 2012). This is only possible, according to Jacobs (2007) when lecturers from a particular academic discipline commit to “sustained interaction with academic literacy practitioners” so that tacit knowledge and practices can become explicit (p. 869, emphasis added). Additional pressures are exerted from outside HEIs by industry and future employers to prepare students adequately for workplace literacy. The demands of industry or the world of work are generally not the same as those of the academy, and decisions need to be made to allocate time in a program that is probably already overflowing. HE practitioners and administrators who are in a quick-solution frame of mind seldom acknowledge the languages that students have already mastered to a high level at secondary and post‐secondary education levels. In cases where HE makes extensive use of a language that is not used at school level, as is increasingly the case with the use of English in HE, students will have developed literacy in other languages. Even if multilingual students have not developed literacy in their home or community languages, they will be able to explore topics, discuss c­ oncepts and structure responses in such languages. There is much evidence from the interdependence hypothesis (Cummins, 2005) to show that knowledge and competencies developed in one language can be available in another, particularly where subject‐specific language use is concerned. In their survey of the strategies that successful bi/multilingual ­students use in a multilingual context, Van der Walt and Dornbrack (2011) found that students use a variety of multilingual strategies (code switching, trans­ lating, etc.) whether lecturers encourage such strategies or not. However, as indicated by Van der Walt (2013), students are not immune to the perception that languages should be kept separate and they therefore need “systematic encouragement by the teacher to focus on language and develop their language awareness” (Cummins, 2005, p. 8). The benefits of this approach could include deeper understanding and more sustained engagement with the subject, as the next section will show.

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Creating spaces for multilingual learning and teaching The most commonly heard objection to multilingual teaching and learning is the fear that attention (and therefore learning) will be diverted from the LoLT, which needs to be learnt well for successful completion of a course; called the maximum exposure hypothesis by Cummins (2005). Time, or rather a waste of it, is also the reason why translation or code switching strategies in the classroom are regarded with suspicion (Van der Walt, 2006; Van der Walt and Dornbrack, 2011). However, the fact that competencies and knowledge can transfer from one language to another, as Cummins shows (2005), means that time is, in fact, saved when the lec­ turer can draw on students’ knowledge in another language. A simple example demonstrates the power of a one word translation that I observed in student pre­ sentations. After a lengthy explanation of simile in a poem, the student, seeing a few frowns in her audience, stage whispers the Afrikaans translation “Vergelyking!,” thereby clarifying the meaning and the purpose of the presentation in a second. The use of students’ home or community languages can narrow the distance between the lecturer and the students, thereby making students more receptive and less anxious. In multilingual communities these language practices are commonplace. Knapp (2011, p. 63) provides a number of examples from a German context (L refers to lecturer and S to students): Example 1  German classroom code switching 1. L:

does anybody know chelate cycle? (‐‐) chelate cycle (…) who knows what that is? (‐‐‐) 2. L: doesn’t anybody speak Greek or Latin? 3. Several Ss: (laughter) no (..) no 4. L: still nobody 5. Several Ss: (trying to repeat the word) Kilots? Kilos? 6. L: (to the only student with English as L1) what is Krebs? 7. S1 (USA) crabs. 8. L: crabs? 9. S1 (USA): crab or a lobster 10.  L: you know this animal with eight legs (‐) which animal has also eight legs? 11.  Several Ss: spider 12.  S2 (Macedonia): aaah (..) chelots! 13.  L: yes, which language is this? 14.  S2 (Macedonia): this language is Macedonian (..) we are on a border with Greece. The lecturer, as well as the students, draws on various language resources to try and explain the chelate cycle. The lecturer refers to Greek and Latin (lines 1 and 2), whereas one of the German students negotiates with a home language speaker of English for the everyday explanation of a word (lines 6–9) until a student from

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  363 Macedonia makes the link with his home language (lines 12–14). As Knapp (2011) says, “this digression may have cost time, however, one could argue that precisely this negotiation process may have contributed significantly to the depth of processing and, as a consequence, retention of this term” (p. 63). These examples are typical of multilingual practices that are increasingly ­typified as translanguaging, where students take the multilingual nature of the classroom for granted and exploit it to their (academic) advantage. Translanguaging, as Williams (n.d.) indicates, “simply means (i) receiving information in one lan­ guage and (ii) using or applying it in the other language” (p. 2). When students make use of academic language competence in other languages they can become academically biliterate or, according to Airey (2009) they develop “bilingual scientific literacy” at an advanced level. In the case of transnational as well as local students, this biliteracy cannot simply be ignored, nor can it be allowed to disappear, since students will have to take up a profession either in their home countries or in local, multilingual communities where they will have to draw on their competence in both languages. A monolingual view of HE teaching and learning would assume that development in the LoLT must be done exclusively in that language, thereby ignoring the fact that students can use translanguaging strategies to extend their comprehension and performance in the dominant LoLT as well as maintain profi­ ciency in another language for professional purposes.

Multilingual practices in HE There are many factors that influence the strategies available to students and lec­ turers at HE level: the policy landscape, the degree to which a particular language policy is policed (either formally by the institution or informally by students and the community), lecturers’ and students’ academic language competence, as well as the available multilingual resources, to mention a few. Multilingual teaching and learning practices and strategies must be seen against the background of the two types of bilingual education, transitional and mainte­ nance bilingual education, extended by García (2009) when she distinguishes ­between flexible convergence (where multilingual strategies are used to transition towards production in one dominant LoLT) and flexible multiplicity, where multi­ lingual strategies maintain students’ multilingual competence in formal assessment products. When these two orientations are applied to HE, it is possible to take the abovementioned variety of factors into account in the form of two possible scenarios: In Scenario A, multilingual practices converge towards one dominant LoLT. This is the scenario that obtains informally at most HEIs. It aligns with a transitional multi­ lingual education orientation and may mitigate the effects of monolingual policies and practices. If there are limited resources (e.g., multilingual dictionaries or learning materials) or if students only have oral competence in a particular language, this may be the best, if not ideal, scenario. However, it is important to consider this option as

364  School Levels and Special Populations a necessary precursor to more formal recognition of multilingual classrooms and the strategies that may be employed there. If it were not for multilingual teachers and lecturers who went against restrictive and monolingual policies, the possibilities of, for example instructional code switching, would not have emerged. In Scenario B, multilingual practices result in a multiplicity of biliterate prod­ ucts, thereby maintaining more than one LoLT. For this type of scenario a formal policy is probably needed, particularly if assessment procedures include external examiners or moderators who need to be proficient in these languages. It is important to point out at that in this scenario, biliteracy does not merely mean that students are free to use any of two or more LoLTs, as is the case at for example McGill University in Canada or at Stellenbosch University in South Africa. It means that students have to consistently demonstrate that they are maintaining competence in both languages. This is evident at the University of Fribourg, Switzerland, where students are rewarded for showing competence in German and French by receiving an endorsement on their final qualification certificate (Langner, 2003). Some of the multilingual practices that are described next can be used in both scenarios, although most of them are more suited to Scenario B, where institu­ tional recognition of multilingual education will support them.

Cross‐linguistic work This strategy can be used in both scenarios and compares terminology and ­subject‐ related concepts in different languages. The strategy is well known in the teaching of second and third languages, where congruence and difference between lan­ guages can be made explicit to develop competence (Schmid, 1995). Identifying “false friends” in cognate studies is one example of such a strategy and works particularly well for languages that are related.

Preview–view–review García (2009) describes this strategy as it is used at school level, where a concept or topic is introduced or contextualized (previewed) in one language, explained and elaborated upon (viewed) in another, and then reinforced (reviewed) in the same language that introduced it. If the strategy assigns a particular language to the preview and review phases, the implication can be that the important and longest part of a lecture, the “meat” of the presentation, is in the most powerful LoLT. For Scenario A settings, where the lecturer may not know all the languages in the class­ room, this may be a viable option, where the preview phase could be done by stu­ dents themselves, either in the form of multilingual discussions or by writing down their associations or previous knowledge of a particular concept in the lan­ guage of their choice. The danger of this practice, as Setati, Adler, Reed, and Bapoo (2002) point out, is that such exploratory talk may never develop into discourse‐ specific competence, particularly if the languages used do not have a strong academic tradition.

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  365 In order to develop and reinforce discourse‐specific competence in both l­ anguages, the languages need to be varied across the different phases. In addition, learning materials such as textbooks, lecturer‐generated notes, hand outs, PowerPoint slides and such need to support each phase by providing support in both languages. For example, when the preview phase is in Language X, a list of important terms or concepts can be provided in Languages X and Y; or a textbook in Language X can support the viewing phase in Language Y, with explicit refer­ ences to specific points in the textbook. With the increase in textbook production in English, this strategy becomes increasingly important. The lecturer needs to link terms and concepts in one language explicitly to the language of the textbook. As shown in the study by Van der Walt and Dornbrack (2011), bi/multilingual ­students tend to provide translations of terms in marginal notes anyway, and this practice can be strengthened by the lecturer.

Co‐languaging Placing languages next to each other on public notices and in official documents is common practice and this strategy can also be used in multilingual class­ rooms. When seen as part of the linguistic landscape of an institution, such a strategy affirms its multilingual nature and can make minority languages visible. At the University of Jyväskyla in Finland for example, noticeboards use Finnish in big font, with English in smaller font below it. In a Finnish environ­ ment this arrangement acknowledges the institution’s international aspirations by including English. At the University of Stellenbosch, the placement of ­languages can be linked to the history and position of Afrikaans relative to English and isiXhosa: Afrikaans at the top, followed by English and then isiX­ hosa, all the same font size. In multilingual classrooms such parallel texts can support cross‐linguistic work as well as the preview–view–review strategy by providing bi/multilingual expla­ nations and terminology lists. Co‐languaging does not necessarily mean providing an exact translation. Example 2 is from a Stellenbosch University lecturer’s notes where a question is posed in English and examples of the problem provided in Afrikaans:4 Example 2  Co‐languaging that is not translation How do languages develop? • Is dit Onrusrivier of Onrustrivier? • We say that language is dynamic, • Waarom is dit gangbaar vir my but do we accept that? • To what extent is a particular kind of om na ‘n student te verwys as language use linked to class, status, Mnr Djantjies, maar ek sal skeef and education? aangekyk word as ek sê, “Djy het sleg gedoen in jou toets!”

366  School Levels and Special Populations

Responsible code switching both ways and interpreting Code switching in formal education contexts, also in HE, is increasingly acknowl­ edged and practiced, as Knapp (2011) shows in a German context, Moore and Dooly (2010) in a Catalan context and Van der Walt (2013) in a South African con­ text. As the section heading implies, code switching for instructional purposes is qualitatively different from that which happens in everyday conversations. It needs to be done responsibly to support meaning making and academic language development. What this means is that code switching by the lecturer should be done with a view to the language that needs to be used for assignments, presenta­ tions, and examinations. In Scenario A, code switching would be used to support competence in the LoLT, that is, code switching would be done in one direction, using other languages to support the LoLT. In Scenario B, where two or three lan­ guages are maintained, switching will take place both ways to develop academic language proficiency in all languages. Example 3 shows how a lecturer in a first‐year Social Work lecture at Stellenbosch University switches both ways while interpreting students’ contributions to a class discussion.5 The terms in this case are consistently translated and repeated (see underlining). In the extract below the Afrikaans utterances are in italics. Translations are only provided (in square brackets) when the lecturer does not provide them anyway. Example 3  South African classroom code switching 1. Lecturer: Ek wil baie graag hoor wat is jou omskrywing van waardes.What is your understanding of values? Anything, anything, talk to me. Ja, meneer? [Yes sir?] 2. Student: Dit is waarmee jy groot geword het. 3. Lecturer: Yes, dit waarmee jy groot geword het, nou daai ‘dit’, wat gaan jy dit noem, wat is daai ‘dit’? He said—sorry I just want to translate—he said it is how he grew up (inaudible) the stuff you grow up with, and I asked him what is that stuff? Wat is daai ‘dit’? 4. Student: Jou lewensuitkyk of jou lewensbeskouing wat jy ontwikkel. 5. Lecturer: Your world view. Ja, dis ’n nice een. Daar agter, dankie baie dankie. [Yes, that’s a nice one, thank you.] 6. Student: Abstrakte standaarde waarvolgens jy lewe en besluite maak. 7. Lecturer: Ok, abstract standards that is sort of indicating your decisions or influencing your decisions. 8. Student: Beginsels 9. Lecturer: Beginsels, principles. Ok, hierso julle is te slim vir my. [OK, you are too clever for me.] In other words stuff that you like, stuff that you want to do, stuff that you are familiar with. Stuff that you believe in and then this clever guy said something in the line of principles. Met ander woorde beginsels. Wat is die verskil tussen beginsels en waardes? 10.  Student: Translate please?

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  367 11. Lecturer: Principles, sorry principles and values. The difference. Dis ’n bietjie moeiliker. Ja, juffrou? [That’s a bit more difficult. Yes ma’am?] 12. Student: [inaudible] Beginsels laat my dink aan reëls. [Principles make me think of rules.] 13. Lecturer: Meer spesifiek ? Something more specific. Ok, that might be. Meneer? [Sir?] 14.  Student: Principles always have a positive connotation and values can be negative. The underlined words, which seem to be key terms for the topic, are translated from Afrikaans to English and repeated in such a way that the terminology is reinforced in both languages. The lecturer acts as interpreter for students who seem to be struggling with Afrikaans (Turn 3), thereby facilitating the classroom discussion. As can be seen in Turn 14, an English‐speaking student shows that the terms have been understood and can be used. The use of more formal interpretation, using headsets and trained interpreters, has been piloted mainly at former Afrikaans universities in South Africa. The system is described in case studies by Van Rooyen (2005) and Beukes and Pienaar (2006). Postgraduate students or retired academics are trained to do simultaneous interpretation in their disciplines. The practice is called whispering interpretation and the interpreter sits in the classroom with the students, who can choose to use the headsets to receive the interpretation. The results seem to be uneven and Beukes and Pienaar conclude in their study: The language attitudes and beliefs (ideologies) and the hegemony of English in the context of the linguistic diversity of the learner profile at a South African metropol­ itan university (in this case the University of Johannesburg) make such a service unlikely to benefit more than a very small percentage of learners. (Beukes & Pienaar, 2006, p. 135)

Conclusion: Directions for future research to conceptualize a multilingual pedagogy Blackledge and Creese (2010) emphasize the difficulty of “harnessing” multilin­ gualism for pedagogic purposes. The abovementioned strategies provide a start for multilingual practice as well as research on such practice. For example, it is not clear to what extent lecturers’ code switching affects learning and language learning in particular. From studies conducted at Stellenbosch University (Van der Walt, 2006; Van der Walt and Dornbrack, 2011) as well as at Uppsala University (Airey, 2009), it is clear that students who have some familiarity with one of the LoLTs and high competence in the other at the start of their studies, develop enough competence to manage bilingual lectures and materials by the end of their first year. Whether they are biliterate is not always clear, because institutions tend to give students the choice to respond in their strongest language. Research is needed,

368  School Levels and Special Populations therefore, to determine whether students pay attention to, and develop compe­ tence in, both languages (along the lines of the bilingual endorsement on certifi­ cates as used at Fribourg University). Such research is important for students who will probably need to use both languages for professional purposes. In the field of Psycholinguistics, it is necessary to do research that tracks eye movement and comprehension when students deal with tests, PowerPoint (or similar) presentations, and study material that uses parallel texts in two languages. Research on the use of simultaneous (whispering) interpreting and its effect on language development is also just emerging (see Van Rooyen, 2005, Beukes & Pienaar, 2006; Verhoef, 2006) and more is needed. In the field of Sociolinguistics it is necessary to continue research on attitudes and practices of bi/multilingual students to determine their willingness to engage with bilingual materials and practices. Students have perceptions about the degree to which a particular language may be suited for academic study (see Van der Walt, 2013) and it is important to investigate whether bilingual materials or class­ room practices can successfully activate the use of more than one language for learning. In conclusion, a multilingual HE pedagogy is embedded in a particular theoret­ ical space, determined by local demands and resources and invigorated by multi­ lingual practices that challenge monolingual, “global” academic conventions. The theoretical space acknowledges language as a resource (Ruiz, 1994), irrespective of whether the language has been used for academic purposes before or is available in written form (Hornberger, 2002). The locality of HEIs and the vast amounts of money spent on them demand that HE serves a local community (by providing professionals who can work in such communities) while offering opportunities for transnational mobility (by including language proficiency development in English or in languages from neighbouring countries). By opening spaces for multilingual learning and teaching, researchers and HE practitioners get the opportunity to develop and refine existing multilingual practices, thereby increasing access and improving throughput rates. The development of multiliterate competencies should be the focus: bi/multilingual academic discussions, supported by bi/ multilingual materials which are enhanced by technological applications result­ ing in student commitment to success. If using every single available resource to ensure successful learning at a high level is not the ultimate goal in HE, why do we even have such institutions?

Notes 1 German Rechtswissenschaft; not exactly the same as law. 2 My translation of: Die Absolventen arbeiten in deutsch‐französischen und internationalen Kanzleien und Unternehmen, als Richter sowie als Spitzenbeamte im nationalen, europäischen und internationalen Bereich. At http://www.jura.uni‐koeln.de/3881.html?&L=0

Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  369 3 Von besonderer Bedeutung ist die kulturelle‐gesellschaftliche Erfahrung, die mit dem  Leben und Studieren in beiden Staaten und der Integration in die jeweilige Studierendenschaft verbunden ist. https://www.facebook.com/dtmjuraunikoeln/info (accessed November 21, 2014). 4 The first Afrikaans bullet refers to a local debate about whether the ‘original’ (Dutch‐ like) spelling of a town should be retained. The second asks why it is acceptable for speakers of so‐called standard Afrikaans to use Cape Flats Afrikaans pronunciation in the names of people who come from that community, but it is not acceptable to use that variety to communicate with home language speakers. 5 The data have not been reported on formally. First‐year students were asked to com­ ment on their ability to understand and develop academic vocabulary in codeswitched lectures at the start of the semester and again six months later. The lectures themselves were recorded and transcribed. The surveys were conducted by M. Visser, C. Anthonissen, and C. van der Walt.

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Bi/Multilingual Higher Education  371 Schumann, A. (2008). Interkulturelle Fremdheitserfahrungen ausländischer Studierender an einer deutschen Universität. [Intercultural experiences of foreign students at a German university.] In A. Schumann & A. Knapp (Eds.) Mehrsprachigkeit und Multikulturalität im Studium [Multilingualism and multiculturality in academic studies] (pp. 30–45). Frankfurt, Germany: Peter Lang. Seelen, L. (2002). Is performance in English as a second language a relevant criterion for admission to an English medium university? Higher Education, 44, 213–232. Setati, M., Adler, J., Reed, I., & Bapoo, A. (2002). Incomplete journeys: Code‐ switching and other language practices in mathematics, science and English language classrooms in South Africa. Language and Education, 16(2), 128–149. University of Helsinki. (2007). University of Helsinki Language Policy. http://www. ub.edu/slc/socio/Policy_Helsinki.pdf (accessed November 21, 2014). Van der Walt, C. (2006). University students’ attitudes towards and experiences of bilingual classrooms. Current Issues in Language Planning, 7(2–3), 359–376. Van der Walt, C. (2013). Active biliteracy? Students taking decisions about using languages for academic purposes. In H. Haberland, D. Lønsmann & B. Preisler (Eds.), Language alternation, language choice and language encounter in international education (pp. 103–123). Heidelberg, Germany: Springer. Van der Walt, C., & Dornbrack, J. (2011). Academic biliteracy in South African

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22 Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities and Exceptionalities Teddi Beam‐Conroy and Patricia Alvarez McHatton Schools create educational programs to serve students whose unique needs cannot be met in the mainstream classroom. Among these programs are the types of bilingual and multilingual education programs this Handbook exam­ ines. In the same vein, schools offer programs created to serve students with special or exceptional education needs. But how do schools respond when these same students are linguistic minorities who have not yet attained proficiency in the majority language typically used for instruction in special and exceptional education programs? How are their additional needs related to language addressed? In this chapter we explore this issue in the context of s­ pecial educa­ tion and gifted education for English learners (ELs) in the United States. ELs with dis/abilities face some of the same barriers to appropriate services as all ELs. We purposefully use the term dis/abilities to denote both students with disabilities (SWDs) who are typically placed in special education, and those stu­ dents who are designated as “gifted and talented” and typically placed in class­ rooms or enrichment programs with other children of advanced abilities. Thus, the term dis/abilities disrupts and extends notions of ability. The No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 (NCLB) (PL 107‐110 [2002]) mandated the inclusion of ELs and stu­ dents with disabilities (SWDs) in state and district assessments as well as the dis­ aggregation of assessment results by subgroup. Compounding this inclusion in what may be problematic assessments is NCLB’s expectation that ELs be tested in English within three years of arriving in the United States even though acquisition of language proficiency needed for grade‐level literacy in English may take from five to eight years (Cummins, 1999). Thus, while inclusion of this population in outcome data is important, the information gleaned is not necessarily indicative of true academic ability.

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  373 Services for ELs with special and gifted educational needs mirror one another in troubling ways. First, few districts address the unique educational needs of these ELs. Among those that do, few are successful at identifying those who truly need services. ELs are disproportionately overrepresented in special education programs in the areas of speech and language disorders and learning dis/abilities, and disproportionately underrepresented in other disability categories and in pro­ grams serving gifted students. The result is that many ELs with dis/abilities and exceptionalities remain under‐ or over‐identified and improperly served. The dis­ proportionate representation of ELs in special education programs fails students in two ways: students who are erroneously labeled (overrepresentation in special education and underrepresentation in gifted education) are not presented with sufficient academic challenge and are at risk for underachievement, while stu­ dents whose needs are not recognized (underrepresentation in special education programs) do not receive the support they need to reach their true potential (Reis & Renzulli, 2010).

Legal protections for ELs with dis/abilities and exceptionalities in the United States U.S. federal legislation The education of ELs in the United States is mandated through federal legislation addressing language learning and special education services. Specifically, four laws detail the obligations for meeting the educational needs of ELs (Karger, 2013): 1. Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibits exclusion based on race, color, or national origin, from participation in, denial of benefits of, or discrimination by programs receiving Federal financial assistance. 2. The Equal Education Opportunities Act of 1974 prohibits denial of educational opportunity based on race, color, sex, or national origin by, among other things, failure to take appropriate action to overcome language barriers that impede equal participation in educational programs. 3. The Elementary and Secondary Education Act (subsequently the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001) focuses on the education of all students and emphasizes high standards and accountability. For example, Title 1 of this act calls for all students to have a highly qualified teacher, participation by ELs and Students with Disabilities (SWDs) in state and district assessments with results disag­ gregated by subgroups, demonstration of adequate yearly progress as deter­ mined by state‐wide and/or district assessments by all subgroups, and valid and reliable assessments with appropriate accommodations to yield accurate outcome data. Title III of this act requires that ELs meet the same high standards as non‐ELs and provides funding to states to assist with this effort requiring states to develop language proficiency standards and assess the progress of ELs in learning English.

374  School Levels and Special Populations 4. The Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act (IDEA) of 2004 retains the requirement for non‐discriminatory assessments of ELs in the lan­ guage that can provide the most accurate information regarding student ability. In addition, language must be taken into consideration to ensure families are fully aware of their rights and are able to understand and participate in the ­eligibility and determination process. Proponents of gifted education advocate that it should be conceived as a program service designed to meet students’ particular needs (Robinson, Shore, & Enersen, 2007), analogous to special education services (DeRonda, 2010). Some states consider their gifted students to be exceptional learners. The majority of states, however, do not. New Mexico has served gifted learners through special education since 1972 (New Mexico State Department of Education Special Education Office, 2008). Gifted ELs in states like New Mexico are thereby pro­ tected by the above federal legislation regarding special education services. Because no federal provisions govern gifted education services, students in the remaining states have no such protections, although states that have a definition of gifted students typically use a variation of the federal definition from the Marland (1971) Report. This adaptation of the federal definition does not always translate into legislation for gifted education at the state level, as will be shown below.

Court cases in the United States In addition to legislation, litigation has also played a significant role in addressing the educational rights of ELs. Arias (2007), in a response to the U.S. Supreme Court decision about voluntary school integration, noted that ELs are hypersegregated across the nation with implications for both ELs and monolingual students who would benefit from exposure to other languages and diverse learners. The recently settled Illinois U‐46 Board of Education discrimination lawsuit serves as an example. Plaintiffs charged that Latina/o gifted students who were former ELs were segre­ gated in separate classrooms from white gifted students (McFarlan, 2012). Federal Court Judge Robert W. Gettleman ruled that the gifted former ELs were indeed the victims of segregation and were entitled to receive their gifted education services in desegregated classrooms with appropriate linguistic support (McFadden et al. v. Board of Education for Ilinois School District U‐46, 2013). Gifted education programs have long been criticized as enclaves within public schools that provide differential courses of study to the children of privilege (Staiger, 2004).

State legislation and policy in the United States: Lack of consistency between and within states Placement of ELs in special education varies across the United States and across districts within the same state. For example, ELs comprise approximately 11% of the student population at the national level (NCELA, 2011a); ELs with disabilities account for approximately 7% of students with disabilities (NCELA, 2011b).

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  375 Research indicates district demographics and available support programs play a key role in identification rates. ELs are more likely to be identified in need of ­special education services in districts with larger populations of ELs compared to districts with smaller populations (Artiles & Klingner, 2006). Disproportionality of ELs in special education is also evident based on grade levels. Multiple studies have found ELs to be underrepresented at lower grade levels (e.g., primary/intermediate level) and overrepresented at higher grade levels (e.g., intermediate/secondary level). Samson and Lesaux (2009) examined data from the Early Childhood Longitudinal Study—Kindergarten Cohort and found underrepresentation at grades K–1. Overrepresentation became evident by third grade with ELs being referred and identified as in need of special education services later and at higher proportions than student who were not ELs. Similarly, Artiles, Rueda, Salazar, and Higareda (2005) found disproportionate representation of ELs based on a variety of factors including “grade level, language proficiency status, disability category, type of special education program, and type of language support program” (p. 283). ELs who are taught in English‐only programs are more likely to be placed in special education compared to those that received some level of language support (Artiles & Ortiz, 2002). These findings support the need to disaggregate data by state and district levels, as well as by student characteristics in order to gather accurate information regarding disproportionate representation by ELs (Artiles, Rueda, Salazar, & Higareda, 2005). But the lack of federal guidelines in the United States for gifted education makes the limited and varied availability of gifted education programs perhaps the greatest barrier to the identification of gifted ELs. According to the National Association for Gifted Children, while 31 states mandate that gifted students be identified, only 26 require that identified students receive services. Of those states, 23 fund local implementation of Gifted and Talented (GT) programs. And among those that do, funding is often inadequate for the number of students who require services. In all but three states, local districts are expected to make up the difference, making gifted education an underfunded mandate (National Association for Gifted Children, 2011). In Texas, where gifted identification and services are mandated, the state education agency provides local school districts a fixed per‐ pupil reimbursement up to 5% of the district’s enrollment, not the total cost of the district’s gifted education program (Texas Education Agency, 2009). Baker (2001a) found that districts that did not provide the additional funds for gifted education had 22% more bilingual/ESL students than districts that earmarked funds for gifted services, leaving even greater numbers of high‐ability ELs unidentified and unserved.

A history of disproportionate representation Historically, ELs have experienced disproportionate representation in both special education and gifted education (Artiles, Klingner, & Tate, 2006; Borland, 2005). Indeed, issues of race, ethnicity, power, and privilege confound placement in both

376  School Levels and Special Populations of these programs. Myths and misunderstandings in which acquisition of English requires relinquishing of the native language (Crawford, 2004) and the view of English as “the right language” in schools (Alvarez McHatton et al., 2007, p. 15) further impede the academic development of ELs with and without disabilities and gifts and talents. In addition, given the current political climate of the accountability movement in which teachers are held accountable for the academic achievement of all students (Valli & Buese, 2007), teacher attitudes toward ELs play a significant role in referral and the quality of educational experiences provided to ELs. Academic outcomes for ELs will not reflect their true abilities unless and until sociocultural and sociolinguistic inequality in special and gifted education is resolved.

ELs as students of color That ELs are often students of color compounds their under‐ and overrepresen­ tation. Some students of color continue to be disproportionately identified in high‐incidence programs in special education (Waitoller, Artiles, & Cheney, 2010). African American males continue to be overrepresented in the areas of emotional and behavioral disorders and cognitive disabilities previously referred to as mentally retarded. Although multiple factors, especially higher incidences of living in poverty, have been posited as playing a role in dispro­ portionality in special education, O’Connor and Fernandez (2006, p. 10) state, “It is schools and not poverty that place minority students at heightened risk for special education placement.” Disproportionality based on gender is also evident in ELs with disabilities; males account for two‐thirds of ELs with dis­ abilities (NCELA, 2011b). Segregation is also an issue for culturally and linguistically diverse SWDs. Students of color are more likely to be placed in segregated settings regardless of the level of services needed, while whites are more likely to be segregated only when in need of intense services (Fierros & Conroy, 2002). Skiba et al. (2006) likewise found disparate placement in segregated settings based on race and ethnicity, leading them to question whether a basic principle of IDEA—least restrictive environment—was considered in the development of the individual education program (IEP) for students of color. The patterns of disproportional identification found in gifted education in general are mirrored in the gifted EL population. African American and Latina/o children are typically underrepresented in gifted education programs (Ford, Grantham, & Whiting, 2008a). Similarly, ELs from those ethnic groups are less likely than white speakers of European languages to be so identified. On the other hand, Asian students—particularly students of Chinese, Korean, Japanese, and East Indian heritage—generally are overrepresented in gifted education programs; Asian English learners from these groups have a higher rate of participation than African‐descended, Latina/o, and even Southeast Asian (e.g., Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, Hmong, Nepali) students (Yoon & Gentry, 2009).

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  377 Increases in the number of students of color served in gifted programs do not always represent a trend toward equity. Staiger (2004) noted in her ethnographic study of an urban California high school that, while the percentage of Latinos in the district’s gifted education program increased from a half percent to 3 percent over the 30‐year period between 1970 and 2001, the percentage of Anglo students more than tripled, from 4 percent in 1970 to 14 percent in 2001—at a time when the district’s enrollment of white students decreased from more than 80 percent to  fewer than 20 percent. Staiger’s California example is, unfortunately, not an ­isolated case. Bernal (2002a) observes that in Texas’s Region 1—an area of the state which borders Mexico where more than one million Mexican Americans reside and Mexican‐origin children constitute over 94% of the school enrollment— the use of multiple criteria for screening potentially gifted students resulted in an increase in Latina/o participants but also allowed many more white students entry into the program. During the 1997–1998 school year, for example, 9.45% of the Latina/o students in the region were identified as gifted, while fully 24% of the white students were so designated (Bernal, 2002a).

ELs and English proficiency Identification for special education services is affected by both a deficit perspec­ tive regarding lack of English proficiency and a dearth of research, including longitudinal studies, addressing typical and atypical language development of non‐English speakers (Lesaux, 2006; McCardle, Mele‐McCarthy, & Leos, 2005). Lack of English proficiency confounds the special education referral process, as there are some similarities in how learning dis/abilities manifest and the diffi­ culties ELs may experience when functioning in English (Tyler & García, 2013). In some cases students are not referred in a timely manner due to concerns as to whether learning challenges are due to language acquisition versus a dis/ability. Lower levels of language proficiency in both the home and second language, as well as grade level (i.e., overrepresentation as students progress in school), are instrumental in placement decisions. Given that early intervention is crucial to ameliorating learning challenges, the delay in identification is troubling and may have a profound impact on students’ academic outcomes. Provision of services in the home language improves the chances that ELs with dis/abilities will be appro­ priately identified. ELs in English only classrooms are more likely to be placed inap­ propriately in special education (Artiles & Ortiz, 2002; Artiles, Rueda, Salazar, & Higareda, 2005). Similarly, bilingual teachers are more aware than general education teachers not only of ELs’ particular gifts but also how they are overlooked by traditional means of gifted identification (Fernández, Gay, Lucky, & Gavilán, 1998). The monolingual bias of U.S. schools has material consequences for high‐ability ELs. Most programs designed for students acquiring English are focused on the English proficiency these students lack, and, as such, often overlook the gifted EL’s need for advanced curriculum. The first author has attended conferences where profes­ sors of gifted education advocate that ELs attain English proficiency prior to their

378  School Levels and Special Populations inclusion in programs that serve gifted and talented students. At the same time, many U.S. schools provide advanced academic services only in English. Programs like these fail to consider the gifted EL’s needs for linguistic accommodation. Literacy—even advanced literacy—in languages other than English frequently does not carry the same weight as literacy in English. One monolingual, gifted education specialist at an English/Spanish bilingual campus expressed her personal view that the Spanish language was too lexically limited to handle the demands of academic discourse. Gifted students are seen as those most academi­ cally able. By contrast, ELs are often viewed by educators as in deficit and in need of remediation due to their emerging English proficiency. Where such attitudes prevail, few ELs with academic talents will be identified for gifted programs. In addition, the diversity of the EL community presents challenges of its own. To lump students from hundreds of linguistic and cultural backgrounds together as “English Learners” obscures their differences. There is more available research on special education for ELs who speak Spanish, for example, and more assessment and curricular resources in Spanish than for ELs from other language backgrounds. The same holds true for gifted or potentially gifted ELs who speak Spanish. Nonetheless, even for gifted Spanish speakers and ELs with dis/abilities that are Spanish speakers, there are few available resources as compared to what is avail­ able for English speakers.

The process: Referral, identification and assessment, services Among the factors that contribute to the disproportionate representation of ELs in U.S. special and gifted education programs are inadequate means of identification and assessment, and limited curriculum options (Baca & Cervantes, 2004; Castellano & Díaz, 2002). Most schools follow a similar process to identify stu­ dents who require gifted and special education services: it begins with referral, then continues with testing/assessment, evaluation of the need for program ser­ vices, and determination of program placement according to need.

Referral As noted previously, similarities in how learning dis/abilities manifest and the dif­ ficulties ELs may experience when functioning in English may affect special educa­ tion referral decisions for ELs. In some cases, students are referred without sufficient attention to contextual factors that may be impeding the ability of the student to demonstrate his or her academic proficiency. Ultimately, labels are assigned and students attain a new identity that emphasizes the disability. This is an attempt to meld all students similarly labeled into one characterized group. Doing so fails to acknowledge within group differences, which may result in delivery of inappro­ priate or ineffective supports and interventions, ultimately fostering a self‐fulfilling prophecy in which the student is blamed for his or her shortcomings.

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  379 Because teachers most often make referrals, they become the primary gate­ keepers to exceptional education services. Research among teachers has served to verify a particular bias against potentially gifted Latina/o students with regard to language‐related characteristics (Fernández, Gay, Lucky, & Gavilán, 1998) and nomination of students for gifted programs (Elhoweris, Mutua, Alsheikh, & Holloway, 2005; Peterson, 2000). Such bias is perhaps one consequence of the racial mismatch between teachers and the students they serve, given that the majority of classroom teachers are white.1 Teachers rate most favorably those students who are most like themselves (Peterson, 2000); Fernández and colleagues (1998) concluded that teachers’ per­ ceptions of a student’s giftedness were more influenced by the teacher’s ethnicity than had previously been considered. The referral/nomination process may, there­ fore, reflect a student’s degree of acculturation to the mainstream, and not neces­ sarily characteristics of gifted behavior (Bernal, 2002a; Staiger, 2004) or a disability (Klingner & Harry, 2008; Samson & Lesaux, 2009).2 Identification of a disability is equally problematic especially for the more subjective categories of learning dis­ abilities and behavior disorders. Teacher attitudes which (i) are rooted in personal experiences and worldviews based on the dominant culture and (ii) are affected by a lack of preparation in meeting the needs of these learners further impact the referral process. In programs that provide bilingual education, ELs’ academic talents may be more visible to classroom teachers. Further, participation in bilingual educa­ tion or other programs that provides support in the students’ native language may reduce referrals into special education (Artiles & Ortiz, 2002). The program model, however, may influence how much the teacher values such knowledge. In early‐exit transitional bilingual education and ESL programs, where the primary focus is learning English, ELs have limited opportunities to demonstrate their giftedness in their primary language, especially when the teacher and the student do not share a common language. The result is painful for students who were academically successful in their home countries. Children of immigrant parents are one‐third as likely to be identified for gifted and talented programs, and those who spoke a language other than English in the home were half as likely to be identified (Konstantopoulos, Modi, & Hedges, 2001).

Identification and assessment Lack of valid and reliable assessments continues to be a challenge in accurately identifying ELs with disabilities (García & Ortiz, 2008). Identification for special education services is similarly affected by insufficient research on evidence‐based and research‐supported instructional practices and interventions addressing ELs with dis/abilities (Artiles & Klingner, 2006). There is a lack of assessments that have been translated into all languages found within districts and which have been normed on the same population. Even when assessments are available in a language other than English, validity is still an issue given that the assessment

380  School Levels and Special Populations construction is based on the dominant group (Park & Thomas, 2012). Further, assessing a student in his or her home language is problematic if no academic instruction has been provided in this language, masking a lack of English pro­ ficiency as an academic disability. Many of the issues that impact testing of ELs for  special education services are also issues for testing ELs for gifted program services. Given the importance of early intervention in addressing academic difficulties, ensuring accurate and timely provision of services is essential. The use of a dis­ crepancy model for identification of learning disabilities, that is, a discrepancy of one standard deviation between aptitude and achievement, has been described as flawed, and a possible cause for disproporationality (Orosco & Klingner, 2010). Response to Intervention (RTI), a tiered system of support, is increasingly used to provide early screening and intervention to struggling learners. Tier 1 emphasizes the use of evidence‐based instruction by classroom teachers and progress moni­ toring of student performance; thus, RTI begins with examining the context in which instruction is provided. Students who do not respond to Tier 1 instruction are provided additional support via Tier 2. If students in Tier 2 continue to struggle, additional interventions are provided which may include referral for special edu­ cation. This system holds promise for providing support to ELs. But Orosco and Klingner note that, while RTI can address some of the concerns of the discrepancy model, it is not a panacea because of issues such as feasibility of implementation, lack of research on ELs and RTI, lack of understanding by educators on language acquisition and instructional needs of ELs, and the need to avoid “a ‘one‐size‐ fits‐all’ mentality without consideration of issues of population and ecological validity” (p. 271). Several states in the United States have linked RTI and gifted education within either their state special or gifted education policies (see, e.g., Hall et al., 2009). A growing number of gifted education researchers also advocate the use of RTI in identifying and serving gifted students (Coleman & Hughes, 2009). The Association for the Gifted, a division of the Council for Exceptional Children, issued a joint position paper with the National Association for Gifted Children outlining how RTI could be implemented in gifted education (The Association for the Gifted & National Association for Gifted Children, 2009). Others fear that the RTI approach obscures the gifted student’s need for challenging curriculum (Choice & Walker, 2011). Although some researchers suggest that RTI’s collaborative problem‐­ solving model is a best fit for gifted students (Rollins, Mursky, Shah‐Coltrane, & Johnsen, 2009), others (e.g., Coleman & Hughes, 2009) advocate that combining the problem solving model’s emphasis on collaboration and flexible planning with the standards protocol’s attention to intensive curricular intervention will better serve the needs of gifted ELs. Certainly, more research is needed on RTI’s application with gifted ELs, and standard protocols would have to be designed with consideration for not only their academic, but also their linguistic and cultural needs. When ELs are referred, there are few available linguistically and culturally appropriate assessments to determine their need of gifted education services.

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  381 Additionally, issues such as test bias in gifted identification that affect particular groups, for example, Latina/o students in general (see Gonzalez, 2006; Joseph & Ford, 2006) will affect the testing of Latina/o ELs (see Huempfner, 2004 for a cri­ tique of Spanish‐language achievement tests). Others call on gifted education pro­ grams to examine practices such as these which have a disparate effect on culturally and linguistically diverse students under the guise of equality (Ford, Whiting, Moore, & Grantham, 2008b).

Services It is not uncommon for ELs found eligible for special education to receive ser­ vices fully via the special education program. In some instances, placement in special education is viewed as a way to provide support and meet the needs of ELs (Figueroa, Klingner, & Baca, 2013). Yet, a majority of educators do not pos­ sess the necessary skills to meet the needs of ELs. Zetlin, Beltran, Salcido, & Reyes (2011) note “fewer special education teachers than general education teachers are prepared to work with students who are ELLs” (p. 62). Similarly, general education teachers are not prepared to meet the needs of students with dis/abilities; thus, it is possible that regardless of where ELs are served they may not be receiving the quality of instruction necessary to ensure positive out­ comes. ELs with dis/abilities are often more likely to be taught solely in English and less likely to receive language instruction that is specially designed for them (Zehler et al., 2003). Ultimately addressing the needs of ELs with dis/ abilities is based on which label takes precedence (disability trumps English learner) rather than the intersection of both (e.g., EL with a disability) allowing for instruction that is simultaneously responsive to disability and EL status (García & Tyler, 2010). Once identified, gifted ELs also are likely to encounter programs ill‐matched to their needs (Castellano, 2003; Ford Grantham, & Whiting, 2008a). Too many programs, Bernal (2002b) observes “would try to change or reconfigure minority GT students to resemble white GT students” (p. vii). Bernal (2007) recognizes that appropriate gifted education services “educate without deracinating the C/LD (culturally and linguistically diverse gifted) child” (p. 28). Here again, the lack of a consistent mandate for gifted education services and other pro­ grams that serve so‐called “fringe populations” means that these services are underfunded at best and often nonexistent (Baker, 2001a, 2001b).

Future directions Research Funding is needed to support research on evidence‐based and research‐supported instructional practices and interventions addressing ELs with dis/abilities (Artiles & Klingner, 2006). Leseaux (Lesaux, 2006) identified several gaps in the research base

382  School Levels and Special Populations on ELs with disabilities. ELs are monitored only until such time as they become proficient in English and exit the program. Longitudinal research on the academic outcomes of former ELs in special and gifted education programs can help deter­ mine their need for long‐term linguistic support. Even though a handful of states (Alabama, Florida, Kansas, New Mexico, New York, Ohio, Texas) mandate that all students be assessed for gifted education services in languages they understand or nonverbally, there are few culturally appropriate and linguistically accommodated assessment options in languages other than English. Research is needed to determine whether, and to what extent, existing nonverbal assessments are successful at identifying gifted ELs. Researchers also must find new means of identifying and serving all gifted ELs. It is time to revisit past investigations that have examined characteristics of gifted Latina/o students in community (Márquez, Bermúdez, & Rakow, 1992; Reyes & Fletcher, 1996; Valdés, 2003) and school contexts (Irby, Lara‐Alecio, & Milke, 1999) for guidance on how to develop valid and reliable screening and assessment instru­ ments for current ELs, as well as to broaden mainstream concepts of giftedness to ensure that they include “socio‐cultural‐linguistic characteristics” (Esquierdo, Irby, & Lara‐Alecio, 2008, pp. 26–27) that will help educators and others recognize giftedness among ELs.

Sociocultural considerations The failure of exceptional education to define itself in terms of cultural consider­ ations may be one reason for the persistent under‐ and overrepresentation of cul­ turally and linguistically diverse students (Davis & Rimm, 2004). Research on the academic outcomes of ELs with exceptionalities also must be culturally respon­ sive, given that the challenges are likely due to the interaction of the learner and the learning environment. Such research recommendations align with García, Ortiz, & Sorrells’ (2012) discussion on intersectionality as a conceptual frame­ work to explore identity and exceptionality, and Ford, Whiting, Moore, and Grantham’s (2008) recommendations on conducting gifted education research from a cross‐cultural perspective. A sociocultural perspective will help researchers respond to questions regarding disparate student outcomes that continue to plague education.

Assessment In addition to valuing an EL’s levels of achievement in their dominant language(s) and using other measures to determine if the student is in need of exceptional edu­ cation services, test developers must make changes in the way ELs are assessed. Providing linguistically adapted, developmentally appropriate forms of tests is one solution. Improving testing through nonverbal means is another. Shifting the testing paradigm away from crystallized knowledge—that knowledge the student has had the opportunity to learn—to tests of fluid knowledge—how students

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  383 apply new learning to novel situations—could also improve identification out­ comes for ELs with dis/abilities. Identification measures must move away from “color‐blind” and “linguistically neutral” approaches that confuse equal treatment with equity. These practices often serve to implicitly manage power and privilege by conferring status on particular individuals (for example, English speakers) within schools. Unfortunately, perspectives that ignore inherent racial, linguistic, and class power differentials are prevalent in both special and gifted education (VanTassel‐Baska, 2009). Underrepresented gifted children likely “will never be identified correctly as long as the tools for identification are biased to a cultural and historical background that is not their own” (McGlonn‐Nelson, 2005, p. 52). RTI holds promise for ELs with dis/abilities and exceptionalities when implemented as a school‐wide, universal means to determine what systems are needed to ensure that schools are responsive to all learners. We must reject models that place students in need of special education services and students in need of gifted education dichotomously (Choice & Walker, 2011). We propose an RTI model for exceptional ELs that considers their multidimensionality (see Figure 22.1). Positioning intervention for students in need of special and gifted education shows us that these populations have more similarities than differences. The parallel juxtaposition of interventions could better help to uncover dual excep­ tional students (Crepeau‐Hobson & Bianco, 2011), whose gifts often mask their disabilities.

Teacher Preparation It is imperative that schools recognize that “good teaching” is insufficient (de Jong & Harper, 2005) to meet the needs of ELs with dis/abilities and exceptional­ ities. The special services these students require include the need for their teachers to understand that they are teachers of language as well as content. Teachers need to understand phenomena of bilingual use and transfer. They must become cultural brokers between the schools and families. Teacher education—both at the pre‐service and in‐service level—must include culturally responsive and sustaining pedagogy for all ELs, including those who need exceptional educational services. To counter deficit perspectives of English learners, teacher training should include not only the basics of second language acquisition but also emphasize the research on the positive cognitive effects of bilingualism (Bialystok, 2007). Proponents of diversity in gifted education note that giftedness is present in all populations (Baldwin, 2004). Teachers also must be trained to look beyond conceptions of giftedness that are monocultural and recog­ nize characteristics unique to gifted ELs. Ultimately, providing educators with the requisite knowledge and under­ standing regarding ELs, disabilities, and giftedness is essential in ensuring positive outcomes for ELs. Walker, Shafer, and Iiams (2004) predict that teacher

384  School Levels and Special Populations

Tier 3 Tiers 1 and 2 + intensive intervention Intense, individualized intervention with attention to appropriate challenge for personal growth

Tier 2 Least-restrictive environment for ELs needing special education services

Tier 1 + strategic instruction Targeted small group interventions for students who need additional support to master the general education curriculum

Targeted small group interventions for students who need additional support for appropriate challenge

Least-restrictive environment for ELs needing gifted education services

Tier 1 Students for whom the general curriculum provides appropriate challenge Standards-based, culturally responsive and linguistically accommodated instruction (developmental bilingual, dual language, sheltered instruction) in the general education classroom with attention to learning differences through academic and behavioral interventions (differentiation)

Frequent, ongoing, linguistically and culturally appropriate assessment and evaluation (formative and summative); systematic attention to language development; placement decisions based on data (progress monitoring, work samples, benchmarking, daily observation); research-based interventions

Figure 22.1  Proposed RTI Model for exceptional ELs. Note that the model is predicated on linguistically and culturally responsive practice whether ELs need special and/or gifted education services.

attitudes toward ELs will “significantly deteriorate” (p. 132) in the future due to: (i) an increase in the number of ELs; (ii) a lack of preparation in how to work with ELs; (iii) shifting demographic patterns resulting in new rapid‐influx areas; and (iv) the accountability movement. We must intervene to ensure a future in which educators demonstrate high levels of efficacy in meeting the needs of ELs. Requisite knowledge as identified by Kushner (2008) and other researchers (e.g., García & Tyler, 2010) includes an understanding of the

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  385 historically institutionalized struggles that continue to plague education; personal values and beliefs that may impact the manner in which a teacher responds to student differences; learner characteristics including heterogeneity within groups; working with diverse families and role of culture in how disability and giftedness are defined; language acquisition and language development; and instruction that acknowledges and is responsive to the inter­ sectionality of ability, culture, and EL status.

Conclusion As a field, we must operate from the firm belief that if we continue to focus on what we perceive as students’ deficits, we will fail to develop their abilities. Children deserve to learn something in school every day they attend. They have the right to one year’s growth for every year they are in K–12 classrooms. For too many ELs with dis/abilities in the United States, this has not been the case. Special and gifted education programs and services in the United States that are predicated on a monolingual, monocultural bias leave too many ELs with dis/abilities misidentified and underserved. There is a need to provide special education and gifted programs that are conducted bilingually/multi­ lingually to ensure these students are receiving services that fully address their needs—linguistically and academically. Further, as Ford, Whiting, Moore, and Grantham (2008) and García, Ortiz, and Sorrells (2012) suggest, we must con­ duct research from a purposeful sociocultural perspective into “what works” to identify and serve ELs with exceptionalities. Then, the findings of those investigations should be implemented as “best practices” in schools. At the same time, we must examine current practices with the same sociocultural lens and eliminate those which disproportionately affect ELs or which over‐ or underidentify ELs who need special or gifted education services. Although this chapter has focused on the needs of ELs with dis/abilities in a U.S. context, the overarching issues are not unique to one country: Internationally, bilingual and multilingual students with exceptionalities face similar challenges to appro­ priate education when schools fail to consider their cultural, linguistic, and academic needs. We must take the recommendations above as a global call to action to ensure positive outcomes for all learners.

Notes 1  Ford, Moore, and Milner (2005) note that in schools where students of color make up more than 30% of enrollment, 69.4% of the teachers are white. 2  Staiger quotes one gifted education teacher’s attitude toward her Latina/o students: “And Mexicans, particularly first generation Mexican kids, have no interest in educa­ tion. Their parents don’t even know what’s going on” (p. 172).

386  School Levels and Special Populations

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388  School Levels and Special Populations García, S., & Tyler, B.‐J. (2010). Meeting the needs of English language learners with learning disabilities in the general curriculum. Theory Into Practice, 49(2), 113–120. Gonzalez, V. (2006). Profiles of cognitive developmental performance in gifted children: Effect of bilingualism, monolingualism, and socioeconomic status factors. Journal of Hispanic Higher Education, 5(2), 142–170. Hall, M., Poole, D., Rearden, M., Carlstrom, M., Smith, S., & Speaks, J. (2009). Response to intervention and gifted and talented education. Helena, MT: Montana Office of Public Instruction. Huempfner, L. (2004). Can one size fit all?: The imperfect assumption of parallel achievement tests for bilingual students. Bilingual Research Journal, 28(3), 379–399. Irby, B. J., Lara‐Alecio, R., & Milke, B. (1999). Assessment from multiple perspectives for second language learners: An analysis of the Hispanic Bilingual Gifted Screening Instrument. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the National Association for Bilingual Education, Denver, CO. Joseph, L. M., & Ford, D. Y. (2006). Nondiscriminatory assessment: Considerations for gifted education. Gifted Child Quarterly, 50(1), 42–51. Karger, J. (2013). The legal obligations of education systems to serve English learners with disabilities. Impact: Feature issue on educating K–12 English Language Learners with disabilities, 26(1), 6–7. http://ici.umn.edu/products/ impact/261/4.html (accessed November 22, 2014). Klingner, J., & Harry, B. (2008). The special education referral and decision‐making process for English language learners: Child study team meetings and placement conferences. Teachers College Record, 108(11), 2247–2281. Konstantopoulos, S., Modi, M., & Hedges, L. V. (2001). Who are America’s gifted?

American Journal of Education, 109(3), 344–384. Kushner, M. (2008). Preparing highly qualified teachers for English language learners with disabilities and at risk of disabilities. Multiple Voices for Ethnically Diverse Exceptional Learners, 11(1), 42–57. Lesaux, N. K. (2006). Building consensus: Future directions for research on English language learners at risk for learning disabilities. Teachers College Record, 108(11), 2406–2438. Marland, S. P. (1971). Education of the gifted and talented ‐ Volume 1: Report to the Congress of the United States by the U.S. Commissioner of Education. Washington, DC: Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. Márquez, J. A., Bermúdez, A. B., & Rakow, S. J. (1992). Incorporating community perceptions in the identification of gifted and talented Hispanic students. Journal of Educational Issues of Lanugage Minority Students, 10, 117–130. McCardle, P., Mele‐McCarthy, J., & Leos, K. (2005). English language learners and learning disabilities: Research agenda and implications for practice. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 20(1), 68–78. McFadden et al. v. Board of Education for Ilinois School District U‐46 No. 05 C 0760 (United States District Court for the Northeastern District of Illinois ‐ Eastern Division 2013). McFarlan, E. (2012, May 16). Mom of 4 plaintiffs testifies at U46 discrimination trial, The Elgin Courier‐News. See report at https://emmillerwrites.wordpress. com/2012/05/17/mom‐of‐4‐plaintiffs‐ testifies‐at‐u46‐discrimination‐trial‐sun‐ times‐media/ (accessed December 2, 2014). McGlonn‐Nelson, K. (2005). Looking outward: Exploring the intersections of sociocultural theory and gifted education. Journal of Secondary Gifted Education, 17(1), 48–55. National Association for Gifted Children. (2011). 2010‐2011 state of the states in

Bilingual Education and Students with Dis/Abilities  389 gifted Education. Washington, DC: National Association for Gifted Children. NCELA (National Clearinghouse for English Language Acquisition). (2011a). The growing number of English Learner Students from 1998/99 ‐ 2008/09. http:// www.ncela.us/files/uploads/9/ growingLEP_0809.pdf (accessed November 27, 2014). NCELA (National Clearinghouse for English Language Acquisition). (2011b). ESL with special needs: National overview. AccELLerate, 3(3), 10–11. http://www.ncela.us/files/uploads/17/ Accellerate_3_3.pdf (accessed November 27, 2014). New Mexico State Department of Education Special Education Office. (2008). Technical assistance manual for gifted education in New Mexico. Santa Fe, NM: New Mexico Public Education Department. O’Connor, C., & Fernández, S. D. (2006). Race, class, and disproportionality: Reevaluating the relationship between poverty and special education placement. Educational Researcher, 35(6), 6–11. Orosco, M. J., & Klingner, J. K. (2010). One school’s implementation of RTI with English language learners: “Referring into RTI.” Journal of Learning Disabilities, 43(3), 269–288. Park, Y., & Thomas, R. (2012). Educating English language learners with special needs: Beyond cultural and linguistic considerations. Journal of Education and Practice, 3(9), 52–58. Peterson, J. (2000). Valuing the values: Moving from tolerance to affirmation. Reclaiming Children and Youth, 9(1), 36–40. Reis, S. M., & Renzulli, J. S. (2010). Is there still a need for gifted education? An examination of current research. Learning and Individual Differences, 20(4), 308–317. Reyes, E. I., & Fletcher, R. (1996). Developing local multidimensional screening procedures for identifying

giftedness among Mexican American border population. Roeper Review, 18(3), 208–211. Robinson, A., Shore, B. M., & Enersen, D. L. (2007). Best practices in gifted education: An evidence‐based guide. Waco, TX: Prufrock Press. Rollins, K., Mursky, C. V., Shah‐Coltrane, S., & Johnsen, S. (2009). RtI models for gifted children. Gifted Child Today, 32(3), 21–30. Samson, J. F., & Lesaux, N. K. (2009). Language‐minority learners in special education: Rates and predictors of identification for services. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 42(2), 148–162. Skiba, R., Poloni‐Staudinger, L., Gallini, S., Simmons, A., & Feggins‐Azziz, R. (2006). Disparate access: the disproportionality of African American students with disabilities across educational environments. Exceptional Children, 72(4), 411–424. Staiger, A. (2004). Whiteness as giftedness: Racial formation at an urban high school. Social Problems, 51(2), 161–181. Texas Education Agency. (2009). Texas state plan for the education of gifted/talented students. Austin, TX: Texas Education Agency. The Association for the Gifted, & National Association for Gifted Children. (2009). Response to intervention for gifted children. Bowling Green, KY: The Council for Exceptional Children. Tyler, B.‐J., & García, S. (2013). Meeting the educational needs of English language learners with disabilities. Impact: Feature issue on educating K–12 English Language Learners with disabilities, 26(1). http://ici. umn.edu/products/impact/261/13.html (accessed November 23, 2014). Valdés, G. (2003). Expanding definitions of giftedness: The case of young interpreters from immigrant communities. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Valli, L., & Buese, D. (2007). The changing roles of teachers in an era of high‐stakes

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23 Bilingual Deaf Education Timothy Reagan Introduction Although the education of deaf children is often considered part of the more general field of special education, this is a result of the history of viewing deaf people as disabled rather than on focusing on their unique cultural and linguistic characteristics.1 In recent years, the paradigm for understanding deafness has undergone a huge change, and one of the more important aspects of this change has been the emergence of bilingual and bilingual‐bicultural education programs for deaf children in which both signed language and spoken language are used not just for communicative purposes, but as both the medium and sometimes the content of instruction. In order to understand this paradigmatic shift, it is necessary to first consider the nature of the deaf community (or DEAF^WORLD)2 and of signed language itself, and then to explore the nature, objectives and characteristics of bilingual deaf education in various countries around the world. There are, broadly speaking, two quite different ways to view deafness. The dominant perspective in most societies has been grounded in the idea that deafness is essentially a medical condition, characterized by an auditory deficit—that is, deaf people are people who cannot hear. Such a perspective, which has been labeled the “pathological” view of deafness, leads naturally enough to efforts to try to remediate the deficit. In short, the pathological view is premised on the idea that deaf people are not only different from hearing people, but that they are, at least in a physiological sense, inferior to hearing people, in that hearing people can hear while deaf people cannot. If one accepts the pathological view of deafness, and the myriad assumptions which undergird it, then the only reasonable approach to dealing with deafness is indeed to attempt to remediate the problem. This is precisely what is done in traditional, and most contemporary, approaches in deaf education, which focus on the teaching of speech and lip‐reading skills, utilize hearing aids to maximize whatever residual hearing a deaf individual may possess, and seek to develop medical solutions to hearing impairment (such as cochlear implants). In other words, the pathological view of deafness inevitably leads to efforts to try to help the deaf individual to become as like a hearing person as possible—in cultural terms, to assimilate into the surrounding hearing community. The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

392  School Levels and Special Populations The alternative perspective for understanding deafness, which has been advocated by a growing number of Deaf people as well as by small groups of hearing teachers, linguists, anthropologists, and others involved with the Deaf and in the growing academic discipline of Deaf Studies, has been termed the “sociocultural” approach to deafness. The sociocultural view of deafness argues that for some Deaf people, it makes far more sense to understand deafness not as a handicapping condition, let alone as a deficit, but rather, as an essentially cultural condition. As Padden and Humphries wrote at the start of their book Deaf in America: Voices from a Culture (1988, p. 1), The traditional way of writing about Deaf people is to focus on the fact of their condition—that they do not hear—and to interpret all other aspects of their lives as consequences of this fact. … In contrast to the long history of writings that treat them as medical cases, or as people with “disabilities,” who “compensate” for the deafness by using sign language, we want to portray the lives they live, their art and performances, their everyday talk, their shared myths, and the lessons they teach one another. We have always felt that the attention given to the physical condition of not hearing has obscured far more interesting facets of Deaf people’s lives.

Thus, from the perspective of the sociocultural view of deafness, the appropriate comparison group for the Deaf is not individuals with physical disabilities, etc., but rather, individuals who are members of other nondominant (and often oppressed) cultural and linguistic groups. In short, while the pathological view of deafness would lead us to try to correct a deficit, the sociocultural view would lead us to efforts that focus on issues of civil rights and to assist the Deaf to function fully, as deaf people, in the dominant culture. It is important to emphasize here, though, that this sociocultural perspective of  deafness is by no means intended to apply to all persons with hearing loss. As Lane explained in his book The Mask of Benevolence (1992, p. xi): Most Americans who have impaired hearing are not members of the American [D]eaf community. They were acculturated to hearing society, their first language was a spoken one, and they became hard of hearing or deaf in the course of their lives, often late in life. This book is not about them; it is about people who grow up [D]eaf, acculturated to the manual language and society of the [D]eaf community.

Although Lane was writing about the American Deaf community, his comments apply to Deaf communities around the world. Deaf communities are characterized by the same kinds of elements as those of any other cultural community, including: • • • • •

a common, shared (signed) language a literary and artistic tradition; a shared awareness of Deaf cultural identity; distinctive behavioral norms and patterns; cultural artifacts;

Bilingual Deaf Education  393 • in‐group marital patterns; • a shared historical knowledge (and, in some cases, shared mythology); and • a network of voluntary, in‐group social organizations. Among these characteristics, the most important is language—and, specifically, the signed languages used among Deaf people themselves as their vernacular ­languages. Since the nature and structure of signed languages is not particularly well‐known or well‐understood by many educators and policy‐makers, a brief discussion of such languages is appropriate here.

Types of signing and signed languages A good place to begin is by noting that not all kinds of signing are signed language. There are three different kinds of signing: the signed languages used by the Deaf themselves in intragroup communication, which are unrelated to surrounding spoken languages; contact signing (which is sometimes called pidgin sign language) typically used by deaf and hearing people in intergroup communication; and manual sign codes, which are artificially created systems designed to represent spoken languages in a visual/gestural format, most often for use in educational settings. Of these, only the first—signed languages—are full and complete languages, and it is with these signed languages that we will be primarily concerned. Signed languages emerged and evolved naturally, and, as Sherman Wilcox has noted, “are fully developed human languages independent of the languages spoken in the linguistic communities in the same region” (1990, p. 141). Furthermore, different sign languages are related to one another in different ways, just as are spoken languages. We can talk about signed language families, which would consist of historically related signed languages (such as American Sign Language [ASL], French Sign Language, and Russian Sign Language), and contrast these to historically unrelated signed languages (for instance, ASL, British Sign Language, and Japanese Sign Language) (Wittmann, 1999). It is interesting to note here, as these examples demonstrate, that the relationships between signed languages can, and do, differ dramatically from those of the surrounding spoken languages. Thus, although they both live their lives in English‐dominant societies, Deaf people in the United States and Britain use unrelated signed languages. In short, although it is a fairly common folk belief that signed language is in some way “universal,” this is not in point of fact true; there are at the very least hundreds of signed languages used by deaf people around the world. Although these different signed languages share certain generic features (such as their gestural and visual nature, their use of space for linguistic purposes, etc.) (see Wilcox, 1990), they are by no means necessarily all related, let alone the same. Many signed languages have been studied in some detail by linguists; among these are not only ASL, but also Australian Sign Language, Brazilian Sign Language, British Sign Language, Danish Sign Language, Dutch Sign Language, French Sign Language, German Sign Language, Israeli Sign Language, Japanese

394  School Levels and Special Populations Sign Language, Russian Sign Language, and Swedish Sign Language, and this is far from an exhaustive list. Indeed, although impressive in its own right, this list is but the tip of the iceberg, since most signed languages (like most spoken languages) remain unstudied. Skutnabb‐Kangas (2000, p. 30) has suggested that “there probably are something between 6,500 and 10,000 spoken (oral) languages in the world, and a number of sign languages which can be equally large.” This is almost certainly hyperbole, since many spoken languages are far too small to have a concomitant deaf community using its own signed language, but the underlying point is well taken: there are a huge number of signed languages in the world, many of which we are not even aware. In 1960, a young English professor at Gallaudet University published a monograph entitled Sign Language Structure (Stokoe, 1993 [1960]). This modest work launched what has become a tsunami of serious linguistic work on virtually all aspects of signed languages around the world. The body of such work is now extremely extensive, and we now know an immense amount more than we did a half‐century ago. As Liddell has noted, writing about ASL (which is probably the most‐studied signed language), By the early 1970s many other linguists and psychologists began studying the properties of ASL. At that time, their published papers tended to begin with brief justifications explaining that ASL was a language. Such explanations were needed since most people still held the view that ASL was not a language. By perhaps the mid‐seventies, and most certainly by the early eighties, the weight of published descriptions of ASL and its grammar was sufficient to turn the tide of opinion about the language status of ASL. Studies of various aspects of the grammar of ASL left no doubt that signers using ASL were using a real human language. … The recognition that sign languages were real human languages set off a flurry of activity in a number of academic arenas beginning in the seventies … More and more sign languages continue to be identified and investigated as researchers around the globe pursue answers to a wide variety of interesting scientific ­questions. (Liddell, 2003, pp. 4–5)

Signed language plays an important role in the construction of what is, in ASL, termed the DEAF^WORLD—that is, in terms of the way in which deaf people make sense of the world around them. It does this in two distinct ways: first, through its role as linguistic mediator, and second, as an identifying facet of in‐ group cultural identity. Signed languages mediate experience in unique ways, as of course do all languages. The structures and vocabulary of every signed language provide the framework within which experience is organized, perceived and understood, and this framework is inevitably distinct from the frameworks employed by other languages. For example, in ASL if one describes a person as VERY HARD^OF^HEARING, it means that the person has substantial residual hearing, while A LITTLE HARD^OF^HEARING would suggest far less residual hearing. In other words, the concepts themselves are based on different norms than would be the case in English (where the meanings of these two expressions, for instance, would be reversed).

Bilingual Deaf Education  395 The nature of signed languages is essential to the understanding of bilingual deaf education, but a broader comprehension of the setting of deaf education also requires a short discussion of the nature of the other two kinds of signing mentioned above: contact signing and manual sign codes. In the DEAF^WORLD itself, Deaf people communicate with one another in signed languages. They do not, though, live apart from hearing people; rather, they are integrated into the hearing world in a number of ways and on a number of different levels. The vast majority of deaf people have hearing parents, and the vast majority of deaf people will have hearing children. In addition, deaf people need to have access to at least some hearing people in order to function socially and economically. While the children of deaf people may well learn their parents’ signed language as a native language, many parents of deaf children and other hearing people who are in contact with deaf people will generally not learn a signed language. Instead, they will learn to employ what is called contact signing—that is, signing that has elements of both the signed language of the Deaf community and elements of the surrounding spoken language. Such contact signing, which was originally labeled pidgin sign  language, is the primary kind of signing often used in hearing‐deaf and deaf‐hearing communicative interchanges (Reilly & McIntire, 1980; Supalla & Webb, 1995). Manual sign codes are not really sign language in any strong sense; they are, rather, artificially constructed symbolic systems designed to allow a given spoken language to be represented in a visual/gestural mode (Reagan, 1995). In other words, manual sign codes provide an additional modality in which a spoken language can be represented, just as does writing. Manual sign codes are widely used in educational settings, especially with young children, as a way of providing what is claimed to be more meaningful access to the spoken language than oral methods might achieve. The best‐known and most widely used manual sign code in the United States is Signing Exact English (SEE‐2), but a number of other codes exist in the U.S. and elsewhere in the world, both for English and other spoken languages (Bornstein, 1990; Gustason & Woodward, 1973; Ramsey, 1989).3 Signed languages, contact signing, and manual sign codes are distinguishable from one another in at least six significant ways: the nature of lexical items, word order, the presence or absence of inflectional markers, the use of voicing, the use of nonmanual elements to convey lexical, morphological, and syntactic information, and, last, the attitudes of the Deaf to the specific type of signing. Not only are there differences among the three kinds of signing, but these differences have extremely powerful outcomes, socially, culturally and educationally. Signs are the lexical items of signed languages, and they constitute the words of all kinds of signing. Individual signs can be either conceptual or word‐based in nature. In signed languages and contact signing, signs are basically conceptual in nature. That is, a given sign will represent a specific concept, which may or may not map onto a specific lexical item in another language. This is in no way surprising; it is true of all languages. English has a single word, “blue,” that is used for a range of colors; in Russian, there are two words (синий and голубой), which represent two different shades of blue (dark or navy blue and light, sky blue), and which cannot

396  School Levels and Special Populations be used interchangeably. Similarly, in interpreting a sign from a signed language into a spoken language, we may find that the sign includes several conceptually‐ related words in the spoken language. Depending on usage and context, the ASL sign CONTROL, for instance, can be translated into English as “control,” “direct,” “manage,” “administer,” “govern,” “operate,” “regulate,” or even “manipulate.” On the other hand, there are instances in which the spoken language uses a single word to express a number of distinct concepts that require different lexical items in a signed language. In such situations, one may find signs to be more precise than the spoken language allows. In ASL, for example, the English word “run” is interpreted with different signs for each of the following senses:            

run in a race run for Congress a run in a stocking to run a business running water a runny nose

There is nothing here that is particularly noteworthy or exceptional, of course: precisely the same kinds of lexical variation are found between any two languages (consider, for instance, ser and estar in Spanish, while in English we have to make do with a single verb). However, when we move from signed languages and contact signing to manual sign codes, we discover that this is no longer the case. In general, manual sign codes tend to follow the “one word = one sign” principle. In other words, if one is trying to represent English in a manual/gestural modality, all of the different signs for “run” used in ASL will be collapsed into a single sign (the ASL sign utilized in the phrase “run in a race”). Similarly, if English requires separate words for “control,” “govern,” and so on, then the manual sign code must find a way to represent each of these concepts as a separate lexical item (­ normally through an initialized sign ).4 The order in which lexical items occur in a signed language differs from word order in a spoken language, just as word order varies between different spoken languages. Word order can provide a clear differentiation between a signed language, on the one hand, and contact signing or a manual sign code on the other. The former utilizes its own, distinctive word order, while the latter two generally follow the word order of the surrounding spoken language. A related aspect of the structure of signed languages is their capacity to use more than one sign simultaneously—a linguistic behavior simply not possible in a spoken language. Consider the following differences in word order for the English sentence, “I have eaten” when this sentence is signed: American Sign Language: FINISH ME (right hand) EAT (left hand) (EAT is signed simultaneously with FINISH ME) Contact Signing:

I FINISH EAT.

Manual Sign Code:

I(i) HAVE(V) EAT + (N).

Bilingual Deaf Education  397 Unlike signed languages and contact signing, manual sign codes, as can be seen in the example above, make extensive use of inflectional markers to represent specific syntactic and morphological information conveyed in the spoken language (Gustason & Woodward, 1973). For example, manual sign codes designed to represent English will contain inflectional markers for such morphological items as: ‐ing, ‐s (plural), ‐’s (possessive), ‐ed, and so on. Furthermore, grammatical irregularities in the spoken language will be fully maintained in the manual sign code, as in the use of distinct, initialized markers for “am,” “is,” and “are” in a manual sign code for English. Such inflectional markers are completely absent in signed languages altogether, and only rarely appear in contact signing. Voicing, or using a spoken language at the same time that one signs (or even simply mouthing the words of the spoken language) takes place as a mandatory feature of manual sign codes, and occurs frequently in contact signing. For a variety of reasons, including differences in word order, voicing does not normally take place in signed languages, although mouthing words is not uncommon in some signed languages. Just as spoken languages are based on phonological differences and distinctions, signed languages are based on equivalent distinctions (phonemes were ­initially called “cheremes,” but in the linguistic literature are now referred to as phonemes) (see Valli, Lucas, Mulrooney & Villanueva, 2011). The characteristics that constitute the signed version of phonemes are differences in handshape, hand movement, hand position/location, palm orientation, and nonmanual components. These function in signed languages and contact signing in roughly the same manner as do phonemes in spoken languages, save that they occur more or less simultaneously. Manual sign codes generally ignore nonmanual phonemic features of signs (e.g., facial expression, shoulder movement), and are far less sensitive to marked phonological combinations normally avoided by signed languages and, to a lesser degree, contact signing. This is extremely significant, because in signed languages nonmanual features often provide necessary syntactic and semiotic information (see Wilcox & Wilcox, 1995). For instance, in ASL yes/no questions require that the eyebrows are raised (/ \), while in WH‐ questions, they are ­lowered (\ /). Similarly, the difference between UNDERSTAND and DO NOT UNDERSTAND has nothing at all to do with either a separate negating marker nor with the sign itself; the negation is communicated entirely with the face and shoulders of the signer. From the perspective of many in the DEAF^WORLD, the differences among signed language, contact signing, and manual sign codes are very powerful, and indicate a great deal about the user’s understanding of and appreciation for the Deaf community. In the case of hearing individuals who have mastered a signed language, there is a generally positive attitude among the Deaf. Nevertheless, such languages have historically functioned as languages of group solidarity for Deaf people, serving both as a badge of in‐group membership and as a barrier to those outside the cultural community. As more hearing people have begun to learn ASL, new complications have arisen with respect to issues of “ownership” of ASL (Lane,

398  School Levels and Special Populations Hoffmeister & Bahan, 1996, pp. 70–77; Levesque, 2001, pp. 116–117). As one leader in the U.S. deaf community noted, I have asked a number of deaf individuals how they feel about hearing people signing like a native user of ASL. The responses are mixed. Some say that it is acceptable for hearing people to use ASL like a deaf person on one condition. The condition is that this hearing person must make sure that the deaf person knows that s/he is not deaf. Some people resent the idea of seeing hearing people signing like a native ASL user. Those who are resentful may feel sociolinguistic territorial invasion by those hearing people. (Quoted in Schein & Stewart, 1995, p. 155)

The role of ASL in the construction of Deaf cultural identity, then, is quite complex—it is clearly a necessary condition for Deaf cultural identity, but (as is demonstrated in the cases of hearing individuals who use ASL fluently) not a sufficient condition for group membership. Attitudes toward contact signing are not at all ambiguous: they are almost universally positive: although such signing is by no means in itself seen as “good signing,” it is adequate for communicative purposes between deaf and hearing people, and demonstrates what is at least initially taken to be an indication of good will on the part of the hearing person. Such is not the case, though, with manual sign codes. This is because manual sign codes are just that: codes to represent language, not language in and of itself (see Reagan, 1995). The actual educational value of such manual sign codes is debatable, but to a fluent signer, the codes are often perceived as slow, awkward and confusing (see Bragg, 2001; Hoffmeister, 2008; Komesaroff, 2008, p. 55; Kyle, 1990; Lane, Hoffmeister, & Bahan 1996; Reagan, 1990, 1995). The presence of three types of signed languages has resulted in the emergence in many Deaf communities of an unusual kind of diglossia, in which most Deaf individuals are not only bilingual to some degree, but also trimodal in their language use (Lucas & Valli, 1992, pp. 21–23; Reagan, 1995, 2002). The bilingualism that characterizes the deaf community is a social bilingualism rather than necessarily an individual bilingualism, since not all members of the community are functionally bilingual (see Hintermair & Albertini, 2005; Smiler & McKee, 2006).

History of education of deaf children The history of the education of deaf children dates back to ancient Egypt, where Deaf people were seen as a specially favored group and educated using hieroglyphics. The ancient Greeks, however, took a far more negative view of the deaf, believing that it was generally best to kill those with disabilities since they were a burden to the polis. Both Aristotle and Galen, an influential ancient Greek physician, also believed that it was impossible to teach the deaf to speak, a view that continued in Europe until the sixteenth century. In the mid‐sixteenth century in

Bilingual Deaf Education  399 Spain, a Benedictine monk by the name of Pedro Ponce de León began teaching two young boys, Pedro and Francisco Fernández Velasco y Tovar, and is often credited with being the first educator of the deaf in modern times (though others argue that a monk from La Estrella deserves this honor, while others are in favor of St. John of Beverley, the archbishop of York, England, around 700 C.E.) (Eriksson, 1993, p. 12; Van Cleve, 1993). What all of these individuals hold in common is that teaching their deaf pupils to speak was at the center of their educational efforts. The initial emergence of formal educational efforts for deaf children in Spain (see Plann, 1997) was followed some time later by a shift to France, with the establishment of the Institution Nationale des Sourds‐Muets à Paris by the Abbé Charles‐Michel de l’Épée in 1791. De l’Épée, and his successor Abbé Roch‐Ambroise Cucurron Sicard, are best known for the introduction of what de l’Épée called signes méthodiques in deaf education. Although the signing that they employed was in fact based on a kind of early manual sign code, even from the beginning this was used only by teachers, while the students themselves employed French Sign Language. The method used at the Institution Nationale des Sourds‐Muets à Paris was, fundamentally, the one brought to Hartford, Connecticut, by Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet and Laurent Clerc, and used at the Connecticut Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb (now the American School for the Deaf) from its founding in 1817. The mid to late nineteenth century saw the emergence of a powerful challenge to the use of signing in deaf education in the development of what was called the “oral method,” both in Europe and the United States, and subsequently adopted in other schools for the deaf around the world. Championed by Alexander Graham Bell among others, oral education, which completely eschewed the use of any type of signing, was first institutionally established in 1867 at the Clarke School for the Deaf in Northampton, Massachusetts. For the remainder of the nineteenth century and the first three‐quarters of the twentieth century, deaf education was characterized by an increasingly acrimonious debate between those favoring the use of signing in education (the manualists) and those rejecting any use of signing in favor of the exclusive use of oral teaching methods (the oralists). To some extent, the hostility between the two groups can be traced back to the Milan Conference of Deaf Educators in 1880. The theme of this conference was the debate over teaching methods, and specifically, of oralism versus manualism. The conference delegates voted overwhelmingly to support oral methods in deaf education, going so far as to identify it as the only way that deaf children should be educated. They also banned the use of any kind of signing, even in conjunction with speech, as detrimental to the education of the child. The Milan Conference is still very controversial, for several reasons, perhaps the most powerful of which is that a large number of deaf teachers of the deaf (a quite common phenomenon in the nineteenth century, though not after the Milan Conference) were denied the right to participate, let alone vote, at the Conference. In the literature concerned with the education of the deaf up to the end of the twentieth century, this division was commonly characterized as one of competing

400  School Levels and Special Populations philosophies of deaf education. For instance, Peter Paul and Dorothy Jackson (1993, p. 2) suggested that: In general, there are two major communication (or educational) philosophies in the education of deaf children: oralism and total communication (TC). … Debates on the merits of the two major philosophies (oralism and TC) have ensued for more than twenty years … However, an oral‐manual debate has existed since the beginning of the education of deaf children.5

In point of fact, viewing oralism and manualism as two fundamentally incompatible, competing philosophies of education is somewhat misleading, and obscures a number of important issues related to the Deaf as a cultural and linguistic community. It can be argued that, despite their very real differences, both the oralist and manualist positions share a number of common, underlying assumptions about the nature of deafness, the DEAF^WORLD, and sign language, as well as about the appropriate objectives of deaf education. In essence, both positions are grounded in a pathological conception of deafness (see Lane, 1992; Reagan, 1989), and this common foundation was far more significant philosophically than any differences that the two groups may have had about methodology. The competition between the two approaches to the education of deaf children led to a virtually complete self‐segregation: each approach, oralist and manualist, had its own schools, curricula, teaching methods, professional organizations, and journals through most of the twentieth century around the world, and to some extent is still present in many areas. In the last quarter of the twentieth century, however, this situation began to change in the United States, and quickly elsewhere. The extensive body of scholarly literature that began appearing in the 1960s and 1970s about the sociocultural perspective on deafness forced a radical rethinking of many of the core assumptions in deaf education, especially for those who favored the use of signing. The result was a reconceptualization of what was most appropriate and empowering for deaf children, and some educators, parents, and Deaf adults began advocating school programs that would allow deaf children to be taught as potential members of a distinctive cultural and linguistic group. This meant that the children would acquire the signed language of their country, be exposed to Deaf adults as well as other deaf students, and study about the history and culture of the Deaf even as they also learned to read and write a spoken language and studied the rest of the regular curriculum (see Allen, 2008; DeLuca & Napoli, 2008; Erting, et al., 2006; Gibson 2006; Johnson, Liddell, & Erting 1989; Ramsey, 2004; Reagan, 1990, 1995, 2002; Tomkins, 2004; Wilbur, 2008). From an educational perspective, one especially interesting concept that has emerged in the development of bilingual education for deaf children was suggested by Stephen Nover, the Director of the Center for ASL/English Bilingual Education and Research at Gallaudet University. Nover suggested that language policy in the context of deaf education has been traditionally concerned with two matters: oracy, which basically refers to the ability to use effectively listening and speaking skills in a language, and literacy, which basically refers to the ability to read and write. In the context of deafness and ASL (or, indeed, any signed

Bilingual Deaf Education  401 language), Nover argues that there is a third sort of linguistic competence that needs to be taken into account, which he calls “signacy” (personal communication). Basically, signacy is the ability to use a signed language effectively, and may even be expanded to refer to a kind of metalinguistic understanding of signed language in general, and of the specific signed language used by the child in particular. In addition, Nover argues that the order of significance and emphasis of these three kinds of language skill must, in the case of the deaf child, be signacy, literacy, and oracy (i.e., S‐L‐O), rather than the more traditional focus on oracy, literacy, and then (if at all) something akin to signacy (i.e., O‐L‐S). In short, what has taken place in deaf education since the nineteenth century is that there has been an ongoing competition between competing communication policies, all stressing the importance of spoken language but diverging on the question of the role of the use of a manual/gestural system in support of spoken language, with manualists favoring the use of some type of signing, and oralists opposing it. Only with the rise of bilingual education programs, which involved the recognition and use of signed language, was there a shift from communication policy to language policy in the education of deaf children. This shift was already well underway when, in 1985, a UNESCO report went so far as to assert as an operating principle that, “We must recognize the legitimacy of the sign language as a linguistic system and it should be accorded the same status as other languages” (quoted in Lane, 1992, p. 46).

Bilingual/bicultural education for deaf children Bilingual and bilingual bicultural programs for deaf children now exist in a number of countries around the world, including (at least nominally) in Australia, Brazil, Canada (in ASL in Anglophone Canada, and in Langue des Signes de Québécoise [LSQ] in Québec), Chile, China, Colombia, Denmark, Finland, France, Ireland, Mexico, the Netherlands, Norway, Russia, Spain, Sweden, the United Kingdom, the United States, and Venezuela, and have been advocated for in many other societies. These schools, and others like them, take a number of different forms, but also ­generally share a common set of characteristics. Perhaps most important, Bilingual bicultural Deaf education recognizes both the native sign language of the Deaf community and the majority language/s of the country in which the student resides. It also fosters Deaf culture and appreciation of the many cultures comprising the broader society. (Gibson, Small, & Mason, 1997, p. 231)

Susan Gregory (1996) has suggested, for instance, that bilingual education for deaf children involves four goals: • • • •

to enable deaf children to become linguistically competent; to provide access to a wide curriculum; to facilitate good literacy skills; and to provide deaf pupils with a positive sense of their own identity.

402  School Levels and Special Populations A more forceful articulation of the appropriate goals for bilingual education for deaf children has been offered by Israelite, Ewoldt, and Hoffmeister which is worth noting here: • native sign language is used as the first language and the language of instruction;6 • the majority [spoken] language is introduced when students begin to acquire [the] native sign language; • Deaf culture and Deaf role models are an important part of the educational program; and • Parents are introduced to the culture and community of Deaf people and ­supported in their learning of the native sign language. The focus on literacy is at the core of both of these goals, and this is understandable, since, as Hermans, Knoors, Ormel, and Verhoeven (2008, pp. 518–519) have observed, Learning to read is vital for individuals to participate in society, even more so when those individuals are deaf. But the deaf child who graduates from high school reads, on average, at the same level as an 8‐ to 9‐year‐old hearing child … Although many studies have been conducted in the last couple of decades to study why learning to read seems to be so difficult for deaf children, we still don’t really know the answer to this question. … In the mid‐1990s, bilingual–bicultural programs were developed and implemented in special schools. In these programs, it is often assumed that that there is a commonality in reading and signing skills and that skills acquired through learning a sign language can facilitate the acquisition of reading skills … the empirical data, quite interestingly, do show that there is a strong and positive relationship between signing and reading skills. For instance, Strong and Prinz (1997, 2000) studied the relationship between the signing skills and the reading skills of a group of 155 deaf children [and] found a strong correlation between signing skills and reading skills, even after age and nonverbal intelligence were [factored] out. In general, deaf children with good signing skills were also the better readers.

Literacy is not the only goal of bilingual education for deaf students, however. François Grosjean (2010, pp. 141–142) argues that: a sign language–spoken language bilingualism is the only way that deaf children will meet their many needs, that is, communicate early with their parents, develop their cognitive abilities, acquire knowledge of the world, communicate fully with the surrounding world, and acculturate into the hearing and the deaf worlds. This bilingualism involves the sign language used by the deaf community and the spoken language used by the hearing majority. The latter language will be acquired in its written, and if possible, in its spoken modality. Depending on the child, the two languages will play different roles: some children will be dominant in sign language, others will be dominant in the spoken language, and some will be balanced in their two languages. In addition, various types of bilingualism are possible since there are several levels of deafness and the language contact situation is itself complex (four

Bilingual Deaf Education  403 language modalities, two production and two perception systems, etc.). This said, most deaf children will become bilingual and bicultural to varying degrees. In this sense, they will be no different than about half the world’s population that lives with two or more languages. Just like other bilingual children, they will use their languages in everyday lives and they will belong, to varying degrees, to two worlds—in this case, the hearing world and the deaf world.

Even more than these linguistic issues, however, is the role of bilingual bicultural programs for the deaf as both agents and settings in which deaf children (by gaining access to the vernacular language of the DEAF^WORLD as well as to its cultural norms, patterns and expectations, and by developing a Deaf cultural identity) and Deaf adults (through increased responsibilities in curricular development, as the source for greater numbers of teachers of the deaf, and as cultural and linguistic role models) can be empowered.

Inclusive education and the deaf child At the same time the bilingual bicultural education programs for deaf children have been developing, a parallel has been emerging in many parts of the world: the development and implementation of policies designed to mainstream children with various kinds of disabilities into regular classroom settings. Inclusive education, the label most commonly associated with the practice of mainstreaming, represents both a philosophical and pedagogical about‐face in the education of children with disabilities. There are, of course, many different kinds of inclusion, but these variations are not important for the discussion here. Inclusive education has raised a great many questions related to the need for different and improved teacher education and professional development, the training and employment of paraprofessionals, funding, and a host of other matters. In principle the idea that children with various special needs have historically been inappropriately segregated from other children and from learning environments in which they might thrive, is an important one, and is certainly one that demands redress. The problem with the ideology of inclusion and inclusive education comes not with the concept of inclusion per se, nor even really with the manner of its implementation, but rather with the question of whether it should apply to particular groups of children. Specifically, there is an extremely serious question about the extent to which inclusive education makes sense for severely and profoundly deaf children for whom a signed language functions as their vernacular language. Such deaf children are a fundamentally different kind of population than other groups of exception children—at least if one is operating from a sociocultural perspective on the nature of deafness. The fact of audiological difference is obvious, but the implications of this fact are not like the facts of physical disabilities, cognitive disabilities, emotional and behavioral disorders, and so on. It is only in the case of the deaf that the most significant barrier is a linguistic and cultural one, and it is here that the issue of language rights arises (for discussions

404  School Levels and Special Populations of issues of language rights for the deaf, see Branson & Miller, 1998a; Haualand & Allen, 2009; Jokinen, 2000; Siegel, 2008). What inclusion means in the case of the deaf child, quite unlike what it means for other children, is being cut off from other members of their own potential, and natural, linguistic and cultural community. Further, because of the intragenerational transmission of both signed language and deaf culture for the vast majority of deaf children, inclusion virtually guarantees an inadequate and incomplete socialization into both the linguistic and cultural community to which such children are most likely ultimately to belong. At the same time, in an inclusive environment, deaf children are extremely unlikely to gain the skills needed to assimilate into the hearing world. Thus, the result of inclusion for many deaf children is an incomplete and frustrating preparation for life in either the DEAF^WORLD or the hearing world with inadequate skills in all of the areas identified by Nover (that is, literacy, oracy and signacy). It is for this reason that Branson and Miller (1993, 1998b, 2002) have offered a critique of what they term the “epistemic violence of mainstreaming” and inclusion. It is this situation that creates the complex web of competing and conflicting conceptions of identity, power and autonomy in which the DEAF^WORLD and the hearing world relate to each other.

Conclusion Bilingual education for deaf children shares many similarities with other kinds of bilingual education, but it is also unique in a number of ways. For the vast majority of deaf children, it is in formal, educational institutions where they acquire signed language, not from their parents.7 It is also in schools where they most typically become members of the DEAF^WORLD. Thus, although they are members of a linguistic minority, most are not the children of members of that minority, nor are their own children likely to be full members of the DEAF^WORLD. In addition, while for other examples of bilingual education, the ultimate goal of full fluency in both languages is a reasonable objective, for many deaf children this is not the case—typically, in bilingual education programs for deaf children, our concern is primarily with developing literacy skills in the spoken language, but far less so with developing oral skills.

Notes 1  A common distinction made in writing about deafness and deaf people is between deaf and Deaf: the former refers to deafness solely as an audiological condition, the latter to deafness as a cultural condition. The basic idea underlying this distinction is that when writing about cultural groups in general, upper case letters are employed (African American, Hispanic, Native American, and so on). Thus, a person can be deaf without being Deaf (as in the case of an older person who gradually loses his or her hearing).

Bilingual Deaf Education  405 2  I have followed the common practice of indicating a particular sign by writing its English gloss in capital letters (e.g., BOY). It should be noted that many signs require multiple English words to represent a single sign; in these instances, the words are connected to indicate that they are a single sign (as in I^ASK^YOU). The sign used here, DEAF^WORLD, is the one used in ASL to indicate the Deaf cultural community. 3  The creation of such manual sign codes has taken place in many countries and for a variety of languages. The first to be developed was the Paget‐Gorman system in the United Kingdom. The most common in the U.S. context are Seeing Essential English (SEE‐I), Signing Exact English (SEE‐2), Linguistics of Visual English (LOVE), Signed English, Conceptually Accurate Signed English (CASE), and so on. Internationally, we find Signed Afrikaans, Signed Danish, Signed Dutch, Signed Finnish, Signed German, Signed Hebrew, Signed Indonesian, Signed Italian, Signed Mandarin, Signed Polish, Signed Russian, Signed Spanish, and Signed Urdu, and these are almost certainly only a small sample of the manual sign codes that have been created. What unites them is their problematic relationship with the signed language of the surrounding deaf community. 4  Initialization refers to the practice of incorporating a handshape drawn from a letter of the manual alphabet into a sign. By so doing, a single sign (using the same hand position/location, palm orientation, movement, directionality, and nonmanual features) can have a distinctive, related meaning to more precisely represent a difference or distinction in the surrounding spoken language. For instance, in ASL one basic sign (GROUP) generates all of the following: CLASS, FAMILY, SOCIETY, TEAM. 5  Total Communication (TC) was developed in the late 1960s as a means of finding a common ground that would be acceptable to both oralists and manualists in deaf education. In its original conceptualization, Total Communication was intended to be an educational philosophy rather than a particular methodological approach. The core idea that underlies Total Communication is that whatever communicative modality works best for the deaf student should be used – signed language, voice, fingerspelling, amplification, writing, gesturing, etc. In practice, Total Communication is most often utilized in schools, both in the United States and around the world, as a simultaneous communication (or Sim‐Com) approach to teaching in which signing and spoken language are used together, in conjunction. The use of such a system, of course, rules out the possible use of a signed language, however, and means that either a manual sign code or contact signing is being employed. This is, then, not compatible with any sort of bilingual deaf education program (see Evans, 1982; Moores, 1999). 6  Discussions about the “native” language of prelingually deaf children is a significant problem, since in a powerful sense they do not really have a native language. As a consequence of their hearing impairment, they do not have access to their parents’ spoken language. At the same time, except for the small percentage of deaf children born into families in which a signed language is the vernacular language (i.e., typically families in which the parents are themselves Deaf), the frequent identification of deafness relatively late means that their introduction to signed language – arguably their “natural” native language, is often delayed. 7  In most societies approximately 90% of the deaf population are born to hearing parents, the vast majority of whom do not sign, or at least are not initially able to use a signed language. In such cases, it is difficult to think of the signed language that the deaf child will ultimately acquire as a “mother tongue” or even “native language”; often, it is described simply as the child’s “natural language.” This is fine as far as it goes, but it does mean that for many deaf children, language acquisition is significantly delayed, a delay with profound educational consequences.

406  School Levels and Special Populations

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Bilingual Deaf Education  407 between reading and signing skills of deaf children in bilingual education programs. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 13, 518–530. Hintermair, M., & Albertini, J. (2005). Ethics, deafness, and new medical technologies. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 10, 185–192. Hoffmeister, R. (2008). Language and the deaf world: Difference not disability. In M. Brisk (Ed.), Language, culture, and community in teacher education (pp. 71–98). New York: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Israelite, N., Ewoltd, I., & Hoffmeister, R. (1992). Bilingual/bicultural education for deaf and hard‐of‐hearing students. Ontario: Ministry of Education. Johnson, R., Liddell, S., & Erting, C. (1989). Unlocking the curriculum: Principles for achieving access in deaf education. (Gallaudet Research Institute Working Paper 89‐3.) Washington, DC: Gallaudet University. Jokinen, M. (2000). The linguistic human rights of sign language users. In R. Phillipson (Ed.), Rights to language: Equity, power, and education (pp. 203–213). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Komesaroff, L. (2008). Disabling pedagogy: Power, politics and deaf education. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Kyle, J. (1990). The deaf community: Custom, culture and tradition. In S. Prillwitz & T. Vollhaber (Eds.), Sign language research and application (pp. 175–185). Hamburg: Signum. Lane, H. (1992). The mask of benevolence: Disabling the deaf community. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Lane, H., Hoffmeister, R., & Bahan, B. (1996). A journey into the Deaf‐World. San Diego, CA: DawnSign Press. Levesque, J. (2001). Let’s return ASL to deaf ownership. In L. Bragg (Ed.), DEAF‐ WORLD: A historical reader and primary sourcebook (pp. 116–117). New York: New York University Press.

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408  School Levels and Special Populations Schein, J., & Stewart, D. (1995). Language in motion. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Siegel, L. (2008). The human right to language: Communication access for deaf children. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2000). Linguistic genocide in education – Or worldwide diversity and human rights? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Smiler, K., & McKee, R. (2006). Perceptions of Maori deaf identity in New Zealand. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 12, 93–111. Stokoe, W. (1993). Sign language structures. Silver Spring, MD: Linstok Press. (Original publication 1960). Strong, M., & Prinz, P. (1997). A study of the relationship between American Sign Langauge and English literacy. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 2, 37–46. Strong, M., & Prinz, P. (2000). Is American Sign Language skill related to English literacy? In C. Chamberlain, J. Morford & R. Mayberry (Eds.), Language acquisition by eye (pp. 131–141). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Supalla, T., & Webb, R. (1995). The grammar of International Sign: A new look at pidgin languages. In K. Emmorey & J. Reilly (Eds.), Language, gesture, and space

(pp. 333–351). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Tomkins, L. (2004). Cultural and linguistic voice in the deaf bilingual experience. In B. Brueggemann (Ed.), Literacy and deaf people (pp. 139–156). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Valli, C., Lucas, C., & Mulrooney, J., & Villanueva, M. (2011). Linguistics of American Sign Language (5th edn.). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Van Cleve, J. (1993). Deaf history unveiled. Washington DC: Gallaudet University Press. Wilbur, R. (2008). Success with deaf children: How to prevent educational failure. In K. Lingren, D. DeLuca, & D. Napoli (Eds.), Signs and voices (pp. 117–138). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Wilcox, S. (1990). The structure of signed and spoken languages. Sign Language Studies, 67, 141–151. Wilcox, S., & Wilcox, P. (1995). The gestural expression of modality in ASL. In J. Bybee & S. Fleischman (Eds.), Modality in grammar and discourse (pp. 135–164). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Wittmann, H. (1991). Classification linguistique des langues signees non vocalement [Linguistic classification of non‐oral sign languages]. Revue Quebecoise de Linguistique, 10, 215–288.

24 Bilingual‐Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples Tiffany S. Lee and Teresa L. McCarty

Introduction Indigenous bilingual and multilingual education encompasses a vast cultural and territorial landscape—indeed, every continent on earth. There are more than 370 million Indigenous people, who speak 4,000 to 5,000 of the world’s 7,000 spoken languages. In much of the world—Africa, Asia, and parts of Latin America, for instance—Indigenous languages are transmitted as first languages in the context of family and community life. Rarely, however, are these languages fully developed in school. Rather, the overriding pattern in colonial schooling has been to exclude or severely curtail Indigenous mother‐tongue education. In other parts of the world such as the Americas and the Nordic countries, Indigenous languages face highly uncertain futures, as centuries of colonial schooling and repressive state‐ level policies have severely ruptured intergenerational language transmission mechanisms. In both types of situations, Indigenous students have been forced into schooling through the dominant language—a key factor in widespread ­language endangerment and academic disparities. A single treatment cannot begin to do justice to the diversity of peoples, places, and education experiences glossed by this chapter’s title. Our goal instead is to provide an overview of core issues and to examine those issues in depth by considering selected cases. We focus on research and practice from North America, Latin America, the Nordic countries, and the Pacific. Across these varied settings, we examine: (i) situations in which children enter school speaking an Indigenous language as a first language, and (ii) situations in which children enter school speaking the dominant language (often influenced by the structure and pragmatics of their Indigenous heritage language) and where Indigenous‐language revitalization is a primary goal. We premise our analysis on the assumption that The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

410  School Levels and Special Populations Indigenous language education must be understood in light of issues of cultural survival, self‐determination, and sovereignty; as López and Sichra (2008, p. 295) write, for Indigenous peoples, language and education cannot be separated “from the struggle for rights and self‐determination.” We begin with some historical background.

Historical overview1 The term Indigenous education can be understood in two senses. The first involves the autochthonous transmission and acquisition of knowledges, values, and skills—including language—within the family–community nexus. This is often (erroneously) characterized as “informal” education, but in actuality involves complex, planned, and systematic processes that incorporate both “formal” and “informal” elements, as all education systems do (Lomawaima & McCarty, 2006, p. 27). The second sense of the term refers more narrowly to schooling, often characterized as “formal” education and overwhelmingly associated with privileged Western knowledge. As Lomawaima and McCarty (2006, p.  28) note, the formal/informal binary arose “to suit the circumstances of Western, industrial societies as institutionalized schooling grew to dominate notions of education,” with the consequence being the suppression of Indigenous modes of education. The Arakmbut sociologist Hector Sueyo, for example, contrasts his family‐ and community‐based learning with what he encountered in school, writing that the latter “was a form of ‘Spanification’ … not based in our reality at all” (2003, p. 194). In their account of schooling among the Karipuna and Mebengokré‐Xikrin of Brazil, Tassinari and Cohn (2009) note that in addition to linguistic differences, Karipuna and Xikrin children face numerous obstacles on entering school, including being forced to work individually rather than collaboratively, as is the custom outside of school. In a study of the “invisible culture” on the Warm Springs Indian reservation and the school attended by Warm Springs children in the northwestern United States, Philips (1993) documents the ways in which different norms governing interpersonal interaction and talk, which she calls participant structures, “contribute to the general uncertainty Indian children experience as they find they do not understand the teacher, and the teacher does not understand them” (p. 127). Addressing these processes and their implications for Indigenous education requires understanding the sociohistorical experiences underlying them. Throughout the world, physical genocide, ethnicide, linguicide, and deterritorialization have been the combined goals of colonial regimes. In North America, from the seventeenth through much of the twentieth century Native children were forcibly removed from their families and compelled to attend distant residential schools where they faced physical and psychological trauma for speaking their mother tongue. During the same period, Australia’s British colonial government implemented a notorious “White Australia” policy designed “to

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  411 ‘breed out’ [Indigenous peoples’] black traits” and “produce a homogeneous English‐speaking Anglo‐Saxon culture” (Romaine, 1991, p. 3). In sub‐Saharan Africa, European missionaries constructed an “artificial multilingualism” whereby closely related African varieties—akin to British and American English—were recorded as distinct tongues. These artificial linguistic boundaries became the template for dividing African peoples territorially and for “de‐ Africanisation through the exclusive use of colonial languages in high‐prestige domains,” including school (Makalela, 2005, p. 153). In the Nordic countries, beginning in the mid‐nineteenth century, Indigenous Sámi children “were punished for using their language on school premises [and] teachers were … paid extra to keep a close eye on parents’ language use” (McCarty, Skutnabb‐Kangas, & Magga 2008, p. 300). In Latin America, “a clear and often publicly conceded intention of eradicating Indigenous ethnocultural differences” underlay ­centuries of policies designed to create a uniform “national” society through segregated subtractive schooling (López, 2008, p. 43). Recent decades have witnessed significant shifts in these power relations as a rising Indigenous activism has taken hold throughout the world. In the United States, legislative victories by Native Americans during the 1960s and 1970s ushered in the American Indian self‐determination movement, a central component of which was control over Native American schools. In 1990 and 2006, respectively, the efforts of Native American linguists and educators and their non‐ Native allies led to passage of the Native American Languages Act (NALA) and the Esther Martinez Native American Languages Preservation Act, which ­promote and provide funding for developing, using, and revitalizing Native American heritage mother tongues. In Aotearoa/New Zealand, the Māori language was ­recognized as co‐official with English in 1987; this was followed by the “rapid … emergence of Māori‐medium language education” (May, 1999, p. 63). In post‐ apartheid South Africa, official language policy includes nine Indigenous ­languages and the option for “learners to be taught in any official language of their choice” (Makalela, 2005, p. 145). And in Latin America, where hundreds of Indigenous languages are spoken, intercultural bilingual education resulting from Indigenous demands has become “the common denominator” in schools serving Indigenous students (Rockwell & Gomes, 2009, p. 102). These national‐ level developments have been complemented by significant gains at the international level, including the hard‐won 2007 Declaration on the Rights of ­ Indigenous Peoples affirming the rights to self‐determination and “to revitalize, use, develop, and transmit to future generations [Indigenous] histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures” (U.N. General Assembly, 2007, Article 13[1]). These conquests of Indigenous linguistic, cultural, and educational rights represent an historical turning point, as schools are increasingly appropriated for the purposes of language and cultural maintenance and revitalization. Recognizing that schools are “extremely contentious spaces” (Rockwell & Gomes, 2009, p. 105), these processes nonetheless carry important lessons for bilingual‐multilingual theory, practice, and policy—topics to which we now turn.

412  School Levels and Special Populations

Current state of theory, research, practice, and policy In this section we examine specific cultural and regional contexts of Indigenous bilingual and multilingual education, focusing on current developments and examining select cases in depth. The cases were selected to illuminate regional issues and themes, as well as the larger scholarly literature on Indigenous language education. We begin with our own communities of practice in the U.S. Southwest.

Indigenous language education in the United States: The cases of Navajo and Cochiti Indigenous language education within what is now the United States is extremely diverse and broad. In 2012, the U.S. Census Bureau reported 5.2 million American Indian and Alaska Native people (1.7 percent of the total population). Native Americans reside in every U.S. state and territory, representing 566 federally recognized tribes, 617 reservations and Alaska Native villages, and numerous Hawaiian Homelands (Hawaiian language education is discussed in the following section). Language endangerment and revitalization are mirrored characteristics of Native American bilingual‐multilingual education. We see this with the preschool through grade 8 language immersion programs among the Blackfeet in Montana (Piegan Institute, 2013); the experiential and culture‐based techniques used to teach Yup’ik in Alaska (Charles, 2005, 2014; Wyman, 2012); the successes in c­ reating young speakers of Cherokee in the Tsalagi Ageyui (Our Beloved Cherokee) ­preschool in Oklahoma (Peter, 2007); the creation of an Ojibwe curriculum from language documentary resources for the Waadookodaading immersion school in Minnesota (Hermes, 2007); and the grass roots efforts of Mohawk teachers that led to the community‐based, full immersion Akwesasne Freedom School in upstate New York (White, 2009). Each of these communities’ efforts highlights an important point with regard to linguistic self‐determination: Indigenous language maintenance and revitalization work best when tailored to community needs, beliefs, language acquisition resources, and level of commitment. All of these efforts share the goal of ensuring what Ortiz (1992) has called cultural continuance: the ever‐ changing yet ongoing vitality of Indigenous families, languages, and communities rooted in locally determined aspirations and goals. We illustrate these processes with two cases. In the first case, Navajo, we ­consider a school designed to promote language maintenance during a period when most Navajo children entered school speaking Navajo as a primary language; we then move to the Navajo‐language situation today, looking at an acclaimed Navajo‐language immersion school. Next we consider an early childhood, community‐based program designed to revitalize Cochiti Keres, one of several Puebloan languages spoken in the United States. Navajo is one of the southernmost Athabaskan languages and, in the last U.S. census, was reported to have approximately 169,000 speakers. As late as the 1980s,

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  413 most Navajo children entered school speaking Navajo as a primary (and sometimes sole) language. A 1970 survey of 3,500 Navajo six‐year‐olds by Spolsky, for instance, showed that 90 percent were bilingual Navajo–English speakers or monolingual speakers of Navajo (Spolsky, 1975). In this context, the Rock Point Community School, located in the central interior of the Navajo Nation in northern Arizona, emerged as one of the first modern Indigenous literacy programs in the United States. The original Rock Point School was built by the Bureau of Indian Affairs in the 1930s. In 1970 Rock Point transformed into a community‐controlled school, also known as a contract school, whereby a contract with the federal government enabled the community to exert control over the school’s academic programs (Holm & Holm, 1990). The home ­language of Rock Point students, Navajo, was prioritized and children in the early grades received reading and writing instruction in Navajo, before English. Community members served as teachers and resources for implementing the Navajo‐language curriculum. Navajo language was the medium of instruction for learning each content area, including the learning of English. Over the next 25 years, Rock Point Community School became known for its Navajo‐language maintenance efforts, which demonstrated that monolingual and bilingual students who learned to read first in their mother tongue outperformed comparable Navajo students in English‐only programs (Rosier & Farella, 1976). The common practices observed by Holm and Holm (1990, p. 176) at the school were “a concern for quality education in two languages, for Navajo‐ness and relevance in that education, and for parental and community involvement in and control of that education.” The senior author of this chapter, Lee, was a student at Rock Point in the early 1980s and remembers the entire school environment and community being rich in Navajo language, culture, and pride for learning through Navajo and being Navajo. Despite the successes of bilingual‐bicultural‐biliteracy programs such as Rock Point’s, by the mid- to late-1980s, a shift to English was becoming more apparent across the Navajo Nation. In a 1992 study of kindergarten children from all 110 Navajo‐majority schools within the Navajo Nation, Platero (1992) reported 87 ­percent as being able to understand Navajo, but only 52 percent could speak some Navajo. More astonishing, less than a third of the children sampled could speak the language at a “five‐year‐old level” (Holm, 1993). In recent years, the shift to English across the Navajo Nation has increased dramatically (Benally & Viri, 2005). In response to this situation the goals of Navajo language education have increasingly turned to revitalization. One well‐documented and successful effort is Tséhootsooí Diné Bi’ólta’ (The Navajo School at the Meadow between the Rocks, hereafter TDB), located on the reservation’s eastern border in Fort Defiance, Arizona. With more than two decades of applied research on the program, TDB has shown success in producing academically prepared Navajo speakers among formerly English‐dominant Navajo children through Navajo‐language immersion and a Navajo‐rich learning environment (Arviso & Holm, 2001; Holm, 2006). Starting with two kindergarten classes attended by children with only passive knowledge of Navajo, the program expanded to a K–8 total immersion school that

414  School Levels and Special Populations gradually adds English‐language instruction as students progress into higher grades. Former school leaders Florian Johnson and Jennifer Legatz (2006, p. 27) state that, “TDB is a unique school instructing Diné [Navajo] students who speak mostly English using the Diné language to gain proficiency in thinking, speaking, reading, and writing in the Diné language as a heritage language.” Our personal experience at the school verifies the positive impacts on cultural identity, Navajo linguistic skills, and family involvement. TDB stands as an exemplar in producing Native American students who perform on par with their peers in English‐only programs in English reading, and at higher levels in mathematics, while becoming bilingual and biliterate in their heritage language (Arviso & Holm, 2001). Not far from the Navajo Nation lie the 22 Pueblos of the modern state of New Mexico, “the oldest continuously inhabited Indigenous communities in the United States” (Sims, 2006, p. 252). Language revitalization among most Pueblo communities has taken a unique approach that emphasizes oralcy rather than literacy, and that is closely tied to Pueblo cultural beliefs. Situated within the high plateau of northern New Mexico, Cochiti is one such Pueblo. Cochiti is one of seven Keres dialects spoken by several neighboring Pueblo communities (Suina, 2004). The fate of Cochiti Keres has been intimately tied to intrusions by the federal government on Cochiti lands. In 1969, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers forced the construction on Cochiti lands of one of the largest dams in the country to support flood control for the city of Albuquerque downstream. The dam consumed over 4,000 acres of Cochiti land, displacing homes and farmlands and irrevocably damaging the livelihood of Cochiti people because of their close spiritual, economic, linguistic, social, and cultural ties to farming. In 1975, the dam began to leak, flooding the remaining farmlands below and creating further ­negative consequences to the cultural and physical health of the community (Pecos & Blum‐Martinez, 2001). This event, along with two other significant changes in the Pueblo, influenced language shift. One change was brought on by the development of new homes through a federal housing project. The homes were built away from the central village plaza and removed children from their elderly extended family members who lived around the plaza. The second change was the establishment of the local public school where children now spend most of their days, again away from their Cochiti Keres‐speaking relatives. Because there was no farming, children spent less time with elders in the fields; because the federal housing project separated extended families, children spent less time with elders in their homes. Meanwhile, the school emphasized assimilation and mainstream values through an English‐ based curriculum and pedagogy (Pecos & Blum‐Martinez, 2001; Romero, 2003; Suina, 2004). In 1993, community members conducted a survey to assess the level of Cochiti language use in their community, particularly among children. The survey found a great deal more language shift than expected. Discussions among the tribal council and community members led the tribe to declare language revitalization a top priority (Benjamin, Pecos, & Romero, 1996). Over several years the community created a “language nest” immersion program (see the discussion of Māori and

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  415 Hawaiian language nests in the next section) and summer language programs for children and youth, and began to implement language education activities and courses in the Head Start (federally funded) preschool and the local elementary school (Pecos & Blum‐Martinez, 2001; Romero‐Little & Blum‐Martinez, 2012). The emphasis in these programs has been on oral language skills to uphold the oral traditions of the community, a distinct value held by many Pueblo communities (Sims, 2006). While the language nest continues to thrive, serving children aged six months to three years, very few Cochiti children are able to participate in this program, which has a single grandmother/caregiver/instructor (Romero‐Little & Blum‐ Martinez, 2012). A few determined community members set out to extend language immersion opportunities for young children between ages three and six. In 2012, the Keres Children’s Learning Center (KCLC) opened its doors as a “Montessori school that uses the Cochiti Keres language for daily instruction across all areas of learning, with the goal of educating the whole Pueblo child using the Keres language as the medium of instruction” (KCLC, 2012). Again, oral language traditions are emphasized through totally oral‐based methods integrated with the Montessori emphasis on educating the “whole child” in a designed environment in which children’s interests guide their growth at their own pace. Combined with Cochiti language immersion, this method is intended to ensure that children will “participate in culturally relevant, age‐appropriate activities every day that will build their Keres vocabulary, Cochiti identity, self‐discipline, and sense of community, assisting them in developing a Pueblo worldview” (KCLC, 2012).

Indigenous language education in the Pacific: The cases of Māori and Hawaiian Among the well‐developed language revitalization programs are those in Aotearoa/ New Zealand and the U.S. State of Hawai’i. Hawaiian and Māori are Eastern Polynesian languages within the Austronesian language family, and the revitalization efforts of these two Polynesian peoples have followed intertwined paths. In New Zealand, the Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840 between Māori leaders and the British Crown, allegedly guaranteed Māori people rights to their lands, homes, and treasured possessions. However, the treaty was promptly v ­ iolated by White settlers in pursuit of Māori lands. In Hawai’i, an Indigenous monarchy persisted until 1893, when the U.S. military staged an illegal takeover, annexing Hawai’i as a territory, and in 1959, Hawai’i became the 50th U.S. state. In both cases, the Indigenous peoples experienced “political disenfranchisement, misappropriation of land, population and health decline, educational disadvantage and socioeconomic marginalization” (May, 2005, p. 366). By the mid‐­twentieth century, language eradication was imminent (May, 2005, p. 367; Wilson, Kamanā, & Rawlins, 2006, p. 42). We begin our discussion of the recovery of both languages with the case of Māori. Language and cultural revitalization among the Māori is often cited as an international model of Indigenous educational control that has inspired the growth of

416  School Levels and Special Populations other Indigenous and minoritized languages. In the 1980s, the Māori people ­initiated a critical intervention plan to address educational underachievement and strengthen Māori linguistic and cultural knowledge among Māori children (Harrison, 1998; Smith, 2000). In 1982, community members launched the Te Kōhanga Reo (Māori language nest) centers, where young children were completely immersed in the Māori language through culturally based learning. The centers grew from 50 in 1982 to 774 in 1996 (Smith, 2000). Following this initial endeavor, Māori people rallied together to develop Māori‐ medium schools for primary, secondary, and university‐age students. These initiatives have transformed Māori education and have been theorized as Kaupapa Māori (Māori intervention principles and elements). As discussed by Smith (2000), the first Kaupapa Māori principle is that of self‐determination or relative autonomy. This principle recognizes the need for Māori to control decision‐making in schooling, thereby supporting the second and third principles of validating and legitimizing Māori cultural identity and aspirations and incorporating culturally preferred pedagogy. This critical intervention, understood through Kaupapa Māori, was made possible by Māori political action for increased recognition of the Treaty of Waitangi. As part of this, in 1987 the Māori Language Act made Māori co‐official with English (and more recently, with New Zealand Sign Language). This recognition instigated policies that enabled partnerships between Māori communities and state agencies, resulting in greater Māori educational self‐determination. In example of this, Hill and May (2011) present an ethnographic case study of the Rakaumangamanga (Rakaumanga) Māori‐medium school on New Zealand’s North Island. One of the largest and oldest Māori‐medium schools, Rakaumanga offers Māori‐medium schooling from year 1 (age 5) to year 13 (age 18). The school’s philosophy embraces Kaupapa Māori as central to students’ academic, cultural, linguistic, and affective development. Entering students must have attended Kōhanga Reo for at least two years, laying the foundation for four years of full Māori immersion, after which English is introduced for three to four hours per week. To ensure integrity of the Māori language environment, Māori and English instruction are separated by time, space, and teacher. The goal is full bilingualism and biliteracy to prepare students as “citizens of the world” (Hill & May, 2011, p. 173). According to Hill and May, by year 8 students reach or are approaching age‐appropriate literacy development in both languages and are “well on their way to achieving the goal of bilingualism and biliteracy” (2011, p. 178). Hawaiian language revitalization has paralleled the Māori experience, and represents the most broadly developed Indigenous‐language schooling initiative in the United States (Hinton, 2001). By the 1960s, bans on the Hawaiian language that attended the illegal U.S. takeover had diminished the number of Hawaiian speakers to 500, most of whom were elderly (Warner, 2001; Wilson & Kamanā, 2001). Inspired by a more general Hawaiian cultural revolution or renaissance, and strengthened by contacts with Māori language activists, in 1983 a small group of parents established the ’Aha Pūnana Leo (Hawaiian language nest) nonprofit organization and then its preschools, whose name connotes “the dominant

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  417 learning method in which students are ‘fed’ solely in their native language and culture much like the way young birds are cared for in their own nests” (‘Aha Pūnana Leo, n.d., para. 3). Also of note was the 1978 establishment of Hawaiian as co‐official with English, by a popular statewide vote (Wilson, 2014). The Hawaiian renaissance precipitated a series of crucial developments in Hawaiian language education, beginning with the parent‐led Pūnana Leo preschools and evolving into Hawaiian‐medium tracks within English‐medium public schools and whole‐school Hawaiian immersion programs. Hawaiian revitalization efforts now extend into the university system as well, where students can obtain a Ph.D. in Hawaiian through the Hawaiian language (Wilson, 2014; Wong, 2011). The Hawaiians were also instrumental in crafting and ensuring passage of the 1990/1992 Native American Languages Act and the 2006 Esther Martinez Native American Languages Preservation Act discussed earlier in this chapter. One prominent example of Hawaiian language revitalization is the Nāwahīokalani‘ōpu‘u (Nāwahī) Laboratory School in Hilo, a full‐immersion, early childhood through high school program affiliated with the University of Hawai‘i‐ Hilo’s College of Hawaiian Language and the ‘Aha Pūnana Leo. Offering a college preparatory curriculum, the school teaches all subjects through the Hawaiian language and emphasizes Hawaiian values. Of special interest is Nāwahī’s position within an integrated system of Hawaiian‐medium structures designed to “develop, protect, nurture and enrich young adult and child fluency in Hawaiian along with the crucial disposition to use Hawaiian with Hawaiian speaking peers” (Wilson & Kawai’ae’a, 2007, p. 38). Like Rakaumanga School in New Zealand, Nāwahī’s goal is for students to achieve Hawaiian dominance alongside high levels of English fluency and literacy, and simultaneously to produce students who “psychologically identify Hawaiian as their dominant language and the one that they will speak with … their own children when they have them” (Wilson & Kawai‘ae‘a, 2007, p. 39). A critical component in achieving these goals is Ka Haka ‘Ula O Keʻelikōlani College, a fully Hawaiian self‐governing unit that provides curriculum support to pre‐kindergarten through grade 12 laboratory schools (including Nāwahī) in partnership with ‘Aha Pūnana Leo. The college’s 43‐credit bachelor’s degree includes an additional 28 hours of language study, and is conducted entirely in Hawaiian after the first year. In addition, the college’s Kahuawaiola Indigenous Teacher Education program prepares teachers based on traditional Hawaiian beliefs that “knowledge comes from direct experience” (Wilson & Kawai‘ae‘a, 2007, p. 45). Kahuawaiola students complete a residency at Nāwahī and student teaching with master teachers in Hawaiian‐medium schools. On the island of O’ahu, the University of Hawai’i‐Mānoa also offers a teacher preparation program for Hawaiian‐medium teachers in partnership with the Ke Kula Kaiapuni `o Ānuenue School, which serves children from birth through grade 12 (Warner, 2001, p. 140). Hawaiian revitalization has extended into other, non‐school domains, such as Hawaiian‐speaking softball teams and the production of Hawaiian language‐only plays “written by Hawaiians about Hawaiians” (Warner, 2001, pp. 141–142).

418  School Levels and Special Populations Like the Māori case, Hawaiian‐medium education has yielded impressive l­anguage and culture revitalization and academic results. As many as 15,000 Hawaiians report using or understanding Hawaiian, and Hawaiian‐medium schools demonstrate superior English‐language test performance and graduation and college‐attendance rates (Wilson, 2008). Wilson and Kamanā (2001) cite two other significant outcomes: the development of an interconnected group of young parents who are learning Hawaiian, and a more general climate of Indigenous‐­ language support. Scholars and practitioners have declared the Hawaiian and Māori efforts as among the major revitalization success stories of the world. In both cases, the number of Indigenous‐language speakers has grown in tandem with individual, family, community, and broader institutional support for the Indigenous language and culture (Hinton, 2001, 2011). Moreover, control of the programs and educational approach remains firmly in the hands of Indigenous peoples themselves.

Indigenous‐language education in Latin America: The cases of Bolivia, Guatemala, and Mexico2 In contrast to the cases just described, Latin America encompasses a multitude of nation‐states and dependencies, and a population of 568 million spread out across South, Central, and parts of North America (García, López, & Makar, 2010, pp. 353–354). Our treatment of this vast region is necessarily attenuated. We first provide an overview and then look more closely at three national contexts. With the exception of Uruguay and some Caribbean countries whose Native peoples were decimated by colonization, Indigenous peoples reside in every Latin American country in significant numbers (López & Sichra, 2008). In addition to the primary colonial languages—Spanish, Portuguese, French, and Dutch—hundreds of Indigenous languages are spoken across the region (King, 2008). Multiple scholars note that throughout Latin America racial discrimination and economic and educational injustice remain deep and pervasive problems. “To this day,” says López, “all Amerindian societies [in Latin America] live as subaltern communities … even in those countries where they constitute the majority of the population” (2006, p. 239). Like North America, schooling in the colonial language has been a primary means of forced linguistic and cultural assimilation (King, 2008). In Brazil, where 196 Indigenous languages are spoken by 300,000 Indigenous people, Portuguese is the official language, and it was not until 1988 that Indigenous peoples there were granted the right to use their languages in primary schooling. In Argentina, with 1.5 million Indigenous people, the official language is Spanish and it was not until 1994 that a constitutional amendment recognized Indigenous children’s right to bilingual‐intercultural education during the early primary years (Rockwell & Gomes, 2009). Throughout Latin America Indigenous language rights have come late and have confronted major gaps between official policies recognizing those rights and local conditions, including limited resources, poverty, and racism, which constrain and

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  419 undermine policy implementation. At the same time, there is general agreement that recent decades have witnessed important changes brought about by a growing Indigenous resurgence. The remainder of this section considers some of these developments. Bolivia presents an opportunity to explore Indigenous language education in a nation state in which 70 percent of the population is Indigenous, representing 33 ethnolinguistic groups, and where a significant proportion of Indigenous peoples are monolingual in an Indigenous language (King & Benson, 2004). Following a long history of military dictatorships, in 1984 a series of bilingual education reforms came into effect. A decade later a new constitution “recognized for the first time the multicultural and pluriethnic nature of Bolivian society” (Sachdev, Arnold, & Yapita, 2006, p. 112). In 2001, Aymara activism led to a presidential decree that conferred official status on all 33 Indigenous languages in Bolivia. Subsequent years have seen a number of significant education reforms, including a Linguistic Rights and Politics Law that declares all Bolivian languages the patrimony (matrimony) of the state (Godenzzi, 2008) and the multifaceted Program for Professional Development in Bilingual Intercultural Education for Andean Countries (PROEIB Andes; see Hornberger & Johnson, 2007). Together, these activities signal “a strengthened national identity based on respect among all Bolivians” (Hornberger, 2000, p. 182). Twenty‐three Indigenous languages are spoken in Guatemala, most in the Mayan family, and half the population is Indigenous. However, there was no provision for mother tongue schooling in Guatemala until the late 1960s, when an experimental preschool was established for children from the largest Mayan‐ speaking communities, Kaqchikel, Mam, Q’eqchi’ and K’iche’ (López, 2006; García, López, & Makar, 2010). It would be another two decades before the Guatemalan Ministry of Education established a National Program of Bilingual Education (PRONEBI) responsible for providing bilingual education for rural Indigenous children. By the late twentieth century, a Mayan school movement, Escuelas Mayas, had been established. This was followed by national education reforms proposing intercultural bilingual education for all students (García, López, & Makar, 2010; López, 2006). In 2005, 56 Mayan schools were operating under the direction of the Mayan National Educational Council. According to López (2006), although these initiatives continue to face many challenges, the reforms have increased Indigenous control over education and heightened national awareness of the urgent need to improve Indigenous schooling through the use of Indigenous languages and knowledges. The language situation in Mexico has been described as “a highly heterogeneous panorama with many contrasts and contradictions” (Baldauf & Kaplan, 2007, p. 26). With an Indigenous population of 10 to 12 million and an estimated 62 Indigenous languages, the contradictions between official language policy and practice reflect a history of coercive linguistic and cultural assimilation. Although there have been important exceptions such as efforts by Indigenous P’urhepecha‐ speaking teachers to implement an integrated bilingual‐bicultural‐biliteracy

420  School Levels and Special Populations program (Hamel, 2008), the overriding themes in Indigenous language education in Mexico have been assimilation, language shift, and lack of recognition for Indigenous rights. A contemporary Indigenous self‐determination movement is turning this situation around. Following the Zapatista takeover of certain municipalities in southern Chiapas, Mexico in 1994, extended negotiations between Indigenous peoples and the Mexican government propelled constitutional reforms recognizing Mexico’s multilingual and multicultural character. In 2003, the General Law for the Linguistic Rights of Indigenous Peoples was passed. Described as “the single most significant language policy in the recent history of Mexico” (Terborg, García, & Moore, 2007, p. 143), this law recognizes Indigenous language rights and promotes mother tongue schooling. To illustrate what this policy might look like in practice, Rebolledo (2008) describes a recently implemented bilingual education project at the Alberto Correa Evening Elementary School (EPVAC) in Mexico City. The school serves a majority (more than 80 percent) of Hñähñö‐Spanish speaking children. According to Rebolledo, in 2000 there were over 290,000 Hñähñö speakers, most of whom live in the high central Mexican plateau. (Hñähñö is sometimes called Otomí and is part of the Oto‐Manguean language family.) The children at EPVAC represent a  wider pattern of immigration of Indigenous peoples to large urban areas, ­primarily Mexico City. Like other Indigenous languages in Mexico, Hñähñö is endangered due to years of national monolingual education policies and colonizing practices. EPVAC “is popularizing the practice of Indigenous bilingualism in the school environment,” Rebolledo (2008, p. 109) reports: Although the Indian children … speak more Spanish, they do not stop speaking Hñähñö … in the open spaces of the school. Hñähñö as a language survives … within the confines of the home; it expands in a discreet and subordinate manner toward other zones of social experience, and … in school it is extensively heard.

Hñähñö children, Rebolledo adds, are appreciative of this valorization of their ­language, viewing their family members as the “superheroes” of Hñähñö language recovery (2008, p. 109). Serious challenges remain in implementing a fully bilingual‐bicultural‐biliteracy program at EPVAC, not the least of which is the fact that “there are no Hñähñö teachers in Mexico City” (Rebolledo, 2008, p. 113). In this setting, a 40 percent Hñähñö/60 percent Spanish cross‐cultural project has been proposed, “which takes as its starting point the diverse linguistic needs of the students [and] the necessity of transformation of the school system” (Rebolledo, 2008, p. 117). This project aims to enhance the oral and written use of both Hñähñö and Spanish through a reciprocal, intercultural approach. As numerous scholars of Indigenous bilingual and multilingual education in Latin America note, it is only through a genuinely intercultural approach that the persistent “compensatory understanding” (López & Sichra, 2008, p. 306) of bilingual education in the region can be interrupted and transformed.

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  421

Indigenous language education in the Nordic countries: The case of Sámi The Sámi (also spelled Saami) are the Indigenous people of present‐day Norway, Sweden, Finland, and western Russia—an Indigenous nation of 10 languages and several cultures spread across four European states. Sámi is a Finno‐Ugric language with three major branches and 11 subgroups. According to Olthuis, Kivelä, and Skutnabb‐Kangas (2013), the number of Sámi speakers is about 22,000, with an estimated 20,560 of those representing the Western Sámi languages in what is  now Norway, Sweden, and Finland, and 1,329 representing the Eastern Sámi languages in Finland and western Russia. Of a total population of 100,000, approximately 40,000 Sámi live in Norway (Magga & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2003). As discussed for Native Americans, Māori, and Indigenous peoples in Latin America, colonial schooling has been a primary cause of Sámi language loss. In Norway, school‐based Norwegianization meant that the “Sámi language remained outside the school walls from the early 1900s to the late 1950s” (Hirvonen, 2008, p. 17). This began to change in the decades between 1967 and 1987 when a series of school reforms enabled and subsequently required the teaching of Sámi in primary schools serving high‐density Sámi residential areas in Norway (the Sámi core). In 1997, the Norwegian government introduced a separate Sámi curriculum, which was accorded equal status with the national curriculum; later the Sámi Parliament assumed partial control over Sámi schooling (Todal, 2003). This reform not only guarantees Sámi language and culture instruction for Sámi children in Sámi areas –“Sámi children throughout Norway now have the right, for the first time, to study Sámi,” Hirvonen writes (2008, p. 22)—but also provides for teaching through the Sámi language outside the Sámi core area. The goal, Hirvonen (2008) states, is for every student in Norway to learn about Sámi culture and for as many as possible to become bilingual. In the core Sámi areas within Norway this goal is being achieved with a great deal of success. Outside the core area the results of the reform have been mixed, as Sámi children are often instructed through Norwegian, with pull‐out classes in Sámi language and culture. As Hirvonen (2008, p. 38) points out, “the position of Sámi is delicate…, and if we want to achieve the objectives of the curriculum the language must be the object of special support.” Because Sámi is endangered, Hirvonen argues, it requires “positive discrimination” to ensure that the Indigenous language and culture are integral rather than ancillary to the overall school program. In Finland, where there are many fewer Sámi speakers (about 3,000 according to Olthuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas [2013]), a unique approach is being implemented to revitalize Aanaar Saami, which is spoken only in Finland. At the turn of the twentieth century the number of Aanaar Saami speakers was estimated to be 736 (Olthuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013). Intermarriage with non‐Aanaar Saami speakers, introduced diseases, and the evacuation of nearly all Saami to western Finland during the Lapland War of 1944‐45 led to further language

422  School Levels and Special Populations decline. Presently there are about 350 Aanaar Saami speakers, almost half of whom are elders (Olthuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013). Since 1997, total‐immersion language nest preschools have been a primary means of Aanaar Saami language revitalization. While the preschools have been highly successful, this focus has left a “missing” generation—working adults between the ages of 20 to 49—who straddle the child generation learning Aanaar Saami as a second language and the generation of native‐speaking elders. The Aanaar Saami complementary education (CASLE) project is designed to support this generation in recovering their heritage mother tongue. As described by Aanaar Saami scholar and activist Marja‐Liisa Olthuis: “[H]ow could the community find a working method that would enlarge the youth and working generations in the language community at the same time?” (Olthuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013, p. 8). Olthuis began by brainstorming with her university students and organizing Aanaar Saami Studies as a complementary education program at the University of Oulu. The CASLE program began in earnest in 2009 with students who were all Finnish speakers; “a few had heard (some) Aanaar Saami” (Othuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013, p. 55). The courses began bilingually, with the emphasis moving from Finnish‐Aanaar Saami to Aanaar Saami‐Finnish, to research classes conducted totally in Aanaar Saami (Olthuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013). These were supplemented by cultural field activities taught by local resource people (fisher‐people, reindeer herders, and cooking specialists) and by master‐ apprentice training in Aanaar Saami workplaces and elders’ homes. Using the widely recognized master‐apprentice approach developed by Hinton and the Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival (AICLS) (Hinton, Vera, Steele, & AICLS, 2002), this practical language training involved 23 master teachers “recruited to transfer their language and culture…. [who spent] time with their Apprentices, talking and doing ordinary everyday things” in the master’s home (p. 80). Since the introduction of the CASLE program the number of Aanaar Saami speakers has grown rapidly. Two additional language nests have opened in which three CASLE graduates work, and there has been increased teaching of the language in the elementary and secondary schools. Perhaps most important, ­ Olthuis and colleagues report, “Some CASLE students are parents of language nest ­children and speak [Aanaar Saami] at home to their children” (2013, p. 140). Thus, they assert, it “is possible to revitalize a seriously endangered language!” (Olthuis, Kivelä, & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013, p. 1).

Conclusion Colonial attempts to dominate Indigenous peoples and their lands have historically utilized repressive language education policies as a primary means of containment and control. While the policies vary by region they have uniformly forced

Bi/Multilingual Education and Indigenous Peoples  423 Indigenous children into schooling through the colonial language. The result has been the disruption of intergenerational language transmission mechanisms and cascading negative impacts on children’s well‐being and academic achievement, and on Indigenous peoples’ social, emotional, and cultural attachments to their heritage identities. Recent decades have witnessed an explosion of grass roots Indigenous ­language planning and policy efforts, including efforts aimed at maintaining languages still spoken as mother tongues and revitalizing those that have become endangered. As López (2008) notes, despite their colonial roots schools now ­represent not only “the place and instrument to conquer the bastions of the ­hegemonic society … but also … the context and tool to recreate knowledge and local wisdom, to revitalize or even recover a vulnerable language” (p. 60). These efforts have not gone unchallenged, nor has their implementation been unproblematic or complete. Indigenous bilingual‐multilingual education continues to fight societal‐level racism and profound economic inequities, and, on the micro level, the challenges of limited numbers of Indigenous teachers and teaching materials. Abundant research indicates that Indigenous language maintenance and revitalization are most effective when they are community‐driven and tailored to local conditions, resources, and needs. These community‐based efforts demonstrate the efficacy of “strong” bilingual‐multilingual education approaches that place Indigenous languages and knowledges at the center of the curriculum, whether children enter school speaking the Indigenous language as a first language or are learning it as an additional language—a heritage mother tongue. Adult programs such as the Aanaar Saami CASLE project and the Indigenous teacher preparation programs in the Pacific also show the benefits of incorporating multigenerational “feedback loops” to coordinate and strengthen language learning among children, elders, and working‐age adults. All of these initiatives exemplify Indigenous linguistic and educational sovereignty in action, illuminating the significant relationship between language education, self‐determination, and Indigenous education control. Indigenous languages connect Indigenous peoples to their knowledges, their stories, and their senses of self—attributes that distinguish them as peoples while also signifying their relationships to the earth and to each other. Thus, Indigenous language reclamation and maintenance are not about “saving” abstract linguistic systems but rather about the right to cultural continuance. Efforts toward that goal must remain firmly in Indigenous hands.

Notes 1  Parts of this section are adapted from McCarty and Nicholas (2012, pp. 149–150). 2  Parts of this section are adapted from McCarty (2012, pp. 549–554).

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25 Nonformal Bilingual Education Lesley Bartlett and Monisha Bajaj Introduction Globalization, or the increased flow of capital, goods, people, and ideologies across state borders, has profoundly influenced the rate of language change through at least two key processes. First, the world has witnessed the spread of world ­languages. Currently, 11 languages—Mandarin, Spanish, English, Hindi, Arabic, Portuguese, Bengali, Russian, Japanese, Punjabi, and German—are spoken by almost 50% of humanity. Second, with global flows of people, immigrant populations increasingly bring one or more languages with them to new locations, where they often must learn new languages. In such circumstances, many seek out opportunities to learn a new language through formal schooling. However, an incalculable number, and particularly out‐ of‐school youth and adults, seek less formal means of learning an additional ­language. This chapter reviews an important but understudied phenomenon: nonformal bilingual education efforts. These efforts may be planned, that is, organized through nonformal educational programs or projects, or they may be informal and unplanned (García, 2009, 2013). As García (2009, 2013) has pointed out, nonformal out‐of‐school contexts include sites such as nongovernmental organizations and  community‐based organizations; they also include technology‐enabled independent learning, families, religious groups, and playgroups. In some cases, community organizations utilize school auditoriums or facilities on weekends for bilingual education initiatives and these we have characterized as nonformal spaces since instructors and curricula are outside the purview of government mandate or control. Insufficient attention has been paid to informal language learning outside of school. It is important to remember that much bilingualism develops without formal schooling. Krashen (1985) has distinguished between informal language acquisition, which entails “picking up” a language through interactions with family The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Nonformal Bilingual Education  429 members, community members, colleagues, and through the media, and language learning, through formal teaching in classrooms or intentional learning spaces. He  emphasized that formal language learning needed to pay more attention to how people acquired language informally with more success, thus ushering in communicative approaches to language instruction. However, some use this distinction between acquisition and learning to suggest, erroneously, that acquisition is somehow unconscious (rather than unplanned). This chapter addresses that lacuna. As we describe below, informal bilingual acquisition may be unplanned or planned. In this chapter, we discuss the distinction between planned and unplanned nonformal bilingual teaching and learning. Within each section, we focus on the domains that prompt bilingual language acquisition and use, including family, neighborhoods, media, religious organizations, and political groups. We review literature on nonformal bilingual education from around the world, considering in particular language efforts for and by immigrant populations. We focus on the rich theoretical developments in relation to a dynamic understanding of language socialization, identity and multilingual language and literacy practices. In the conclusion, we discuss future directions relevant to developing this topic, including the need for increased attention to translanguaging, questions regarding literacy learning in multiple languages, and more research on bilingualism and peace.

Unplanned informal bilingualism Much bilingual acquisition occurs spontaneously, without planning from the state or programming by schools. For example, Batibo (2005) describes the language practices of a Tshivenda speaker in South Africa: [H]e may speak Tshivenda to his parents but use IsiZulu to address his workmates, and then receive orders from his employer in Afrikaans. But he may use English in a bank or when talking to educated strangers, and finally use Fanagalo in a pub with colleagues. To this Tshivenda speaker, each of these languages would provide not only a communicative function but also a social role. (cited in García, 2009, p. 47)

Indeed, informal bilingual acquisition characterizes the ways in which most ­people become bilingual. People acquire bilingualism informally through work, family, and community relations. Children may become bilingual through contact with caregivers, for example, when left in the care of Spanish‐ or Mandarin‐ speaking nannies in the United States, or from playing for long periods over many months with a friend who speaks another language. Unplanned bilingual acquisition involves not only acquiring the language and using it in relationally and situationally specific settings, but also using it “in functional interrelationship for communicative and social benefit” (Martí et al., 2005, emphasis in original). Bilingual speakers pragmatically access and assess their multiple linguistic and cultural resources as they participate in plural social

430  School Levels and Special Populations networks. As Pennycook (2000) argues, people do not use language based on their identities; instead, they perform their identities by using language. Such practices entail translanguaging, or dynamic engagement in multilingual reading, writing, listening, and speaking practices (García, 2009). For example, in bilingual homes, children may read mail or announcements in one language and orally translate to another language for family members. Bilingual children work as “language ­brokers” in public settings (Orellana, Reynolds, Dorner, & Meza, 2003; Orellana, Thorne, Chee, & Lam, 2001). When watching television with audio in one language that is subtitled in a second language, the watcher/listener is working across both languages; she or he may also be speaking to a person or explaining content in one of those or a third tongue. Language socialization is a dynamic process and one that includes children and adults in community bilingual education efforts (García, 2009; Ochs & Schieffelin, 1983; Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986). Learners “exhibit considerable agency, choosing among options offered, and sometimes resisting and constructing new ways of using language and new identities” (García 2009, p. 207). Thus, the participatory and multiform nature of language socialization must be highlighted since learners may choose what to speak, when to engage accents of different sorts, and which aspects of their linguistic identity they seek to project in a given situation. Moreover, the linguistic practices and identities of a particular individual may change over his or her lifetime, influenced by location, sociopolitical events, labor market opportunities, kinship relations, among other factors (García, 2009; Luykx, 2003).

Domains in unplanned nonformal bilingual acquisition The acquisition and learning of bilingualism in nonformal contexts varies across domains. Domains are areas of social life that may or may not be linked to specific social institutions; examples of domains include home, school, work, and religious institutions. Even as we consider how different domains afford different practices, we must remember that people move across domains and blend bilingual ­practices in their daily lives. For example, Gregory and Williams (2000) show how Gujarati Muslim children living in London bring with them to school capacities for memorization and reading experience working in larger groups and concentrating over an extended period of time, as a result of their engagement with Qur’anic texts. In this section, we consider five domains that feature centrally in unplanned nonformal bilingual acquisition: home, neighborhood, immigrant communities, media, and work. We acknowledge, however, that the boundaries between domains are often blurred or situational, resulting in a variety of experiences that transcend such a divisions. Home: Family members and caregivers  Homes are, obviously, an important locus of unplanned bilingual acquisition. Children may learn a “mother tongue” at home that is quite distinct from the l­anguage or languages required in the marketplace or at school. Families organize their resources to benefit the intellectual

Nonformal Bilingual Education  431 and linguistic development of children (Arzubiaga, Ceja, & Artiles, 2000; Arzubiaga, Rueda, & Monzó, 2002; Arzubiaga, Noguerón, & Sullivan 2009; Menard‐Warwick, 2007; Sanchez & Orellana, 2006). Parents may insist on bilingual acquisition in order to maintain family connections (Choudhury, 2013). Grandparents and grandchildren may provide a mutually supportive context for language learning (Gregory et al., 2004; Kenner et al., 2007). Children themselves play an important role as language brokers or cultural and language mediators (Dorner, Orellana, & Li‐Grining, 2007; Sanchez & Orellana, 2006). Furthermore, siblings play a significant role in the language socialization of their younger brothers and sisters (de la Piedra & Romo, 2003; Gregory, 2001). Research has shown that caregivers’ language use and conversational styles influence children’s bilingual development. Interrogatives, in particular, affect language development because they oblige the child to take his or her turn in conversation (Nakamura & Quay, 2012). Gender also influences language acquisition since girls may be called upon more frequently to care for elders, may be more pressured to stay at home in some immigrant communities, and may have their marriage prospects more strongly linked to evidence of language and cultural maintenance in immigrant communities or ethnic enclaves with strong transnational linkages (Rumbaut, 1994). Language acquisition at home may also relate to spatial and temporal conceptions of nationhood and belonging. Immigrants who see their stays in a host country as temporary may want their children to retain cultural, performing arts,  religious, or other traditions that require language maintenance (García, Zakharia, & Octu, 2013). With satellite television and technology that enables frequent and inexpensive video contact, even when return may not seem feasible, the maintenance of contact with family members in different countries may facilitate greater exposure to heritage languages and the desire for their acquisition and maintenance. Local and transnational communities are also bound together by events such as the international Urdu language poetry competition—where contestants submit videos of their recitation of original poems that are judged on technique, rhyme, wording, and flow. Past winners have been from New York, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Texas (Mehfil‐e‐Mushaira, 2013). In New York City, a local but t­horoughly pan‐Latin American immigrant Spanish‐language spelling bee is held each year with participants competing for recognition and prizes (Makar, 2013). The relationship between home and community influences how languages are prioritized, passed on, and acquired in distinct contexts. Neighborhoods and peer groups  Neighborhoods provide interesting and diverse language ecologies that spur the acquisition of bilingualism. For example, the bilingual practices of Latinos in the United States have been well documented. In Growing Up Bilingual, Zentella (1997) explores the language use of five Puerto Rican New York girls who were raised in bilingual homes in the same building in El Barrio, or Spanish Harlem. The young women were exposed to varieties of Spanish such as popular and standard Puerto Rican Spanish, as well as popular and standard forms of English. The girls also participated in social

432  School Levels and Special Populations networks where other varieties of Spanish and English were spoken, including African American Vernacular English and Dominican Spanish. Such linguistic diversity characterizes many areas of Africa. It is unfortunate that most language education policy ignores these linguistic capacities. Drawing on the experience of a school in the Western Cape Province of South Africa, and using a “speaker‐centered approach to school language policy,” Busch (2010, p. 283) demonstrates that students’ diverse multilingual repertoires “are, within the education system, reduced to an either–or monolingualism—in the case discussed above, either to English or to Afrikaans.” Busch describes this process, in which the language capacities and practices of students in their daily lives are ignored in school, as “monolingualization.” Borders are particularly interesting locations of bilingualing practices. A great deal of attention has been focused on the U.S.–Mexico border, leading scholars to examine closely what they are calling transfronterizo language and literacy practices (see the 2012 special issue of International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 15(6)). In many locations, certain languages are prohibited, shifting language practices. For example, in many government secondary schools in Zambia where English is the language of instruction, children are beaten or punished for using home languages (whether languages from the Congo spoken by refugees on the border, or one of Zambia’s 70 indigenous languages and dialects) (Bajaj, 2009). Waltermire (2012) demonstrates how the Uruguayan prohibition of Portuguese in schools along the Uruguayan–Brazilian border caused the language to become more restricted to the home, where it is used with relatives and close friends. However, there is ample evidence of the spread of transnational languaging and literacies. Transnational literacies describe “the written language practices of people who are involved in activities that span national boundaries” (Jimenez, Smith, & Teague, 2009, p. 17), including letters, emails, texts, remittances (economic and social), etc. These correspondences and encounters facilitate people’s maintenance of language, culture, and social bonds with family members in their home countries (Smith & Murillo, 2012; de la Piedra & Guerra, 2012). These practices can foster fluency in learners’ mother tongue and reshape identities and notions of belonging along local and global dimensions (Guerra, 1998; Farr, 1994). Immigrant communities.  Immigrant communities form a particularly important language resource in many parts of the world. For example, Kalmar (2000, p. 59) documents the delightfully imaginative approach developed by a group of undocumented immigrants living in a rural part of southern Illinois, who helped each other write down English “como de veras se oye” (as it really sounds). They developed a unique, hybrid writing system “by letting letters of an alphabet take on values on a sliding scale between speech sounds in a known language and those in the unknown l­anguage.” In brief, the workers used their knowledge of the Spanish alphabet to record speech sounds of English. In communicating with shopkeepers, religious figures, or others in immigrant communities, learners often have to practice languages that they may hear at

Nonformal Bilingual Education  433 home, but do not learn formally at school. Such interactions in communities— often related to festivals, performances, political organizing, or other events—are not intended necessarily to promote language learning but do so as a byproduct of social interactions. For example, a New York Times article highlighted Punjabi broadcasters in Toronto who narrate Canadian hockey games in the Punjabi ­language given the immigrant community’s interest in the sport (Sax, 2013). Media  This process of community bilingual acquisition has been assisted and supported by different forms of media and technology. As García (2009) describes, voice over Internet Protocol (VOIP), which converts voice signals into digital signals that can travel over the internet, has allowed people to maintain voice contact for no or low fees, thus expanding cross‐national and multi‐lingual conversations. Mobile phones, with their capacity for Short Text Messages (SMS or Short Message Service), also facilitate such communication; they have also been explored as media through which to distribute texts and oral readings in various languages. In their study of everyday mobile phone use by Indigenous people in a remote Australian community, Auld, Snyder, and Henderson (2012) demonstrate the possibilities of using mobile phones to promote multilingualism and literacies. Subtitles on television shows spread opportunities for learning multiple languages and literacies: Pederson (2011) describes how Swedish subtitles for English‐ medium television shows promote bilingualism. The greater availability of DVDs has afforded viewers the options of hearing movies dubbed into different languages or reading subtitles. For example, scholars have reported women in Tehran learning English through series such as Lost and Friends (Amina Tawasil, personal communication, 2013). Achen and Openjuru (2012) described the watching and reviewing of English‐language Hollywood movies in makeshift video hall shacks in Kampala, with simultaneous oral interpretation of the films into Luganda. They discussed how “new forms of cultural representation are created, consumed and shared through digital and other media,” as well as “the effects digital technology has on the local movie entertainment industry” (Achen & Openjuru, 2012, p. 363). The global spread of Bollywood movies has facilitated diasporic South Asian communities’ use of language, movie dialogues, and fashion to shape their identities in diverse locales such as the Middle East, sub‐Saharan Africa, Canada, the United States, and Europe (Shankar, 2004). Finally, recent work has documented the intergenerational language learning that may occur around computers, such as when grandparents in Sylheti/Bengali‐speaking families in East London combined their knowledge of literacy with the grandchildren’s computer skills and cultural knowledge (Kenner et al., 2008). Work  Workplaces are important but often‐overlooked contexts of nonformal bilingual acquisition. Velasquez (2013) explores the obstacles faced by undocumented Latino immigrants primarily from Mexico, Ecuador, and Guatemala who  work in restaurants and supermarkets in Koreatown in New York City. Underground employment agencies often find work for undocumented Latino immigrants in ethnic supermarkets in Koreatown. The informal contact facilitates

434  School Levels and Special Populations language sharing between workers who speak Korean, English, Spanish, and sometimes indigenous languages of Latin America like Kaqchiquel. In workplaces where Latino and Korean employees work together, speakers combine and mix languages, resulting in what Velasquez (2013) calls “work pidgins.” Notably, much of the knowledge undocumented Latinos need and consider important comes from other immigrants in out‐of‐school contexts like the workplace. Other work has documented multilingual workplace languaging: for example, Kleifgen (2001) discusses social positioning between two Vietnamese workers in a circuit‐board manufacturing plant, as they engage the system of person reference and English solidarity expressions to “troubleshoot” a malfunctioning machine and contest each other’s solutions, and problem‐solve. The review of examples of unplanned bilingual acquisition from across the globe demonstrates four principles that have been identified by Ofelia García (2009). First, unplanned bilingual education is common in the industrialized and developing world. Second, it is contingent on participation in diverse social networks and formations and, thus is often far more complex than planned efforts. Third, hybrid language practices emerge in unplanned bilingual education such as translanguaging, and demonstrate a “heteroglossic language ideology” (García, 2009, 211). Fourth, as García (2009, p. 211) highlights, unplanned bilingual education is based on “functional interrelationships that maintain an adjusting language ecology.”

Planned nonformal bilingualism Planned informal bilingual efforts often result from communities who sense a need to maintain a language that is perceived to be under threat, and from the realization that, even if taught at school, minoritized languages need to be reinforced beyond formal schooling (Fishman, 1991). Like unplanned bilingual acquisition, much planned bilingual learning occurs through families and the media. In addition, it is important to consider the efforts of community groups, refugee camp and refugee/migrant learning centers, religious organizations, cultural/ recreational groups, and political/national groups. Such efforts represent an intentional effort to recruit or engage speakers of a particular language and are unique to the planned nonformal efforts.

Domains in planned nonformal bilingual acquisition Home: Family members and caregivers  Many families take a more intentional and deliberate approach to what Ofelia García has called “family bilingual planning,” given the growing consciousness of the potential of language learning as well as the need or desire among many to maintain transnational and multigenerational ties. For example, in Wales, parents who visit family planning clinics are now also given information about language planning for their children (Edwards & Newcombe,

Nonformal Bilingual Education  435 2006). Similarly in Scotland, official support through materials such as The Family Language Action Plan, is offered to families to promote their use of the Gaelic language with their children (García, 2009). Those families with sufficient means also make planned decisions related to short‐term migration based on linguistic goals. For example, an increasing number of Korean families move to English‐speaking countries for short periods in order expose their children to English, a global language with currency for children. In a case study of ten Korean families who move to England, Moon (2011) finds that families are in part motivated by a desire for children to acquire English early as well as dissatisfaction with the Korean education system. Onishi (2008) has documented families that split up, with fathers remaining in Korea and mothers and children pursuing education abroad in Western countries, partially motivated by a desire for language acquisition. Many Asian countries are in the grips of what Park (2009) and others have termed “English fever” with a desire for fluency, accent reduction, and overall competitive advantage for children who will compete in a global marketplace. Media  Planned bilingualism in nonformal contexts is greatly facilitated by new technologies and products. Many products offer interactive lessons and audio downloads or discs that can be listened to while doing daily tasks. Downloads, apps, podcasts, websites, and other free and fee‐based technologies offer new opportunities for individuals and families to utilize the media to plan language acquisition. Learners also have greater opportunities to seek out forms of media that support their learning and maintenance of a language (Lam & Rosario‐Ramos, 2009). Access to satellite radio, internet stations, or newspapers from different countries in different languages has reached unprecedented levels. While individuals seeking to learn global languages have increasing access, many languages that have not been extensively written down or for which materials are scarce, provide learners with greater difficulties. Despite the fact that the 1996 South African Constitution offers a significant commitment to multilingualism, the paucity of teaching and learning materials in South African languages has limited the reach of bilingual education. Edwards and Ngwaru (2011) have explored challenges to the production of children’s literature in local languages, including the economics of producing books, obstacles related to translation, and the challenges of working with diverse languages that have undergone varying degrees of standardization. Scholars have documented the challenges faced by projects such as the Ithuba Writing Project in South Africa that attempt to develop culturally relevant, linguistically appropriate, leveled teaching and learning materials in under‐represented languages (Sailors, Hoffman, & Condon, 2009). Community groups  Across the globe, community‐based programs, such as camps, weekly language centers, clubs, and performing groups, have sought to infuse planned nonformal bilingual education. For indigenous peoples, language revitalization initiatives often seek to link to community practices, especially in many

436  School Levels and Special Populations contexts where languages are endangered. Sometimes, these efforts are exclusively focused on people with heritage from these linguistic groups; other times, dominant language communities are also included in language revitalization. García (2009, p. 199) has noted in her work on nonformal bilingual education the following: This is also the source of the success of the so called “language nest” movements in places like Aotearoa/New Zealand and Hawaii. For example, Te Kōhanga Reo programs in New Zealand involve pre‐school children under the age of five in centers where the whanau, or extended family, impart Māori spiritual values, language and culture. The concept of whanau also includes clusters of values: virtues of aroha (caring, sharing, and empathy), whanaungatanga (family responsibilities), rangimarie (peacefulness), and manaaki (kindness)… . It is the use of language informally, in authentic and meaningful culturally relevant ways that has succeeded in revitalizing the Māori language.

Whether through summer camps, playgroups, musical instruction, or clubs, bilingual community education is dynamic and active across the globe (García, Zakharia, & Octu,, 2013). Scholars have researched four complementary schools for Bengali, Chinese, Gujarati, and Turkish speakers in Birmingham, Manchester, Leicester, and London, investigating interactions between language practices and multilingual, multicultural identities (Creese, Bhatt, Bhojani, & Martin, 2006; Creese et al., 2008). Such efforts are not simple, however. For example, an ethnographic study conducted by Doerr and Lee (2009) at a weekend Japanese‐language school in the United States showed that administrators, students, and parents may hold very different notions of “legitimate” and “effective” heritage‐language programs. The authors “suggest approaching heritage‐language education not merely as an effort to enhance awareness of one’s heritage or an instruction in language but also as a schooling process in which legitimacy of the knowledge and ways to achieve it are contested in the process of students and parents navigating what school offers, the students’ linguistic proficiencies, their future educational prospects, and their diasporic subjectivities” (Doerr & Lee, 2009, p. 425). Such efforts link identity with language, particularly in the context of migration and pressures to assimilate into dominant and mainstream society. Refugee/migrant learning centers and refugee camps  In many areas of the world where immigrants gather in sufficient concentration, they form educational efforts. For example, on the border between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar, between 85 and 200 migrant learning centers (MLCs) have emerged to serve the needs of Burmese undocumented migrants. As documented by Kim Johnson (2013), MLCs serve students from various ethnic backgrounds, most of whom speak a mother tongue and Burmese as a second or third language; a few of these centers use Karen or another mother tongue as medium of instruction. Teachers within the centers are usually themselves undocumented migrants. Migrant learning centers are plagued by a lack of physical security and resources and high teacher and student turnover (Proctor, Sanee, & Taffesse, 2009).

Nonformal Bilingual Education  437 Often, such language efforts participate in broader political projects. Kelda Jamison (2013) researches Kurdish instruction in Diyarbakir, the “capital” of Kurdish Turkey. Since the lifting of a state ban on Kurdish language use in 1991, Kurdish activists have worked to create dictionaries, grammar books, and a legitimate, respected orthography, as well as gender‐segregated adult literacy classes for forcibly displaced Kurdish villagers. Jamison (2013, p. 1) highlights the political economy of language, including “the politics around which language is used for instruction, in what contexts, to what purposes, and with what histories of association.” In addition, such language politics are intimately connected to identity politics. Inmaculada García Sánchez (2010, 2011) investigates how North African immigrant children and youth in Spain develop a hybrid, yet coherent, sense of identity. She also examines language socialization among Muslim and non‐Muslim peers as well as the sociocultural and linguistic lifeworlds of Moroccan immigrant children as they navigate family, educational institutions, and medical clinics where they act as translators. Overall, her work considers how immigrant children negotiate the immediate and broader, national politics of inclusion/exclusion in the context of increased levels of surveillance directed toward Muslim and North African immigrants. Within refugee camps and other locations where large numbers of refugees are located, educational efforts may focus on learning the home language to prepare for repatriation, learning a world language in anticipation of repatriation or resettlement, or both. Thus, Ginger Johnson (2013) discusses how Sudanese women in Cairo seek English instruction for themselves and their children, in order to prepare their families for resettlement to an English‐speaking country or to secure a livelihood for themselves if they return to economic centers in South Sudan. Similarly, in the context of significantly limited access to basic education in Kampala, Uganda, refugees of different nationalities have started self‐help schools. Congolese refugee teachers set up the Kampala Urban Refugee Children’s Education Centre (KURCEC), a refugee‐initiated community‐based organization, where instruction in French afforded the possibility that students can eventually repatriate to the DRC (Dryden‐Peterson, 2006). Alternately, such language education efforts may focus on preparing students to integrate in the host country. For example, Lucy Karanja (2010) described a self‐help Sudanese school in Nairobi, where although the media of instruction were English and Swahili, teachers and peers could explain concepts in Dinka, Nuer, and Arabic, as needed by students. Religious organizations  Many religious organizations plan and implement nonformal language instruction, especially where language is an integral part of understanding religious texts. For example, in their book on community bilingual education in New York City, García and colleagues (2013) highlight many examples of language instruction through organizations as diverse as the Greek Orthodox Church, Sikh temples or gurdwaras offering instruction in Punjabi, mosques teaching Arabic, synagogues offering instruction in Hebrew, among others. Even when language is not central to the understanding of religious texts,

438  School Levels and Special Populations churches often provide a community center in which immigrant populations gather and can engage in language learning. For example, Lucila Ek (2005) describes the language socialization of immigrant Central American and Mexican youth in a Spanish‐language Pentecostal church in southern California, an important domain of language socialization for immigrant communities. Similarly, in her ethnographic work with families from the African Great Lakes Region living in northeast Boston, Lamphere Beryl (2013) documents how families use Biblical stories to socialize children and the importance of language and literacy socialization that occurs in the Pentecostal churches the families attend. In different global contexts, language learning can be a subversive act that threatens a government in power, and religious spaces may be one of few locales where those seeking to maintain a language can turn to. In Burma/Myanmar, for instance, the teaching of the Karen language or any other ethnic language has for decades been officially banned in public schools. To maintain their language, Karen communities have tried to teach Karen through religious activities, such as in Christian Sunday schools or Buddhist monasteries. Other studies have examined how language maintenance occurs in settings where a language may not be banned, but shunned in the larger public domain perhaps leading to greater linguistic assimilation. In their study of Turkish and Moroccan communities in the Netherlands, Extra and Yagmur (2010) show dissonance between cultural identity and language use, with those Moroccan youth stating greater pride in their cultural background also being those less likely to speak their native language. For the Turkish youth in their study, however, pride in identity and Turkish language were more strongly linked according to the researchers suggesting differential ways that language and identity align among minoritized groups. Literacy practices can also be generated in religious contexts and transferred more broadly for learners. De la Piedra (2010) finds that schools did little to promote the maintenance of Quechua language in Peru, whereas, for some participants in her study, authoring Quechua religious songs through participation in a Protestant church proved to be a more formative literacy maintenance practice. Thus, religious settings offer a space to engender bilingual practices that can translate into greater linguistic proficiency in distinct contexts. Cultural/recreational groups  Cultural traditions, sometimes linked to religious practices but often distinct, also provide ways for learners to engage in bilingualism in planned nonformal contexts. A volume documenting community bilingual education in New York City discussed several communities that had active and vibrant performing arts traditions that included language learning. A Bengali language school on the weekends in Queens emphasizes dance, drumming, and performance arts from Bangladesh; a Persian/Farsi children’s theater offers youth a chance to engage with their cultural and linguistic heritage; and a weekend Russian program exposes young people to Russian literature, chess, and theater (García, Zakharia, & Octu, 2013). Other ways that language learning in this domain occurs is through sports or other recreational activities that have a planned

Nonformal Bilingual Education  439 component, such as the Socrates LINGUA projects and other European programs that promote language learning through sports (Education, Audiovisual & Culture Executive Agency, 2008). Political/national groups  Within community‐based planned bilingual education efforts, a sense of nationhood is often palpable. For example, in the Bengali weekend program mentioned above, children recite both the U.S. and Bangladeshi national anthems at the start of their programs, whereas in a Turkish language program in New York City run through the Consulate, just the Turkish pledge of allegiance is recited (García, Zakharia, & Octu, 2013). Many French‐language programs and Spanish‐language programs in the United States have support or contact with government officials from those countries. Language diplomacy is an active and increasing component of international aid. The British Council is working with teacher education institutions in India to improve the teaching of English and the Confucius Institute is active in more than 90 countries and regions offering Chinese language instruction, primarily in schools. While not a nonformal effort, the Confucius Institute places Chinese language teachers in schools throughout the world, demonstrating a significant commitment to language diplomacy. Other diplomacy efforts related to language take place outside of schools and through community‐based organizations. The Brazilian government sustains Brazilian cultural centers in many countries throughout the world, where people may study Portuguese. The Qatar Foundation International (QFI) has supported an Arabic Language and Culture Program in São Paulo and Curitiba, Brazil for high school level students in and outside of schools. The outside‐of‐school component of the program offers cultural classes, exhibitions, story telling, dance and music. The participants in these programs do not have Arab heritage and the purpose of QFI’s efforts is to give an opportunity to “lower‐income students to learn Arabic and the Arab culture,” according to one description of the program (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozyohquABzI). Cuba has long been active in “development diplomacy” by sending teachers and doctors to foreign countries as well as accepting low‐income students to study medicine in Havana for free. While language is a small component of Cuba’s efforts, students from Africa, South Asia, Latin America, and some poor students from the United States, must take an intensive 12‐week course in Spanish before starting their medical studies. The medical school training lasts six years and full scholarships include meals, housing, books, and a small stipend. Students must return to work in their home countries in underserved communities upon completion. While many language programs are sponsored by governments, others are political projects that seek to resist government conceptions of citizenship in conflict‐affected areas. Nonformal bilingual education efforts can offer a radical reconceptualization of what it means to be a citizen and can help to develop solidarity with marginalized groups. For example, a nongovernmental organization in the Dominican Republic (Centro Bono) offers Haitian Creole classes that are attended by people of Haitian descent, social workers engaging with immigrant

440  School Levels and Special Populations communities, and activists seeking to learn the language in solidarity with Haitian immigrants and people of Haitian descent who have historically been mistreated in the Dominican Republic. In Israel, while there are a handful of integrated, bilingual schools that have been discussed in scholarly literature (see, for example, Bekerman, 2005), there also exist nonformal efforts to bring Hebrew‐ and Arabic‐ speaking communities together with language learning as one component. Obviously, Haitian immigrants and Arab Israelis have a material interest in learning the language of those in power since few jobs would be available without such skills, but for dominant groups, the symbolic gesture of acquisition of the language of a marginalized group offers unique dimensions to the study of peace, the role of solidarity and language learning.

Conclusions and future directions for research This review of existing literature documents the extent of nonformal, bilingual education that exists around the world and the various domains through which it operates. Most people develop some of their language resources through unplanned, nonformal means, even if they supplement such learning through formal schooling. However, unplanned nonformal bilingual acquisition has not received sufficient attention. Planned nonformal bilingual education has received only slightly more attention. In accordance with García (2009, 2013), we concur that “supplementary education” for bilingualism should give primacy to the speakers of a language rather than treating language as an object to be consumed or purchased; that language can complement but should not threaten other languages or identities; and that processes should be developmental as opposed to linear and be contextual. Supplementary planned language education, as García (2009) terms it, should not rely on traditional notions of language acquisition that separate two languages; rather translanguaging that is prevalent in practice should be engaged in these efforts. There are important directions for further developing our knowledge of this topic. In this conclusion, we wish to briefly indicate two promising avenues: the need for increased attention to translanguaging, and the need for more research on bilingualism and peace.

Translanguaging Ethnographic research on bilingual language practices makes clear how bilingual people draw simultaneously from and across their language resources, in some instances through micro‐alternation between languages. Increasingly, scholars are questioning why language pedagogies do not recognize and build upon such practices (Cummins 2005; Lin & Martin 2005; García 2009). Arthur and Martin (2006) discuss the pedagogical benefits of mixing languages, which include expanding inclusion, participation, comprehension, and ultimately learning

Nonformal Bilingual Education  441 among student participants. To develop pedagogical strategies that build on bilingual languaging resources, Cummins (2005, p. 588) suggested: (a) systematic attention to cognate relationships across languages; (b) creation of student‐authored dual language books by means of translation from the initial language of writing to the L2 [as well as] other multimedia and multilingual projects … (e.g.,  creation of iMovies, PowerPoint presentations, etc.); (c) sister class projects where students from different language backgrounds collaborate using two or more languages.

Creese and Blackledge (2010, p. 112–113) suggest the following strategies for “flexible bilingualism”: 1. Use of bilingual label quests, repetition, and translation across languages; 2. Ability to engage audiences through translanguaging and heteroglossia; 3. Use of student translanguaging to establish identity positions both oppositional and encompassing of institutional values; 4. Recognition that languages do not fit into clear bounded entities and that all languages are “needed” for meanings to be conveyed and negotiated; 5. Endorsement of simultaneous literacies and languages to keep the pedagogic task moving; 6. Recognition that teachers and students skillfully use their languages for different functional goals such as narration and explanation; 7. Use of translanguaging for annotating texts, providing greater access to the curriculum, and lesson accomplishment. Such efforts also open important questions about the cognitive, linguistic, and political limits of transfer of such pedagogies that merit further research (Arthur & Martin, 2006; Creese & Blackledge, 2010; see also Chapter  13 Translanguaging, Bilingualism, and Bilingual Education).

Bilingual education and peace A second area in need of research concerns the relationship between bilingual education and peace. The impact of bilingual education on attitudes toward peace and conflict in general has not been fully examined; and bilingual and integrated education experiences in conflict areas have been even less addressed. In addition, there is a lack of knowledge on the motivation, challenges, and views of parents who enroll their children in these types of schools. Further, there are few studies on how bilingual education affects relations between dominant and less dominant, minority (or minoritized) and majority groups, in conflict areas, and there is an even greater dearth of research on bilingual education as a tool for promoting peace and understanding between two conflicted groups (Bekerman & Shhadi, 2003). The limited studies on the topic assert that bilingualism can bring about

442  School Levels and Special Populations greater understanding among groups and an increased knowledge of each other. In fact, García and Fishman (1997, p. 406) claim that “bilingualism creates a greater understanding that is beyond multicultural education and the anti‐racist education movement.” Such a conclusion is based on the assumption that a deeper understanding of the language of the “other group” increases the person’s ability to empathize with, comprehend, and even explain actions and attitudes expressed by the other. Bilingual education can also serve as an effective empowerment tool for less dominant groups when their needs and desires are taken into consideration. Minority members are often deprived of equal or fair access to resources. Thus, whenever the contact with the majority is carefully constructed to produce a positive change in participants’ attitudes and behaviors, the minority members report a sense of empowerment resulting from the contact (see, e.g., Abu‐Nimer, 2001). Different models of bilingual education strive to achieve this goal, while others do not challenge the asymmetric power relations that exist between the conflicted groups in schools and in the larger society. The best results are attained when the minority language is given greater weight to balance the dominance of the majority language. Models that offer minority languages only in lessons once or twice a week in the curriculum sustain the unequal status quo between the two languages and peoples (García & Fishman, 1997). In conclusion, greater research on planned and unplanned community and nonformal bilingual education is needed with attention to translanguaging pedagogies and the possibilities of engaging in bilingual education to promote peace. Attending to the agency of speakers and learners and the processes and contexts in which they engage bilingualism will yield greater information to highlight the dynamism of language learning in the global era.

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Section 3 Global Dimensions of Bilingual and Multilingual Education

26 A Dual Language Revolution in the United States? On the Bumpy Road from Compensatory to Enrichment Education for Bilingual Children in Texas Deborah K. Palmer, Christian E. Zuñiga, and Kathryn Henderson A brief history of bilingual education in the United States No matter how far back in human history one chooses to go, one will encounter a great deal of linguistic and cultural diversity in the territory now known as the United States. Indigenous communities inhabited the land for many centuries and spoke over 300 languages, some of which survive today (DeJong, 2011). The arrival of Europeans in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries brought disease, conquest, destruction, and more languages, including Spanish, German, Dutch, and English, with a range of regional varieties (Crawford, 2004; Kloss, 1998). As European ­conquerors settled in North America throughout the colonial and early American period, they brought in people by force from West Africa as slaves, who carried with them many more languages. Throughout the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, more waves of immigrants came from several directions— Europe, Asia, Latin America—bringing with them more languages and language varieties. These varied tongues evolved, mixed, and combined to form unique ways of talking that were entirely our own. Although linguistic and cultural diversity have always been a reality in the United States, the nation has long been ambivalent in terms of general attitudes toward this diversity. In certain places or instances, more acceptance of diversity The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

450  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education and willingness to incorporate difference into the national identity prevailed, thus embracing more “additive” (Lambert, 1975) or “pluralist” discourses. In other instances, less tolerance of diversity and more insistence upon embracing a common language as part of national identity reigned, thus asserting more “­subtractive” or “assimilationist” discourses (DeJong, 2011).

What of schooling then? Around the early nineteenth century, when communities began in larger numbers to bring their children together in schools (Tyack & Cuban, 1995), instruction was often in their own languages, sometimes in combination with English, for example German and Dutch in Pennsylvania, French in Louisiana (Kloss, 1998), and Spanish and German in Texas (Blanton, 2005). By the end of the nineteenth century, however, when free and compulsory schooling was becoming commonplace, English dominated public schools and education in other languages became more controversial (Blanton, 2005; Kloss, 1998; Ricento, 2005). In part triggered by the industrial revolution and the “great wave” of immigration that began in the 1880s, widespread schooling had the primary purpose of “Americanizing” or assimilating new immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe (Schmid, 2000; Tyack & Cuban, 1995). Two world wars and an era of political and economic isolationism in the first half of the twentieth century contributed to this shift in the national discourse toward more extreme assimilationism. Indigenous and immigrant languages were d ­ iscouraged, de‐ emphasized, and relegated to the home. Blanton (2005) documents this period in Texas history, when English‐only education became a rigid statewide policy in schools despite obvious evidence it was failing massive numbers of Mexican American children. Speaking and using exclusively English had become inextricably associated with an American identity (Ricento, 2005).

Bilingual education in the modern era: The resurgence of bilingual education as a compensatory program Federal education policy in the 1960s experienced a return to bilingual education, but the story illustrates the continued tension between assimilationist and p ­ luralist discourses. The 1968 Bilingual Education Act (BEA)—Title VII of the federal Elementary and Secondary Education Act—allowed districts and schools to apply for grants to try “experimental programs” in languages other than English in schools, thus opening up a pluralist space. Yet, the language of the BEA made these programs compensatory, justifying their expense by the special “needs” of bilingual students (Blanton, 2005; Crawford, 2004). Later the Supreme Court ruled in Lau v. Nichols in 1974 that educators had a responsibility to provide “affirmative remedial efforts to give special attention to linguistically deprived children”

A Dual Language Revolution in the United States  451 (Lau  v. Nichols, 1974, p. 5). School districts suddenly found themselves needing to bridge home and school languages in order to comply with required accommodations for “Limited English Proficient” (LEP) students. While official U.S. policy documents utilize the LEP label, in agreement with García & Kliefgen (2010) we use “bilingual” or “emergent bilingual” in this chapter as we believe these terms reflect these students more accurately and positively. Transitional bilingual education programs were conceived as one possible solution to compensate for emergent bilingual children’s lack of English fluency in the early years of ­schooling. Such compensatory or remedial programs brought some mother tongue ­education back into schools, but at the cost of viewing children’s own linguistic and cultural resources as a handicap (Ricento, 2005).

Politics of English‐only and a range of program choices More recently, as politics in the United States have grown increasingly polarized, so  have the discussions around bilingual education. A growing English‐only movement has gained ground in education, shifting federal policy back to assimilationist orientations. The BEA ended in 2002. Voter initiatives funded by Silicon Valley businessman Ron Unz resulted in laws restricting language of instruction in elementary schools to English in California (1998), Arizona (2000), and Massachusetts (2002). Simultaneously, however, the numbers of enrichment‐oriented “dual ­language” bilingual programs, which embrace pluralist discourses, continued to increase (Center for Applied Linguistics, 2008; Wilson, 2011). Depending upon state and local policies, therefore, schools have a range of program choices for serving emergent bilingual children. Programs labeling themselves as English as a second language (ESL) or structured English immersion (SEI) focus on teaching children English and spend little or no energy supporting the development of children’s mother tongue. Bilingual programs meanwhile presumably make use of children’s first language in school. Some programs are  more transitional in nature, using children’s first language for only a short time and expecting them to shift within a few years to all‐English instruction. Others are more developmental, emphasizing children’s development of high levels of biliteracy. These latter enrichment program models have also recently taken on the label dual language (DL) and often opened their doors to English‐ dominant students to learn the minority language. While one might attempt to assign blanket labels of assimilationist to ESL/SEI programs and pluralist to dual language programs, a great deal depends upon the beliefs and practices of the individual teachers and school leaders who design and carry out school programs (Menken & García, 2010). There are ESL teachers, for example, who, despite their own lack of knowledge of the languages spoken by  their students, make tremendous effort to reach out to linguistically diverse ­families and to offer children access to materials in their mother tongues. Similarly, there are teachers in programs that bear the label dual language whose main goal appears to be to encourage children to leave their native languages behind and learn to function entirely in English in school. Program labels, in other words,

452  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education often tell us little about what discourses abound in schools and classrooms (Menken & García, 2010; Palmer, 2011). These discourses are constantly shifting, and the only way to understand them is to venture inside classrooms to speak with educators. The remainder of this chapter will focus on the case of the u ­ nprecedented growth and challenges of implementing programs calling themselves dual ­language in Texas, one of the largest states and second only to California in n ­ umbers of emergent bilingual children.

Shifting languages, shifting discourses: The “dual language revolution” in Texas To illustrate the ways in which local educators’ language ideologies can impact the experiences of emergent bilingual students in U.S. classrooms, we take a close look at the case of Hillside Elementary School (a pseudonym). Nestled near the center of a large urban school district in Central Texas, Hillside recently became a pilot two‐way DL school for its district’s large‐scale efforts to shift from an early‐exit transitional model of bilingual education to a DL model. We draw on a multi‐layered language policy ethnography approach to understand teachers and school administrators as localized language policy makers influenced by ideologies and other factors when implementing DL programs (Hornberger & Johnson, 2007; Spolsky, 2004). As we study the layers of implementation, we examine the localized discourses at the district, school and classroom level. With each layer, the goals of uniformity and fidelity that language programs strive for become obscured. Many dual language programs in the United States began as local grassroots initiatives, supported by government or private grants, involving local deliberation and decision making. In the past decade, however, a sort of “dual language revolution” has been occurring as an estimated 2,000 DL programs have sprouted up nationwide, many of them implementing DL at the district level (Wilson, 2011). Texas, where well over 80 school districts (representing more than 600 schools) have adopted district‐wide dual language, appears to be a driving force in the movement (Center for Applied Linguistics, 2008; Gómez & Gómez, 1999). The widespread district‐level implementation has largely been made possible by a specific program model emerging from Texas’ Rio Grande Valley, developed by Dr. Richard Gómez and Dr. Leo Gómez (Gómez, Freeman, & Freeman, 2005; Gómez & Gómez, 1999). The Gómez and Gómez Dual Language Enrichment Model seems to have hit upon a winning message that attracts policy makers and district administrators to an “additive” and “enrichment” model of bilingual ­education in the interests of improving academic outcomes (i.e., increasing test scores) for bilingual students. The Gómez and Gómez Model incorporates key elements that the research literature recommends for high‐quality dual language programs, including: ­ ­deliberate separation of languages by content area for content instruction in

A Dual Language Revolution in the United States  453 academic registers of Spanish or English; pairing students for cooperative group work across language groups; and the expectation of team‐teaching (Howard, Sugarman, & Christian, 2005; Gómez, Freeman, & Freeman, 2005). Importantly, however, the Gómez and Gómez Model does not meet the Center for Applied Linguistics’ criteria for inclusion in its two‐way (dual language) immersion program database, which requires a minimum of 50% of instruction for all participants be in the partner (nondominant) language and the bulk of instruction be carried out in linguistically integrated groups wherein at least one‐third of students are dominant English speakers (Center for Applied Linguistics, 2008). Nevertheless, there are schools implementing the Gómez and Gómez Model listed in the CAL directory as two‐way DL schools. The Gómez and Gómez Model calls for native language arts instruction for all participants for the first three years in the program. This implies linguistic segregation for a large portion of the school day, and leads English‐dominant participating students to receive less than 50% of their instruction in Spanish for their first three years  in  the program. The Dual Language Training Institute (Gomez & Gomez, 1999) holds exclusive rights for training and authorizing the use of the copyrighted Gómez and Gómez Model. Teams from the Institute provide a one‐day training for district and school administrators and a three‐day training for all classroom teachers prior to implementation, with follow‐up classroom visits for all participating classrooms mid‐way through the school year for initial years of implementation. The Gómez and Gómez Model recommends that implementation begin with the youngest students only, with each successive grade level taking on the program model as participating children reach it, thus fully implementing the program within approximately five years. District administrators have only to sign the contract with the Gómez and Gómez consulting team in order to begin the transformational bilingual ­education process. In August 2009 a new superintendent came into this Central Texas district and, amidst high‐stakes accountability pressure, began to ask why the district did not  have dual language programs, which she framed as an obvious solution to low‐scoring bilingual students. With the vocal support of enthusiastic (largely English‐speaking) parents, teachers, and community members, she convinced the school board to approve a “dual language initiative” in December 2009. The Gómez and Gómez team won the district’s contract, and implementation began in August 2010 at ten “pilot” campuses. All other district bilingual campuses began implementation of DL in August 2011. Although on the surface this transformation indeed seems revolutionary, the  primarily top‐down implementation appears to have mixed results when ­confronted with the realities of different school contexts and educator language ideologies. This large‐scale attempt to shift program orientation throughout a large and populous state provides a forum for a dramatic surfacing of the often contradictory discourses around language and education that prevail in Texas and throughout the United States.

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Hillside elementary school: An enthusiastic participant in the district’s pilot program Hillside was among the schools showing up in force to school board meetings to express their support of the dual language initiative throughout Fall 2009. For several years the primary grades at Hillside had been experimenting with integrating their bilingual and English‐medium classrooms and offering Spanish enrichment experiences to their English‐speaking students. The school was small, with barely 200 students in 2009–2010, and was frequently threatened with closure; becoming a DL pilot campus promised to bring in new students. They submitted application materials, and were selected to be a pilot two‐way DL campus. We examined interview data of teachers at Hillside across grade levels, and their principal. Across school personnel and time, tensions arose as the school moved from the initial adoption phase to actually implementing the DL model. There was initial near‐universal enthusiasm for DL at Hillside representing significant “buy‐in” to the model: Our school was already, I think, really, really ready for this. It was just a matter of making it official. I think so many teachers were already kind of on board with the idea. And knew that it was the best practice for this population, and you know, the best thing for the kids in general. (Ms. A, Pre‐K, September 2010) [The teachers] were really open‐minded about the whole thing because it’s best practices, it’s what it is. So you’re doing a lot more project‐based instruction and there’s a lot more child‐centered environment in it, and they love that. (Mr. G, Principal, August 2010)

However, this near‐universal support gave way to increasing levels of doubt and skepticism; confronting practical constraints such as limited materials for Spanish instruction and a lack of ongoing professional development, teachers questioned DL implementation. In the third grade, in spite of the promise held out by the Gómez and Gómez team that DL students would achieve academic success, the demands of high‐stakes accountability appeared to be trumping the DL implementation process. As district bilingual education personnel struggled to maintain district‐wide “fidelity” to the model, teachers at third grade found they needed to choose whether to invest in DL instruction, or assure their students’ success in the language in which they would be tested (Palmer & Wicktor‐Lynch, 2008). Given accountability pressures, the choice was clear. The next two sections will walk through this DL implementation story.

Resources and professional development While there was a general level of enthusiasm for the DL program at Hillside at the onset of the implementation process, there were teachers even in the beginning that expressed reservations about the training provided. These ­concerns were still salient in the interview data through the third year. After

A Dual Language Revolution in the United States  455 their three‐day training, teachers expressed uncertainty over what certain program elements should look like. I felt like it [three‐day training] was a lot of talking about how great the program is, but they didn’t really show us enough stuff to do. I mean, they showed us a few pictures of the bilingual partners and pictures of the classroom and stuff. But I don’t know, I wanted more. I spent three days learning about a program; I didn’t get a lot of how to do it specifically. (Ms. E, 2nd grade Teacher, September 2010)

Other teachers highlighted that the lack of support extended to limited resources and funding from the district. I feel like everybody was just like, “Dual language, let’s do it.” So we’re doing it, but there’s no money, there’s no materials, there’s no training. You know—beyond the basic Gómez and Gómez training—you know everything is being thrown together. It  should have been a much more gradual implementation. (Ms. T, 3rd grade, February 2013)

Wright (2004) argues that many top‐down language policy mandates are more political than practical; while there may be support, it is superficial and fails to provide the resources and funding to adequately implement. Not all teachers at Hillside agreed that training was insufficient. Ms. A, a Pre‐K teacher with a Masters in bilingual education and experience working with different language models, reported a different experience than her colleagues. I think that the support has been good. I feel like they are definitely trying really hard to make this work and to be there for us and get us the things that we need. (Ms. A, PreK, April 2011)

While Ms. A acknowledged some level of difficulty bridging the DL program with other programs required by the district’s Pre‐Kindergarten department, she ­suggested that her prior experiences with various types of program models had made her more at ease with change and adaptability. I guess I’ve been through some different types of programs, and I’m normally the type of person that just embraces change so I probably don’t feel like a lot of the other teachers that are feeling overwhelmed. But because a lot of the things that they require I already had in place in my class, it wasn’t so hard to implement the  model because it was just a few adjustments here and there.” (Ms. A, PreK, April 2011)

Language policy literature states that teachers rely on their own pedagogical beliefs to make sense of mandates (Menken & García, 2010; Hornberger & Johnson, 2007). The interview data suggest that many of the DL program’s elements were highly aligned with Ms. A’s existing pedagogical approach perhaps making it easier for her to embrace the model.

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Accountability Early elementary grade teachers in general, like Ms. A, seemed less frustrated by the training and resources than teachers in the upper elementary grades. As teachers at different grade levels described the sources of their frustrations, it quickly became clear that an increasing tension among teachers as the grade level increased was the need to ensure students are prepared for standardized (monolingual) tests. The federal No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) requires that all schools receiving federal funds have in place an assessment system beginning in third grade that documents the academic achievement of students, disaggregated by racial, ethnic, and linguistic groups. Low‐performing students face possible retention, and l­ ow‐ performing schools/districts risk being closed or taken over by their state department of education. States are required to develop their own tests; in Texas, the test used to address both state and federal accountability requirements during the first year of DL implementation was the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills (TAKS); the current test is the State of Texas Assessments of Academic Readiness (STAAR). Critics of NCLB have argued that this ­federal policy offers little in the way of positive change for schools: the use of s­ ingle‐measure accountability for high stakes decision‐making is punitive, promotes test‐centered instruction, and exerts a narrowing of curriculum that ­disproportionally impacts students in poverty, students of color, and emergent bilingual students (Au, 2007; McNeil & Valenzuela, 2001). It seems particularly challenging to navigate the pressures incurred by high‐stakes accountability for teachers working with emergent bilingual students (Menken, 2008; Palmer & Wicktor‐Lynch, 2008). Teachers at the lower grades acknowledged that test pressure would be a challenge when implementing DL at upper grades. Some, like Ms. A, believed that this was something that could be overcome: Now I know [upper‐grade teachers] have all that other mumbo‐jumbo, all the TAKS and all that on their mind and at that point, it becomes their priority. But I don’t think it’s something that would interfere [with DL implementation], I think that they could make it work, you know. I think that it would be something that most of them would embrace. I would hope. (Ms. A, PreK, September 2010)

Other teachers, such as Ms. E at second grade (much closer to the TAKS grade pressures), were not sure that obstacles like the TAKS could be overcome. What if they make all this improvement through the year cause English kids speak in Spanish and the other way around, then they get to third grade cause they’re so focused on TAKS and getting them to pass, they’re not going to want to deal with these two languages. I don’t think so cause they’re so set on teaching them the things they need to know; they think it will get in their way. (Ms. E, 2nd grade, September 2010)

While teachers create their own implementational spaces as local agents, t­op‐ down mandates do impact their instruction; in the current accountability climate in Texas if students do not perform on the tests, there is very little space for teacher

A Dual Language Revolution in the United States  457 agency. Teachers, understandably, will work hard to avoid the scrutiny and repercussions incurred by low scores. For example, given that tests can be taken in either English or Spanish in Texas, teachers may choose to instruct children in the language they will be tested in, rather than the languages dictated by the model (Palmer & Lynch, 2008). While Ms. T expressed enthusiasm about DL at the time of adoption, her feelings had shifted when she began implementing the program as a third‐grade teacher three years later: I feel like we’re not really planning for dual language. Like that’s kind of a non‐factor, we’re just planning and doing what we think is best for the kids in terms of where the gaps are and the curriculum that we still need to cover. (Ms. T, 3rd grade, February 2013)

And so, not surprisingly, when their students failed within the first few months of third grade to achieve academically as promised by the Gómez and Gómez trainings, the third grade teachers struggled to rethink their academic program. Deliberating one long afternoon in December 2012, they chose to reorganize their students and their instruction in a way that segregated students by language group most of the time and taught the bulk of content to students in their dominant language. In the face of multiple contradictory demands, the teachers fell back on their own beliefs. Ms. T speculated that, “for those kids who don’t have the desire [to learn a second language], it just doesn’t seem like [dual language is] an effective method of instruction for them.” Her team partner Ms. M. expressed in an interview her belief that all but the most advanced students must learn content through their first language: Ms. M: What I know about native language instruction and acquisition, you know L1 comes before L2, leads me to believe that my [Spanish‐dominant] kids will be more successful if they receive instruction in Spanish. Researcher: And the kids who are getting instruction in their second language, those are the ones who are advanced? Ms. M: Yeah in both content and language.

It is eminently reasonable that in the face of inadequate support mechanisms teachers prioritize their own beliefs, their understanding of the curriculum and their perceptions of students’ academic needs at the expense of fidelity to the  model (Menken & García, 2010). These data suggest that the frustrations of implementation, including lack of adequate materials and professional development, and pressures to ensure students will achieve on (monolingual) high stakes tests, are leading Hillside’s third grade team to essentially abandon the DL model. They express their hope that next year’s group will be more ­prepared for the model.

District‐wide data Our findings at Hillside Elementary are both mirrored and juxtaposed by our findings from a district‐wide survey, taken by a random sample of educators (n = 323) from throughout the district’s 50 DL schools, on educator language ideologies and

458  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education DL implementation. Not surprisingly, survey responses reflected much greater variation in teacher views than those expressed by Hillside teachers. Assimilationist and pluralist ideologies were both present (sometimes within the same comments), as well as both support for and rejection of the DL implementation in the district. Assimilationist comments in particular stood out, such as, “Aspects of this model are definitely not developmentally appropriate with regard to ELLs [English language learners] who come into the classroom at a deficit” and, “When I lived in Spain I was expected to speak Spanish. When I lived in Germany, I was expected to speak German … This is the United States and our language is English.” It is difficult to imagine teachers who hold such deficit views of emergent bilingual students, and such monolingual understandings of the United States, will be capable of carrying the banner of DL implementation. The challenge for district‐ wide program implementation is clear; educators’ investment in the program cannot be assumed. In this light, it is possible to conceptualize Hillside Elementary as a best‐case scenario for top‐down implementation in this context. District‐wide, the top‐down implementation process appears to face many of the same challenges experienced at Hillside: teachers complain of a lack of resources and inadequate professional development support, and express their skepticism towards the model’s efficacy regarding ensuring high test scores. One teacher succinctly wrote, “The bottom line is to pass the test.” The district is indeed in the very beginning stages of what promises to be a long process with a great deal of work to be done to shift such a large group of schools toward enrichment education for bilingual students.

Conclusion In some important ways, this widespread implementation of DL bilingual ­education must be seen as a positive shift. Conversations about bilingualism and multiculturalism are beginning in unexpected places; discourses about language and education are being framed in new ways. More teachers and administrators are talking about bilingualism and biliteracy as desirable goals in their schools and high academic achievement as a real possibility for their emergent bilingual ­students. This has the potential to offer a tremendous positive change for the future of bilingual educational opportunities, and for the educational prospects of bilingual children in the United States. Attempts at large‐scale change, such as the Gómez and Gómez district‐wide implementation of DL, bring up some important issues, however, which need to be addressed if we are to see a positive trend continue. We must remember that real change takes time, particularly if we are asking educators to change their fundamental beliefs about language and learning. Impatient as we may be for large‐scale change, for a long time we may have to settle for small victories, for individual schools and teams of teachers who own and appropriate pluralist ­discourses. While the struggle outside continues, some empowered teachers will take advantage of implementational spaces and seize opportunities to implement excellent programs within their classrooms.

A Dual Language Revolution in the United States  459 The ongoing tension between assimilationist and pluralist discourses is not ­ isappearing; on the contrary, the conversation is as alive as ever. These discourses d exist side by side even within the spaces where implementation of DL could be argued to be at its most powerful. If this “dual language revolution” is to lead to positive and lasting change, to open true implementational spaces for high‐caliber bilingual education for large numbers of students, we must invest in teacher ­professionalism: to engage teachers in authentic ongoing professional development aimed at deep reflection. Only with such reflection will teachers be able to enact the changes we hope for. At the same time, and most importantly, we need to reduce the burden of high stakes accountability on teachers and schools, in order to ensure they have the academic and intellectual freedoms necessary to make choices they can believe in.

References Au, W. (2007). High‐stakes testing and curricular control: A qualitative metasynthesis. Educational Researcher, 36(5), 258–267. Blanton, C. K. (2005). The strange career of bilingual education in Texas. College Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press. Center for Applied Linguistics. (2008). Directory of two‐way bilingual immersion programs in the U.S. http:// www.cal.org/twi/directory/ (accessed November 24, 2014). Crawford, J. (2004). Educating English learners: Language diversity in the classroom (5th edn.). Los Angeles, CA: Bilingual Education Services. DeJong, E. J. (2011). Foundations for multilingualism in education. Philadelphia, PA: Caslon Publishing. García, O., & Kleifgen, J. A. (2010). Educating emergent bilinguals: Policies, programs, and practices for English language learners. New York: Teachers College Press. Gómez, L., & Gómez, R. (1999). Dual language training institute. http://dlti. us/3.html (accessed November 24, 2014). Gómez, L., Freeman, D., & Freeman, Y. (2005). Dual language education: A promising 50‐50 model. Bilingual Research Journal, 29(1), 145–163.

Hornberger, N. H., & Johnson, D. (2007). Slicing the onion ethnographically: Layers and spaces in multilingual language education in policy and practice. TESOL Quarterly, 41(3), 509–532. Howard, E. R., Sugarman, J., & Christian, D. (2003). Trends in two‐way immersion education. A review of the research. Baltimore, MD: CRESPAR/Johns Hopkins University. Kloss, H. (1998). The American bilingual tradition. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Lambert, W. E. (1975). Culture and language as factors in learning and education. In A. Wolfgang (Ed.), Education of immigrant students: Issues and answers (pp. 55–83). Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. Lau v. Nichols (1974). 414 U.S. 563. McNeil, L., & Valenzuela, A. (2001). The harmful impact of the TAAS system of testing in Texas: Beneath the accountability rhetoric. In G. Orfield & M. L. Kornhaber (Eds.). Raising standards or raising barriers? Inequality and high‐stakes testing in public education (pp. 127–150). New York: The Century Foundation Press. Menken, K. (2008). English learners left behind: Standardized testing as language policy. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.

460  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Menken, K., & García, O. (Eds.). (2010). Negotiating language policies in schools: Educators as policymakers. New York: Routledge. Palmer, D. (2011). The discourse of transition: Teachers’ language ideologies within transitional bilingual education programs. International Multilingual Research Journal, 5, 103–122. Palmer, D. K., & Wicktor‐Lynch, A. (2008). A bilingual education for a monolingual test? The pressure to prepare for TAKS and its influence on choices for language of instruction in Texas elementary bilingual classrooms. Language Policy, 7, 217–235. Ricento, T. K., & Hornberger, N. H. (1996). Unpeeling the onion: Language planning and policy and the ELT professional. TESOL Quarterly, 30(3), 401–427.

Schmid, C. (2000). The politics of English only in the United States: Historical, social, and legal aspects. In R. D. Gonzalez & I. Melis (Eds.), Language ideologies: Critical perspectives on the official English movement (Vol. 1, pp. 64–86). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Spolsky, B. (2004). Language policy. New York: Cambridge University Press. Tyack, D., & Cuban, L. (1995). Tinkering toward utopia: A century of public school reform. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wilson, D. M. (2011) Dual language programs on the rise. Harvard Educational Letter, 27(2). http://www.hepg.org/hel/ article/496 (accessed November 24, 2014). Wright, S. (2004). Language policy and planning: From nationalism to globalization. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

27 Global Dimensions of Bilingual and Multilingual Education Canada Thomas Ricento Introduction This chapter will provide a detailed description and analysis of the language policy framework for the learning and teaching of second and foreign languages in Canada, focusing on the period from the 1960s to the present day.1 It will ­consider the factors that led to passage of the Official Languages Act of 1969, the move to protect and promote French in Quebec in the 1970s, and the politics that led to passage of the Canadian Multiculturalism Act of 1988. The hope that individual bilingualism (principally in French and English) would become a reality for a large number of Canadians has not materialized. The preoccupation with the status of French and English has tended to dilute the resources allocated for the teaching of other, so‐called allophone, languages. While nearly 20% of the Canadian population (6,186,950 people) was reported to be foreign‐born (the vast majority being neither Anglophones nor Francophones) in 2006, there has been little governmental support for the maintenance of non‐official languages (Statistics Canada, 2006). In order to understand how and why the current policy landscape has evolved to its current form, we need to look at the historical context which led to the Quiet Revolution of the 1960s and 1970s which gave rise to the current official bilingualism paradigm.

Brief historical background The current linguistic landscape in Canada was already being shaped during the century that preceded the establishment of the Canadian Confederation. Although attempts were made, following the British Conquest of 1760, to impose English as The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2010 Information Age Publishing, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

462  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education the language of government, the French language was given increased status through the Quebec Act of 1774 and the Constitutional Act of 1791 (Hayday, 2005). The bilingual status for the federal government was formalized in section 133 of the British North America Act (BNA) of 1867. While the language of the BNA allowed either English or French to be used in debates in the Houses of Parliament and the Houses of the Legislature of Quebec (along with the written records and journals of those houses), it made no provisions allowing for federal government services in both languages in the courts or the legislatures of the other provinces. During the 100 years between passage of the BNA and the onset of the quiet ­revolution in the 1960s, which led to a much more expansive role for French in the federal civil service and opportunities for francophone minority ­communities outside Quebec to be educated in French, the status of French varied from ­province to province, but the shift to English among Francophones outside Quebec continued apace. Immigration from non‐English‐ and non‐French‐speaking countries complicated the supposed duality of the Canadian nation and tested the viability of educational language policies that had recognized only French and English as legitimate media for public education. In addition, First Nation groups had for many years objected to the “two founding races” ideology that had governed federal and provincial policy for more than 100 years. With the growing secularization of Quebec beginning in the 1960s, no longer dependent on or dominated by religion, the maintenance of French became even more important as an identity marker. When the Liberals returned to power after the federal election of 1963, Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson established a commission to investigate the condition of Canada’s French‐speaking population, its relationship with the English‐speaking population, and the status of other ethnic peoples in Canada (Mackey, 1998). Named the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism (also referred to as the Laurendeau‐Dunton Commission, or the B & B Commission), the commission was given the following charge: To inquire into and report upon the existing state of bilingualism and biculturalism in Canada and to recommend what steps should be taken to develop the Canadian Confederation on the basis of an equal partnership between the two founding races, taking into account the contribution made by the other ethnic groups to the cultural enrichment of Canada and the measures that should be taken to safeguard that contribution.

The commission held public hearings throughout Canada, received more than 400 formal briefs and commissioned 165 research studies. A Preliminary Report was published in 1965; it drew attention to serious divisions among Canadians and proved to be a harbinger of tensions that would not be resolved when the work of the B & B Commission was completed in 1971, and which continue to the present day. The final report appeared in six volumes between 1967 and 1970. The principal legislative outcome of the commission’s work was the Official Languages Act of 1969 that made English and French Canada’s official languages. It required that a range of external and internal documents, notices, decisions, and forms be published in  both English and French; it established obligations for federal departments

Bi/Multilingual Education in Canada   463 and agencies to provide services in both languages in the Ottawa‐Hull area (the National Capital Region) and in a series of bilingual districts to be decided upon later (McRae, 1998). The Act also created the position of Commissioner of Official Languages to oversee implementation of the Act and to serve as official languages ombudsman (Beaty, 1989). It was hoped that other provinces would protect the use of French in areas they controlled (e.g., education); however, the only province to follow the lead of the federal government was New Brunswick, which, in 1969, declared itself to be officially bilingual. As the Act dealt only with areas under federal jurisdiction, the recommendations in the area of language education, for example, were very general as ­education falls primarily under provincial jurisdiction. Nonetheless, it was well understood by the members of the B & B Commission and the federal government that education would be central to the survival of French Canadian cultural identity. Book two of the B & B Commission’s Report made detailed recommendations on minority‐language schooling and second language learning for official language minorities (that is, where French or English is a minority language in a specific province), emphasizing the importance of mother‐tongue education and recommending that it be made available for official‐language minorities in the proposed bilingual districts and in major metropolitan centers (McRae, 1998). In 1970, following these recommendations, the Canadian government announced that it would provide financial assistance to the provinces to fund minority‐­ language education for their official‐language minorities (English in Quebec, French in the other nine provinces) and second‐official‐language instruction for the children of the majority‐language communities. This was generally known as the Bilingualism in Education Program (BEP) until its name was changed in 1979 to the Official Languages in Education Program (OLEP), a program that exists to the present day (Hayday, 2005). To achieve its ­objectives, the federal government has spent billions of dollars to support French and English minority‐ language education programs and second language instruction, and to fund programs of grants and scholarships related to teacher training, ­students exchanges, and language training centers (Hayday, 2005). Since provinces differ with regard to their demographic profiles and political  and  economic priorities, the implementation of the OLEP since 1970 has had mixed results. Eighteen months after implementation of OLEP (in 1973), the programs were evaluated. While French and English minority‐language ­education programs experienced growth in some provinces, secondary school instruction was decreasing, due in part to a shortage of bilingual teachers and  changes in university requirements (Hayday, 2005). In addition, minority‐­ language education programs cost more than had been anticipated and the French as a second language programs (so‐called core French programs) were found to be not very effective (although it has been argued that developing fluency in French was never the main objective of these programs; Hayday, 2005). While enrollments in monolingual English schooling for Anglophones in Quebec and monolingual French schooling for Francophones in the rest of Canada has not changed substantially since 1971 (i.e., minority‐language education),

464  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education enrollments in second official language programs have increased, thanks in large ­measure to the development of French immersion bilingual programs. The first immersion class was opened in September 1965. The primary goals of the original program, which continue largely intact to the present day, are: 1. To provide the participating students with functional competence in both ­written and spoken aspects of French. 2. To promote and maintain normal levels of English‐language development. 3. To ensure achievement in academic subjects commensurate with the students’ ability and grade level. 4. To instill in students an understanding and appreciation of French Canadians, their language and culture, without detracting in any way from the students’ identity with and appreciation for English‐Canadian culture. (Genesee, 1998, p. 310) While students who graduate from French immersion programs do not ­ enerally achieve native‐like proficiency in the minority language (French), they g outperform students in other types of second‐language programs in Canada (Genesee, 1998). However, research has suggested that structural pressures render retention of French by immersion graduates difficult (Wesche & MacFarlane, 1995; Van der Keilen, 1995). One critic of these programs argues that “the entire effort was an interesting social experiment that did not work” (Veltman, 1998, p. 306). Census data also suggest that, despite the successes of immersion programs, the number of fluent bilinguals in Canada has barely changed since the 1960s. Whereas in 1971, 13% (2.9 million people) of the Canadian population could speak both ­official languages, in 1996 about 17% (4.8 million people) claimed fluency in both languages. The rate of bilingualism was nearly five times higher among Francophones (41%) compared to Anglophones (9%). The rate of bilingualism of Francophones living outside Quebec was even higher (84%) compared to 7% for Anglophones. In contrast, the proportion of bilingual Anglophones living in Quebec (62%) was almost twice that of Francophones in that province (34%). Much of this variation is age‐related. In the case of Quebec Francophones, the job market plays an important role in learning English as a second language. Hence, the rate of bilingualism reached a peak (48%) in the age group 20 to 24, ages corresponding to high labor market participation. For Anglophones outside Quebec, school is the main place for learning French as a second language. Consequently, the highest rate of bilingualism (16%) was in the age group 15 to 19, the secondary school years. The rate was lower in older age groups, as French immersion was less popular or nonexistent during their school years. In attempting to explain why the various laws and policies promulgated from the 1960s to the 1980s to promote learning of a second official language have not made much of a difference in patterns of language use in Canada, Calvin Veltman (1998, p. 301) argues that “governmental initiatives to control language behavior are generally met by adaptive strategies designed to maintain the status quo.” Outside of Quebec, the shift to English by both Francophone and allophone Canadians continues unabated. While facility in French can be an asset in certain

Bi/Multilingual Education in Canada   465 sectors of the job market in English‐speaking Canada (especially for federal jobs), nearly all Anglophone Canadians work and play in English‐language institutions with English‐speaking people (Veltman, 1998). Canadian legal scholar Joseph Magnet (1998, p. 185) concludes that “Canada regulates language use in order to divert overheated competition between Canada’s English‐ and French‐speaking communities into manageable pathways where highly charged conflict may be blunted and controlled.” Thus, while Canada is an officially bilingual country, the vast majority of Canadians are not fluent in both official languages, although Francophones are far more likely to speak English than Anglophones are to speak French.

Status of aboriginal languages in Canada There are currently 50 Aboriginal languages spoken by indigenous people in Canada, belonging to 11 major language families (Norris, 2007). Over the past 100 years, approximately 10 Aboriginal languages in Canada have become extinct. The decline over the past 50+ years has been dramatic; in 1951, 87.4% of the Aboriginal population had an Aboriginal language as a mother tongue, while in 1981 it was only 29.3% (Burnaby & Beaujot, 1986), and by 2001 it was 21% (Statistics Canada, 2001). Unfortunately, only 3 out of the 50 Aboriginal languages in Canada are considered robust enough to have chances of survival in the long run, as the number of speakers has been constantly declining. Inuktitut, Cree, and Ojibway are the only flourishing or healthy languages with over 20,000 speakers each, which constitutes a sufficient base to guarantee long‐term viability (Norris, 1998). In contrast, most Aboriginal languages face the risk of extinction unless serious language policy intervention is considered. The weakest ones are Kutenai, spoken by 120 indigenous people, and Tlingit, with a mother tongue population of 145. Passing a language from one generation to another by speaking it at home is the most effective way of ensuring its survival. Unfortunately, many of the Canadian indigenous people do not speak their language at home any more. In fact, according to 2001 Census data, only 24% of the indigenous people in Canada can conduct a conversation in an Aboriginal language, which indicates a sharp decline in use, as compared to 29%, recorded by the 1996 Census. A number of factors have contributed to the decline in the use of Aboriginal languages, including the pressure of the official languages, the prohibition of their use in residential (religious) schools, and the fact that most of them are predominantly oral (Norris, 1998). In addition, more and more Aboriginal people leave the reserves, migrate to urban centers, and get into linguistic intermarriages (Petten, 2007).

How can aboriginal languages be saved? While it would be utopian to hope for the revival of dead Aboriginal languages, investing in the revitalization of endangered languages may turn the tide and slow down their process of extinction. Historically, there have been some successful

466  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education attempts of language revitalization, when imperiled languages have been rescued. Navajo is an example of a language that today is in good health, even if it was ­facing extinction until the 1940s, when the U.S. Marines decided to use it as a code in World War II to confuse the Germans and Japanese (Redish, 2001). One way to revitalize endangered languages is to teach them. In fact, according to the 2001 Census, 20% of the indigenous people in Canada who report that they can speak an Aboriginal language learned it in school as an additional language. For some Aboriginal languages, the decline in the mother tongue population has been offset by the rise in the number of bilingual speakers (Norris, 2007). Even if learning an Aboriginal language as an additional language, cannot count as a ­substitute for acquiring it at home, Norris emphasizes that it may be the only viable option to slow down the extinction of endangered languages and revitalize them where inter‐generational transmission is no longer available. For smaller ­languages such as Tlingit, Kutenai, and Haida, bilingual speakers make the difference between survival and extinction (Petten, 2007). For instance, out of the 230 Tlingit recorded speakers, 130 report having learned it as an additional language (Norris, 2007). The younger generation of indigenous people is increasingly more likely to acquire an Aboriginal language in school as an additional language rather than as a mother tongue. Therefore, investing in bilingual programs is one way to slow down or prevent Aboriginal language loss. Currently, Inuktitut and Cree are used as languages of instruction, while other Aboriginal languages are only taught as subjects. There are very few Aboriginal immersion programs in Canada and the curriculum support is still limited, despite recent improvements mentioned above. At the national level, some measures have been implemented to promote and protect Aboriginal languages. In 1998, Heritage Canada contributed $20 million to the cause of Aboriginal languages preservation (Black, 2000). The money was divided among the Assembly of First Nations (AFN), the Inuit Tapisarat of Canada, and the Metis National Council. The AFN established a Chiefs Committee on Languages and a Technical Committee on Languages that oversee and administer the funds from Heritage Canada and promote the protection of First Nation Languages. Perhaps more significant is the role of advocacy by First Nations political and cultural representatives. In December 1999, the Assembly of First Nations (AFN), the political driving force for the First Nations, and the First Nation Confederacy of Cultural Education Centres (FNCCEC), representing 77 cultural centers, partnered and signed a memorandum of understanding to coordinate language policy development and political advocacy for the preservation of Aboriginal languages (Black, 2000). AFN and FNCCEC take the position that the Government should accept responsibility for the destruction of Aboriginal languages, create federal and provincial policies and provide resources to correct the situation. AFN and FNCCEC have proposed some initiatives that would push forward the recognition of Aboriginal languages through legislation such as the establishment of an Aboriginal language foundation, which would be partly funded by the federal government ($50 million) and partly by private money ($50 million). The other priority on their agenda is to create a list of Friends of Aboriginal Languages, which would include senators, members of parliament, business people who

Bi/Multilingual Education in Canada   467 would lobby for legislation and would assist with fundraising. It is clear that, without immediate intervention, many Aboriginal languages face the risk of extinction and that, from a language policy perspective, there are things that can be done to correct the situation.

Heritage language teaching in Canada Although broad objectives of educational policy are covered in the Canadian Constitution, the formalizing and implementation of policy is primarily the responsibility of provinces and territories. There is no federal office of education or national educational policy and curriculum (Gosh, 2004). Provinces and territories have their own policies and curricula and cooperate through the Council of Ministers of Education in Canada (CMEC). The federal government supports bilingualism and multiculturalism, but national implementation of the Multicultural Policy in K–12 education is problematic due to the centralization of school systems only at the ­provincial level. Even if the Canadian Multiculturalism Act (1988) encourages ethnic groups to preserve their cultures and languages, heritage language (HL) teaching does not receive federal financial support. The funding is directed to ­programs that fight discrimination and promote cultural awareness. It should be noted that federal funding is available for some aspects of public education such as support for teaching one of the official minority languages in geographical areas where the other one is dominant (e.g., English as an HL for Anglophones in Quebec, and French as an HL for Francophones in other parts of Canada). Ironically, in the English‐speaking parts of Canada for example, while funding is provided to ­educate Francophone students in French, no funding is available to teach English as a second language to non‐native speakers (Early, 2008). As a result of this fiscal division of responsibilities, provinces and territories vary considerably in the amount of funding they provide for heritage‐language teaching, the languages offered, and the grades in which classes are offered. They also differ in educational goals and curricula, teacher certification requirements, and textbook authorization. Across the country, there are a few heritage/international programs that offer languages other than English, French, or Aboriginal ­languages. In about 50% of the Canadian provinces, heritage‐language teaching is offered at the end of the school day or on Saturday (Early, 2008). In the Prairie Provinces (Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba) and in British Columbia, there are fully bilingual programs where instruction in a heritage language is provided for at least 50% of the instructional time (Cummins, 2005). In Ontario, heritage ­languages are called “international languages” and they are offered outside ­regular school hours. Teaching heritage or international languages at public expense has been ­vehemently contested in some areas, especially in metropolitan Toronto, based on the assimilationist assumption that teaching languages other than the official ones would promote cultural division and hinder immigrants’ integration into the Canadian mainstream society (Cummins & Danesi, 1990). There is a trend in

468  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education education to indirectly blame language‐minority students for their academic failure (Ellwood, 1989), rather than critically examine the K–12 educational system to see whether it supports them to reach their full potential or find ways in which they can be helped. Cummins (1988) argues that “Anglo conformity” and institutional racism still permeate the Canadian educational system. In his view, what is needed is not multicultural education but anti‐racist education. Cummins’ research suggests that heritage language teaching might be an important step in supporting immigrant students to reach their academic potential. The “bilingual interdependence hypothesis” (Cummins, 1979, p. 23) states that “the level of L2 competence attained by a bilingual child is partially a function of the type of competence the child has developed in L1 at the time when intensive exposure to L2 began.” Therefore, the better immigrant children develop their first language, the better their English or French would be. In addition, teaching heritage languages might p ­ romote a sense of identity and self‐respect, as children who are proud of their cultural ­heritage rather than ambivalent about it are more academically successful. In spite of the opposition to heritage language teaching and the lack of a coherent national policy, some provinces offer fully bilingual programs in English and a heritage language. Alberta, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan collaborated to develop The Common Curriculum Framework for Bilingual Programming in International Languages, Kindergarten to Grade 12 (Western Canadian Protocol for Collaboration in Basic Education, 1999) and The Common Curriculum Framework for International Languages, Kindergarten to Grade 12 (Western Canadian Protocol for Collaboration in Basic Education, 2000). In addition, one can notice a progressive change towards the recognition of the benefits of teaching an additional language to all children, regardless of their mother tongue. For instance, in Alberta, all K–12 students are expected to be able to communicate in two languages. Compulsory second language teaching in Alberta was launched in 2006 and was fully implemented in 2011–2012. In Calgary, there are public schools that offer English–Spanish, English–German, and English– Chinese/Mandarin bilingual programs and Japanese language and culture courses, in addition to French immersion and French as a second language programs. The stated provincial rationale for making second language learning compulsory is that “students gain both personally and academically by: developing cultural awareness, understanding differing perspectives, developing higher‐level thinking skills, participating actively in the community, enhancing Alberta’s influence and competitiveness, [and] helping to provide a multitude of services in the public and private sectors, including volunteer services” (Calgary Board of Education, 2008). In Manitoba, the official provincial philosophy declares that “the study of ­heritage languages within the regular school day strengthens Manitoba’s linguistic and cultural heritage, maintains a valuable economic resource, and promotes intercultural and cross‐cultural understanding” (Manitoba Education and Training, 1993). Manitoba school divisions offer bilingual programs in English–German, English–Hebrew, and English–Ukrainian, as well as Spanish language courses. Even if allophone languages have slowly made their way into some public schools, most heritage language teaching in Canada is still done in community‐based

Bi/Multilingual Education in Canada   469 language schools that do not receive funding from the government. For instance, the Saskatchewan Organization for Heritage Languages (SOHL) is funded mainly through SaskLotteries. The mission of the SOHL is to financially support heritage language schools, offer professional development opportunities for heritage language teachers, and provide resource materials (Reilly, 2006). All over Canada, there are regional nonprofit heritage language associations, such as the Northern Alberta Heritage Language Association, which support international language teaching outside the public system. Some representatives of these associations (Pallard et al., 2004) argue that heritage/allophone languages are not foreign to Canada and they should be considered Canadian languages, not international or foreign languages. This view inspired the name of the Canadian Languages Association (CLA), established in 1994 as a national organization dedicated to the preservation and promotion of international/heritage languages in Canada. The mission of the CLA is “…to enhance the preservation, growth, teaching and promotion of international/heritage languages and cultures at the public school and community level across Canada.” (CLA, 2014).

Conclusion As a result of changes in federal immigration laws and policies, beginning in the early 1960s, the percentage of the national population that is neither of English nor of French ancestry has continued to increase. In 2006, according to Statistics Canada, 46% of the population belonged to ethnic groups that are not of British or French origin; 20% of English‐speaking Canadians were born in another country; and 20% of the population have neither French nor English as their mother tongue. Yet, the facts of vibrant bilingualism—even trilingualism—especially in urban centers, in languages other than English or French, tend to be under‐represented in official statistics and in political discourse.2 The imaginary of Canada as an English‐speaking white‐settler nation persists despite dramatic changes resulting from increased immigration from non‐European countries over the past 50 years. The preoccupation with French and English has led to the current situation in which, as Haque (2012, p. 18) notes, “Membership in the Canadian nation is achieved through designation into one of four groups: English, French, Aboriginal, and ‘Multicultural’.” The tensions and lived histories that were submerged or marginalized in the Reports produced by the B & B Commission, that were never addressed in the Official Languages Act (1969), and that were not adequately dealt with in the two major Multiculturalism policies (1971, 1988), have not gone away; as immigration from non‐European countries continues to grow, the disconnect between Canada’s official language policy of dualism within a multicultural framework and the actual complex linguistic and cultural diversity of Canada becomes more apparent every day. The existing federal structure for dealing with languages in Canada does not appear to do a very good job of supporting linguistic security, except perhaps for speakers of the majority language in Quebec (French), and English in

470  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education most of the rest of Canada. The time has arrived for the nation to deal with these historical oversights and errors and to consider ways to develop national language policies that better align with a Canadian nation that actually is the mosaic of ­languages and cultures that it is often and proudly proclaimed to be3.

Notes 1  Eighty percent of the material used in this chapter was previously published in Ricento and Cervatiuc (2010) and a small portion in Ricento (2013). Ricento, T., & Cervatiuc, A.  (2010). Language minority rights and educational policy in Canada. In J. Petrovic (Ed.), International perspectives on bilingual education: Policy, practice, and controversy (pp. 21–42). Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. © Information Age Publishing, Inc., reproduced with permission of Information Age Publishing. 2  Jedwab (2007) notes that in the 2006 Census, 18.3% of the Montreal population (or about 660,000 people) claim to be trilingual (an increase of about 2% from the 2001 census data). Even more interesting is the fact that the level of official bilingualism among persons whose mother tongue is neither English nor French represented 50.2% of the Montreal population, and, therefore, it is reasonable to assume that the majority of the city’s allophones are trilingual. In addition, according to Jedwab (2007), 94,000 Montrealers report knowledge of four languages, representing nearly 3% of the metropolitan region’s population. 3  Based on national census data (Statistics Canada, 2006), if we add to the 17.4% of the population who are French‐English bilinguals the 12% who speak “other” languages (in addition to French or English), we find that nearly 30% of Canadians enumerated in the census are at least fluently bilingual, a very substantial portion of the national population, and a figure that runs counter to the stereotype of Canada as a “bilingual country.” In fact, Canada is a country with multiple bilingualisms and multi‐multiculturalisms, just as it was at the time of the hearings of the B & B Commission in 1963, and as it was ­hundreds of years before that.

References Beaty, S. (1989). A new official languages Act for Canada—Its scope and implications. In P. Pupier & J. Woehrling (Eds.), Language and law: Proceedings of the first conference of the international institute of comparative linguistic law (pp. 185–193). Montreal: Wilson and Lafleur. Black, J. (2000). Fight is on to preserve Aboriginal languages. Windspeaker, 17(9), 1–2.

Burnaby, B. and Beaujot, R. (1986). The use of Aboriginal languages in Canada: An analysis of 1981 census data. Ottawa: Social Trends Analysis Directorate and Native Citizens Directorate, Department of the Secretary of State. Calgary Board of Education. (2008). International Language and Culture Courses. http://www.cbe.ab.ca/ programs/languages/intlanguages.asp (accessed November 24, 2014).

Bi/Multilingual Education in Canada   471 CLA. (2014). Canadian Languages Association. http://www. canadianlanguages.ca/about‐the‐cla/ (accessed November 24, 2014). Cummins, J. (1979). Linguistic interdependence and the educational development of bilingual children. Review of Educational Research, 49, 222–251. Cummins, J. (1988). From multicultural to anti‐racist education: An analysis of programmes and policies in Ontario. In T. Skutnabb‐Kangas & J. Cummins (Eds.), Minority education: From shame to struggle (pp. 127–157). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Cummins, J. (2005). Language issues and educational change. In A. Hargreaves (Ed.), Extending educational change (pp. 160–179). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer. Cummins, J., & Danesi, M. (1990). Heritage languages: The development and denial of Canada’s linguistic resources. Toronto: Our Schools/Our Selves and Garamond Press. Early, M. (2008). Second and Foreign Language Education in Canada. In S. Van Scholl Deusen & N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education (Vo1. 1, 2nd edn., pp. 331–341). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer Science + Business Media LLC. Ellwood, W. (1989). Learning by root. New Internationalist 191. http://www.newint. org/issue191/root.htm (accessed November 24, 2014). Genesse, F. (1998). French immersion in Canada. In J. Edwards (Ed.), Language in Canada (pp. 305–325). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gosh, R. (2004). Public education and multicultural policy in Canada: The special case of Quebec. International Review of Education, 50(5–6), 543–566. Haque, E. (2012). Multiculturalism within a bilingual framework: Language, race, and belonging in Canada. Toronto, Canada: University of Toronto Press.

Hayday, M. (2005). Bilingual today, united tomorrow: Official languages in education and Canadian federalism. Montreal, Canada: McGill‐Queen’s University Press. Jedwab, J. (2007). Canada’s changing language realities and the challenge of bilingualism (Part I). http://www.acs‐aec. ca/pdf/polls/11998891657623.pdf (accessed November 24, 2014). Mackey, W. F. (1998). The foundations. In J. Edwards (Ed.), Language in Canada (pp. 13–35). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Magnet, J. (1998). Language rights theory in Canadian perspective. In. T. Ricento and B. Burnaby (Eds.), Language and politics in the United States and Canada: Myths and realities (pp. 185–205). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Manitoba Education and Training. (1993). Policy for heritage language instruction. http://www.edu.gov.mb.ca/k12/cur/ languages/index.html (accessed November 24, 2014) McRae, K. (1998). Official bilingualism: From the 1960s to the 1990s. In J. Edwards (Ed.), Language in Canada (pp. 61–83). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Norris, M. J. (1998). Canada’s Aboriginal languages. Canadian social trends. Statistics Canada ‐ Catalogue No. 11‐008, pp. 8–16. Norris, M. J. (2007). Aboriginal languages in Canada: Emerging trends and perspectives on second language acquisition. Canadian Social Trends. Statistics Canada ‐ Catalogue No. 11‐008, pp. 19–27. Pallard, J., Shakille, A., Embaie, M., Gretton, M., Ricard, F., & Roncucci, S. (2004). International/ heritage Languages: The very heart of a multicultural state. In M. Zachariah, A. Sheppard, & L. Barratt (Eds.), Canadian multiculturalism: Dreams, realities, expectations (pp. 301–302). Edmonton, Alberta: Canadian Multicultural Education Foundation.

472  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Petten, C. (2007). Knowledge of aboriginal languages in decline. Windspeaker, 7, 22. See http://ca.vlex.com/vid/ knowledge‐aboriginal‐languages‐ decline‐64084545 (accessed November 24, 2014). Redish, L. (2001). Native languages of the Americas: Endangered language revitalization and revival. http://www. native‐languages.org/revive.htm (accessed November 24, 2014). Reilly, J. (2006). Saskatchewan Organization for Heritage Languages. The Encyclopedia of Saskatchewan. http://esask.uregina.ca/ entry/saskatchewan_organization_for_ heritage_languages_sohl.html (accessed November 24, 2014). 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. Ricento, T., & Cervatiuc, A. (2010). Language minority rights and educational policy in Canada. In J. Petrovic (Ed.), International perspectives on bilingual education: Policy, practice, and controversy (pp. 21–42). Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Statistics Canada. (2001). Aboriginal peoples of Canada: A demographic profile, 2001 census. http://www. statcan.gc.ca/bsolc/olc‐cel/olc‐cel?lang= eng&catno=96F0030X2001007 (accessed November 24, 2014).

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28 Minority Languages, State Languages, and English in European Education Jasone Cenoz and Durk Gorter Introduction Multilingualism has a long tradition in the European context. Many years ago, during the Roman Empire, Latin was already in contact with other languages and  some institutions were multilingual (see Franceschini, 2013). There are also ­examples of multilingualism in the Middle Ages when Latin was in contact with English and French in England after the Norman Conquest or when Latin, Basque, and Spanish were used in some areas of Spain. This chapter focuses on the development of multilingualism in European education and focuses on the teaching of minority languages, state languages, and English as school subjects and/or languages of instruction. Nowadays, there are 24 different official state languages in the 28 European Union member states and 41 official languages in the 47 Council of Europe states. However, there are many other languages which are official only in some regions or not official at all. According to Extra and Gorter (2007), there is a hierarchy of ­languages in Europe. The top position is taken by English as the language of ­international communication. A second layer consists of four widely used and taught languages: French, German, Russian, and Spanish. The third layer has the remaining official state languages such as Dutch, Italian, Polish, Portuguese, and Swedish. Another layer contains important languages used with trade partners which are not originally from Europe such as Chinese and Japanese. The lower layers consist of regional and immigrant minority languages as well as sign languages. Europe has well‐known examples of multilingual education such as the Luxembourg system or the European Schools. The first language taught at ­preschool level in Luxembourg is Luxembourgish, which is a Germanic language closely related to Low German. In primary school, German is the main language of instruction but Luxembourgish and French are also taught as school subjects. Then,

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

474  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education French becomes the language of instruction in secondary school. Another example of multilingual education are the so‐called European Schools, which are controlled by the governments of the European Union states, and altogether had 23,869 ­students in 2012 (Schola Europaea, 2012). Nowadays there is a network of 14 schools attended mainly by the children of European civil servants in seven countries (Belgium, Germany, Italy, Luxembourg, The Netherlands, Spain, United Kingdom). Most students in the European Schools have their first language as the language of instruction in the primary level and a foreign language (language 2) is introduced as a subject in the first year of primary school. This language 2, which is usually English, German, or French, is used as the language of instruction in the last years of primary and increasingly in secondary schools. Most children who do not have English as their first language choose English as a second language. Then, a third language is introduced as a subject and in some cases as a language of instruction. The total number of languages offered in the European schools goes from four to twelve. Some multilingual schools are located in areas where a regional minority language is spoken. In these regions the minority language, the state language, and English or another widely spoken language are used in the school curriculum (see Cenoz & Gorter, 2008). Some examples are multilingual schools in Friesland (The Netherlands), Catalonia and the Basque Country (Spain), or South Tyrol (Italy). The next three sections of this chapter look at European institutions, minority languages, and the teaching of English. The last section of this chapter discusses future perspectives.

Multilingual schools, multilingualism, and plurilingualism Students in most European countries start learning a foreign language in primary education and in some countries even in preschool. In many cases a second foreign language is introduced in secondary education. With few exceptions the first foreign language is English and the second foreign language is German or French. The early introduction of second and foreign languages has been promoted by the European Commission so as to try to improve the mastery of basic skills in the “mother tongue plus two” languages (European Commission, 2008). However it is often the case that students acquire very limited competence in languages other than English unless they are speakers of minority languages who also learn the state language (Cenoz & Gorter, 2012). There is not a single European policy for multilingualism in education in Europe because the European Union and the Council of Europe have very limited powers in education, which is left under the control of the states. There are important differences in the level of second/foreign language competence achieved by students in different countries of the European Union (European Commission, 2012a). Outside the UK, the need to learn English is felt in all countries, but provisions for foreign language learning are weaker in  the United Kingdom. The level of English is much higher in Sweden or the Netherlands than in Southern European countries such as Spain or Italy.

Minority and State Languages, and English in European Education  475 There are many different types of multilingual schools in Europe. Cenoz (2009) proposed the “Continua of Multilingual Education” as a tool to describe and ­compare multilingual education programs across different dimensions: language distance, sociolinguistic context, and educational variables. Different c­ ombinations of languages used in the school curriculum or at home by students may be more or less related to each other. Some languages such as Swedish and English or Dutch and English are typologically closer than languages such as Spanish and English or Italian and English. Languages that are typologically closer share more aspects of their syntactic structure, phonological system, or lexis. When comparing multilingual education in different European countries (or elsewhere), linguistic distance can be understood as a continuum that ranges from “very distant” to “very close.” Multilingual programs can be placed along this continuum and ­compared to each other in the language distance dimension. Apart from linguistic distance, multilingual education is also related to the sociolinguistic context. When different schools are compared, they can be placed on a continuum ranging from “more multilingual” to “less multilingual.” In fact, the languages taught at school can have a different status and vitality in society and there can be more opportunities to use English in schools located in countries such as Sweden or the Netherlands than in schools in Spain or Italy. The schools in Sweden or the Netherlands could be placed towards the “more multilingual” end of the continuum than the schools in Spain or Italy, unless the latter are located in bilingual areas such as Catalonia or South Tyrol. It is also possible to look at the sociolinguistic context at the micro level, looking at the social networks students have in the family or with friends and neighbors. Schools located in cities such as Brussels, Paris, or London and also those in bilingual regions are more likely to have students who use more languages in the family or with their friends than students in other areas. Schools with more of these students would be placed towards the “more multilingual” end of the continuum than schools with students coming from monolingual backgrounds. The “Continua of Multilingual Education” also looks at the degree of multilingualism in educational variables such as the use of the different languages as ­subjects and languages of instruction, the introduction of languages at different ages, teachers’ degree of multilingualism and specific training or use of languages in the school environment. There are important differences between schools that have multilingualism as an important aim and teach several languages as school subjects and use these languages as media of instruction and other schools where multilingualism is more limited. The European Union promotes multilingualism as an asset and defines it as: “the ability of societies, institutions, groups and individuals to engage, on a ­regular basis, with more than one language in their day‐to‐day lives” (European Commission, 2007, p. 6). This definition considers multilingualism both at the individual and social levels. The Council of Europe (2007, p. 8) makes a distinction between the term “plurilingualism” as the “repertoire of varieties of language which many individuals use” and “multilingualism” which is understood as “the presence in a geographical area, large or small, of more than one ‘variety of

476  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education language’… in such area individuals may be monolingual, speaking only their own variety.” This distinction is based on the individual and the social dimensions of communicating in different languages. At the same time, the concept of plurilingualism implies that there is a single competence that encompasses the different languages in the speaker’s linguistic repertoire. The Council of Europe has developed the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (CEFR), an important instrument to create a common basis in the teaching and assessment of second and foreign languages (Council of Europe, 2001). The CEFR describes knowledge and skills of language learners as “can do” descriptors. The CEFR consist of a scale with six levels: A1 and A2 (Basic user), B1 and B2 (Independent user), C1 and C2 (Proficient user). There are scales for each level for listening, reading, spoken interaction, spoken production and writing. Those scales are made up of “can do” statements, that is, describing instances of language use. Nowadays the CEFR is widely used in different parts of the world. Another tool related to the CEFR is the European Language Portfolio (ELP) used to record the learner’s language achievements.

Minority languages in education Different categories of minority languages can be distinguished in the European context (Extra & Gorter 2007). Some minority languages are “unique” because they are spoken in one or more than one state, but are nowhere the official dominant or majority language of a state. Some examples of these languages are Catalan which is spoken in Spain, France, and Italy or Welsh, spoken in the UK. In other cases, a language that is a minority language in one state is the official and ­dominant language in another, neighboring state. An example of this situation is the use of German as a minority language in Italy or Belgium. Some minority ­languages are official state languages but are still dominated by other majority ­languages. This is the case of Luxembourgish and Irish. Luxemburgish is the official language of Luxembourg where German and French are used as well, and English is the ­dominant language in Ireland although Irish is the first official language. Multilingual education involving minority languages has some special characteristics related to the sociolinguistic situation of the minority language and its status. One of the challenges faced in these situations is the legal status and f­ unding for the use of the minority as a language of instruction. This involves recognition but also the need to develop teaching materials for a limited market particularly in the case of unique minorities. The availability of teachers who are qualified to teach through a minority language is often an issue as well. Minority languages have a weaker tradition than majority languages in the use of academic language and very often face, or have faced, the challenge of developing a standard ­language that can be used in education. The situation of minority languages in multilingual education in Europe cannot be regarded as homogeneous because the demography of these languages and their status is very diverse. Catalan is usually regarded as the strongest minority and the number of speakers is estimated to be around nine million. This means

Minority and State Languages, and English in European Education  477 that there are more speakers of Catalan than of several official European languages. A completely different situation is that of other languages such as Livonian in Latvia which has a handful of speakers and is a nearly extinct language. The extent to which minority languages are used in education also varies. Some minority languages such as Basque and Catalan have become the main languages of instruction in the Basque Autonomous Community and in Catalonia, but the use of other minority languages is more limited (Cenoz & Gorter, 2008). The Council of Europe has established the Charter for Regional or Minority Languages, (Council of Europe, 1998) to protect the use of minority languages in education and other domains. So far, 25 states have ratified the Charter and another eight have signed but not ratified. According to the Charter, minority languages should be present “at all appropriate stages” of the education system, from preschool education through university and higher‐level education, including adult courses, teacher training as well as the teaching of history and culture in relation to minority languages. Minority languages can be school subjects and also ­languages of instruction. Although the Charter is not legally binding, there are detailed periodical reports on the developments in each adhering state, and as a result there has been some improvement in the situation of minority languages in education in Europe. Minority languages are more commonly taught in preschool and primary school than in secondary school and higher education. An example of the increasing use of a minority language in education is Basque in the Basque Autonomous Community in Spain (Cenoz, 2009; Gorter, Zenotz, Etxague, & Cenoz, 2014). Basque is a language of unknown origin that was in contact with Latin and later with French and Spanish for many centuries. There were just a few multilingual schools teaching through the medium of Basque at the end of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth century, but Basque was banned from education during the Franco regime (1939–1975). However, Basque continued to be used despite legal strictures, and in the 1960s some Basque‐medium schools were established. Basque, along with Spanish, became an official language in the Basque Autonomous Community in 1978. The use of Basque in education was regulated in the early 1980s. Parents have a choice of three models so that their children have Basque just as a school subject, as the language of instruction for some subjects, or as the main language of instruction for all subjects except Spanish and English. The use of Basque as the main language of instruction has increased over the years and nowadays most primary and secondary school students learn most school subjects through the medium of Basque. The results of the evaluations carried out in the Basque Autonomous Community indicate that the use of Basque as the language of instruction results in a high level of proficiency in the minority language, at no cost to the development of Spanish proficiency or academic development (Cenoz, 2009). Some studies have also shown that the use of Basque as the language of instruction results in higher levels of bilingual proficiency and provides some advantages when acquiring English as a third language (Cenoz, 2009). Immigrant languages have different characteristics compared to indigenous minority languages. There are important differences in the number of immigrant

478  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education students in different states of the European Union. According to the PISA assessment data, 24.9% of the students in Luxembourg were classified as immigrants who did not speak the language of instruction at home, whereas the Czech Republic, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Hungary, and Portugal have less than 1% of students in this situation (European Commission, 2012b). In some cases immigrant languages are included in the curriculum and there are agreements with the government of the country of origin. More often, immigrant languages are taught outside the school timetable in complementary education (Extra & Gorter, 2007). Some schools have developed programs to develop language awareness and interculturalism so that both immigrant and nonimmigrant students value and get interested in the other languages and cultures. In some cases, teachers work closely with parents to expose learners so as to empower speakers of minority languages (Hélot & Young, 2006).

Recent trends: clil and the early introduction of English English is by far the most commonly taught language in Europe and it is increasingly used to teach academic content. The term “Content and Language Integrated Learning” (CLIL) was launched in the 1990s by a group of European experts and it is nowadays widely used outside Europe as well. CLIL is supported by the European Commission (2007) because it can contribute to the development of multilingualism. Most countries in the European Union offer some type of CLIL provision either for English or other languages (European Commission, 2012b). CLIL can be 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, Hood & Marsh, 2010, p. 1). There is no agreement about the scope of CLIL and the combination of content and language has been understood in different ways. CLIL can refer to teaching some subject content in the language class by having some activities or units on academic content, but it can also refer to the teaching of a school subject through the medium of English or another ­language. CLIL shares many characteristics with immersion bilingual education and as Cenoz, Genesee, and Gorter (2014, p. 244) point out that “although CLIL’s origins in Europe might make it historically unique, this does not necessarily make it pedagogically unique.” In many cases, CLIL is seen as a new approach because it is new to use academic content in the teaching of English and other languages in  Europe, but the combination of language and content has a long tradition in the  case of European minority languages and many other educational contexts outside Europe, including most bilingual education contexts (for more on CLIL, see Chapter  12 of this volume, Programs and Structures in Bilingual and Multilingual Education). CLIL has become quite popular in Continental Europe, and English is increasingly used as the language of instruction for some subjects in secondary school and higher education. There is not enough research to see the specific effect of

Minority and State Languages, and English in European Education  479 using academic content to teach language as compared to the same amount of instruction and exposure in language classes. There is also not enough research that looks into the effect of CLIL on achievement on academic content either. Another trend that is popular in European education is the introduction of a second or foreign language at an early age, in preschool or primary school (Muñoz, 2006; Nikolov, 2009—for more on this topic, and especially differences with the United States, see Chapter 18 of this volume Early Childhood Education and Dual Language Learners). The most popular language is English and the programs for learning English are not homogeneous across Europe. There are differences in the age of introduction, the number of hours of instruction, the specific teaching ­methodology used, and many other contextual factors. The early introduction of a foreign language in the school curriculum increases the total amount of time that learners have at their disposal, and many parents and educators consider that young children are specially gifted to learn foreign languages. The early introduction of a second/foreign language is also seen as a step in the direction of developing multilingualism because it allows for an increase in the duration of language teaching. Nowadays foreign languages are compulsory in primary education in most countries and they are introduced between the ages of six and nine. In some countries, such as Spain, English is taught from the age of three or four, and yet, in the United Kingdom a foreign language is not taught until secondary school (European Commission, 2012b). Despite the popularity of early childhood programs, research carried out in contexts where exposure to the target language is limited outside school indicates that older learners make more progress than younger learners and that the early introduction of a foreign language does not necessarily result in a high level of proficiency (Muñoz, 2006; Cenoz, 2009). As many schools in Europe have more than two or three languages in the ­curriculum, there are many possibilities to use these languages as school subjects or languages of instruction from the early grades. One example of this diversity can be found in the Basque Country where most children start attending school at the age of two. The school language at this age is usually Basque, which is the first language only for some students because many others have Spanish as a first ­language. English is introduced in the second or third year of preschool when children are three to four years old and have already been exposed to Basque. There are differences in the age in which Spanish is introduced. Children whose home language is Basque usually have Basque as the main language of instruction and receive instruction in Spanish from the age of six or eight. There are different ­ possibilities in the case of children whose home language is Spanish––those with Basque as the main language of instruction are in the same classes as the Basque L1 children and learn to read and write in Basque, their second language. Other children, whose home language is Spanish, learn to read and write in Spanish first. As the use of Basque as the main language of instruction is very popular in the Basque Autonomous Community, many children whose home language is Spanish combine the early introduction of English at the age of three or four with that of

480  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Basque, a second language, as the language of instruction. Many schools in the Basque Country also have English as an additional language of instruction for one or two subjects in secondary school and an additional language, usually French, as a school subject.

Future perspectives in European multilingual education Multilingual education has a long tradition in Europe and it has institutional support, although there are differences in the policies of the states. Multilingual education has had an important development in the last decades. There are at least two features that can be associated with multilingual education in Europe: its diversity and the increasing role of English (see also Cenoz & Gorter, 2010; Darquennes, 2012). Multilingual education in Europe involves indigenous minority languages, official languages of the states, immigrant languages, and English. It is aimed at minority‐ and majority‐language speakers of different social backgrounds and it can be found at all educational levels. It can start in different grades and include a different number of languages that are taught as subjects or used as languages of instruction. This diversity shows that it is not possible to consider multilingual e­ ducation in Europe as a single program. The other feature associated with multilingual education in Europe is the predominance of English as the language used in  most programs. English is the most widely second/ foreign language used as a subject in most programs and its use as an additional language of instruction is increasing in the recent past. However, as Darquennes (2012) points out, it is still more common to teach a second/foreign language as a subject than to teach through the second/foreign language in some type of bilingual/multilingual education. He adds that there is some reluctance to introduce multilingual education in countries such as Iceland, Portugal, or the Flemish Community of Belgium. Multilingual education in Europe faces many challenges but also has some interesting possibilities for future development. One of the challenges faced is that English is so predominant that other languages may not be any longer learned in the near future. The European Commission proposal of “mother tongue plus two” is sometimes limited to the teaching of a second/ foreign language for a short period of time or available to some students. According to a recent report, the EU average percentage of students learning German and French (the most popular languages after English) has barely changed since 2004/2005, while the percentage of students learning English has increased (European Commission, 2012b). CLIL programs are usually associated with English, and Dalton‐Puffer, Nikula, and Smit (2010, p. 286) even discuss the possibility of replacing “language” by “English” so that CLIL becomes CEIL, “Content and English Integrated Learning.” The fact that the learning of European languages other than English has decreased in some countries and that it is very limited could imply that learning three or more languages by the

Minority and State Languages, and English in European Education  481 majority of the students could become less common outside bilingual regions where English is learned as a third language. Another challenge faced by multilingual education in Europe is the need to conduct more research in different areas. It is necessary to analyze the effects of CLIL programs on the learning of academic content and on the development of second/foreign language proficiency. There is also a need to identify effective classroom pedagogies in language learning. CLIL advocates have often tried to highlight the differences between CLIL and immersion bilingual programs. This isolation of CLIL is an obstacle because it limits access to valuable information on good pedagogies and on the effect of immersion bilingual ­programs (Cenoz, Genesee, & Gorter, 2014). The use of CLIL as an umbrella term that refers not only to English programs but also to immersion bilingual programs in minority languages, as proposed by the European Commission (2012b), provides the opportunity to exchange the outcomes of research in ­different contexts. Multilingual education in Europe has institutional support in most states. This official backing provides the opportunity to develop and assess programs that involve several languages. Going beyond the learning of two languages can be an opportunity to better explore the characteristics of multilingual speakers and the interactions between the languages in the learners’ linguistic repertoire than when only the first and second language are involved. Cenoz and Gorter (2011) propose the need to adopt a “Focus on multilingualism” that establishes soft rather than hard boundaries between languages. This proposal considers that learners are multilingual speakers who can communicate in different languages but also navigate between languages. Multilingual speakers are different from monolingual speakers because they do not use each of their languages for the same purposes in all communicative situations, in the same domains, or with the  same people (Cenoz & Gorter, 2011; Kramsch, 2012; Moore & Gajo, 2009). According to “Focus on Multilingualism” multilinguals can use their own multilingualism as a resource when learning additional languages because of their enhanced metalinguistic awareness and communication skills (Cenoz & Gorter, 2011; Gorter 2013; Jessner, 2008). Future developments in multilingual education in Europe need to go beyond the isolation of the different languages into models that accommodate the integration of the different languages in the curriculum so that learners can apply what they learn in one language to other languages. The unique context of multilingual education in Europe and its diversity can certainly contribute to the development of multilingual communication and provide opportunities for research.

Acknowledgement We acknowledge the support of the research grants EDU2012‐32191 (Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness), and IT‐362‐10/UFI 11/54 (Basque Government).

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References Cenoz, J. (2009). Towards multilingual education: Basque educational research from an international perspective. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Cenoz, J., Genesee, F., & Gorter, D. (2014). Critical analysis of CLIL: Taking stock and looking forward. Applied Linguistics, 35(3), 243–262. Cenoz, J. & Gorter, D. (Eds.) (2008). Applied linguistics and the use of minority languages in education, AILA Review, 21 (special issue on multilingualism and minority languages). Cenoz, J., & Gorter, D. (2010). The diversity of multilingualism in education. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 205, 37–53. Cenoz, J., & Gorter, D. (2011). Focus on multilingualism: A study of trilingual writing. The Modern Language Journal 95(3), 356–369. Cenoz, J., & Gorter, D. (2012). Language policy in education: Additional languages. In B. Spolsky (Ed.), The Cambridge handbook of language policy (pp. 301–319). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Council of Europe. (1998). European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages. Strasbourg: Council of Europe, CETS nr 148. www.coe.int/t/dg4/education/ minlang (accessed November 25, 2014). Council of Europe. (2001). Common European framework of reference for languages: Learning, teaching, assessment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. www.coe.int/t/dg4/ Linguistic/Source/Framework_EN.pdf (accessed November 25, 2014). Council of Europe. (2007). Guide for the development of language education policies in Europe. From Linguistic diversity to plurilingual education. www. coe.int/t/dg4/linguistic/Source/ Guide_Main_Beacco2007_EN.doc (accessed November 25, 2014).

Coyle, D., Hood, P., & Marsh, D. (2010). Content and language integrated learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dalton‐Puffer, C., Nikula, T., & Smit, U. (2010). Language use and language learning in CLIL: Current findings and contentious issues. In C. Dalton‐Puffer, T. Nikula, & U. Smit (Eds.), Language use and language learning in CLIL classrooms (pp. 279–291). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Darquennes, J. (2013). Multilingual education in Europe. In C. Chapelle (Ed.), Blackwell encyclopedia of applied linguistics. London: Blackwell Publishing. European Commission. (2007) High level group on multilingualism: Final report. Luxembourg: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities. European Commission. (2008). Multilingualism: An asset for Europe and a shared commitment. Brussels: COM 566 final. European Commission (2012a). First European survey on language competences 2012. http://www.ecml.at/News3/ TabId/643/ArtMID/2666/ArticleID/26/ First‐European‐Survey‐on‐Language‐ Competences‐Final‐report.aspx (accessed November 25, 2014). European Commission. (2012b). Key data on teaching languages at school in Europe ‐ 2012. Brussels: Education, Audiovisual and Culture Executive Agency. http://eacea. ec.europa.eu/education/eurydice/ documents/key_data_series/143EN.pdf (accessed November 25, 2014). Extra, G., & Gorter, D. (2007). Regional and immigrant languages in Europe. In M. Hellinger & A. Pauwels (Eds.), Handbook of language and communication: Diversity and change (pp. 15–52). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.

Minority and State Languages, and English in European Education  483 Franceschini, R. (2013). History of multilingualism. In C. Chapelle (Ed.), Blackwell encyclopedia of applied linguistics. London: Blackwell. Gorter, D. (2013). Multilingual interaction and minority languages: Proficiency and language practices in education and society. Language Teaching (FirstView), 1–17. Gorter, D., Zenotz, V., Etxague, X., & Cenoz, J. (2014). Multilingualism and European minority languages: The case of Basque. In D. Gorter, V. Zenotz, & J. Cenoz (Eds.), Minority languages and multilingual education: Bridging the local and the global (pp. 278–301). Berlin: Springer. Hélot, C., & Young, A. (2006). Imagining multilingual education in France: A language and cultural awareness project at primary level. In O. García, T. Skutnabb‐Kangas, & E. Torres‐Guzmán (Eds.), Imagining multilingual schools: Languages in education and glocalisation (pp. 69–90). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Jessner, U. (2008). A DST model of multilingualism and the role of

metalinguistic awareness. The Modern Language Journal 92, 2, 270–283. Kramsch, C. (2012). Authenticity and legitimacy in multilingual SLA. Critical Multilingualism Studies 1, 107–128. http://cms.arizona.edu/index.php/ multilingual/article/view/9/20 (accessed November 25, 2014). Moore, D., & Gajo, L. (2009). Introduction: French voices on plurilingualism and pluriculturalism: Theory, significance, and perspectives. International Journal of Multilingualism 6(2), 137–153. Muñoz, C. (Ed.) (2006). Age and the rate of foreign language learning. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Nikolov, M. (Ed.) (2009). Early learning of modern foreign languages: Processes and outcomes. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Schola Europaea. (2012). Facts and figures on the beginning of the 2012–2013 school year in the European Schools. Brussels: Board of Governors of the European Schools. http://www.eursc.eu/fichiers/contenu_ fichiers2/1755/2011‐10‐D‐33‐en‐3.pdf (accessed November 25, 2014).

29 Contested Notions of Bilingualism and Trilingualism in the People’s Republic of China Anwei Feng and Bob Adamson Up till the end of the twentieth century, discussions on bilingualism and models of bilingual education remained predominantly in the domain of language education for China’s minority groups (Feng, 2005). Since the turn of the century, however, this situation has drastically changed, with a rapid increase in research and literature dealing with various aspects of bilingualism, trilingualism, and diverse forms of bilingual or trilingual education, not only for minority groups but for the majority Han group too. This increase has been largely attributed to the spread of English throughout the world including Greater China (Feng, 2011). In most provinces and areas where the majority Han dominate, researchers and scholars have turned their attention from English as a foreign language teaching to English–Chinese bilingualism and bilingual education.1 In minority‐ dominated regions, while discussions about bilingualism and bilingual e­ ducation continue (Dai & Cheng, 2007), there has been a rapid rise of research in trilingual education and trilingualism in minority home language (L1), Mandarin Chinese (L2), and English (L3) (Adamson & Feng, 2009; Feng & Adamson, 2015; Zhang & Yu, 2012).2 Despite academic enthusiasm for the new phenomena, there have been continuous and often heated debates on the concepts, practices, and consequences of bilingual and trilingual education. This chapter provides an overview of the current ­scholarship and debates about the phenomena of bilingualism and trilingualism. Towards the end, it discusses the implications of the research and debates for language education for the majority Han and minority groups and future research into language use.

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Contested Notions of Bi/Trilingualism in China  485

Bilingualism and trilingualism: Past and present The history of bilingualism and bilingual education in China can be traced back to the third century when the country was united under the Qin Dynasty and the Han majority group began to colonize remote areas of the country (Dai & Dong, 1996; He, 1998). Migration and frequent civil wars inevitably resulted in small numbers of individuals becoming bilingual to act as mediators between the minorities and the majority group or between minority nationalities. Formal bilingual schooling, however, did not start until the turn of the twentieth century when the late Qing government officially opened some bilingual schools in major cities and some minority regions, which were attended by the social elite of the minority groups. For more than six decades under the communist regime, regions where indigenous minority groups dominate have seen drastic policy changes with regard to language use, language development, and language education, swinging between assimilation and promotion of bilingualism in L1 and L2 (Dai & Dong, 1997; Zhou, 2003, 2004). The six decades are often described as comprising broadly three distinct periods. The first decade, from 1949 to about 1957, is usually called the initial developmental period during which genuine efforts were made by the central government and linguists to develop and promote minority languages and bilingualism. For nearly two decades from 1958 to 1976, however, there was a severe setback when ultra‐left assimilation ideology dominated the policies and approaches in minority education. The post‐Mao era since 1977 is said to be the recovering or “maturing” period when bilingualism and bilingual education have been effectively promoted in the ethnic minority regions. However, some scholars make more detailed analyses by subdividing the three eras, particularly the post‐Mao era, from the perspective of sociopolitical dynamics, and discuss issues with regard to the interplay between ideology, policy, and practice that are far more complex than the broad representation of the three periods (Zhou, 2003, 2004). The majority Han group, however, have had a vastly different history with regard to language use and language education, for the simple reason that Chinese has been the sole official language and its varieties are spoken by the absolute majority in China. Although some researchers trace bilingualism back to foreign language teaching in the late Qing Dynasty, modern forms of bilingual education did not commence till the early twentieth century when Protestant missionaries from America introduced bilingual education into China and promoted Sino‐ Occidental cultural exchanges (Adamson, 2004; Yu, 2008). Throughout history up to the turn of the twenty‐first century, as Feng (2012) points out, the majority of Han Chinese had remained monolingual with only a small number of bilingual exceptions such as foreign/second language teachers and students, diplomats, interpreters, and those who lived in areas dominated by minority groups. Hence, notions such as bilingual education rarely made appearance in the literature, language policy documents, and school curricula for the majority Han group. Since the turn of the century, however, this situation has significantly changed. Due to China’s open‐door policy, strong competence in English was widely seen as the key to modernization by policy makers and Chinese society as a whole.

486  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education As traditional ways to teach English as a foreign language were increasingly viewed as ineffective by policy makers, they turned their attention to bilingualism and bilingual education developed internationally. In 2001, three state‐level documents were issued to all educational institutions throughout the country (Feng, 2005). These documents could be said to have triggered a profound transformation of language use and education in China. Catalytic factors such as membership of WTO (the World Trade Organization), obtained in 2001, the successful bidding for the Olympic Games in the same year, hosting the Games in Beijing in 2008, and the World Expo in Shanghai in 2010 fuelled the enthusiasm to master English at all levels and helped to reshape China’s education system as a whole. English is not only commonly perceived as the key to modernity by policy makers and society but is also often used as a determining criterion for life opportunities for individuals such as university places and prestigious jobs. In education, English has thus become one of the most important school subjects. In some cities such as Shanghai and Xi’an, it is used as a medium of instruction in immersion programs in schools and universities (Hu, 2008; Knell et al., 2007; Wang, 2003). Many strong forms of bilingual education as defined by Baker (2011), such as partial immersion and Content‐Language Integrated Learning (CLIL), have become increasingly popular. The impact of English–Chinese bilingual education on indigenous minority education is immeasurable. Traditional bilingual models aiming to produce home language and Chinese bilinguals have become inadequate. Official policies included minority groups in the campaign to promote English education, even though the language used in the documents was cautious (Feng & Sunuodula, 2009).3 Language provision for minority groups and the literature that goes with it have moved from bilingualism to predominantly trilingualism and trilingual education in the last decade.

Notions contested Despite the general enthusiasm of the stakeholders in education and the general public for the new phenomena, there are frequent criticisms and questions from skeptics and ideologues about the rationale, effectiveness, and consequences of bilingualism and trilingualism promoted in the country. Although issues under debate in English–Chinese bilingual education and bilingualism differ hugely from those related to trilingual education and trilingualism for minority groups, they reveal the intrinsic relationship between language and politics, language and society, language and power, and language and identity.

English–Chinese bilingual education—a battleground Research and discussions on English–Chinese bilingualism and bilingual education have mushroomed in the past decade. Many researchers, policy makers and educators have engaged enthusiastically in discussing concepts, policies, curricula, and approaches to bilingual education and in experimenting with models

Contested Notions of Bi/Trilingualism in China  487 to facilitate bilingual teaching and learning (Cheng, 2011; Qiang, Liu, Yang, & Yu,, 2008). Not surprisingly, the new approach in language education, like all other new approaches, has met with much suspicion and criticism in most key aspects of bilingual education. Many critics have raised questions on the legitimacy, rationale, effectiveness, and sociopolitical and cultural consequences of promoting English in the country. The most direct challenge from skeptics and critics relates to the legitimacy of English–Chinese bilingual teaching. Opponents such as those cited in Feng (2007) and Wang (2003) were found challenging the use of English as a medium of instruction from the perspective of national sovereignty and security. They argue that bilingual education in its strict sense is illegal. Indeed, Article 10 of the Law of the People’s Republic of China on the Use of Language and Script, which came into effect in January 2001, ordains that educational institutions in China, except for those of minority groups, must use Chinese as the medium of instruction and adopt standard Chinese written characters as the written language. Some scholars such as Wang (2003) predicted that regulations or laws to legitimate strong forms of bilingual education would soon follow. However, so far, this legal challenge does not seem to have resulted in any official response. Sociolinguistic and cultural consequences of bilingual education have also been ­frequently discussed by educators and commentators in recent years. Many educators such as Xu (2003) insist that learning English as a lingua franca is a double‐edged sword. It eases international communication but at the same time threatens mother‐tongue language and culture. Despite its potential merit, Hu (2008) also argues that bilingual education should not be promoted at the expense of the heritage language. Xu (2003) vigorously states that mother tongue language and culture, patriotism, and other traditional values must remain at the core of the school curriculum. However, other researchers argue that little empirical evidence is reported to support this view. Tong and Shi (2012), for example, carried out a survey among students at a southeastern university who took a science course conducted in English and found no evidence that a strong model to use English as the medium of instruction would jeopardize the status of Chinese language and culture. Related to the sociolinguistic and cultural consequences of English–Chinese bilingual education is the issue of identity. Despite the overwhelming view of the intrinsic relationship between language and culture in the literature, some (e.g., Wang, 2003) argue that, unlike many other multicultural countries, “bilingual teaching” in China has little to do with cultural identity. The issue at stake is linguistic. Wang quotes a school principal as saying “learning English is a shameful act for China” but in order to overtake others in science and technology, we [Chinese] “must learn English well, but with gnashed teeth” (p. 16, our translation). These views demonstrate not only a utilitarian attitude (Feng, 2007), that is, to acquire the language purely for the purpose of accessing the knowledge in that language in order to build a strong nation‐state, but also some sort of resentment in perceiving the need to do so. The view that language should be disengaged

488  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education from culture and otherness departs from common conceptions of bilingualism and bilingual education. As far as major benefits of bilingual education are concerned, Garcia (2009, p. 12) states that bilingual education “has the potential of a transformative school practice, able to educate children in ways that can stimulate and expand their intellect and imagination, as they gain expressions and access different ways of being in the world.” Furthermore, this conception is also in sharp contrast to the prevailing view of trilingualism for the minority groups with regard to cultural identity (to be discussed later). One of the most vigorous and comprehensive critiques is given by Hu (2007, 2008) who figuratively depicts English–Chinese bilingual education as a “juggernaut” driven at such an uncontrollable speed that it seems to crush everything in its path. Particularly in his 2008 paper, he not only questions the economic, sociolinguistic, and cultural rationales of bilingual education, as those reviewed above have done, but challenges the theoretical underpinnings of the academic discourse and methodology that many proponents used in assessing the effectiveness of English–Chinese bilingual education. Through extensive analysis and critique of  theories and methodology, Hu (2008, p. 195) concludes that the “academic discourse with its misconceptions, misrepresentations, and misinterpretations has misled stakeholders of bilingual education” and states that English–Chinese bilingual education in its current form “limits participation in education and restricts opportunities of success to the elites” (p. 220). An empirical study in Shanghai by Zou and Zhang (2011) does illustrate that social economic status and the level of parents’ education play an important role in children’s access to linguistic capital. Rather than theoretical critiques, practical issues such as shortage of qualified teachers, lack of suitable textbooks, and lack of systematic planning have remained the primary concerns till today for many educators and researchers (Lei, 2012). Many schools and universities are criticized for their poor quality of teaching using English as the medium of instruction because of these practical problems. However, proponents have experimented with strong models such as English immersion and CLIL, implemented the models and reported positive results and benefits (Pan, 2007; Qiang et al., 2009). With the improvement of resources and quality of teachers owing to rapid economic growth and the unwavering popularity of bilingual education, practical issues are being dealt with as time passes. Recent research (e.g., Qiang et al., 2009; Tong & Shi, 2012) suggests that some strong models have proved effective and innovative and the students’ satisfaction level is rising.

Tensions surrounding trilingualism The linguistic situation is complex for the 55 officially recognized indigenous minority groups, most of whom speak their own languages and have their own scripts. The promotion of English into the classrooms dominated by minority groups has further amplified the complexity of the situation. As mentioned above, traditional bilingual models have become obsolete in many minority regions, resulting in a rapid increase

Contested Notions of Bi/Trilingualism in China  489 of literature on trilingualism and trilingual education. Many researchers and educators have observed negative consequences. Yang (2005), for example, lists four factors that negatively impact on the promotion of English in ethnic minority regions: lack of resources, lack of motivation, interference of existing bilingual policies and difficulty in learning a third language. Through a discussion from a similar perspective, Bastid‐Bruguiere (2001) predicts that, inevitably, the nation‐wide drive for English language education is empowering the already powerful majority group, leaving indigenous minority groups further behind. Beckett and MacPherson (2005) also state that the expansion of English language education is widening the gap between the majority and minority groups and augmenting the educational inequities minority peoples already face in the traditional system. Instead of general analyses and presuppositions, some are concerned with more specific issues such as the relationship of the three languages involved. Based on the traditional notion of Minhan Jiantong, literarily, mastery of L1 and L2 which aims to develop “balanced bilinguals,” some educators take Sanyu Jiantong (mastery of the three languages) as the ultimate aim of trilingual education as they see all languages as equally important. Others argue that there should be a language acting as the central pillar among the three from either a cognitive or a political perspective. Luo (2001) coins a notion, Duoyu Yitong (multilingual ability with comprehensive competence in one language). He holds the view that trilinguals are common in the new century but balanced trilinguals are rare. In a region or nation, there is usually a common or official language, such as Mandarin Chinese in China. It is this language that all learners are expected to master. Tensions surrounding whether and which language should be prioritized are explicitly displayed in an article written by an academic cum policy maker for the official flagship newspaper of education who categorically states that in any form of bilingual education “we must put Chinese at the centre and focus our attention on promoting Chinese national consciousness and identity” (Feng, 2007, our translation and emphasis). As a language is a symbol of a nation, he continues, the dominant language must be Han Chinese in bilingual (or multilingual) education for either the ethnic minority groups or English–Chinese bilingual schooling in economically developed areas. In discussions on either traditional bilingual education or trilingual education for the minority groups, the issue of national and cultural identity has often come to the fore. Unlike English–Chinese bilingualism for the Han majority group for which many take a stance of cultural disengagement, as discussed before, minority students are usually expected not only to master L2 Mandarin Chinese but to communicate and think freely in L2, that is, to become “perfect bilinguals” with bicultural identity (Feng, 2007). Indeed, it is not uncommon to see in the literature notions such as “useless minority languages,” “backward culture,” and “resistance to otherness or to advanced Han culture” used explicitly or implicitly as causal factors for issues in minority education. Thus, there is a strong view, though not always explicit because of its political sensitivity, that L2 should be robustly promoted as the linguistic goal and identification with and allegiance to the nation‐state as the sociopolitical aim.

490  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education The recent decade, however, has also witnessed vigorous research and arguments for what can be broadly called additive trilingualism. In terms of minority education, Feng and Adamson (2013; 2015) define it for a minority student as utmost competency in L1 (mother tongue), strong competency in L2 (Mandarin Chinese), given L2’s wide use and absolute importance for a minority pupil’s life opportunities in China, and peer‐appropriate competency in L3 (a foreign language, usually English). Peer‐appropriate competency in L3 refers to oral proficiency and literacy in English comparable to that of the students’ peers in the majority Han group. This conception, informed both by the literature and by evidence obtained through recent research in China, emphatically recognizes the crucial role L1 plays in minority education. From the point of view of cognitive development, there is consensus that every child should have at least one fully developed language, which is usually their L1, so that their academic performance in general would not be adversely affected (Baker, 2011; Cummins, 2000). A well‐developed L1 in turn facilitates the acquisition of L2 and gives the child an advantage in developing L3 (Cenoz, 2009). These theories are supported by a number of research studies conducted in various regions in China in recent years. The Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture is a clear case in point. For decades, the Korean group has adopted strong forms of bilingual and multilingual education in which pupils’ L1 has played a pivotal role in education. They have established an effective system to produce graduates who display all the features of additive trilingualism as defined above. The general academic performance of Korean students is evidently superior to that of most other ethnic groups including the majority Han (Zhou, 2003). Some commentators remind us that the effectiveness shown in Korean bilingual or trilingual education might be mainly due to the economic power that the Korean language (L1) enjoys (Lin, 1997). Because of its economic value, individuals may be more ready to invest in this cultural capital and learners may be more motivated to learn the language. This implies that additive trilingualism may only apply to a few minority languages with economic values. However, recent research has also yielded evidence that minority pupils can benefit tremendously from learning L1 and/or using it as a medium of instruction, even though their L1 is far less privileged than Korean in economic terms. One of the most noteworthy examples is the longitudinal experiment with Dong–Han bilingual education conducted in a remote village school in Guizhou by Geary and Pan (2003), with a follow‐up experiment to teach English as L3 by Finifrock (2010). The village school used to teach all school subjects using (a local variety of) Chinese as the sole medium of instruction. Pupils’ L1, Dong, was ignored as it was perceived as a language with little economic value spoken in poor Dong‐dominated areas in Guizhou. The researchers experimented with a strong model of Dong–Han bilingual education for a group of preschool children and examined its effectiveness by comparing the general academic performance of this group with that of a control group of L1 Dong‐speaking children who continued to follow traditional monolingual practice. Their experimental results were astonishingly positive. The group receiving bilingual education consistently outperformed the latter in all subjects throughout the course of schooling. They were also found to hold

Contested Notions of Bi/Trilingualism in China  491 more positive attitudes towards Dong culture, their own community, and towards education in general. At the later stage when English was taught to the groups, the experimental group were shown to acquire the third language more competently than the control group. Most pupils in the former group have, thus, persisted longer in education. Despite it being an experiment on a small scale, the research has demonstrated strong evidence of the value of additive bilingual and trilingual education in terms of pupils’ cognitive development and confidence in claiming their own identity.

Discussion Recent debates in China demonstrate similarities and disparities in perceptions of and attitudes towards English–Chinese bilingual education for the majority Han group and trilingual education for the ethnic minority groups. In both situations, socio‐political and cultural consequences are often the focal points of tension. For English–Chinese bilingual education, some argue primarily from the perspective of the utilitarian value of the English language. In the debate on trilingual education for minority groups, on the other hand, many forcefully prioritize L2 and identification with the nation‐state as the aims of education. The economic power of a language is often used as the rationale to water down, if not ignore, the role of minority languages with only a few exceptions. The debates demonstrate the intrinsic relationship between language education and politics and between models used for developing bilingualism or multilingualism and perceptions and attitudes of stakeholders in education. In these debates, many policy makers, educators, and researchers seem to take a stance from a particular perspective. What appears necessary is, to use a term reviewed by Li (2013), a transdisciplinary approach to looking into the phenomena. In this approach, English–Chinese bilingual education for the majority Han group or trilingualism in minority education would be promoted or evaluated from a holistic perspective, drawing upon insights from any discipline that is relevant to the practice under study. To promote and to assess strong models in trilingual education, for example, educators and researchers would have to look into all relevant aspects so as to make evidence‐based decisions, including the ethnolinguistic vitality of the minority language, geography and demography of the group, perceptions of attitudes of the key stakeholders, the economic, cognitive and affective implications, and so forth. Such a transdisciplinary approach is likely to help find visionary answers to address the issues identified in the literature.

Acknowledgement The authors acknowledge the generous funding received from the Research Grants Council of Hong Kong (General Research Fund 840012). Views expressed are those of the authors.

492  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

Notes 1  In the literature, some put Chinese in front of English while others put English in front of Chinese when referring to the current form of bilingual education for the majority Han group. The terminology to a certain extent reflects the contested nature of the new phenomenon. We use “English–Chinese bilingual education” in this chapter as this form is used by more writers in Chinese journals. More importantly, it is English, after all, that is the focus of attention. 2  Like many other authors, we use trilingualism and trilingual education to refer to education and competency in three languages for minority groups in China, namely, minority home language, Chinese, and English. This is the situation most minority groups are facing today. However, it is important to note that the real situation is much more intricate than the phrase suggests. Some groups were traditionally trilingual or multilingual (Dai & Cheng, 2007) before English was introduced into the school system, while some such as Hui, Manchu, She, and Tujia speak Chinese as their home language for historical reasons. Also some school programs may claim to be trilingual, but in fact monolingualism or limited bilingualism is the hidden aim. Thus, the phrase is, strictly speaking, only a simplistic label for a very complex situation. 3  In 2002, the State Council issued a directive on minority language education with a statement that implicitly included minority groups in the promotion of English‐language education. The directive states that, in bilingual education, English should be offered in regions where favorable conditions exist. In China, this would be taken as a tall order by most local authorities (Feng & Sunuodula, 2009).

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yishi wenti [Loss of Chinese culture deserves attention in the bilingual education craze]. Waiyu Jiaoxue [Foreign Language Education], 25(3), 86–89. Yang, J. (2005). English as a third language among China’s ethnic minorities. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 8(6), 552–567. Yu, L. M. (2008). English–Chinese bilingual education in China. In N. H. Hornberger (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education (Vol. 5, 2nd edn., pp. 175–189). New York: Springer. Zhang, Z. A., & Yu, C. X. (2012). Beifang shaoshuminzushisheng sanyujiaoyu rentongyanjiu [A study of identification with trilingual education of ethnic minority teachers and students in Northern China]. Minzu Jiaoyu Yanjiu [Journal of Research on Education for Ethnic Minorities], 23(1), 16–23. Zhou, M. L. (2003). Multilingualism in China: The politics of writing reforms for minority languages, 1949–2002. Berlin, Germany: Mouton de Gruyter. Zhou, M. L. (Ed.). (2004). Language policy in the People’s Republic of China: Theory and practice since 1949. Boston, MA: Kluwer. Zou, W. C., & Zhang, S. L. (2011). Family background and English learning at compulsory stage in Shanghai. In A. Feng (Ed.), English language education across Greater China (pp. 189–211). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters.

30 Bilingual Education in Japan Slow but Steady Progress Akie Tomozawa and Junko Majima

Before we discuss bilingual education in Japan, we have to refer to the widely shared value of monolingualism in Japan. Facing Western powers’ expansion throughout Asia, and learning a lesson from China’s defeat in the Opium War of 1840, Japan opened its doors to foreign countries, ending 250 years of seclusion. After the Meiji Restoration of 1868, while promoting rapid modernization, the pressing need of the new Meiji Government was to create “Japanese,” a common language that could be understood by all the people. During the feudal Edo Period, Japan was closed but peaceful and stable. Edo (Tokyo) grew to be the largest city in the world (with a population of about one million) with the development of a market economy. Literacy was not a privilege of the samurai, but rather was shared by a large portion of urban dwellers and some rich farmers. As for spoken language, due to Japan’s mountainous and complex terrain and the lack of freedom of movement for ordinary people, many different dialects unintelligible to each other were spoken. Unifying the colloquial and the written language equipped with the orthography of kanji (Chinese characters) and kana (original syllabic signs) was not an easy task. While standard Japanese was spread through compulsory education, the rich varieties of dialect were officially expelled from schools, and the languages of the indigenous Ainu and Ryukyu people, as well as those in colonized Korea and China, were suppressed. The shared view of the Japanese language as inseparably tied to the people and nation remained even after defeat in World War II in 1945. An amazing economic recovery in less than 30 years after the war attested to the essentialist view of the homogeneity of Japan’s people and language. The fact that the latest information and knowledge were available through translations from many languages in the world, and that higher education as well as state‐of‐the‐art research were practiced in one language, was believed to be a great asset and a basis for development. That Japanese serves most daily and scholarly purposes is a view shared among the general public as well as the establishment. The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

496  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education This belief is still dominant in the twenty‐first century, when Japan has passed its peak as an advanced capitalist society, with the population declining by about 100,000 people every year after 2005 and more than 200,000 after 2012 due to low fertility rates and rapid aging. In 2011, 23.3% of the population was over 65 years, and this figure is estimated to reach 33.4% in 2035. Furthermore, Japan faces another demographic change owing to a steady increase in the number of registered foreigners (2.08 million at the end of 2011 comprising 1.63% of the total population, an increase of 170% over 1991) and a rapid increase in the number of marriages between Japanese and foreigners (seven times more in 2010 than in 1965). A hasty decision to introduce English in public elementary schools in 2012 as a solution to unsatisfactory achievements in English education has failed to refute the criticism of those claiming to preserve the exclusive importance of Japanese language arts. As for recently arrived foreign children enrolled in public schools, most are submerged in mainstream classes with pull‐out lessons in monolingual Japanese as a second language (JSL) classes or in “bilingual” JSL, where limited mother‐tongue usage is allowed. Nurses and caregivers from the Philippines and Indonesia who came to Japan (under a government program) in order to compensate for the shortages in the labor force must pass the same state examination for a license as Japanese candidates, which requires knowledge of abstruse terminology in Chinese characters. Clyne (2005) points out the disparity between a “monolingual mindset” at the policy level and the multilingual reality of Australian society. If this is the case in Australia—a country of immigrants—it is not hard to imagine how difficult it is to overcome monolingual ideology in Japan, a country which still officially closes the door to “immigrants.” Now that Japanese society has reached a time of change, what is needed is, as Gottlieb (2012, p. xii) states: A rethink of the role of language in nation‐building, not this time within the earlier context of building a modern Japan under the one people‐one language banner beloved of nation‐states but rather within that of providing the linguistic foundations needed for a socially cohesive Japan in a future in which immigration is forecast to increase.

Prolonged recession for 20 years, aggravated by the devastating earthquake and the nuclear power plant accident in northeast Japan in 2011, demanded a reconceptualization of the social models of the past, and inclusive attitudes which value multicultural and multilingual reality are emerging in local communities and private sectors. But we have to keep in mind that, if we practice bilingual and multilingual education as a makeshift solution to cope with diversified linguistic demands, the result will be a hierarchical alignment of the languages with Japanese superiority reinforced as before (Yasuda, 2011). As Cummins (2009, p. 19) argues, “Bilingual programs are usually minimally controversial when they are implemented to serve the interests of dominant groups in society,” such as French immersion programs for Anglophone students and French‐language programs for minority francophone students outside of Quebec. This is the case of the schools portrayed in Bilingual Education in Japan (JACET SIG

Bilingual Education in Japan  497 on Bilingualism, 2003), a collection of case studies of successful programs at private schools and a limited number of national schools for Japanese returnee students, as well as some international schools which accommodate Japanese students who are expected to master a high level of English. Intensive language education by native English speakers in small classes is possible when parents can afford to pay the tuition of one to two million yen ($10,000 to $20,000) per year and take responsibility for providing what is needed at home. This is what many ordinary Japanese embrace as “bilingual education,” an unattainable dream. On the other hand, Kanno (2008), using ethnography, depicts various types of bilingual education in detail—not just for elite children but also for economically disadvantaged minority children and children in ethnic Chinese Schools. In this chapter, we discuss various types of bilingual education beyond those of majorities. We also include the bilingual education efforts of ethnic schools for “old‐timers,” of public education for “newcomer” children, as well as deaf children.

Majorities We first look at foreign language education for majority children in Japan. “Foreign language” usually means English, and English has been taught at practically all the junior and senior high schools in Japan for three years respectively, that is, six years in total. Foreign languages other than English are rarely taught. According to statistics from the National Centre for University Entrance Examinations, of the more than 550,000 examinees who took university entrance exams in 2010, almost 100% took English.1 Despite the fact that most Japanese learn English for six years, however, there is low achievement in proficiency. For example, the TOEFL results of the Japanese test takers were on average ranked as low as 27th out of 30 Asian countries (Prime Minister of Japan and His Cabinet, 2011). The Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology (MEXT) released an Action Plan (MEXT, 2003) to teach English for communicative purposes and to raise “Japanese who can use English.” The goals were to be validated by widely known tests including EIKEN (Test in Practical English Proficiency by The Society for Testing English Proficiency), TOEFL and TOEIC. Three major changes notified by MEXT are as follows: (i) English is to be introduced in public elementary schools for the first time as compulsory “Foreign Language Activities” but not as “English,” (ii) junior high schools should increase English class hours and the number of words taught, and (iii) senior high schools should reorganize their curriculums to make it a rule to use English as a medium of instruction. Although it is too early to determine the impact of the introduction of English to fifth and sixth graders, many are rather skeptical concerning the result of the “English Language Activities” in elementary schools. Setting a goal of improving pupils’ English skills is carefully avoided and “Foreign Language Activities” are practiced through which pupils are familiarized with English language and culture through games and songs. The class is offered only once a week (for 45 minutes), and the pupils are not graded or evaluated in the class.

498  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education As MEXT did not provide systematic training programs for elementary school teachers who were not ready to teach English, they were left unprepared and uncertain. Teachers often were only provided with an “English Note (Notebook),” a kind of textbook published by MEXT, and an assistant language teacher (ALT), usually a native English speaker who was not necessarily a TESOL professional. These halfway measures only placed a further burden on elementary school teachers who were occupied with their daily, tight routines. Though it is seemingly not functioning smoothly, the Action Plan certainly represents the first time in Japanese elementary school history that English has been introduced as compulsory education. This could be regarded as a move toward “bilingual education” in Japanese public schools in terms of providing opportunities to listen to English. Following the introduction of English into elementary school, a considerable number of parents, not expecting much from public schools, started sending their children to preschools or after‐school schools where English is taught, and if they can afford it, they choose to send children to private schools where a “real” English education is provided. Such tendencies might lead to a widening of the socioeconomic gap between the wealthy and the poor. Some of the private schools have been gaining a good reputation and attracting attention for their immersion programs, such as Katoh Gakuen in Shizuoka, Gunma International Academy, and Makuhari International School in Chiba. Katoh Gakuen is the first Japanese school that provides an English immersion program to majority Japanese students. To strengthen junior high school English, the number of class hours of English increased from three to four hours a week in MEXT’s new Course of Study in 2012, making a total of 105 to 140 hours per year. A number of policies, plans, and measures have been implemented to improve the situation in all grade levels, municipal and prefectural levels, and the national level, as follows: (i) to practice team teaching incorporating ALTs and native English speakers, (ii) to teach English in small‐size junior high school classes, (iii) to establish Super English Language High Schools (known as “SELHis”) throughout the country, and (iv) to send English teachers to study abroad and improve their proficiency and professional quality. MEXT must show objective and clear evidence of the effects of their new policy. We will have to wait for verification of whether or not such measures have had a positive effect.

Old‐timers Currently, foreigners of many nationalities live in Japan. However, before 1945 most foreigners were Korean, accounting for more than 90% of foreigners (about 600,000), or Chinese, accounting for 7% (about 50,000). The Chinese and Korean minorities established ethnic schools to pass on their language, culture, and ethnic identity to the next generation. The first Chinese school was founded in Yokohama in 1898 (the school was divided into two in 1952), followed by schools in Tokyo and Kobe in 1899, and one in Osaka in 1946. Approximately 2,000 students were enrolled in the five schools in 2012. Two schools, one in Yokohama and the other in Kobe

Bilingual Education in Japan  499 (both K–9) are affiliated with the People’s Republic of China (PRC), three others (two are K–12) are associated with Taiwan. In Chinese‐medium classes, students use textbooks imported from the PRC and Taiwan respectively, and the instruction is traditional; a teacher‐centered, decontextualized approach (Kanno, 2008). In the 1990s the majority of Chinese students were fourth‐ and fifth‐generation, many from mixed‐marriage families with Japanese nationality (Kobe China School, 2011).2 As the political and economic presence of the PRC and Taiwan has increased, many Chinese schools have implemented curriculum reforms aiming at improving communicative competence in Chinese (a de facto lingua franca in Asia) and to foster a “transnational Chinese identity” that transcends physical location and nationality (Kanno, 2008, p. 61). Trilingual education in Chinese, Japanese, and English and moral education based on Asian values in addition to relatively reasonable tuition fees ($2,000 to $3,500 per year) increasingly appeal to Japanese parents, so much so that many Chinese schools put a 10% quota on Japanese students. Given that most Chinese students’ L1 has shifted to Japanese, Japanese students are not disadvantaged in these Chinese‐medium instruction schools. With stimulating input from Chinese‐speaking newcomers, classroom interactions are invigorated. In some ways these become two‐way immersion bilingual education programs, though this was not the intention (Sugimura, 2011). Some may be concerned about a moral dilemma or an identity crisis among Japanese students who study Chinese history from textbooks produced in the PRC or Taiwan, as well as Chinese culture including traditional dances and songs in addition to a salute to the Chinese national flag and singing the national anthem of Taiwan. However, Japanese students enjoy their privileged position of understanding Chinese culture and obtaining a good command of Chinese language as a communication medium in Asia while they see their own ethnic identity objectively (Chen, 2009). At the end of World War II, two million Koreans were in Japan and 1.4 million are said to have gone back to their liberated homeland, while 600,000 remained in Japan for various reasons. In the 1950s more than 80% of Korean children attended Japanese public schools, but the remainder (approximately 60,000 children) attended Korean ethnic schools (500 elementary and middle schools all over Japan), which valued their heritage, culture, and language while protesting against intense discrimination. Like Chinese schools, ethnic Korean schools are divided into two groups according to their political affiliations; some are affiliated with North Korea (the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea [DPRK]) and the others are affiliated with South Korea (the Republic of Korea [ROK]). The former (Chongryun schools) have succeeded in offering Korean language instruction (Korean immersion) along with a well‐organized curriculum designed to help students develop their Korean ethnic identity. Though 12,000 ethnic Korean students were enrolled in 70 Chongryun schools (K–12 and 4‐year college) in 2007 (Park, 2008), their number is declining partly because of the decrease in the ethnic Korean population (14% decrease in 10 years since 2001) and the increase in the number of mixed marriages with Japanese (80% of ethnic Koreans have Japanese spouses). Intense ethnic

500  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education education and their affiliation with North Korea affected them negatively in 2002 when the DPRK admitted its involvement in the abduction of Japanese citizens. Kim (2009) observes “reversed diglossia” in Korean language education of Chongryun schools where the ethnic language (L) is taught in a formal domain like schools and Japanese (H) is spoken in a private domain like families. She lists examples of what she names “school bilingualism”: simplified sentence endings, interference from L1 (Japanese), an unbalanced vocabulary, and inadequate usage of formal styles. On the other hand the number of students enrolled in schools affiliated with ROK (Mindan schools)—one in Tokyo and Kyoto, two in Osaka—is increasing by attracting new groups; South Korean businessmen assigned to Japan who want their children to maintain their Korean language and Japanese parents who think highly of trilingual education (Korean, Japanese, and English) and an ethnically diversified school atmosphere. In 2008 the Korea International School was established in Osaka. Politically neutral and unaffiliated with either country, the school aimed to foster multiculturalism through trilingual education with respect to individual ethnic identity. A positive image of an economically developed South Korea as well as the inpouring of Korean dramas and music have relieved, though gradually, many Japanese from the traumas of Japan’s colonization and discriminatory treatment of Koreans in Japan. But Japanese parents who send their children to these ethnic Korean schools seem to transcend the narrow definitions of Japanese ethnicity and show the new possibility of a diversified Japan.

Newcomers Since the 1970s Japan has accepted an increasing number of people from many countries for various reasons. They are called “newcomers” compared to “old‐ timers” such as the Koreans and Chinese discussed earlier. The newcomers are returnees from China, the so‐called Japanese “war‐orphans,” expatriates who could not come back after World War II until the normalization of Japanese– Chinese diplomatic relations in 1972. Most of them and their families did not speak Japanese upon arrival and needed linguistic and social support (Tomozawa, 2001).3 Other newcomers include refugees from Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia who came to Japan after 1975, and non‐Japanese spouses, especially Japanese farmers’ wives who come from Asian countries such as China, Korea, and the Philippines. They also include second‐ or third‐ generation Japanese emigrants to South America, who came to work in Japan after 1990 as a result of the Immigration Control Act, which for the first time allowed Japanese‐related people to obtain visas relatively easily. Furthermore, nurses and caretakers from the Philippines and Indonesia began immigrating to Japan through the Economic Partnership Agreement (EPA) reached in the late 2000s. Among these “newcomers,” Japanese descendants from South America are the largest in number and the most influential or problematic in Japanese society. The Japanese economy developed rapidly and became the second largest economic

Bilingual Education in Japan  501 power in the world after the United States in the late 1980s, but after the bubble economy collapsed in the 1990s, Japan began to suffer from economic stagnation. Following a request from Japanese enterprise wishing to hire cheap laborers, the Japanese government decided to change its immigration law and give non‐ restrictive working visas specifically to descendants of Japanese emigrants from Brazil, Peru, and other countries in South America, whose ancestors emigrated from Japan more than 100 years ago, around 1908. Brazil had serious unemployment problems in 1990 and many Japanese Brazilians were willing to come to Japan to secure employment. The number of Japanese Brazilian residents in Japan, for example, increased from about 14,000 in 1989 to 300,000 in 2005, a more than twentyfold increase in 16 years. The prefecture with the largest Japanese Brazilian population is Aichi, where the automobile giant Toyota has its headquarters and factories. The prefecture with the second largest such population is Shizuoka, where major companies like Suzuki, Honda, and Yamaha are located. Japanese South Americans have resided where they can obtain work. Newcomer children faced serious problems when they came to Japanese public schools that were not prepared to receive non‐native speakers of Japanese. The Japanese constitution and the Basic Law of Education do not provide for the education of immigrants. Thus the attitude of MEXT is that, if foreigners ask for such an education, such a request may be approved and public education may be provided. Japanese local governments and communities have treated immigrant children, however, basically from a humanitarian point of view. When culturally linguistically diverse (CLD) children arrive at public schools, they get support from the school and the municipal board of education. They may have an interpreter sit beside their desks in the classroom, and be pulled out of the regularly scheduled class for JSL, ideally until they are ready to receive instruction in Japanese. In reality the budget for JSL is limited to 48 hours in many schools. There has been discussion recently whether elementary and junior high school education for immigrants should be compulsory, too. In order to do that, Japanese society needs to be prepared to accommodate different cultures and languages. Submersion is the most probable cause of dropouts and/or the loss of immigrants’ mother‐tongue (home language). Bullying at school as a result of lack of Japanese proficiency can also cause these students to drop out. According to the Asahi Newspaper, on February 19, 2013, a junior high schoolboy from Pakistan got injured by his Japanese classmates. His parents had asked the teacher for help so that their son would not get bullied, but the teacher is reported to have said, “There has been no bullying. Because of your son’s language barrier, there might have been some misunderstanding.” Is it right to say that the Pakistani boy is to blame for his lack of Japanese proficiency? Among Japan’s 47 prefectures, Osaka and Hyogo are implementing mother‐ tongue instruction to non‐Japanese pupils at public schools. Both prefectures have long histories of working for the human rights of both Korean Old‐Timers and the outcast class of people called Buraku‐min who have suffered from severe discrimination and ostracism.4 With experience of educating for social justice,

502  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education educators in both prefectures understood that the maintenance and development of the mother tongue of foreign children is not only a part of their human rights but necessary for their education. Measures the schools have taken include hiring mother‐tongue interpreters, the allocation of supplemental teachers for special JSL lessons, as well as implementing activities that foster students’ mother tongues and cultures. Ochiai (2012) reports how public elementary school teachers help Vietnamese pupils improve their motivation to become bilingual while maintaining high self‐esteem and identity as Vietnamese in Japan. An elementary school located in south Osaka, where a comparatively large Chinese community is located, has a student body of 300 students, and 20% of the students are of Chinese origin, with that number increasing. The school is struggling to help those children, who are mostly born in Japan. Some measures taken include hiring a full‐time Chinese teacher and a part‐time Chinese assistant and developing Chinese translations of Japanese‐language arts and arithmetic textbooks. Children receive a copy of the Chinese version of their textbooks to practice reading in Chinese at home with their parents. This way, both pupils and their parents are encouraged to keep developing their Chinese and become bilingual. Parents with limited Japanese literacy are happy to be able to help their children learn subject material and to talk with them in Chinese, which hopefully raises the children’s self‐esteem and strengthens their identity. Senior high school education is not compulsory in Japan, but 98.2% of junior high school students proceeded to senior high school in 2011. In senior high school the subjects are more specialized, and the amount of kanji (Chinese characters) vocabulary, including technical terms, increases dramatically. Because senior high school education is not compulsory, all students are required to take an entrance examination. Many municipal boards of education give added consideration to students whose L1 is not Japanese, such as allowing time extensions and the use of a Japanese dictionary, having kana readings printed alongside kanji, and speaking slowly in Japanese during interviews. Chinese students’ kanji literacy is an advantage so that their enrolment predominates (42.3%) over Portuguese‐speaking (Brazilian) students (13.0%) in senior high school enrollment, though Brazilians command a majority (37.6%) over Chinese students (15.7%) in elementary schools in 2011 (MEXT, 2011). Students who were born in Japan or who came to Japan at a very young age are not eligible for special entry requirements (students who transfer into the fourth grade or later do qualify), and have to take the same examination as Japanese students. Such students speak fluent Japanese and their language other than Japanese, but their academic language proficiency in either language often does not reach the required level. While some still firmly believe that special consideration is not necessary for students who have passed an entrance examination to senior high school, the Osaka Prefecture Board of Education began innovative efforts in 2001 by allocating a student quota of 5% for Chinese returnees and foreign students in five senior high schools. Students take three subjects, English, mathematics, and essay writing in the language of the student’s choice, freeing applicants from the burden of Japanese language. Students who finish junior high school education in their home

Bilingual Education in Japan  503 country enter directly into these senior high schools (they are called “dairekuto (direct‐senior high school entry students).” Mother tongue maintenance classes in Portuguese, Spanish, Thai, Filipino, Vietnamese, and English, in addition to Chinese, are taught for three years by native speakers. It is necessary to articulate measures taken for foreign students between elementary, junior and senior high schools. High proficiency in a foreign language is highly valued in Japan and also an advantage in university entrance examinations. We should applaud the effort of these senior high schools to maintain and develop these students’ mother tongues.

The deaf In 2008, a private school for deaf children called “Meisei Gakuen” was established in Tokyo. This is the first school in Japan to use Japanese Sign Language as the medium of instruction and communication and to support the acquisition of two languages, JSL and written Japanese. Meisei Gakuen is the only private bilingual/ bicultural school for deaf children in Japan. Recognition of Japanese Sign Language as a natural language is new to most Japanese people and the idea of deaf children growing up bilingual in Japanese Sign Language and written Japanese is also a very new idea, but it is slowly gaining public understanding. It is noteworthy that these deaf children are raised with pride to be called Deaf with their distinct culture and linguistic identity as users of a minority language, since they have long been discriminated against and forced to develop their “aural–oral” ability.5 Japanese Sign Language was prohibited in 1933 by the Minister of Education at that time, and deaf children were forced to pretend to learn by “listening and speaking with the sound” ever since, consequently having a hard time throughout their lives. It was not until 2003, after a group of devoted parents of deaf children appealed to the courts for the human rights of their children to be able to use JSL as their medium of instruction that Japanese society recognized the reality of deaf children. These parents won their lawsuit and they eventually helped lead the opening of the Meisei Gakuen in 2008. It is hoped that in such a school as Meisei Gakuen, deaf children can develop their full potential in a productive bilingual education program (see Chapter 23 Bilingual Deaf Education).

Conclusion Bilingual education for minorities such as the Deaf and newcomer children is a rather new endeavor in Japan. The Japanese government has been slow in making decisions in its language policies both for minorities and majorities, especially from the perspective of bilingual education. However, bilingual education perspectives could be a solution to transcend the solid ideology of monolingualism in Japan. More discussion based on robust research and practices is necessary across the nation.

504  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

Notes 1  536,734 applicants took a “Foreign Language” exam: English 99.83%, German 0.023%, French 0.028%, Chinese 0.083%, Korean 0.034% (National Centre for University Entrance Examinations, 2013) http://www.dnc.ac.jp/modules/news/content0526. html (accessed November 25, 2014). 2  At Kobe Chinese School, the student population (K–9) in 2011 was as follows: 64% ethnic Chinese of Japanese nationality (one or both parents have Japanese nationality or have been naturalized); 13% ethnic Chinese of Chinese nationality (one or both parents born in Japan); 12% newcomer Chinese; and 10% Japanese. 3  Due to the lack of official support, returning expatriates faced linguistic, economic and cultural hardships. A number of lawsuits were brought against the government in the 2000s, resulting in much greater support, both financially and culturally. 4  Burakumin literally means “hamlet people.” They were marginalized people at the ­bottom of the social order in Japanese feudal era. 5  Meisei Gakuen, http://www.meiseigakuen.ed.jp/english/index.html (accessed November 25, 2014).

References Chen, T.‐S. (2009). Chuka gakko ni kayou nihon no kodomo‐tachi [Japanese students in Chinese schools], Bunkajinruigaku [Japanese Review of Cultural Anthropology], 74(1), 156–175. Clyne, M. (2005). Australia’s language potential. Sydney, Australia: University ofNew South Wales Press. Cummins, J. (2009). Fundamental psycholinguistic and sociological principles underlying educational success for linguistic minority students. In T.Skutnabb-Kangas, R. Phillipson, A.K.Mohanty & M.Panda (Eds.), Social Justice through multilingual education (pp.19–35). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Gottlieb, N. (2012). Language policy in Japan: The challenge of change. New York: Cambridge University Press. JACET SIG on Bilingualism. (2003). Nihon no bairingaru kyoiku [Bilingual education in Japan: Learning from case studies in schools]. Tokyo: Sanshusha.

Kanno, Y. (2008). Language and education in Japan: Unequal access to bilingualism. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Kim, M.‐S. (2009). Chosen soren‐kei minzoku gakko no bairingaru kyoiku [Bilingual education in Chongryun‐ affiliated schools.]. In H. Shoji (Ed.), Imin to tomo ni kawaru chiiki to kokka [Immigrants, local communities and the states: Transitions in Asia and Europe.], [Special issue]. Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Chosa Hokokusho [Senri Ethnological Reports], 83, 299–315. Kobe China School. (2011). 2011 academic year school bulletin. Kobe, Japan: Author. MEXT (Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology). (2003) “Eigo ga tsukaeru nihonjin” no ikusei no tame no koudou keikaku [Action plan for raising “Japanese who can use English”]. http://www.mext.go.jp/b_menu/ shingi/chukyo/chukyo3/015/

Bilingual Education in Japan  505 siryo/04042301/011/002.htm (accessed December 2, 2014). MEXT (Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology). (2011). Nihongo‐shidou ga hitsuyou na gaikokujin jidou seito no ukeire joukyou tou ni kansuru chousa (H.22 nendo) no kekka ni tsuite. [Survey on foreign students needing Japanese language instruction]. http://www.mext.go. jp/b_menu/houdou/23/08/__ icsFiles/afieldfile/2011/12/12/ 1309275_1.pdf (accessed December 2, 2014). Ochiai, T. (2012). The significance of creating a L1 class for minority students in public elementary schools: A case study of a Vietnamese class in Kobe, Japan. Multilingual Multicultural Society‐ Research and Practice, 4, 100–120. Park, S.‐S. (2008). Gaikokujin Gakko [Schools for foreign students]. Tokyo: Chuokoron Shinsha.

Prime Minister of Japan and His Cabinet (2011) Gurobaru jinzai ikusei suisin kaigi: Chuukan matome [Council for Promotion of Global Human Resource Development: Interim report]. http://www.kantei.go. jp/jp/singi/global/dai2/siryou4.pdf (accessed December 2, 2014). Sugimura, M. (2011). Nihon no chuka gakko ni okeru bogo kyoiku no konnichiteki igi [Contemporary significance of mother tongue education in Chinese schools in Japan]. Kotoba to shakai [Language and Society], 13, 172–189. Tomozawa, A. (2001). Japan’s hidden bilinguals: The languages of “war orphans” and their families after repatriation from China. In M. G. Noguchi & S. Fotos (Eds.), Studies in Japanese Bilingualism (pp.133–163). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Yasuda, T. (2011). “Tagengo shakai” to iu genso [An Illusion of “Multilingual Society”]. Tokyo: Sangensha.

31 Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity Education for Multicultural Children in South Korea Jin Sook Lee

Introduction Linguistic and cultural homogeneity has long been an assumed characteristic of the student population in South Korean public schools. Koreans have prided themselves on the pure‐bloodedness of their ancestry and the high degree of congruence in their speech communities (Cumings, 2005). However, with recent trends of globalization, the linguistic and cultural landscape of South Korea has changed dramatically. Among diversifying changes such as greater numbers of foreign laborers and of international students in Korean universities, the rise in interracial marriages between rural Korean males and foreign brides has contrib­ uted greatly to shifting the demographics of the South Korean population. The term “multicultural” was not found in public discourse before 2000 (Kim & Kim, 2012), but these demographic changes have brought unprecedented need, espe­ cially in the education sector, to address issues of multiculturalism and multi­ lingualism. For example, studies have documented that children of interracial marriages are failing academically due to their poor Korean‐language skills, lack of a strong sense of ethnic identity, inability to assimilate to Korean society, and marginalization from the mainstream peer culture (Park, Yoon, & Cho, 2007; Seol et al., 2005). To address the needs of ethnic minority children, the South Korean government has been working rapidly to devise societal and educational policies, school practices, and parent and teacher training programs over the past decade. This chapter focuses on the multicultural and bilingual education efforts under­ taken by the South Korean government to support the increasing number of The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity  507 ethnically diverse children who are confronted with linguistic, cultural, social, and economic challenges as they try to conform to the standards and norms of South Korean society. First, a brief introduction to the Korean educational context and an overview of multicultural and bilingual education policies in South Korea will be presented. Second, examples of transitional and maintenance models of language and cultural programs for ethnically diverse children will be contrasted with high‐ status bilingual programs for the promotion of English that mainly serve mainstream Korean students. Finally, the chapter will conclude by examining the challenges in the implementation of bilingual and multicultural education in South Korea and advancing some suggestions for how current models of multicultural and bilingual education can be strengthened to achieve the goals of inclusion and mutual respect for linguistic and cultural differences to benefit all children in South Korea.

The South Korean context South Korea is the 25th most populated country in the world, with a population of 50 million people. Throughout their 5,000‐year history, Korean people have embraced ethnic homogeneity as a marker of national pride—but, it has been the source of social stigma toward Koreans marrying non‐Koreans (Cumings, 2005; Kim & Kim, 2012). However, in recent years attitudes toward interracial marriages and foreigners have become more open and accepting (Yoon, Song, & Bae, 2008). The number of interracial marriages increased from 93,786 in 2006 to 144,681 in 2011 (Korean Statistical Information Service, 2013) as did the number of interracial children from 58,912 in 2007 to 189,832 in 2011 (Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology, 2011). The population of foreign residents from over 17 countries is continuing to grow constituting nearly 3% of the entire population in South Korea (Korean Statistical Information Service, 2013). Among the foreigners, those with Chinese citizenship, 42% of whom are ethnic Koreans called Josunjok, are the largest group. The other foreigners come from Uzbekistan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Russia, Philippines, Bangladesh, and the United States to name a few countries. It is estimated that the number of foreigners in South Korea will reach 2.5 million by 2020, and 4.1 million by 2050, or 9.2% of the total population (Kim, 2009). Yet, despite all indications that Korea is becoming a more multiethnic society, the Korean government still practices a nearly zero‐immigration policy, which includes limiting long‐term stays and restricting permanent residency and citizenship, making it difficult for foreigners to be entitled to the same range of societal benefits as Korean citizens.

Multicultural children in South Korea Although multicultural usually refers to more than just the ethnic background of an  individual (Banks, 2004), the term multicultural will be used in this paper as a  literal translation of damunhwa, which means having multiple cultural

508  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education backgrounds. Therefore, multicultural children in the South Korean context refer to children who come from homes where either or both parents are of non‐Korean ethnicity or cultural background. In 2011, a total of 38,678 multicultural children registered in public K–12 schools (.06% of the total student population), with 74.1% in elementary schools, 19.7% in middle schools, and 6.2% in high schools. Taking children under 5 years of age into account, it is estimated that multicultural children will make up 1.12% of the total student population in Korea by 2014 (Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology, 2011), which emphasizes the urgency to implement effective culturally responsive practices in schools for more positive educational outcomes (Gay, 2000). “Education Fever” (kyoyukyul), a phrase that depicts Koreans’ strong drive for education, sets the playing field that multicultural children are expected to compete in (Seth, 2002). Access to quality education and successful academic outcomes are particularly critical in Korean society because of the influence of education in establishing the social status of individuals in Korea. Education from high‐ranking schools is highly regarded in Korean society and is considered to be the optimal route to upward social mobility. Thus, for multicultural children, who are typically from low socioeconomic backgrounds, education is a critical opportunity to achieve vertical social mobility. Historically, the Korean Fundamental Law on Education made publicly funded education available only to citizens of South Korea, which included multicultural children who had at least one parent with Korean citizenship. However, in 2003, the United Nations Committee for Children’s Rights recommended that the Korean government revise the law to provide all resident children access to public education. As a response to this recommendation, the Korean government gave school principals local authority to allow non‐Korean‐citizen children to enroll in their schools at their discretion (Park, 2007). However, merely allowing multicul­ tural children to attend Korean mainstream schools without any linguistic or cultural accommodations did not provide them with equitable or positive educational opportunities. To improve the quality of education for multicultural children and to address the inequities that they might experience due to differences in their linguistic, home, and social conditions, in 2007 the Ministry of Education and Human Resources (MEHR) revised the national education curriculum to promote multi­ cultural education by including content on cultural diversity and universal human rights. This was a significant shift in the curriculum as it was the first time that there was official discourse about the diversity of the Korean population (Park, 2007). In addition, President Roh Moh Hyun’s administration recognized Korea’s future as a multiracial and multicultural society and set aside 1.1 billion KRW (approximately U.S. $1 billion) to establish a support network of regional offices of education, local governments, universities, NGOs, and media organizations for the promotion of multiculturalism in Korea. As a result, the Act for Protection and Support of Immigrant Families, which provided compulsory multicultural educa­ tion and government welfare to immigrants, the Act to Support Inter‐racial Families, which required schools to provide education based on anti‐discrimination

Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity  509 principles to multicultural children, and the Act to Support Multicultural Families, which addressed the learning of Korean as a second language and social adaptation, were initiated (Yang, 2007). Furthermore, the Central Multicultural Education Center (www.damunwha‐edu.or.kr) was established in 2007 as a part of Seoul National University’s Center for Educational Research to spearhead the examination of current multicultural education policies, the development of learning materials for bilingual children and teaching materials for their teachers, and the establish­ ment of an infrastructure for training teachers in multicultural education. It also served as an intermediary between the government and the education sectors. Over the past several years, President Lee Myung Bak’s administration has continued to promote the change in policy toward foreigners from one of control and management to one of understanding and respect (Kim, 2009). However, despite the public rhetoric of promoting mutual understanding and respect for cultural differences, there has been little change in terms of improvement in the conditions and outcomes of education for multicultural children. With Park Geun Hae, the first female president of Korea, in office as of 2013, it will be of great interest to see how the new administration will address policies regarding multi­ cultural families and the education of their children, as this is a societal issue that will continue to grow.

Bilingual and multicultural programmatic goals and models Bilingual and multicultural programs in South Korea can be divided into two broad categories: highly regarded English‐medium or English–Korean bilingual schools for mainstream Korean children, and supplemental multicultural pro­ grams for minority students. Each will be discussed separately.

Bilingual education Mainstream bilingual education in Korea is primarily focused on the development of English language skills. Korea’s history of dependency on the United States for military aid, politics, and its economy as well as the globally recognized status of English as a lingua franca have fueled urgency among parents and the government to educate children to be proficient in English (Yoo, 2005). Although English is rarely used for public discourse, English competence is a central criterion in educational assessments such as college entrance examinations and performance evaluations across professions. Thus, Koreans invest great time and resources in improving their English proficiency. In South Korea, English‐language education ranges from English language classes in schools or private language institutions to English‐medium schools. Since 1945, English has been a compulsory subject in middle and high school; however, in 1997 the government made English a compulsory subject matter in all public

510  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education schools starting from third grade (Jung & Norton, 2002). In addition to formal English instruction in schools, more than 90% of students receive additional private English lessons outside of school, and Korean parents spend over 15 trillion won (US$ 13.35 billion) per year on English‐language education (Kang, 2009). Moreover, the fervor for English education has increased the number of chogi yoohak, or chil­ dren of all ages who study abroad. It has become a societal trend for fathers to stay behind in Korea (also known as “wild geese,” or girogi, fathers) while mothers take their children to an English‐speaking country to educate them, creating a tremen­ dous leakage of financial resources to other foreign countries (Lee & Lim, 2012). In recent years, there has been a growth of private schools that teach fully in English, private English immersion kindergartens, and dual language immersion programs. One example of the latter is Yoonghoon School, (http://www.younghoon.es.kr/ html/english/e_info.html), where native‐speaking Korean and English teachers use the two languages as instructional means to deliver content. However, these schools are not only highly competitive with regard to admissions, but they are also very expensive in terms of tuition and therefore are not accessible to all children, especially multicultural children. The differences in access to private English language education have created an English divide between low‐income and high‐income families and between urban and rural areas. For example, programs that employ native speakers are more expensive than those that employ non‐native speakers, and there are higher‐ quality programs in urban areas than in rural. Differences in access to English‐ language education perpetuate existing social inequities; multicultural children are doubly disadvantaged in terms of their English‐language education because they tend to be from low socioeconomic backgrounds and to live in rural areas. Thus, English education has created a higher barrier for multicultural children to overcome to achieve educational success by the standards of the Korean society. In order to remedy the educational inequities caused by the English divide, in 2008 President Lee Myung Bak’s administration announced that all English classes in primary and secondary schools would be conducted exclusively in English by 2012. The committee recommended a full immersion approach to the teaching of content areas, such as math and science, through English. However, the total English immersion policy was strongly criticized by teachers’ unions that felt that Korean teachers were not equipped to teach solely in English and that students’ content learning was at risk. After six months of attempted implementation, mandatory English immersion across the curriculum was abandoned and the Teaching of English in English was proposed as a solution. A new credential enti­ tled TEE (Teaching English in English) certification was awarded to English teachers who demonstrated high proficiency in English. The certification provided greater financial incentive for English teachers to improve their English skills so that they could conduct their classes using the immersion approach. In addition, the government invested tremendous financial resources in recruiting native speakers of English to teach communicative English in K–12 schools. The two main programs are English Program in Korea (EPIK: www.epik.go.kr), which recruits certified teachers and Teach and Learn in Korean (TaLK: www.talk.go.kr),

Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity  511 which awards short‐term scholarships to college students or recent graduates to learn about Korean culture and language while teaching English in rural areas of Korea. However, these programs have been very costly and it has been extremely difficult to recruit the required numbers of qualified native speakers. Thus, for future sustainability of better‐quality English language education, resources are being invested to develop English competence of local Korean teachers. Although most bilingual and immersion programs in South Korea involve English, there are also a few non‐English programs in Korea that serve minority students such as Chinese and Japanese‐medium schools for ethnic Chinese and Japanese children living in Korea. For example, the Hwagyos, who are generations of ethnic Chinese who have lived in Korea, operate their own Chinese‐medium schools (28 elementary and middle schools, and 4 high schools) outside the juris­ diction of the Korean government. These minority‐language schools do not have as high status as other schools in Korea; thus, many ethnic Chinese and Japanese students choose to attend mainstream Korean schools. In South Korea, language education for multicultural children such as Korean‐ as‐a‐second‐language (KSL) or bilingual instruction (i.e., transitional models for Korean acquisition) fall under the realm of multicultural education policies, which will be discussed in the next section. Because multicultural programs are generally not offered as a part of school, KSL education has mainly been offered through provincial multicultural centers, which offer weekly classes for about one to two hours for both children and adults. There are only 34 out of over 11,000 publicly funded schools in South Korea that have reported developing and offering it as a part of their school curricula (Song, 2012). The need for more KSL classes in public schools is apparent. Furthermore, many centers also provide children’s classes for community heritage language (e.g., Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Tagalog), which are often taught by untrained foreign mothers and wives who live in the communities; however, there is no available data on the popularity or effective­ ness of such programs. Although the government recognizes the need to promote dual language immersion programs to cultivate bilingual speakers of the heritage languages represented by the multicultural students in Korea, the actual establish­ ment of such schools has been slow, mainly due to the lack of qualified teachers and teaching resources in the various languages.

Multicultural education As of 2006, a total of 98 multicultural programs were in place in South Korea (Park, Yoon, & Cho, 2007). The programs are mainly housed in municipal governmental buildings, religious institutions, multicultural centers, and in schools after school hours. According to a survey conducted by Park, Yoon, and Cho (2007), 47% of the programs reported that they were implementing multicultural education programs which consisted of Korean‐language instruction and classes on adaptation into the Korean society: 13% provided public health and welfare support for multicultural families; 9% offered legal assistance; and 31% focused on cultural sensitivity and mutual understanding training for both the majority

512  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education and minority populations. Interestingly, most of the programs targeted the educa­ tion of multicultural children and their families, with only 10% of the 98 programs providing opportunities for the mainstream Korean population. Furthermore, 80% of these programs were for students, 12.3% for parents, and 7.7% for teachers in K–12 schools who work with multicultural children. Additionally, over 80% of the programs take the form of either a one‐time training session, a supplemental activity on weekends, or summer camps; that is, less than 20% of programs were continuous or implemented as a part of mainstream school curricula, despite the fact that the seventh national curriculum recommended the incorporation of multicultural education (Park, Yoon, & Cho, 2007). Recently, the Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology (MEST), which is charged with educational reform in Korea, announced calls for proposals concerning the Global Bridge Project (Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology, 2011). The goal of this project is to identify and support universities that will partner with multicultural centers to provide gifted education in math and science to fourth‐through‐eighth‐grade bilingual children from multicultural families. Although the program is mainly geared toward multicultural children, mainstream children will also be recruited to participate in order to enhance cross‐ cultural understanding, and undergraduate and graduate students will be employed to serve as mentors to the students. MEST also publicized that it will provide more funding for the development and operation of Global Leaders Schools. The main purpose of these schools is to create global leaders with cultural sensitivity and foster cooperation across members of different communities. Instruction will be in Korean, but both Korean and multicultural children will also learn other foreign languages and be introduced to multiple cultures. As an example, the Hello School in Itaewon, an area of Seoul where many foreigners reside, is one of the first pilot programs following this model. KSL instruction is offered to the multicultural students during the school day, while the Korean ­students are in Korean‐language arts classes. The children are integrated for other classes. The curriculum for all children is centered on the mutual acceptance and understanding of different cultures through arts programs and homestay exchanges between multicultural and Korean families. Currently, there are over 150 Global Leaders Schools across Korea. However, the curriculum at each school is different, and not all follow the Hello School model or provide KSL instruction during the school day. Also, due to the infancy of the programs, there are no current data on the programs’ effectiveness. To further advance the quality of education for multicultural children, MEST has proposed several interrelated goals. It plans to (i) hire multicultural coordi­ nators to help families with the transition into Korean schools and society; (ii)  strengthen KSL programs in schools; (iii) develop dual‐immersion‐type instructional programs in schools so that both majority and minority students develop bilingual and biliterate skills and positive cross‐cultural understandings; (iv) provide more academic and career guidance for multicultural children; (v)  raise the societal visibility and accessibility of schools that implement a ­multicultural curricula; and (vi) deliver more linguistic, cultural, and emotional

Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity  513 support for multicultural students and their parents. As a first step toward these plans, the government is seeking to recruit and train 1,200 bilingual teachers by 2015 and to develop grade‐level‐appropriate KSL texts focused on reading, writing, speaking, and listening for speakers from different linguistic back­ grounds. Although it is unknown whether these somewhat ambitious plans will come to fruition, they highlight the fact that the government is aware of the needs of multicultural children and senses urgency to implement policies to address them.

Challenges in the implementation of bilingual and multicultural programs The need for better teaching materials, greater interest and support from society, and more financial support appears to be common across educational programs. There are also, however, unique challenges to the implementation of bilingual and multicultural education for ethnic minorities in the South Korean context. First, the principles and practices of bilingual and multicultural education have been adopted directly from foreign programs without much consideration of the specific characteristics and needs of the local context. Cho and colleagues (2010) found that teachers have minimal understanding of multicultural students and their needs, and their practices did not take into consideration differences in students’ back­ grounds. All teachers need to be better prepared in their understanding of multi­ cultural students and their families as well as in pedagogical strategies that are culturally responsive (Gay, 2000). Training in multicultural education needs to be integrated into teacher preparation programs, and continued professional development is vital to assist teachers in deepening their understanding and honing their pedagogical skills. Such changes would contribute to the implemen­ tation of multicultural educational programs that are more appropriate to the needs of the local educational contexts. Second, the inaccessibility of the programs among their target population is a major challenge. There are several reasons that contribute to the inaccessi­ bility. Government‐sponsored programs are primarily located in town cen­ ters that are geographically difficult for families in rural communities to access. Additionally, the majority of the people that would benefit from such programs work long hours and cannot afford to take the time off from work and pay for child care to attend these programs (Kim & Shin, 2007). Furthermore, these programs need to be better advertised; multicultural families often lack information about them. Much of the information about multicultural pro­ grams is online and is written in the Korean language. Without computer or literacy skills in Korean, information about these programs is inaccessible to the target population. Thus, accessibility strategies and more support for individ­ uals, for example, in the form of workplace policies that allow time for their employees to continue their education and that provide child care services also need to be considered.

514  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Third, there appears to be a lack of articulation across entities providing bilingual and multicultural education services. Cho et al. (2010) found that most programs are operated insularly and in piecemeal. This is problematic as it is difficult to keep track of the achievements of such programs and to generate long‐term suc­ cessful outcomes. The implementation of multicultural education policy is directed by a number of governmental agencies such as the Ministry of Education, Science and Technology; the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism; the Ministry of Health and Welfare; the Ministry of Labor; and the Ministry of Justice (Song, 2012). Municipal agencies, provincial agencies, NGOs, and academic institutions are also involved in its implementation. There is a lack of central planning and communica­ tion across these multiple entities, and thus, multicultural programs and policies are often in direct competition with one another and drain the limited resources that are available. A central organization that can orchestrate the efforts of these different entities is needed and will likely produce much more effective results and cover much more ground in terms of providing services for multicultural families. Finally, there is a lack of concrete guidelines or principles for the development and implementation of multicultural education. Cho and Yoon (2010) criticized the vagueness of the mission and goals of multicultural cultural education in schools. In general, multicultural policies cite the promotion of cross‐cultural under­ standing as well as the development of instruction for better integration and success of multicultural children into Korean society as common goals. Yet, most programs address cultural understanding through superficial informational exchanges of traditions and foods across cultures rather than finding ways to address deeper understandings of diversity. More importantly, the burden of being culturally sensitive and understanding multiculturalism appears to rest mostly on the shoulders of the minority population. In other words, attempts at multicultural education focus on multicultural children and families and how they need to assimilate into the Korean culture (Cho & Yoon, 2010). What is lacking is a curriculum that aims to teach all Koreans to better under­ stand and appreciate cultural differences. In addition to the support systems for multicultural families, there needs to be a transformation of societal attitudes toward linguistic and cultural diversity in Korea. Indeed, Kim and Kim (2012) propose that a redefinition of what it means to be “Korean” is in order. Similarly, Kang (2010) argues that future implementation of multicultural education needs to focus on resisting the ethnocentricity of school culture and legitimatizing the presence of other cultures, teaching different languages and cultures as an enrich­ ment and resource rather than as imposed content matter, bringing about equal opportunities for everyone, and respecting the rights of all children.

Conclusion Although South Korea has come a long way in recognizing and addressing its growing multiculturalism, in practice multiculturalism has been treated as a problem to be solved rather than a resource to be tapped into (Ruiz, 1994). In other

Breaking the Façade of Linguistic and Cultural Homogeneity  515 words, bilingual and multicultural education for ethnic minorities has been approached from a deficit perspective of how to educate and assimilate foreigners into Korean culture. Indeed, scholars have criticized programs and policies for multicultural children for their unidirectional assimilationist approach and non‐inclusive educational practices (Kang, 2010; Park, 2007). However, there is growing evidence that a shift in attitudes toward multiculturalism and foreigners is underway. Yoon, Song, and Bae (2008) found that in comparison to the past, South Koreans were more favorable of inclusive policies toward foreigners and desired the fostering of mutual respect of cultural differences across all groups. Interestingly, Korea has had great success in using media to promote awareness. Media are being used to break the façade of linguistic and cultural homogeneity and promote a greater understanding of multicultural families, their linguistic and cultural backgrounds, and the challenges they face as they make their lives in Korea. For example, Love in Asia, a weekly TV program that showcases the daily life of a multicul­ tural family, has been in broadcast since 2005. Another program, the Global Talk Show: Chatting with the Ladies, which features foreign women living in Korea and their expe­ riences, challenges, and interpretations of Korean culture, has given Koreans better insights into the perspectives of foreigners about Korean people’s language and culture. These two shows alone have played a significant role in raising awareness about linguistic and cultural diversity and knowledge of multicultural families and their needs. As attitudes and ideologies toward pluralism and diversity begin to reflect a more tolerant and accepting orientation, it is likely that Korean society will see significant transformation in the ways in which bilingual and multicultural education are positioned and implemented to promote a multicultural and multilingual society.

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32 Striving for Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia Wayne E. Wright and Sovicheth Boun Introduction Many developing countries that have struggled to provide universal access to education are turning to bilingual education to reach linguistic minority students previously excluded from their education systems. In this chapter, we explore the case of Cambodia’s efforts to achieve “Education for All” by establishing bilingual education programs for indigenous ethnic minority children in the remote mountainous regions of the country’s northeastern provinces. We first provide a brief historical background to Cambodia’s educational system, focusing on issues of access and languages of instruction. We include brief descriptions of current practices and programs that may be viewed within the larger conceptualization of bilingual/multilingual education. We then focus on the development of bilingual education in Cambodia for indigenous ethnic minorities. Data for this chapter are drawn from a larger study incorporating analyses of policy and curricular documents, interviews with government officials and international and local staff members of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) actively involved in bilingual education, and observations of bilingual teacher trainings and classrooms at bilingual primary schools.

Cambodia’s educational system Prior to the establishment of a formal education system in the late 1800s, young boys in Cambodia typically received informal instruction from monks at local Buddhist temples (Dy & Ninomiya, 2003). Cambodia was a French Protectorate from 1863 to 1953, during which time a French‐inspired educational system was established. Khmer was the language of instruction, though some French‐language The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

518  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education study was included (Clayton, 1995). At the elite Lycée Preah Sisowat (high school) in the capital city of Phnom Penh, French was the medium of instruction as the school aimed to prepare students to work in the civil service or to attend universities in France. The French, however, put little emphasis on education; schools only served a portion of children in Cambodia, and few students made it to high school. Following independence from France in 1953, the Cambodian government greatly expanded its education system by building new schools, and entered a period of Khmerization to ensure that the national language was used as the medium of instruction in public schools and universities. Despite these efforts, the quantity of schools was emphasized over the quality of education (Ayres, 2003), and many children remained excluded, especially indigenous ethnic minority children in remote villages. Rampant social and political upheavals in the context of the Vietnam War led to the rise of the communist Khmer Rouge regime which seized control of the country in 1975 and forced the population out of the cities into rural areas to provide agricultural labor under the harshest of conditions. The Khmer Rouge genocide claimed approximately two million lives. The formal education system was abolished (along with most other institutions), and teachers and other intellectuals were targeted for execution (Ayres, 2003). As school buildings and Buddhist temples were turned into storage facilities—or at worst, prisons and torture centers— children were separated from their parents and forced to labor in the classroom of the fields, learning that survival depended on hard work and not questioning authority, all under the slogan of “to keep you is no benefit, to destroy you is no loss” (Criddle & Mam, 1987). The Vietnamese invasion in 1979 removed the Khmer Rouge from power. Vietnam installed a new Cambodian government, but continued to occupy the country. Restoration of the educational system was at the forefront of development policies to rebuild the nation (Ayres, 2003; Dy, 2004). Most teachers had perished during the genocide or fled the country as refugees. In desperation, new teachers were recruited regardless of their qualifications (Dy, 2004). Those with as little as a few years of education were hired under a policy of “those who know more teach those who know less.” A formal preservice teacher training system was eventually established in 1983, though consistency and quality were major challenges (UNESCO, 1991). Western aid was largely withheld from Cambodia in opposition to Vietnamese occupation, thus limited assistance to rebuild the country came from Vietnam and Eastern‐bloc countries (Shawcross, 1985). While Khmer was the medium of instruction in the reestablished schools, Vietnamese and Russian were utilized in some K–12 schools and higher education institutions (Clayton, 2000). Vietnamese occupation ended in 1989, opening the way for substantial aid from Western countries, the United Nations, and other international organizations. The 1991 Paris Peace Accords, followed by a UN‐sponsored election in 1993, largely succeeded in establishing a coalition government ending decades of civil war. The previous government had outlawed English‐language instruction; however, those who knew or who had secretly studied English were suddenly in great demand to fill positions working with international organizations. An “English craze” soon

Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia  519 followed, with students flocking to the newly formed private English language classes popping up throughout the capital and other parts of the country. While France has provided, and continues to provide, substantial aid and seeks to keep Cambodia a francophone country, English quickly overtook French as the dominant and preferred second language (Clayton, 2006). With relative peace, stability, and new sources of international support, the Cambodian government has been striving to expand and improve its education system. The 1990s saw an increased number of schools and higher education institutions, an expansion of the public school system from 10 years to the international standard of 12 years, and higher net enrollment rates, particularly among girls and poor students in rural and remote areas. The government now has 18 Provincial Teacher Training Colleges, 6 Regional Teacher Training Colleges, and a National Institute of Education to train primary, middle, and high school teachers, respectively. Initially, preservice primary school teachers were required to have a minimum of a ninth‐grade education, but has since been raised to twelfth grade completion, with the exception of some high‐priority provinces, including Ratanakiri and Mondulkiri. Nonetheless, a wide range of structural and quality issues remain (UNESCO, 2010). The new millennium brought renewed efforts to improve education at all levels in Cambodia. At the 2000 World Education Forum in Senegal sponsored by UNESCO, Cambodia and 163 other participating countries adopted the Dakar Framework for Action, committing to the goal of Education for All (EFA). Cambodia is also committed to the UN’s Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) which include universal access to education. These goals are outlined in Cambodia’s Education for All National Plan 2003–2015, in subsequent versions of its four‐year Education Strategic Plans, and reflected in policy documents to establish “Child Friendly Schools” inclusive of all the nation’s children. By 2008, the net enrolment rates of primary schools in urban, rural, and remote areas were 92.7%, 93.6%, and 88.4% of eligible children respectively. In 2010 the government reported an overall net primary school enrollment of 95.2%. Cambodia now provides greater access to education to more of its children than ever in its history. Nonetheless, it has fallen short of its Education for All goals. Among the reasons are the challenges of providing access to the hardest to reach students— indigenous ethnic minority students in the remote villages of the northeastern provinces. Cambodia has turned to bilingual education as a key strategy to reach these students. Before addressing the development of indigenous bilingual education, we will first briefly provide a general overview of the current state of language and education in Cambodia.

Language and education in cambodia Khmer is the official medium of instruction in K–12 public schools, however, students study a foreign language in grades 4–12. Most students choose English, though French is an alternative in many schools. In cities and

520  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education provincial towns throughout the country, a wide range of private schools and NGOs offer English classes; a few elite schools offer a full English‐medium curriculum. Since public schools are only half‐day, many students spend the other half studying at private language classes and schools, thus creating a form of “de‐facto bilingual education” (Krashen, 1996). Chinese‐language schools, originally serving ethnic Chinese Cambodians, are growing in popularity among the general Cambodian population. In addition to Chinese, these schools offer the Cambodian national curriculum. A small number of private language classes/schools offer Korean, Japanese, Thai, French, and other languages. Most preschool programs are Khmer‐medium, though a growing number of private preschools offer bilingual English or Chinese programs. The government has piloted 20 mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education (MLE) preschools in indigenous languages in the five northeastern provinces, with technical assistance from CARE (see CARE, 2008). Most higher education institutions offer undergraduate degrees through Khmer‐medium instruction, though a growing number of private universities are English‐medium, and nearly all students take English courses. Most graduate programs at public and private universities are officially English‐medium, though in practice translanguaging among faculty and students is common. A few French‐ medium degree programs remain. A common practice among university students is to double‐major with one degree in English and the other in a field such as business or law. At the Institute of Foreign Languages (IFL) of the Royal University of Phnom Penh (RUPP), the Department of English is the largest and encompasses the majority of students. The Departments of Japanese and Korean, established in 2003 and 2007 respectively, are enrolling an increasing number of students. The Japanese government donated a new building for the Cambodia–Japan Cooperation Center in 2006 and provides funding for Japanese language study at the center. The Korean government recently donated a building and funds for Korean language study. In 2010, the Department of Chinese was founded and has since tried to boost the student enrollment. The Chinese government established the first Confucius Institute at the Royal Academy of Cambodia in 2009 to further promote Chinese–language study.

Indigenous ethnic minorities in cambodia Cambodia’s indigenous ethnic minorities live primarily in the remote highlands of Ratanakiri and Mondulkiri provinces where they make up the majority of the population. They also live in large numbers in three other northeastern provinces: Stung Treng, Kratie, and Preah Vihear. With approximately 115,000 indigenous people across about 24 ethnic groups, they make up less than 1.5% of Cambodia’s population (Benson, 2011; UNESCO, 2010). The largest ethnic groups include the  Tampuen, Kreung, Bunong, Brao, Kavet, Kuy, Stieng, and Jarai, each with their own distinct language and culture. Children from these groups speak their indigenous mother tongues at home, and those who attend school have little to

Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia  521 no proficiency in Khmer when they first enter. At the time Cambodia’s bilingual education efforts first began, few indigenous ethnic minorities had completed primary school and the few who did rarely made it beyond Grade 3 (Chap, The, & Thomas, 2003; Gregerson, 2009). Low education levels are often due to the lack of schools in or nearby their villages. Even in cases where schools are accessible, attendance of ethnic minority children is low. One major factor is that the children do not speak Khmer and the teachers sent by the government do not speak the local indigenous languages, are not familiar with indigenous cultures, and receive little or no training in how to modify their instruction for linguistic–minority students.

Bilingual non‐formal education for indigenous languages The development of bilingual education in Cambodia can be traced back to the  efforts of International Cooperation Cambodia (ICC) and UNESCO to pilot bilingual non‐formal education (NFE) programs in 1997. In cooperation with the Non‐Formal Education Department of the Ministry of Education, Youth, and Sport (MoEYS), bilingual NFE programs were established in remote Ratanakiri and Mondulkiri villages serving children and adults speakers of Tampuen, Kreung, Brao, and Kavet. Classes were held in the evenings to accommodate those working in the fields during the day. Villages were provided with basic supplies to construct a simple classroom, with battery and solar‐powered lights to make evening classes possible. Instruction begins in the vernacular language and progresses to Khmer with the goal of literacy in both languages (Chap, The, & Thomas, 2003; Gregerson, 2009). In order to establish bilingual NFE programs, ICC had to first create orthographies for the targeted languages. Gregerson (2009) documents the linguistic and political challenges in establishing alphabets acceptable to the government. Early efforts to use Romanized scripts were rejected by MoEYS who insisted the Khmer script be used for all languages. This marked the first time in history that the Khmer script was used for any other languages. MoEYS also rejected efforts to use diacritic marks along with the Khmer script over objections that it looked too much like Vietnamese. Khmer linguists from the Royal Academy of Cambodia offered a solution through the use of characters from the ancient Khmer script to represent phonemes unique to the indigenous languages. Government insistence that indigenous languages be written in the (unaltered) Khmer script was more nationalistic than linguistic in nature, but the decision was also based on an interest in facilitating rapid transition from literacy in indigenous languages to Khmer. By 2003 official government approval was given for the alphabets developed for Tampuen, Kreung, Kavet, Brao, and Bunong, and efforts are underway to approve alphabets for Kuy and Jarai. By 2007, ICC reported that 3,874 NFE students had completed both the indigenous and Khmer literacy sections of the program. By 2009, ICC had developed basic

522  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education indigenous and Khmer literacy textbooks plus hundreds of short books in the indigenous languages on high‐interest topics.

Community bilingual education primary schools Drawing upon the foundation laid by bilingual NFE, CARE International in Cambodia, with financial support from AusAID, UNICEF, and other sources, began a pilot bilingual education program in 2002 called the Highland Children’s Education Project (HCEP). CARE established six community primary schools in six remote villages (3 Tampuen, 3 Kreung) in Ratanakiri (CARE, 2006). The project aimed “to address the needs of disadvantaged ethnic minority groups through the establishment of community schools targeting girls and boys who have never enrolled or who have dropped out of the formal system” and to provide MoEYS “with a model for the delivery of basic education in remote areas of Cambodia to highland minority peoples” (CARE, 2006, p. 4). The schools are managed by local village school boards that oversee construction and maintenance of the schools, select and supervise teachers, facilitate enrollment, coordinate with CARE’s Community Development, Resource Production, and Teacher Training Units, coordinate with local and provincial educational authorities, and manage school finances. The school year is aligned with the planting and harvesting seasons of the indigenous communities to ensure children are available to help their families during these critical times. Following a transitional bilingual education model, the students are taught predominantly in their indigenous languages in grade 1 with some Khmer oral language development. In grades 2 and 3 the amount of Khmer language and literacy instruction increases as indigenous language instruction decreases. Grades 4–6 are taught in Khmer, though some indigenous language support is provided as needed. CARE’s Resource Production Unit produces curricular materials for the schools featuring high quality short reading books and materials that are aligned with the state’s curriculum, but which also incorporate indigenous cultural knowledge, practices, and concerns. CARE refers to this process as the “both ways education model.” For example, a book about mosquitoes contains mainstream knowledge about the life cycle of mosquitoes, their role in spreading malaria, and ways to be protected from mosquitoes, but also honors local knowledge through descriptions of indigenous ceremonies held at the beginning of the rice harvesting season to keep malaria away. By 2011 CARE had produced over 90 book titles in Tampuen and Kreung, over 20 book titles in Khmer, bilingual picture dictionaries and other resources, along with teachers’ guides (in Khmer) with detailed lessons for the use of these materials in the classroom. Local school boards, bilingual teachers and students, ICC staff, and MoEYS officials are all involved in the quality control processes to ensure the books and materials are linguistically and culturally accurate, and meet the same learning outcomes as the national curriculum. CARE’s Teacher Training Unit provides comprehensive and ongoing preservice and in‐ service teacher training for teachers selected by the local school boards (see below).

Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia  523

Government replication and expansion of bilingual education Throughout the pilot project CARE worked closely with MoEYS and provincial education authorities. After six years of operation, skeptical government officials became strong advocates after seeing the success of CARE’s bilingual education model (CARE, 2009). In our interview, the Deputy Director of the Ratanakiri Provincial Office of Education outlined three important outcomes of the bilingual program: “First, high enrollment and promotion rates; second, low repetition and dropout rates; and third, the community’s ownership of the school.” One particular marker of the program’s success was that by 2011 there were 165 graduates from the 6 community schools attending state junior high schools (far from their home villages); it was anticipated the number would rise to 230 the following year. With this record of success, MoEYS began to replicate and expand the bilingual education model with financial support from UNICEF and technical guidance from CARE. By 2013, 43 bilingual schools across the 5 northeastern provinces had  been established with 196 bilingual teachers serving 3,531 students from 4 indigenous ethnic minority groups (Tampuen, Kreung, Bunong, and Kavet). More preservice teachers are in training, including those from two additional groups (Brao and Kuy). Efforts are also underway for orthography development and approval for the Jarai language, which will open the way for future bilingual programs for members of this indigenous group. Given the government’s current lack of capacity, CARE has been contracted to provide preservice and in‐service training for the bilingual teachers from these expansion schools. ICC assists with the translation of CARE’s curricular materials into Bunong and Kavet.

Bilingual Education Guidelines/Decree In 2010, MoEYS issued Bilingual Education Guidelines to establish policies and procedures for the expansion of bilingual education in state schools. By establishing policy through a declaration of guidelines at the Ministry level, MoEYS was able to avoid the need to seek approval of the national parliament and the Council of Ministers, where uninformed or biased politicians could have led opposition to the Ministry’s bilingual education efforts. In 2013, the guidelines were elevated by MoEYS to the level of an official “Prakas” (Decree), thus further demonstrating the ministry’s commitment to bilingual education by anchoring it firmly within the education system. Closely following CARE’s model, the guidelines call for community school management committees. The guidelines afford flexibility in the types of schools that may be established, including community‐based schools, temporary community schools held in state school buildings, and formal programs integrated

524  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education into state schools. Given that many indigenous children have never attended school, the guidelines specify that any “illiterate” children from 6–14 years old may be enrolled in Grade 1. Class size should not exceed 50 students. For bilingual teacher recruitment, the guidelines state that candidates may be between 18 and 60 years old and must originate from, or reside in, the target or nearby village, and be of good moral character as determined by community approval. They must “have a proficiency in the national language (Khmer) and indigenous language,” be committed to becoming a teacher, and “possess appropriate general knowledge to enable them to receive teacher training.” Note that these general statements do not specify a minimum number of years of formal education, nor the degree to which a candidate is proficient in Khmer. The fact that the indigenous communities have historically had little access to formal education meant that most recruits had only a few years of schooling and only basic language and literacy skills in Khmer. Nonetheless, this strategy is consistent with the strategy of “those who know more teach those who know less” first used after the Cambodian genocide to rebuild the state school system, and thus is not without precedent. Furthermore, as argued by Middleborg (2005), indigenous teachers’ local knowledge base and ability to communicate effectively with indigenous students “makes them in many ways better suited than Khmer‐speaking teachers with more extensive formal qualification” (p. 27). To address these gaps in formal education the guidelines call for six months of preservice training incorporating “basic education skills, teaching methodologies and psycho‐pedagogy,” followed by a week long in‐service training workshop every 2 months “to enable teaching and learning to achieve good outcomes.” Finally, the guidelines mandate a 3‐year transitional bilingual education model as outlined in Table 32.1. While the international staff members of CARE, UNESCO, and UNICEF we interviewed warmly welcomed the new guidelines as an important milestone, they expressed concern that the guidelines were too generic and incomplete. Many of their concerns were echoed in an external evaluation report of the government’s bilingual education efforts (Benson, 2011). Specific concerns included: (i) the endorsement of only a three‐year transitional model, considered to be a “weak” Table 32.1  Cambodia’s Bilingual Education Model. Grade 1 2 3 4 5 6

National Language (Khmer) 20% 40% 70% 100% 100% 100%

Vernacular Language 80% 60% 30% support as needed

Modified from Ministry of Education, Youth, and Sport, 2010.

Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia  525 model of bilingual education (Baker, 2011); (ii) the narrow focus on only the largest of the indigenous ethnic minority groups in five northeastern provinces, to the exclusion of smaller indigenous populations and of large native and immigrant linguistic minority groups throughout the country such as the Cham Muslims, Chinese, Laotians, and Vietnamese; (iii) the lack of details on teacher training, early childhood programs, non‐formal education programs, and teaching assistants; and (iv) the lack of details about government funding for bilingual programs. Concern was also expressed about the lack of an action plan to put the guidelines into practice, and the capacity of the government to disseminate the guidelines and properly train provincial educational leaders to oversee their implementation. Another great concern was the absence of a plan to address the government’s lack of capacity and over‐reliance on NGOs to work with communities, train teachers, and develop curriculum and instructional resources. However, recent efforts have begun to address these issues through a five year “National Action Plan for Multilingual Education” being developed by MoEYS. In addition, multilingual education is included in Cambodia’s 2014–2018 Education Strategic Plan.

Bilingual teacher training We conducted observations of CARE’s preservice and in‐service bilingual teacher training during the summer of 2011. One challenge we observed is the wide range of educational backgrounds, Khmer‐language proficiency, and literacy skills in Khmer and indigenous languages among the teachers selected by local school boards. While CARE has had several years of experience providing training for Tampuen and Kreung teachers for its own six community schools within Ratanakiri province, the addition of trainees from four other ethnic groups (Bunong, Kavet, Brao, and Kuy) across the five northeastern provinces has led to new challenges. Logistically challenging is getting the teachers to Ban Lung, the provincial capital of Ratanakiri, where training sessions are held. The remote nature of the villages and the poor infrastructure of dirt roads and paths makes travel difficult and dangerous during rainy weather; travel to Ban Lung can take up to two days for many of the participants. CARE provides housing for the participants, but, with the growing number of trainees, there is little room. Another challenge was finding adequate facilities in the tiny town of Ban Lung to provide the training. CARE rents a provincial government office that was converted into a small provincial branch of a university. At the time of observation, the facility was in poor physical condition. The campus had just one large meeting room, and a few small offices transformed into classrooms. Up to three separate groups were trained simultaneously in the large room, as the trainers did their best to talk over each other. However, the facilities have since been renovated providing a much better environment for the trainings. Another challenge is increasing the teachers’ academic knowledge and literacy skills, while also providing pedagogical training, all within a limited time frame.

526  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education CARE’s goal is to get teachers up to the equivalent of a ninth‐grade education— the level required for indigenous teachers to enter the state teacher training college in Stung Treng. Thus, training includes “academic upgrading” with accelerated instruction using grade‐level Khmer reading and math textbooks, and  the administration of government‐approved tests to determine grade level equivalency. The training presents a number of linguistic challenges. CARE’s Teacher Training Unit (TTU) is composed of 11 young, talented, and energetic teacher trainers. About half are ethnic minorities proficient in Khmer and one or more indigenous languages. The rest are monolingual Khmer nationals with public school teaching experience. Only the TTU leader, a Khmer national, has sufficient English proficiency to work directly with CARE’s expatriate education advisor who designed the teacher training curriculum. The vast majority of the training sessions are conducted in Khmer, with the exception of a few hours for vernacular literacy development, and the occasional singing of songs in the indigenous languages. For in‐service teachers, time is also reserved to review and practice teaching lessons using vernacular language student books. However, many opt to do the lesson in Khmer. The accompanying teacher’s guides are written in Khmer, and Khmer is the only common language among the teachers and trainers in the grade‐level groups. Even the indigenous trainers, in cases where a lesson is demonstrated by a trainee in an indigenous language, will give feedback on the lesson to the whole group in Khmer so that all can understand. The TTU leader noted that ideally, these demonstrations would be divided up by language, but there is simply no space in the small facility, nor enough indigenous trainers with prior teaching experience. At the preservice level, which now is inclusive of six indigenous languages, there are some languages that are not spoken by any of the current teacher trainers, and thus CARE staff, along with indigenous staff members from other organizations have to be brought in to provide vernacular language training and testing. Despite these challenges, the TTU members provided engaging and meaningful instruction and opportunities for the trainees to develop their general knowledge, and academic and pedagogical skills as teachers. Our observation of the preservice teacher training was the third workshop for this set of preservice teachers. Only 12 of the 35 trainees were female. This highlights the challenge of recruiting female teachers who often face greater difficulties than men in leaving behind spouses and children for 13 weeks across a six‐month period to attend the trainings. Health challenges among the trainees led to frequent absences. The first week of the preservice training focused on academic upgrading in math, Khmer and the indigenous languages, with grade‐equivalency exams administered at the end of the week. The second week focused on teaching methodology, with this particular session focused on math. The training workshops emphasize student‐centered teaching and the creation of child‐friendly learning environments, modeled by the trainers through a wide range of practical instructional activities including group work, lesson demonstrations, games, and songs. In small collaborative groups, students used math manipulatives and charts to

Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia  527 represent basic concepts such as patterns, counting, and basic arithmetic, and made oral presentations of their final products. Some involved the use of “natural” manipulatives, such as leaves, sticks, and fruit peelings readily abundant in their village schools. Math word problems often featured situations and cultural items common in indigenous communities. The preservice trainees also engaged in activities such as sorting the alphabet, and making sentences with word cards. Another activity focused on stages of child development and language acquisition. In between activities, trainees learned songs in Khmer and indigenous languages, and participated in fun ice‐ breaker‐type activities they could use in their future classrooms. Despite the limited time for training, these demonstrations and activities led by the teacher trainers with follow‐up discussions enabled the trainees to quickly grasp practical aspects of teaching and learning. We also observed a week‐long training workshop for over 130 in‐service teachers. The first day and a half focused on academic upgrading in Khmer and the vernacular languages, and in math. The next part of the training centered on preparing teachers to teach the forthcoming instructional units and lesson plans in vernacular and Khmer languages, math, social studies, and science. Organized into grade‐level groups, the teachers reviewed the lessons in the teacher guides (written in Khmer) and the accompanying student books (in the indigenous languages or Khmer) under the guidance of one or two teacher trainers who then invited a few group members to conduct the teaching demonstration. Afterwards, the teacher trainer facilitated a discussion about the “strong and weak points” of the lesson and offered tips for effective instruction. The amount of material in the teaching blocks, and the short time for the training, meant that only a few lessons could be covered and only a handful of teachers could practice teaching and receive feedback. The final day was used for grade‐level equivalency testing in connection with the academic upgrading. Both the preservice and in‐service trainings ended with a “roundtable” discussion for participants to ask questions and share concerns with the group, the trainers, and CARE’s education advisors. During the preservice teachers’ roundtable, there was some discussion about the ability of the trainees to understand Khmer during the training. None of the trainees admitted having trouble, but the TTU leader stressed to the trainees that they can ask for help at any time in their indigenous language. One of the indigenous trainers shared his own experiences struggling with Khmer when he first sat through similar training sessions. They stressed to the trainees that when they teach subjects to their future students in Khmer, they should also give students opportunities to ask for help in their indigenous languages. During visits to two of the community schools shortly after the training, we observed that teachers were generally making good use of the instructional materials and teacher guides, implementing lessons covered at the training, and fully engaging their students in meaningful lessons taught in their indigenous languages and Khmer. Interviews with local school board members revealed that,

528  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education despite concerns and ongoing challenges, they are overwhelmingly supportive of the bilingual schools. They are deeply grateful for the opportunities for their children to not only receive an education, but to develop bilingual and biliteracy skills in Khmer and their indigenous languages. They see the bilingual schools as playing an essential role in raising the status of and preserving their languages and cultures.

Conclusion: Successes and remaining challenges Bilingual non‐formal education programs, community bilingual education primary schools, and the government’s replication and expansion of bilingual education across northeastern Cambodia have proven to be very successful in helping Cambodia make progress towards its goal of Education for All. Over 3,500 indigenous ethnic minority children now have access to school—both physically and linguistically—and more ethnic minority students are reaching higher levels of education than any time in Cambodia’s history. Over 196 indigenous minorities are now trained and working as bilingual teachers. MoEYS fully embraces bilingual education as a key strategy in Cambodia to extend educational opportunities to indigenous ethnic minority children, and has established formal guidelines, an official Decree, and a five‐year national plan for its replication and expansion. In regional meetings of Southeast Asian education officials, Cambodia is viewed as a leader in bilingual education. Nonetheless, significant challenges remain. Implementation and levels of support vary across provinces and villages. Many ethnic minority children reside in remote villages where schools have yet to be established. Ethnic minority children outside the major indigenous groups have been excluded altogether from the policy. The creation of orthographies, engaging books and materials, and educational programs in indigenous languages have been in many ways empowering for the communities. However, the government’s guidelines/decree allow(s) only a weak form of transitional bilingual education. Advocates for bilingual education have described this as a “foot in the door” strategy, with the hope that as the programs prove to be more successful, they can be expanded to stronger, longer‐term developmental bilingual education models. Another significant concern is the lack of recognition of the teacher training provided by CARE by the government’s Department of Teacher Training. Thus, experienced bilingual teachers with years of preservice and in‐service teacher training from CARE, may be required to leave their classrooms and attend state teacher training colleges for two years in order to be fully recognized by the state as teachers. Another concern is the government’s willingness and capacity to garner the type of community support and governance that was essential to the success of the community schools established by CARE. Finally, in order for bilingual education in Cambodia to be truly sustainable, the government must invest the money, time, and resources, and develop the capacities for bilingual teacher training, and curriculum and resource development that it currently relies on NGOs to provide.

Education for All through Bilingual Education in Cambodia  529

Acknowledgements We express our gratitude to the College of Education and Human Development of the University of Texas at San Antonio for providing funding for this study. We are also deeply grateful to CARE Cambodia for graciously hosting us, providing access to their teacher training workshops and school board assembly meeting, facilitating our visits to the bilingual schools, arranging informative staff presentations, and setting up meetings with key program officers and government officials. We also wish to thank the program officer and educational consultant for  their valuable feedback and updates on an earlier draft of this chapter. We also express our thanks to the staff members of ICC, UNESCO, UNICEF, and the Ratanakiri Provincial Education Office for taking their time to meet with us and share their insights and experiences.

References Ayres, D. M. (2003). Anatomy of a crisis: Education, development, and the State of Cambodia, 1953–1998. Chaing Mai, Thailand: Silkworm Books. Baker, C. (2011). Foundations of bilingual education and bilingualism (5th edn.). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Benson, C. J. (2011). Evaluation of the state of bilingual education in Cambodia. Phnom Penh, Cambodia: Ministry of Education, Youth, and Sport. CARE. (2006). Highland Community Education Program: Program description and evaluation. Phnom Penh, Cambodia: CARE International in Cambodia. CARE. (2008). Highland Community Education Program: Bending Bamboo (Situational Analysis 2008). Phnom Penh, Cambodia: CARE International in Cambodia. CARE. (2009). Collaborating with government in the context of a highly centralized system in Cambodia. PCTFI Tips Series, 1(July), 1–3. Phnom Penh, Cambodia: CARE International in Cambodia. Chap, C., The, I., & Thomas, A. (2003). Bilingual education in Cambodia. Dallas, TX: SIL International.

Clayton, T. (1995). Restriction or resistance? Educational development in French colonial Cambodia. Education Policy Analysis Archives, 3(19), 1–12. Clayton, T. (2000). Education and the politics of language: Hegemony and pragmatism in Cambodia, 1979–1989. Hong Kong: University of Hong Kong Comparative Education Research Center. Clayton, T. (2006). Language choice in a nation under transition: English language spread in Cambodia. New York: Springer. Criddle, J. D., & Mam, T. B. (1987). To destroy you is no loss. New York, NY: The Atlantic Monthly Press. Dy, S. S. (2004). Strategies and policies for basic education in Cambodia: Historical perspectives. International Education Journal, 5(1), 90–97. Dy, S. S., & Ninomiya, A. (2003). Basic education in Cambodia: The impact of UNESCO on policies in the 1990s. Education Policy Analysis Archives, 11(48), 1–21. Gregerson, M. (2009). Learning to read in Ratanakiri: A case study from northeastern Cambodia. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 12(4), 429–447.

530  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Krashen, S. D. (1996). Under attack: The case against bilingual education. Culver City, CA: Language Education Associates. Middleborg, J. (2005). Highland children’s education project: A pilot project on bilingual education in Cambodia. Bangkok: UNESCO. Ministry of Education, Youth, and Sport. (2010). Guidelines on implementation of bilingual education program for indigenous children in highland provinces. Phnom Penh, Cambodia: MOEYS.

Shawcross, W. (1985). The quality of mercy: Cambodia, holocaust, and modern conscience. New York: Simon and Schuster. UNESCO. (1991). Inter‐sectoral basic needs assessment mission to Cambodia (15 January–8 February 1991). Bangkok: Author. UNESCO. (2010). UNESCO national education support strategy: Cambodia 2010–2013. Phnom Penh, Cambodia: UNESCO Phnom Penh Office.

33 Bilingual and Multilingual Education in Brunei and Malaysia Policies and Practices Gary M. Jones Introduction Malaysia and Negara Brunei Darussalam (henceforth Brunei) have more in common than most countries: they share a national language, common borders, and both have a Muslim majority. In addition, both have experienced some form of British control, and the countries often share and watch the same television channels. The nationals of both countries regularly cross their common borders, for shopping or simply to visit, and mixed marriages are not uncommon. Many Malaysians choose to work in Brunei in white‐ as well as blue‐collar jobs, although fewer Bruneians make the opposite journey. It might be assumed that what is true of one country must be true of the other, but this is not the case. Of course, the major differences are the relative size, populations, and GDP of the two countries. Another is the path the two have taken to bilingual and multilingual education and how differences in their history shaped recent policies and practices. Malaysia has a much larger population (29,179,952) than Brunei (408,786) but Brunei has by far the larger GDP per capita, US$50,500 compared to Malaysia’s US$15,800. However, Malaysia was introduced to formal education almost one hundred years before Brunei (1816 as opposed to 1914) and, most significantly, its colonial experience left a very different scar compared to Brunei’s period under British residence from 1906 to 1984.

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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Malaysia Malaysia is divided into East and West, with the Borneo states of Sabah and Sarawak being East Malaysia while West Malaysia consists of Peninsular Malaysia. This large and geographically diverse country is home to many cultures, peoples, and languages. In addition to the states, there were and still are separate ­sultanates, which remained semi‐independent even during British rule. While Malaysia today is typical of developing tiger economies, with both improving infrastructure and industry, it was until comparatively recently better known for its tough jungle terrain. This acted as a barrier to the movement of people and development, including educational development, particularly for those living in more remote regions. The recent history and development of Malaysia is inextricably linked to the British colonial period. The British were initially attracted to Malaysia’s ports along the major trade routes, establishing the Straits Settlements in Penang (1786), Malacca (1818) and Singapore (1819). The rest of the country held little interest for the British, until the discovery of resources and the development of the tin and rubber industries. However, once this development did begin, it changed the face and composition of Malaysia and its people. Before economic exploitation, West Malaysia (Malaya as it was then) was peopled basically by Malays, who lived along its coast and estuaries, and smaller numbers of interior indigenous peoples. There were small Chinese communities in Malacca and Penang, but these had closely assimilated with the Malays, even speaking their own version of Malay. However, Malaysia changed dramatically in the second half of the nineteenth century as Chinese, mostly from Southern China, flooded into the country to work in the mines, and migrants arrived from Southern India to work on the rubber plantations: work that the local Malays shunned and the Chinese were indifferent to (Turnbull, 1989). These newcomers spoke mostly Chinese, Tamil, and Malayalam. The influx of huge numbers of Chinese and Indians to what is today West Malaysia fundamentally changed the language mosaic of Malaysia. These immigrants put down roots, brought wives from their own countries and very soon became a part of the country. While there may have been little initial mixing of the various races, inevitably individuals were exposed to and learned new languages. It was incumbent on the Chinese and Indians in particular to learn Malay.

The development of education: The early years English played a dominant role in the everyday life of the Straits Settlements, and the first English school (as well as Malaysia’s, aside from mosque schools) was established in Penang in 1816 (Asmah, 2012). This created a trend as English became the medium of communication among all the influential Straits citizens, regardless of their ethnicity. Ozog (1993) notes that two kinds of English schools were established: mission schools and free schools. The aim of the latter was to produce local junior officers

Bi/Multilingual Education in Brunei and Malaysia  533 who could help run the country. These schools were built in towns, thus attracting Chinese and Indian pupils, but few from the Malay community, who still continued to work the land or fish. Primary schools that were established for Malays (there were no secondary schools) had a limited curriculum and no English tuition. Sadka (1968) suggests that this was deliberate policy to hinder ambition among the Malays. These schools were often regarded with suspicion by the Malays themselves and attendance was poor (Stevenson, 1975). This was in contrast to the Malay elite, for whom a special boarding school was opened in Perak State in 1903. This ensured that the children of the elite would receive an English education (many pupils went on to study in Britain) and thus be in a position to both rule the country and work closely with the British, becoming anglophiles in the process. The Malay community was thus split between those who received a very good education and those who received a poor education or none at all. The education of most Malays during this period compares poorly with the experience of the Chinese. From the very beginning the Chinese put great emphasis on education, not only being well represented in the English‐medium schools, but also building Chinese‐medium schools and bringing in teachers from China, following a Chinese curriculum (Wong & Ee, 1975). By the outbreak of the Second World War and the Japanese occupation of Malaya and Borneo, educational divisions in Malaya were deep, with the various races taking different paths. On the whole, as far as language was concerned, the different races continued to use their own languages. However, while the Malays, apart from the Malay elite, had no need to venture beyond Malay, the Chinese and Indian communities often acquired English and Malay in addition to their own languages. There was no language or long‐term planning evident in the education system.

Postwar development The British returned to Malaya in 1945. In the immediate postwar years the racial and political divisions in the society were becoming ever more apparent. In addition, the British and others in the region were concerned about the rise of ­communism in Asia and whether this might spread to Malaya. Independence was another issue that marked the postwar period. Sooner rather than later the British realized that independence would have to be granted. However, the country was in danger of seeing racial tensions spill over into actual conflict, and it was obvious that divisions were exacerbated by separate education systems and the lack of a common language. Ozog (1993, p. 65) reports that between 1945 and 1955 six reports were commissioned and all called for some form of bilingual education. The three most influential, the Barnes, Fenn‐Wu, and Razak called for, respectively, a bilingual English–Malay system; primary education in the mother tongue and secondary education in English; Malay as the main medium of education in primary schools. (For further discussion, see Asmah & Noor, 1981; Hashim, 1999).

534  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education In fact, on the Malayan Federation’s independence in 1957, while bilingualism was recognized as important, Malay became the national language and everyone was expected to be able to use it. However, in what appears to be a form of appeasement, Tamil‐ and Chinese‐medium primary schools were allowed and English was permitted as a medium in secondary schools. The elitist English‐medium schools remained unchanged, although from 1967 English was no longer recognized as an official language (Asmah, 2012). To some extent, all races found fault with the new system. The Chinese had hoped for greater recognition of their language, while the Malays felt the new system was being introduced too slowly. Problems with recognition and the role of the different languages and races was being played out in the wider community. Tensions reached boiling point in 1969 and spilled over into actual rioting in the capital, Kuala Lumpur (see Turnbull, 1989, among others). The riots marked a turning point in Malaysian society. Resentment among the Malays was directed primarily towards the Chinese, given that it was the Chinese who appeared to be prospering at the expense of the other races. The disparities between urban and rural communities was also becoming more apparent, again reflecting in part divisions between the Chinese and Malays. Throughout, Malays retained political control, but it was the Chinese who largely controlled commerce. In an attempt to redress the balance and to create a greater sense of national identity the government took steps to replace the bilingual education system with Malay as the main medium of education. The National Language Act of 1970 was meant to create a level playing field for all members of society and allow Malays greater opportunity to share in the country’s growing prosperity. While English would no longer be used as a teaching medium, the language itself would still be taught as a subject. Of course, the new Act was not without its critics, but the Sedition Act, also passed in 1970, forbade any further discussion of the subject. This did not prevent parents teaching their children at home or sending them to private schools, but from 1970 on the amount of English used in schools, and thus the proficiency of pupils in the language, dropped gradually. Despite the Sedition Act, debate still continued about the role of English in education and the society, particularly given its increasing role as the international language of communication in business, commerce, and politics. Politicians found themselves in the uncomfortable position of having to support an ­education system that might actually lead to Malaysian school leavers and ­graduates becoming less competitive internationally at the very time of rapid economic growth throughout Asia. In 1992 Malaysia declared a vision for 2020 that involved full industrialization and developed country status, but a lack of English language skills would jeopardize this. Hence the 1990s and the first decade of the twenty‐first century saw a series of language‐in‐education policy changes which reversed earlier policies and signaled a move back to English‐medium.

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The present At present the Malaysian government offers two categories of government‐funded schools: National and National‐type. There are two National‐type schools: those where the medium of education is Chinese and those where it is Tamil. In all schools, whatever the type, the national language is compulsory and English is taught as a second language. The presence of National‐type schools highlights the difficulties faced in trying to offer an education system that satisfies all races, but perhaps fails to please anyone (see Asmah, 2012, p. 169–171, for an interesting analysis). As well as the issue of satisfying the various ethnic interests, the question of which medium to use in schools has remained contentious. Despite the supposed use of Malay at all levels of the education system, including tertiary level, the reality was that English continued to be widely used in the sciences and law. Gill (2005, 2006, 2007) provides detailed analysis of the issues. Conceding to demand and actual use, from 2003, in both primary and secondary schools, mathematics and science were taught in English. However, in 2012 the policy was reversed in primary schools, with these subjects being taught in Malay again; in 2016 secondary schools will also see these subjects revert to Malay, although students have, and will retain, the option to take public examinations in either English or Malay. This may be at odds with new plans that are described below.

Brunei Brunei is bounded by the much larger Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak. Despite physical proximity, all three states have distinct national identities, the most telling of which is that Brunei prides itself on being a Malay Islamic monarchy, while the language and religious composition of Sabah and Sarawak are diverse with both having large numbers of Christians. (For further discussion on some of the educational and socioeconomic differences between these states, Brunei and the rest of Malaysia, see David & McLellan, 2014). The history of the region is fascinating, but what is most pertinent for this chapter is that it was British intervention, at the request of the then Sultan of Brunei, that prevented Brunei from disappearing off the map altogether (see Cleary & Eaton, 1992). Thus, rather than as exploitative colonialists, the British arrived in the form of a Resident whose role was to advise the Sultan of Brunei, whilst guaranteeing the country its independence and British protection. Clearly a very different role from the one adopted in Malaysia and one that meant the British were never regarded as oppressors. A major difference between Brunei and other “colonized” states (including Malaysia) is that Brunei never saw the need to divest itself of all things British (most particularly language) after the last Resident departed. In fact, the country has remained anglophile and positive in its attitude towards British institutions and the English language. Indirectly, this has meant

536  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education for greater stability in the country’s education system, with little opposition to the concept of bilingualism.

The people and their languages For such a small country, Brunei has a diverse population and a number of speech communities. As a result of its geography, seven distinct communities (Belait, Bisaya, Brunei Malay, Dusun, Kedayan, Murut and Tutong) as well as two other non‐indigenous communities (Iban and Penan) call Brunei home. Historically, these communities lived apart from each other, separated by rivers, forest, and mountains. As a result of this isolation, these communities developed different dialects, languages, and cultures. It was only in the last century that road and bridge building brought these communities into regular contact with each other. While most Bruneians still identify with one of these communities, intermarriage and relocation for purposes of work, education, or family mean that the former ethnic divisions are now breaking down and there has been significant language and identity shift towards Brunei Malay.

The development of education: The early years The development of Brunei’s education system has been detailed in earlier publications (Jones, 1996a, 2012); however, a brief synopsis of the development is necessary in order to appreciate current policies. The discovery of oil in 1923 meant that Brunei’s revenues increased quite dramatically. Throughout the 1930s, as oil fields were developed so income improved. By 1939 state revenues had risen to GBP1,274,644, almost ten times what they had been 10 years earlier. The oil and gas industry exposed Brunei to the outside world and with it a  demand to learn English. With improved revenues and more demand the government planned to open at least one new school a year from 1930 over the following ten years (in the previous 20 years only four schools had been built). Teaching was conducted in Malay, despite this not being the first language of at least a quarter of the indigenous population of the state. However, provision of education in several languages was considered impracticable. It was assumed by the British Resident of the time that, linguistically at any rate, the other races must be assimilated to Malay (Graham Black, 1939). This was an important decision and one that set at least one parameter for language education in Brunei. At no time has the question of teaching in a child’s first language (other than Malay) been raised since 1939. On the one hand, this is not surprising given the subsequent greater integration of Brunei society and the more widespread use of Malay and, latterly, English, but it is at odds with language planning in many other communities. Although globally greater consideration is being given to minority languages than was done in the past, this is not the case in Brunei. It is also important to note that the variety of Malay in Brunei (Brunei Malay) is substantially different from that of Standard Malay. So children starting

Bi/Multilingual Education in Brunei and Malaysia  537 school in Brunei have never had the benefit of studying in their mother tongue. (Brunei is a signatory to the Association of South East Asian Nations agreement that children should be taught in their mother tongue, but is the only nation in ASEAN that has failed to implement this.)

Postwar development As previously stated, government revenue in 1939 was GBP1,274,644. By 1951 the figure was GBP17,302,869, and by 1953 the figure had increased five‐fold to GBP98,976,643, an enormous sum of money compared with 20 years earlier, and an income that was to bring huge change to the country. Recognizing the need to have English‐educated Bruneians, a Government English School was established in Brunei Town in October 1951. This school took able pupils from other primary schools and introduced English Lessons from Primary 4. In doing so it set a precedent for the introduction of English‐medium education in government schools for Bruneian pupils. The practice of introducing English‐medium education continued right up to the introduction of SPN21 in 2009, when it was introduced at Primary 1 level. Not surprisingly, given that the procedure was established to solve an immediate problem in 1951, and was designed with gifted children in mind, this sudden transition created problems for many children. (For a fuller account of the education system and some of the problems, particularly those associated with curriculum issues, see Jones, 1996b). In the postwar period both Malaysia and Brunei published education reports and subsequent policy documents (the Bruneian reports borrowed extensively from the original Malaysian reports). Both stressed the importance of using the national language. It is clear that, in both Malaysia and Brunei, having established a need for an education system and having provided an infrastructure, both countries then gave greatest consideration to the political ramifications of education. For both countries national unity and a clear sense of national identity was of great importance. Due primarily to the disruption in the country from 1962–1963 caused by a civil insurrection, Brunei failed to implement the education report recommendations, but schools continued to be built and most children had access to education by the end of the 1960s. The Chinese community had its own schools and language medium, with books supplied from Taiwan; the religious authorities had a small number of pupils being taught through the medium of Arabic, while the Government schools were divided between English‐ and Malay‐medium, with books from Britain and Malaysia respectively. Following a number of failed initiatives, a new education system was introduced upon the resumption of full independence in 1984. It has been well documented (See Jones, Martin, & Ozog, 1993; Jones, 1996a, for instance) and needs little elaboration here. The concept of solidarity and nation building was given great emphasis throughout the 1984 document. The System and explanations are something of a balancing act, trying to satisfy the Malay medium lobby while also recognizing the need for English for international trade and communication.

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2009–today In 2009 the Ministry of Education unveiled a new education system: Sistem Pendidikan Negara Brunei Abad Ke‐21 (National Education System for the twenty‐first Century), most commonly referred to as SPN21. The major difference between this system and the previous bilingual education system is that mathematics and science are taught in English from Year 1 together with English language itself. As well as giving greater emphasis to the role of English, the new system also pays heed to the need for holistically trained well‐rounded pupils who should be the product of pupil‐centered teaching approaches rather than traditional teacher‐ centered classrooms. The radical departure in terms of teaching methodology and greater use of English has resulted in the sort of disruption that marked the introduction of the bilingual system 25 years earlier. Schools and teachers have been struggling to adapt, but it is clear that the country views this type of education as necessary for the country’s development.

The situation today Brunei has already introduced its new education system and Malaysia is planning changes to its own. Both countries have also mapped out new initiatives: Brunei’s Strategic Plan 2012–2017 and Malaysia’s Education Blueprint 2013–2025 are similar in many ways, suggesting, perhaps, a greater unity of thought about the education needs of the two nations.

Malaysia Education Blueprint, 2013–2025 The Education Blueprint that Malaysia’s Ministry of Education ordered in 2011 became a huge undertaking involving some 50,000 people and a wide cross‐section of interested parties. At the outset, of particular concern was that Malaysia devoted 38% of its GDP to education (above the OECD average of 34% and similar, in GDP percentage terms, to that spent by South Korea, Singapore, and Japan). However, the Blueprint states that, despite the investment, educational returns were poor, especially compared to other developing Asian countries. The plan is to introduce a common curriculum for all Malaysian schools, based on the recommendations of the Blueprint. The Blueprint calls for a new type of school leaver, one who would excel not just in the traditional academic subjects, but who would also have benefitted from holistic education, be better developed intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. It also seeks to address some of the imbalances that have arisen in Malaysian education: a gender gap has arisen, with boys falling well behind girls in academic achievement, and, predictably, rural schools failing to match urban school results. States with a high proportion of rural schools, especially Sabah and Sarawak, perform poorly compared to those states with large urban areas. Given that many

Bi/Multilingual Education in Brunei and Malaysia  539 of Malaysia’s poorest people work the land, this is hardly surprising. As might be expected, there is a correlation between socioeconomic status and educational achievement. A trend that might be considered divisive is that increasing numbers of ethnic minorities are registering at national‐type schools. In 2000 92% of Chinese had registered at such schools and by 2011 the figure was 96%. For Tamil speakers during the same two years the numbers had increased from 49% to 56%. In 2011 90% of the children in national schools were Malay (a small number of children were also enrolled in private Chinese and religious schools at secondary level). While Malaysia prides itself on racial integration—and this is one of the avowed aims of the Blueprint—the fact that the different races continue to prefer different schools suggests problems for interethnic relations and national identity. A further issue, and one that concerns Brunei as well, is the poor performance of boys at all educational levels—a gender gap that is increasing. Seventy percent of Malaysia’s university students are girls, a figure that closely matches Brunei’s own gender imbalance in higher education. As far as language education is concerned, the Blueprint acknowledges that, while satisfactory proficiency is being achieved in Bahasa Malaysia (Standard Malay), the same is not true of English‐language standards. The proposal is that after three years of schooling every child should achieve 100% basic literacy in Bahasa Malaysia and English language. Bilingual proficiency is just one of a number of skills that the plan seeks to enhance. The others are knowledge, thinking skills, leadership skills, and ethics and spirituality. It is also hoped that the country’s races will overcome their differences to promote national identity. Among the concrete measures to achieve these goals is the plan for a common curriculum from 2014 and remedial training for teachers and pupils who fall behind expectations. One of the plans is for 70,000 teachers to undergo a Cambridge Placement Test to determine who already has the necessary communication skills and who needs further training. The Blueprint has also identified the need to transform teaching into a profession of choice—this assumes that many current teachers chose the profession reluctantly. To achieve this, higher‐caliber and better‐ trained individuals will be recruited. Teachers will be given less administrative work to do and promotion will be performance‐based. It is also suggested that poorer teachers will be redeployed into administrative work. (There is some irony here, given that currently, in both Malaysia and Brunei, the most capable teachers are often “promoted” to administrative posts as these allow greater opportunity for further promotion and better salaries!) While stressing the need to promote teaching as a profession, there is no mention of commensurate salaries, without which it seems highly unlikely that the best graduates will be attracted to teaching. The Blueprint is indeed ambitious, especially with regard to language attainment. In addition to achieving 100% biliteracy, the plan is to add an additional language by 2025. Given that the current pass rate for the Malaysian equivalent of the British Ordinary Level examination (the “O” level) at credit grade in Bahasa Malysia is 84% for Malays, 63% for Chinese, and 57% for Tamils, while for English

540  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education language the percentage of pupils gaining a credit grade is 23% for Malays, 42% for Chinese, and 35% for Tamils. Even with extra training for teachers, better teaching, and new methodology, a move from these figures to a 100% pass rate for all seems unlikely.

Brunei’s Strategic Plan, 2012–2017 The Strategic Plan of Brunei’s Ministry of Education and Malaysia’s Blueprint have much in common, with both stressing the need for better holistically trained children who become life‐long learners. Perhaps significantly, given that Brunei has been using a bilingual education system for almost 30 years, Brunei’s Plan does not specifically mention the need for children to be bilingual. In Brunei this now appears to be accepted as a given. Of course, not all pupils graduate from school with equal language competencies, but all Bruneian children do graduate with some competency in both languages. The Plan mentions spiritual, mental, physical, leadership, and entrepreneurship skills, among others, but while adding the need for good communicators it does not particularly stress that skill— although public and private sector employers have stressed the need on numerous occasions.

Conclusion What is perhaps most telling in both countries is the transition of education, particularly bilingual education, from a nationalist issue to become an economic issue. For Malaysia in particular, language medium in schools has been a political football. Today, however, the need for lifelong learning, for flexible school leavers with good communication and Information and Communication Technology skills is now regarded as paramount and academic needs may finally be replacing political needs. Such skills invariably require competency in English, especially in dealing with international markets, which is the case in the globalized markets in which Malaysia and Brunei operate. Nevertheless, both countries wish to ensure that their national languages are maintained, learned, and used by all citizens. Malaysia will presumably continue to allow National‐type schools that provide the sort of language medium favored by the Chinese and Tamils, given that these are large minorities within the country and thus carry some influence come elections. Brunei will continue to teach through Standard Malay and English, with Chinese and Arabic being offered at the few Chinese and Arabic schools respectively. Despite being the country’s common first language and main lingua franca, it is very unlikely that Bahasa Brunei (Brunei Malay) will ever play a role in the school curriculum. For the first time since similar education plans were prepared for both countries in the 1950s, the education systems of Malaysia and Brunei will have much in common, particularly with regard to bilingual education and the role of Malay and English.

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References Asmah, H. O. (2012). Pragmatics of maintaining English in Malaysia’s education system. In E. Ling & A. Hashim (Eds.) English in Southeast Asia (pp. 155–174). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins. Asmah, H. O., & Noor, E. M. N. (1981). National language as medium of instruction. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: Dewan Bahasa. Cleary, M., & Eaton, P. (1992). Borneo change and development. Singapore: Oxford University Press. David, M. K., & McLellan, J. (2014). Political, educational and socioeconomic motivations for language shift in multilingual Malaysia. In P. Sercombe & R. Tupas (Eds.), Language, education and nation building: Assimilation and shift in Southeast Asia (pp. 131–147). Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave MacMillan. Gill, S. K. (2005). Language policy in Malaysia: Reversing direction. Language Policy, 4(3), 241–260. Gill, S. K. (2006). Change in language policy in Malaysia: The reality of implementation in public universities. Current Issues in Language Planning, 7(1), 82–94. Gill, S. K. (2007). Shift in language policy in Malaysia: Unraveling reasons for change, conflict and compromise in mother‐ tongue education. AILA Review, 20, 106–122. Graham Black, J. (1939). Report on the State of Brunei for 1938. Singapore: Government of Brunei. Hashim, A. (1999). The changing role of English in Malaysia. HKBU Papers in Applied Language Studies, 4, 129–141.

Jones, G. M. (1996a). The bilingual education policy in Brunei Darussalam. In P. W. Martin, C. Ozog, & G. Poedjosoedarmo (Eds.), Language use & language change in Brunei Darussalam, (pp.123–132). Athens, OH: Center for International Studies, Ohio University. Jones, G. M. (1996b). Bilingual education and syllabus design: Towards a workable blueprint. The Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 17, 2–4. Jones, G. M. (2012). Language planning in its historical context in Brunei Darussalam. In E. Ling & A. Hashim (Eds.), English in Southeast Asia, (pp. 175–188). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins. Jones, G. M., Martin, P. W., & Ozog, A. C. K. (1993). Multilingualism and bilingual education in Brunei Darussalam. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 14(1&2), 39–58. Ozog, A. C. K. (1993). Bilingualism and national development in Malaysia. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 14(1&2), 59–72. Sadka, E. (1968). Bilingual education in Malaysia. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: Pelanduk. Stevenson, R. (1975). Cultivators and administrators: British educational policy towards the Malays 1875–1906. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: Oxford University Press. Turnbull, C. M. (1989). A history of Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei. Sydney, Australia: Allen & Unwin. Wong, F. H. K., & Ee, T. H. (1975). Education in Malaysia. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: Heinemann.

34 Multilingual Education in South Asia The Burden of the Double Divide Minati Panda and Ajit K. Mohanty Introduction With over 660 languages, South Asia has nearly 10% of the world’s languages. Linguistic diversity in the region is quite high. But, at the same time, the region also has a large number of endangered languages. The Atlas of the World’s Languages in Danger (UNESCO, 2009) lists 337 languages in different degrees of endangerment in South Asia. This paradox of diversity and endangerment arises due to simultaneous presence of spontaneous societal multilingualism at the grassroots level and different forms of inequitable and discriminatory “ideologies, structures and practices” or linguicism which “legitimate, effectuate, regulate and reproduce an unequal division of power and resources” between languages (Skutnabb‐ Kangas, 2000, p. 30) at a broader level. Despite the widespread multilingualism, languages are treated unequally in most societies due to various modes of discrimination in state policies as well as societal practices. Languages are associated with unjust and inequitable distribution of power with some languages enabling their users to exercise greater control over socioeconomic resources compared to the others. The hierarchical positioning of languages in the South Asian multilingual societies leads to language shift, marginalization and loss of less powerful or weakened languages and capability deprivation and poverty of the language communities (Mohanty & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013; Skutnabb‐Kangas & Mohanty, 2009). The indigenous tribal minority (ITM) languages, in particular, are placed in positions of neglect, deprivation, and disadvantage. At one level, the policy ideologies proclaim egalitarian positioning and promotion of all the languages whereas, at the level of actual practices, the odds are clearly stacked against these languages, which are deprived of opportunities in significant domains of use such as education, trade and commerce, law, and official communications. Prolonged

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Multilingual Education in South Asia  543 neglect of the ITM languages leads to loss of their instrumental vitality and cumulative impoverishment. There is a vicious circle of language disadvantage (Mohanty, 2013) in which these languages are weakened by educational and social neglect and this neglect is further justified on grounds of their weakness and inadequacy; the victims of linguistic discrimination or linguicism are held responsible for their neglected status. The hierarchy of languages in South Asian societies involves a dominant presence of English as an elitist language of power at the top, a few major national or regional languages of national identity in the middle level, and many ITM languages at the bottom. Typically, this hierarchy of languages shows two conspicuous power gaps—one between English as the most privileged language of power and the major national or regional languages; the other between the major languages and the most disadvantaged ITM languages - and, of course, many invisible power gaps that marginalize the local languages relegating most of them to the status of dialects or tongues. Mohanty (2010) views the dual‐level power cleavage as a linguistic double divide with wide ranging implications for education and development of linguistic minorities and maintenance of linguistic diversity.

Languages in South Asia: The double divide The linguistic double divide in South Asia is reflected in the role of English in fostering a hierarchical pecking order of languages, in pushing the major regional languages out of significant domains of use and cumulatively marginalizing other ITM languages. In India and all other South Asian countries, English is the most sought‐after language which empowers its users with privileged access to socioeconomic resources. During the struggle for Indian independence, English was never perceived as a language of Indian nationalism and was rejected as a symbol of subjugation. But the Constitution of independent India promulgated in the year 1950, in its Article 342 (2) recognized English as an associate official language for a  period of 15 years during which, it was envisaged, other Indian languages including Hindi would develop to replace English. However, with its growing power and also as a result of conflict of interests between Hindi and languages of South India such as Tamil, this constitutional status of English was extended for an indefinite period. With globalization, English is now so well entrenched in India as a language of power, economy, and privileges that any reversal of this position seems very unlikely. The power of English in Indian society has created the first divide, between English and the dominant Indian languages. It has been called the English– Vernacular divide (Ramanathan, 2005). The second divide, the Vernacular–Other (ITM language) divide (Mohanty, 2010), is between the major Indian languages and the ITM languages, and it is evident in policy‐ and practice‐level discriminations between the languages on either side of it. Recognition of 22 major Indian languages such as Hindi, Telugu, Bengali, and other dominant languages at the state and regional levels as languages for official use and governance as well as for

544  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education specific public purposes and their use in education and other socioeconomic domains, keeps the other Indian languages deprived. We will briefly discuss the nature of the double divide in other South Asian countries before turning to its implications for languages‐in‐education policy and practice in India and other South Asian societies. As pointed out earlier, common to the nature and pattern of the double divide in South Asian countries is the presence of English as the most dominant language of power and popular aspirations. Pakistan has nearly 77 languages of which three—English, Urdu and Sindhi—are recognized as official languages. English is the language of power whereas Urdu is promoted as the language of nationalistic identity. There is one power divide between English and the other two official languages as well as Punjabi (as a dominant regional language) and the second divide between the major languages (Urdu, Sindhi1, and Punjabi) and 73 other minor languages that are clearly marginalized struggling for a place in the hierarchy (Tariq Rahman, 1998).1 In Nepal, all the languages (nearly 122) are recognized as national languages. But, English is the most dominant language of power and popular aspirations, and Nepali is viewed as the major national‐level language. All other regional‐ and community‐level languages remained marginalized and now vie for a place in the new democratic setup in the country awaiting promulgation of a new constitution. The nationalist movement in Bangladesh for separation from Pakistan was based on Bengali nationalism and rejection of Urdu dominance. Following independence, Bangladesh declared Bengali as the only official language. But English remains the most powerful elitist language, while over 39 other languages (mostly ITM languages) are marginalized without any official status or power. In Sri Lanka, Sinhala and Tamil are the major languages which have some official status. In 1956, the Official Language Act sought to introduce a policy of Sinhala as the only official language. Later Tamil was given a limited role as an official language particularly in the Northern and Eastern provinces. While the official role of Sinhala and Tamil and their use in administration continues to be debated, English has become a language of choice in government policy and practices, gaining acceptance as a link language. Following the Tamil movement and the war, a Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission (LLRC) was set up and in the year 2011, it recommended a trilingual policy of Sinhala, Tamil, and English as official languages as well as languages of education in Sri Lanka. But, despite the changing official positions of the three languages, English has continued to be a preferred and elitist language considered more prestigious than the two major national languages. Other minor languages in Sri Lanka have remained marginalized and neglected amid all the conflicts over the relative dominance of the major languages. Bhutan has 30 languages out of which Dzongkha is the major state language and also the main language of instruction. The language policy in education in Bhutan shows a clear preference for English as the most dominant international language and language of global economy. The place of the other 29 languages of Bhutan in its national framework for education is being debated and remains doubtful (Mohanty, 2013).

Multilingual Education in South Asia  545 Thus, with growing influence of English due to the impact of a globalized economy and also the promotion of English as an important international language, the major regional languages in South Asia have been relegated to a dominated status even if they are languages of identity for their speakers. These major languages, in turn, have pushed the ITM languages towards a cumulative loss of domains of use, marginalization, and language shift. This double divide has affected the language policy and practice in South Asia, particularly in respect of languages in education.

Language‐in‐education policy and practice in South Asia The linguistic double divide in the hierarchical structure of languages in South Asia is reflected in a progressive invisibilization of ITM languages, particularly in education. Out of the nearly 660 languages in the South Asian countries not more than 50 are used as languages of teaching or mediums of instruction (MoI) in schools. While English‐medium schools are considered most prestigious, barring some recent experimental initiatives for teaching in a few selected minority mother tongues, the remaining schools are primarily in the dominant languages of each country. India has regular school programs in 33 languages besides English, of which 22 are official languages as recognized in the constitution; only 11 other languages are used as MoI, mostly in the northeastern regions and in some special‐ purpose or experimental school programs; only three to five tribal languages are used in regular school programs in Indian states (Mohanty, 2013; see also Panda & Mohanty, 2014, for an exhaustive analysis of India’s language‐in‐education policy). All private schools in Pakistan are English‐medium schools whereas education in government schools is in Urdu with English taught as a school subject from Grade 1 (see Coleman, 2010 for details). Some other regional languages such as Sindhi, Punjabi, and Pashto are used as MoI in provincial schools and taught as school subjects in primary grades. Pakistan’s National Education Policy (Government of Pakistan, 2009) proposes wider use of English in government Urdu‐medium schools. The policy recommends that English be taught as a school subject from Class I and used as a language of teaching sciences and mathematics. In addition to English, Urdu and one regional language are also to be taught as school subjects. A similar pattern of English‐dominated system of education is also evident in Nepal, where private English‐medium schools are most sought after. Medium of teaching in all Government schools is Nepali, regardless of the mother tongue of the pupils. All other languages in Nepal are deprived of a place in education except in some recent experimental schools for mother tongue based education (see Skutnabb‐ Kangas & Mohanty, 2009 for a detailed analysis). In the new democratic setup of the country, it is proposed that all mother tongues will be given equal status as languages of teaching in the early years of school education. The Interim Constitution of Nepal and the National Curriculum Framework of 2007

546  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education acknowledge children’s right to education in their mother tongue in their early grades (Mohanty & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013). In Bangladesh, Bhutan, and Sri Lanka, English and major national languages— Bengali and Urdu in Bangladesh, Dzongkha in Bhutan, and Sinhala and Tamil in Sri Lanka—are used in early education, but English has a more prominent place while ITM languages are conspicuously absent. To sum up, English is clearly placed in a dominant position in education in South Asia with almost total neglect of ITM languages; the major regional‐ or national‐level languages are used as MoI in the public or Government schools only. However, starting from the primary to high school levels of education, the major languages have some presence and use of ITM languages as MoI or as academic subjects becomes rare and, in higher and university‐level education, the language of teaching is almost exclusively English. Clearly, then, languages‐in‐education policy in South Asian countries reflects the sociolinguistic double divide with English as the most significant and sought‐ after language in education and the ITM languages generally neglected. Education in these countries, both in number of pupils and languages, is organized in a pyramidal structure in which early school education has the largest coverage and occasionally includes some ITM languages along with the major presence of English and the national‐ or regional‐level languages. At the higher or secondary levels, the number of institutions and pupils declines and there is an almost complete absence of ITM languages. In higher and university education, the number of students further declines quite sharply, and English is almost exclusively used as MoI with minimal presence of less preferred national languages. The languages‐in‐education policy and practice in South Asian countries forces the ITM language communities into submersion forms of education in a dominant language leading to large scale “push out,” school failure, capability deprivation, and poverty (Mohanty, 2008; Mohanty & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013).

Consequences of submersion education for minority children in South Asia The imposition of the dominant languages as MoI and neglect of ITM languages in education create a language barrier for millions of children in South Asia with a  subtractive effect on their mother tongue (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000; Skutnabb‐ Kangas & Dunbar, 2010). Forced submersion education has been shown to be leading to educational failure, high “push out” rates, capability deprivation, and poverty (Mohanty & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013). Using several indices of educational development, Mohanty (2008) shows how the tribal communities in India are pushed to educational failure and poverty due to the neglect of their mother tongues in education. Several other Indian studies document the language barrier (Mohanty, 2000), cumulative effects of non‐MT education (Mohanty, Mishra, Reddy, & Ramesh, 2009), and poor educational achievement (Singh, Jain, Gautam, & Kumar, 2004) in the case of the tribal children in India. Mohanty and Skutnabb‐ Kangas (Mohanty & Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2013; Skutnabb‐Kangas & Mohanty, 2009)

Multilingual Education in South Asia  547 have also discussed the adverse effects of dominant language instruction on education and identity development of the ITM children in India and Nepal. Studies in Nepal document the negative consequences of Nepali‐medium schooling on non‐Nepali‐speaking children’s school performance and self‐esteem (Awasthi, 2004; EDSC, 1997; Hough, Thapa Magar, & Yonjan‐Tamang, 2009). Coleman (2010) reports large‐scale school failure and poor academic achievement among children in Pakistan which is attributed to the language barrier that many children face in non‐mother‐tongue schools. Analyses by other researchers (e.g., Tariq Rahman, 2008; Shamim, 2008) also show that neglect of mother tongues in education has adverse effects on educational development in Pakistan. It is quite evident that the language disadvantage of the ITM children in forced submersion schools in the dominant languages is a major factor in perpetuating inequalities linked to large scale school failure and poverty. Realization of the crucial links between non‐mother‐tongue education and poor educational outcomes for the ITM and other disadvantaged children, has led to several initiatives in South Asian countries to deal with the problems of forced submersion education. Programs of mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education are some of such recent initiatives in South Asian countries.

Programs of multilingual education in South Asia The language disadvantage of linguistic minority children in dominant‐language schools in South Asia as in rest of the world has led to various experimental programs of mother‐tongue‐based education for these children. In India there were some early experimental attempts by the Central Institute of Indian Languages in 1980s to provide mother‐tongue‐based early education called bilingual transfer programs for smooth transition from a tribal mother tongue to the dominant state language of schooling. Children started Grade 1 in the mother tongue and progressively switched to the dominant language by the end of Grade 2 (see Mohanty, 1989). These programs had little success and were dropped. In the year 2004, the state of Andhra Pradesh in India started an experimental program of multilingual education (MLE) in 240 primary schools in 8 tribal languages. A similar program began in Odisha two years later in 195 schools and 10 tribal languages. In these programs, children’s home language is used as the language of teaching and literacy development. Teachers are from the respective language communities. The textbooks prepared in this language follow the common state curriculum, while the content makes use of the indigenous cultural knowledge system and community’s routine life experiences. The state majority language, Odia in Odisha and Telugu in Andhra Pradesh, is introduced in the second year (Grade 2) for development of oral communication skills in the language, and for reading and writing from Grade 3 onwards. In Grades 4 and 5, the majority language of the state is used as a language of teaching along with children’s mother tongue. English is taught as a school subject from Grade 3 in Odisha and Grade 1 in Andhra Pradesh. From Grade 6 onwards, the state majority

548  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education language becomes the sole medium of teaching except for the language subjects such as English and Hindi. The Odisha MLE program is now extended to 19 tribal languages in more than 1,000 schools and the Andhra Pradesh program is extended to over 3,000 schools. Evaluations of these MLE programs in India have shown positive effects on classroom achievement, school attendance and participation, teacher and community attitude (Panda, Mohanty, Nag, & Biswabandan, 2011). A separate evaluation of MLE in Odisha, undertaken by the National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT, 2011), also corroborates the positive findings in respect of its effects. A special intervention program called MLE Plus (MLE+) was designed and implemented by the present authors along with the Odisha MLE program for a period of 5 years from 2007 in 8 of the Government MLE schools in two tribal languages—Saora and Kui. This intervention followed a cultural psychological approach using cultural practices to develop classroom activities and promoting literacy engagement through several community‐based activities (see Panda & Mohanty, 2011, 2014 for details). Several internal and external evaluations of MLE+ show significant gains compared to MLE and non‐MLE schools (Panda & Mohanty, 2011). Some other states in India with large populations of different tribal language communities have various programs to support children’s learning in the dominant‐language schools through mother‐tongue‐based materials and activities. Though these are not MLE programs as such, they seek to use children’s mother tongue to facilitate learning of and in the dominant language. The model of MLE in Odisha, India was followed in Nepal in a small‐scale pilot MLE program in eight ITM languages as MoI in Grades 1 to 3 in seven schools (out of a national total of 32,000 schools). The textbooks, children’s story books and other teaching–learning materials in the MLE program (see Hough, Thapa Magar, & Yonjan‐Tamang, 2009; Yonjan‐Tamang, Hough, & Nurmela., 2009 for  details) in Nepal were indigenously developed with active community involvement. Recent National Education Policy (Government of Pakistan, 2009) in Pakistan, despite its heavy emphasis on English, suggests use of local mother tongue for early education and literacy along with the national language, Urdu, for national identity. To the extent that in some areas of the country, education begins with the mother tongue as the MoI along with the language subjects, English and Urdu, which are targeted to become major languages of teaching by Grade 4, one can speak of some emerging trends in Pakistan towards mother tongue based MLE (Shamim, 2011) at least in a weak and early‐transition form. Bangladesh also has started some experimental programs of MLE for indigenous minorities (see Tania Rahman, 2010). Sri Lanka has officially declared a trilingual policy and is planning to use an MLE model to promote multilingual competence in Sinhala, Tamil, and English. Thus, barring a few schools with experimental programs involving mother‐tongue‐based MLE, all the state‐run schools in South Asia are in the dominant national or regional languages and the private schools use English as the MoI.

Multilingual Education in South Asia  549 Ofelia García (2009) speaks of monoglossic and heteroglossic types of bilingual education and discusses policies of some Asian countries, including India, as expansions of bilingual education into forms of “multiple multilingual education” which “use more than two languages in education and often have movable parts— that is, languages are weaved in and out of the curriculum as needed” (p. 283). She seems to be taking a positive view of the declared MLE policy, which “acknowledges the linguistic and cultural multiplicity” and views multilingualism “as a resource” (p. 283). If one looks into the declared state policies, most of the South Asian countries seem to be taking an egalitarian and progressive view of languages and ostensibly treating all languages as resources. But, there are differences between declared and de facto language policies (Shohamy, 2010) which need to be considered to understand the gap between ideologies and the real ground‐level practices. The de facto language‐in‐education policies in South Asia are clearly shaped by the double divide and the hegemonic position of English in society. Lava Deo Awasthi, the Director General of Nepal Government’s Department of Education and the father of the Nepali MLE Program, captures the conflicting policy positions in his apprehensions about the future of MLE in Nepal: “MLE classrooms are priorities in the policy documents but English has been overemphasized in public debates and forums. Even the research reports appear to glorify English and English only school practices” (Lava Deo Awasthi, personal communication, April 15, 2013). As Panda and Mohanty (2014, p. 122) observe, “the burden of the linguistic double divide weighs heavily” on the nature of MLE programs in India as in other South Asian countries which are under pressure to target development of English and major state languages using the mother tongue only as a step towards the target languages; there is always heavy emphasis on English and a sense of urgency to move quickly to this goals and, hence, what appears to be “weaving (languages) in and out” (García, 2009), is in reality a compromise of sequencing of the languages in the “early‐exit” model, reflecting their hierarchical position in the society (Panda, 2012). The MLE programs in South Asia may have shown some short‐term success in improving the quality of education for the marginalized and grossly disadvantaged ITM children, but they remain trapped in the double divide, unable to subvert the societal language hierarchy and the discrimination inherent therein.

Conclusion The employment of the concept “double divide” in this chapter has worked in two ways. It has helped in showing historically how these divides are created and used as tools to structure education in a way that privileges more advantaged communities. Language divides have been legitimized by organizing school and higher education in specific ways, as discussed above, in all the South Asian countries irrespective of their status as erstwhile British colonies. Privileging of English over the vernaculars and the vernaculars over local languages drew its grammar from

550  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education the British colonies and grew with support from the local elites. Such arrangements and positioning of languages in school curriculums in these countries were in tandem with the power hierarchy within their societies. Optimization of the economic value of the privileged languages in the new economies and its rationalized existence in the global (neoliberal) economies created aspirations among the indigenous linguistic minority communities which almost naturalized this unequal treatment of languages (and their speech communities) in the school curriculum. In the global economy, possession of the English language is considered to be a vital cultural capital and, as a result, the divide between English and all other languages looks natural and not anti‐child or anti‐community. Consequently, any attempt to subvert this hierarchy, even anything that implicitly questions this hierarchy, appears to be an economic and social conspiracy against the linguistic‐ minority communities. This is the reason why the early‐exit bridge model is so readily accepted and preferred over the late‐exit programs. In a way, the former reinforces the double divide in the society by institutionalizing it under the guise of a progressive equity measure in the school education curriculum and pedagogy, while the later has the potential to disturb economic and social hierarchy of these societies. However, Canagarajah (2005) looks at these phenomena differently from the perspective of his native country, Sri Lanka. According to him, the debate over the relative status of the vernaculars and a dominant language often boils down to “mother tongue versus English” debate, as in Sri Lanka. This debate is propelled by the decolonization project on the one hand, resisting English as a colonial language, and by the globalization project on the other, favoring openness to the impact of worldwide communities, multinational work culture, and technological changes which make English important. The proponents of minority linguistic rights, advocating planned language shift in favor of a vernacular language like Tamil in Sri Lanka, are “motivated by the preservationist interests, collective rights and sentimental associations of an ethnic group” (Canagarajah, 2005, p. 420). However, individual needs for economic and social mobility may work against any attempt to essentialize minority linguistic identity and to establish the primacy of the vernaculars over English. The Tamil community in Sri Lanka, being on the lower rung of the economy, may benefit economically from exposure to English language more than from having proficiency in Tamil and Sinhala only. Canagarajah (2005), therefore, argues against any imposed language planning at the state level and suggests that minority linguistic communities need to struggle to protect their own interests and evolve their own agenda and concludes that “policy makers should recognize the agency of subaltern communities to negotiate language politics in creative and critical ways that transcend the limited constructs scholars formulate to either cynically sweep aside or unduly romanticize fundamental human rights” (p. 442–443). In other words, “one size fits all” solutions to the linguistic and educational issues in the South Asian countries will not work. South Asia may be seen as a cultural–linguistic area; but, the ground‐level realities and societal power structures are divergent. Every society has to negotiate its own language policies within

Multilingual Education in South Asia  551 the local, national, and global contexts. The recent evidence shows a uniform and uncritical acceptance of an early bridge model of multilingual education for experimentation primarily in schools located in ITM areas in almost all the South Asian countries. These experimental programs also show some success compared to forced submersion education in the dominant languages. Despite such initial positive signs of the accommodation of ITM languages in education, it is premature to assume that the current model of multilingual education in South Asia is a panacea for the discriminatory practices against these languages since they have not shown any departure from the hierarchical positioning of languages in society. At best, one can characterize the model as an imposed compromise in the face of the low levels of school achievement in ITM linguistic communities and hope that the local communities will continue with their struggle for equity, balanced development, and assertion of their rights for progressive evolution of language‐ in‐education policies in South Asian societies.

Note 1  The status of Sindhi as a major language in Pakistan is also contested by some linguists (e.g., Daswani, 2013) who argue that Sindhi is also marginalized.

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35 “Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth” Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa Sinfree Makoni and Busi Makoni

Introduction and philosophical orientation In this chapter, we describe the role of different institutions and language entre­ preneurs in advocating for an inclusive multilingual education policy involving African languages so that these languages are as prominent in education and statecraft as English and Afrikaans. Language associations/committees, language development units attached to institutions of higher education, language analysts, and laypeople all have input into language‐related decisions in education and mass media communication. While this level of consultation and openness pro­ vides an important intellectual space for language users to contribute to decisions pertaining to multilingual education, it is prone to abuse. While this chapter focuses on the development of bilingual/multilingual edu­ cation in South Africa, we also highlight the fact that these issues have echoes in other African countries; therefore, our approach is not part of a discourse on South African exceptionalism. South African exceptionalism is defined in terms of South Africa’s economic success and its scholarly output in international outlets, which far exceed those of other African countries and lead some to view South Africa as exempt from being an African country (Mamdani, 1996; Zeleza, 2006). South Africa’s challenges and historical experiences, linguistic or otherwise, are then con­ sidered unique and significantly different from those of other African countries. While a chapter based on South Africa only is feasible, it is not a defensible episte­ mological proposition as it inadvertently supports the “myth” of South African exceptionalism. In challenging this idea, we situate the chapter in a broader context that uses South Africa as an example but resonates in other African polities. The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa  555 We first focus on the history of bilingual language education in South Africa to create a context for the current state of multilingual education. We highlight some of the attempts to include African languages as part of South Africa’s bilingual education policy which, in fact, provides insight into the quest to include so many stakeholders in language policy decisions. We then examine the different language academies.

History of bilingual education in South Africa: The pre‐apartheid and apartheid eras South Africa’s language conflicts have either been preceded or followed by blood­ shed, which is not surprising since issues of language choice and use are signifi­ cantly related to socioeconomic and political processes, including “the distribution of knowledge resources and power” (Dua, 1996, p. 1). South Africa’s bilingual policy dates as far back as the Anglo‐Boer war (1899–1902). As in most African countries, the bilingual policy was never targeted at African‐language speakers but at non‐African invaders. What makes South African bilingual education some­ what different is that it was always introduced as a punitive measure to the “other,” with the referent depending on who had political power at the time. For instance, the English introduced the Anglicization policy to punish the Boers for having put up a fierce fight during the Anglo‐Boer war (Scholtz, 1965). Similarly, the imposition of Afrikaans on black students, which led to the 1976 Soweto students uprising, was a punitive measure by the Boers to shore up power and silence black students who were becoming more forceful in their political demands and had become very vocal in their rejection of Bantu education; that is, a type of education designed specifically for Blacks. It was inferior to that offered to other racial groups as the intention was to prepare black South Africans for menial jobs. By and large, these examples indicate that bilingualism is not inherently progressive or conservative, and South Africa provides an interesting case study of both uses of bilingualism. If bilingualism is to be understood narrowly as referring to the ability to use two languages, then pre‐apartheid and apartheid South Africa provide the quintessence of bilingual education policy. The bilingualism introduced during these eras focused exclusively on two languages—English and Afrikaans (Alexander, 2003)— with Khoi San languages omitted from any discussions about language. This bilingual education policy echoes colonial bilingualism, which specifically identified who the targets for the policy were and determined in which languages the targeted groups were to be bilingual. For example, in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) upward socioeconomic mobility for less‐educated white Rhodesians was determined by proficiency in an African language (Makoni, Dube, & Mashiri, 2006). Educated white elite did not have to be proficient in African languages. Similarly, the white minority that ruled South Africa between 1905 and 1994 strategically adopted colonial bilingualism. Hence, all whites, regardless of their native language or cultural background, had to be bilingual in English and Afrikaans. Bilingual edu­ cation was introduced in phases and imposed on the groups of whites not in power

556  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education at the time. When the English were in power, they imposed English on the Afrikaners, and when the Afrikaners were in control, they imposed their own native language, Afrikaans. The foundation of bilingual education in South Africa was the Anglicization policy introduced by Lord Milner, the British High Commissioner appointed to administer the defeated Boer Republics (Alexander, 2003). At face value, the Anglicization policy was no different from the bilingual language policy of imperial powers in other Anglophone African countries (see Makoni, Dube, & Mashiri, 2006) to the extent that it was aimed at the settlers and not the Africans themselves. Yet the South African Anglicization policy was characterized by linguistic racial undertones. In other African countries, bilingualism entailed that the settlers themselves had to learn local African languages as part of their bilingual competence. In South Africa, all whites learned either English or Afrikaans. As a result, South Africa was constructed as ostensibly a white bilingual country. The Anglicization policy had multi‐leveled impacts on the South African linguistic landscape. Not only did the policy lead to a thorough devaluing of African languages, but it also became the basis for Afrikaner nationalism (Scholz, 1965). The imposition of English meant that the instrumental use of Afrikaans as a means of socioeconomic advancement was greatly curtailed. The Boers viewed the Anglicization policy as an attempt by the English to consolidate both economic and political power and as a tool of oppression. Afrikaner nationalism, therefore, meant shared language, religious orientation, and descent (Du Plessis & Du Plessis, 1987). Afrikaner nationalism articulated through language struggle was then consolidated by the “establishment of language promotion agencies such as the Afrikaanse Taalgenootskap (ATG) in 1905, the Afrikaanse Taalvereniging (ATV) and Onze Taal in 1908 and the Zuid‐Afrikaanse Akademie voor Taal, Letteren en Kunst in 1909” (Beukes, 2007, p. 251). These Afrikaans academies embrace what is potentially the entire field of knowledge and support of Afrikaans language development. However, they also play an important activist function for Afrikaans. In other words, they are not only agencies for promoting the language, but also referred to as language academies whose main responsibility was to consolidate Afrikaner nationalism. While the initial struggle of Afrikaners was solely for the recognition of Afrikaans as a lan­ guage equal in status to English, language became central to the crystallization of Boer ethnic consciousness, which later developed into a racist form of Afrikaner nationalism that became the driving force behind apartheid. The approach to language in these academies was largely prescriptive and “xenolinguaphobic.” The academies were successful in substantially contributing to the development of Afrikaans to such an extent that it is one of the few non‐European languages used as a medium of instruction at tertiary levels in Africa. The success of these lan­ guage academies is also a result of the massive investment of the South African government in the Afrikaans project during apartheid. Black communities were also impacted by the Anglicization policy. Missionaries introduced English to African language speakers so that they could translate the Bible into local languages or work as Sunday school teachers, a phenomenon also

Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa  557 evident in other African countries such as Sudan (see Abdelhay et al., 2007), Kenya (Musau, 2003), and Zimbabwe (Makoni, Dube, & Mashiri, 2006). In all these African polities, missionaries taught English in African communities and devel­ oped African languages into written form, introducing a type of bilingual educa­ tion that targeted Africans and the use of African languages (Makoni & Makoni, 2009). English was used not only for proselytizing, but also for introducing literacy in African languages. This practice led to the development of an African elite con­ sisting of teachers, preachers, interpreters, and clerks who viewed English profi­ ciency as their way to upward socioeconomic mobility. This group, which wa Thiongo (1981) referred to as “colonized minds” or “the native bourgeoisie” (Fanon, 1961, p. 149), appropriated the linguistic and textual forms of colonial power and embraced the privileges of imperial culture, creating a class hierarchy between the “elite” (articulate in English and able to read and write) and the rest of the African‐language speakers (who were neither articulate in English nor could read and write in any language).1 Some of these elites argued for the use of English in their schools because, in their view, English was the only language associated with progress. Some went further and argued that English was a “neutral” language with a vocabulary that contained concepts such as freedom and democracy and could capture scientific concepts that could not be expressed in their own native languages (Nhlapo, 1944, 1945). Since there were a wide variety of African languages, the assumption was that English would unite the different ethnic groups and that multilingualism was potentially an obstacle to unity and progress among people of color. For instance, one of the most lauded black South African scholars, Jacob Nhlapo (1944, p. 5), argued that “English unites pupils in schools while Bantu languages keep them apart.” Similarly, the President of the African People’s Organization, Dr. Abdullah Abdurahman who, by apartheid classifications, was a “colored,” is quoted as saying “coloreds” should endeavor to perfect themselves in English—the language which inspires the noblest thoughts of freedom and liberty, the language that has the finest literature on earth and is the most universally useful of all languages. Let everyone … drop the habit as far as possible, of expressing themselves in the barbarous Cape Dutch that is too often heard. (APO, August 13, 1910, cited in Adhikari, 1996, p. 8)

As is evident in Abdurahman’s speech and Nhlapo’s work, the importance of colo­ nial languages seems to have ensured a degree of “hegemonic consciousness” (Rassool, 2007, p. 70) among the colonized. The colonized were turned away from their local languages and cultures, and their aspirations were oriented toward the languages of the colonizers. The deprecation of African languages as inadequate to express scientific concepts is also evident in Nhlapo’s work: “Bantu languages are poor, weak things which cannot be used for saying things in science and many other fields of learning” (1944, p. 5). The reaction of the South African black elite to the imposition of English is not unique, as it has been reported in a number of different countries (see Alidou;

558  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education 2009; Bamgbose, 2000; Musau, 2003). It is an example of the psychology of the oppressed: the colonial strategy of “taking hold” of the mind of the colonized subject. The psychological ties to the empire are evident in all the arguments about the importance of keeping English as an official language and language of instruction in all schools. The Anglicization policy succeeded in subjugating all African languages and contributing to the underdevelopment of literacies in African languages. It also affected the development of a reading culture in African languages as the resources available for the development of literacy were directed toward English and Afrikaans as the two national languages. Few Africans and all other racial categories that South Africa had created in its quest for racial purity could afford to study beyond the first few years of primary schooling. In fact, prior to 1994, there was no effort within the South African schooling system to develop any substantial literacy in African languages.2 While the leadership among white minorities tolerated the few blacks who were a product of missionary education and were proficient in either English or Afrikaans or both, there was silence on the role and status of both Bantu Languages and Khoi San languages in education and mass communication. These languages were not part of the agenda related to the choice of national languages and lan­ guages of instruction in schools: The choice was either English or Afrikaans, and any biliteracy was to be in these languages, which reinforced the marginality of African languages and Khoi San languages. Surprisingly, with the exception of Nhlapo, there was no visible countervoice to the hegemony of English and Afrikaans from any of black African leaders, indicating resignation to the per­ ceived powerlessness of these languages in education and mass media. Prior to the official policy of apartheid in 1948, Nhlapo proposed the harmoni­ zation of African languages so that the mutually intelligible varieties of Nguni would form one language, whereas the mutually intelligible varieties of the Sotho group of languages would form a second African language. In Nhlapo’s proposal, the Union of South Africa would have four national languages: English, Afrikaans, Nguni, and Sotho. This was the first time that South Africa began to gravitate toward a multilingualism that included African languages. Although Nhlapo’s proposition took a step in the right direction, the basis of his reasoning was that multilingualism is a problem. After all, harmonization is designed to reduce the number of languages. In addition, the importance of English to Nhlapo, a product of missionary education, was not lost: English ought to be made the African “Esperanto”… English will still be the answer to the question of the many Bantu tongues as it has been in America, where nations from all parts of Europe and from Africa found themselves living together. (Nhlapo, 1944, p. 15)

That English would provide a linkage internationally as well as locally between different ethnic groups was a common view held by most Africanists (Bamgbose, 2000). Thus, while Nhlapo saw English as the solution to the multiple languages used and believed that bilingual education should involve an African language,

Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa  559 he seemed to have lost sight of the fact that English as an “African Esperanto” meant that it was going to be “everybody’s language” (Nhlapo, 1944, p. 10). Yet very few Africans at the time had access to English. Nhlapo was proposing a break from the idea of distinct units in favor of unified entity. An implementation of Nhlapo’s proposal would be rendered extremely difficult by the fact that unification would be resisted because each language was marked by a deep sense of individual and group identity. Each of the language varieties to be unified had social identities associated with “solidified ethnic identities” (Simpson, 2008, p. 3). Any unification becomes a potential site of ideological contestation. One variety becoming part of the prestige norm “leads to the emergence of class varieties which hitherto were non‐existent” (Williams, 1987, p. 90). The desire for unification was driven by a standard language ideology (Milroy, 2001) that sees variation as problematic and uniformity as a solution. The quest for invariance leads to the creation of a prestige variety that, in the Nhlapo proposal, would have been Nguni and Sotho. By impli­ cation, the other varieties then become less prestigious, creating the very tension that the proposal seeks to solve. Unification may, in fact, become a site for con­ tested identities (Bird, 2001, p. 24). Indeed, Nhlapo’s proposal was rejected, although it is often argued that the rejection of the proposal was based on lack of consultation as Nhlapo single‐handedly decided which languages were to be part of the unification. During the apartheid period, the bilingual education introduced was an attempt to replace the hegemony of English with the dominance of Afrikaans (Alexander, 2003). Yet the hegemony of English gained momentum with the establishment of the English Academy in 1960 in response to the overwhelming pressures by the racist South African National Government to marginalize English speakers. From its inception, its emphasis was to frame English as a resource, a mechanism to be utilized to serve the complex and growing needs of a radically changing world. In recent years, the English Academy has articulated a robust position that situates English in a complex panoply of multilingual, multicultural contexts. The Academy is also actively involved in academic work, including publishing a journal; orga­ nizing major conferences every second year; holding seminars, workshops, and lectures across the country to enhance teaching and research in English; and offering awards in literature and translation to people whose work has made a sustained contribution to English studies. During the apartheid era, African languages were introduced as part of mother‐ tongue education and were used as languages of initial literacy before making the transition to English or Afrikaans. The first language was abandoned or sup­ pressed in favor of the language of the school (i.e., “subtractive bilingualism”). At face value, the introduction of mother‐tongue education was a positive move, yet this decision was deeply rooted in the apartheid policy of ethnic fragmentation and was in line with the formation of Bantustans, black homelands that were part of the policy of apartheid. It was also destined to fail, given the extent to which English was deeply entrenched among the black elite. The black elite were united in their rejection of the policy for two main reasons: (i) a general understanding that this was part of apartheid’s divide‐and‐rule strategy and (ii) the equation of

560  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education quality education with the use of English and the dislike for Afrikaans among blacks, especially its standard form referred to as Algemeen Beskaafde Afrikaans (General Civilized Afrikaans). Afrikaans, civilized or uncivilized, was viewed as a language of the oppressor in much the same way the Afrikaners viewed English. The imposition of Afrikaans in black schools and the introduction of mother‐ tongue education were both rejected as part of an education system designed to hold Africans back. By and large, South African bilingual education has been a space where political scores were settled. Although the discourses are language‐related, the objectives are to address political marginalization. The impact of language academies goes beyond issues about language, reflecting the complex and slippery relationship between the communicative and symbolic functions of language. These symbolic functions have been exploited in language academies to develop a sense of ethno‐ nationalism. Post‐apartheid South Africa, therefore, faces a number of challenges in its quest for multilingual education: (i) creating an open, consultative, and inclusive forum for decisions on language‐related issues so as to avoid the Nhlapo experience; (ii) rehabilitating African languages as viable languages of instruction, given the long‐held view of their inferiority; and (iii) creating a supportive envi­ ronment for multilingual education.

From bilingual to multilingual education: the lingering effects of missionary education The post‐apartheid government’s multilingual policy is deeply embedded in the South African constitution. In addition to English and Afrikaans, nine African languages acquired official‐language status. All government documents have to be in all 11 official languages. Formal meetings such as parliamentary sessions are supposed to provide translation services in all 11 official languages, although these meetings are generally held in English. In terms of the South African constitution, these 11 official languages should “enjoy parity of esteem” or what Pelinka, (2007, p. 137) accurately describes as the “fiction of linguistic equality.” The fictional aspect is that, ultimately, it is one’s ability to communicate in English that counts, although this is not articulated. Job interviews in government departments are conducted in English, making the bilingual education system of the Anglicization era the de facto policy in practice. In order to support multilingualism, the government devised legislative tools and policies, such as the South African Schools Act (SASA), the Language in Education Policy, and the Pan‐South African Language Board (Pan‐SALB), as South Africa’s language “watchdog” (Perry, 2004, p. 501). The Commission for the Protection and Promotion of the Rights of Cultural, Religious, and Linguistic Community Rights (CRL Rights), although not exclusively dealing with issues related to language, has a mandate to address language‐related complaints brought by linguistic communities. Despite the apparently supportive environ­ ment for the implementation of multilingualism, especially multilingual

Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa  561 education, several questions still need to be answered. For instance, since the elite were vocal in their support for a bilingual education policy that includes English as the main language for learning, what has changed for them to view African languages as languages of instruction in a favorable light? Since “the elite are able to access resources, marshal arguments that promote their values and ultimately influence the formulation of policy in ways that the average local community member cannot do” (Trudell, 2010, p. 337), can they create a supportive environ­ ment for multilingual education to flourish? Due to past experiences with the Nhlapo proposal, issues of language are now localized in communities. For instance, the Pan‐SALB Act of 1995 mandated that the Board establish National Lexicography Units (NLUs) for each of the 11 official languages, whose focus would be producing dictionaries. All these different legal instruments have loopholes that make it possible for anyone to bypass multilin­ gualism without necessarily breaking the law. For instance, the SASA leaves the choice for language of instruction to the School Governing Body, which consists of  parents/elite. If the school is located in a predominantly Afrikaans‐speaking area, then the language of instruction is Afrikaans; if it is in an English area, then it is English.

South Africa’s “Toothless” language “Watchdog”: The Pan‐South African Language Board Pan‐SALB is a national academy with legal authority to deal with language issues through specific language‐based committees across South Africa. It has a major role to play in key sociolinguistic processes such as language preservation, rights, description, and prescriptivism. It is an example of a nationwide association that seeks to serve the language and multilingual needs of an entire country through compiling dictionaries, promoting multilingualism, and intervening in language‐ related complaints lodged by individuals or organizations. However, Pan‐SALB has earned the nickname “toothless watchdog” (Perry, 2004, p. 501) because it has no legal authority to sanction violators or to ensure that the recommendations it makes are implemented. For instance, the Department of Justice has an English‐ only policy that clearly violates the constitution, and although complaints have been lodged with Pan‐SALB, its recommendations to the Department of Justice to implement multilingual policies have never implemented. In post‐apartheid South Africa, Afrikaner linguistic activism is still evident as most language‐related complaints lodged with Pan‐SALB and the CRL Rights commission originate from Afrikaner organizations as part of their continued struggle for the equality of the status of their language with English, a sign that they do not consider the other African languages as potential threats to the role and status of Afrikaans. While the African language committees are working toward dictionaries, others are still fighting for official recognition, but most are less organized than the Afrikaaner groups. For instance, the Khelobedu language group from Limpopo has lodged several complaints with both Pan‐SALB and the

562  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education CRL Rights Commission for Khelobedu to be recognized as a national language, without much success. Even though, constitutionally, Pan‐SALB is a nation‐wide association, it also provides expertise to neighboring countries in the development of dictionaries and works closely with the African Academy of Languages (ACALAN), an initiative of the African Union. ACALAN is an example of the rapidly increasing Non‐Governmental Organizations (NGOs) and supranational bodies involved in language activities in Africa. Academics play a key role in Pan‐SALB and ACALAN both as producers of knowledge who determine orthographies, spelling, and teaching methods and as agents responsible for legitimizing language, which cre­ ates tensions as the general populace feels excluded and intimidated by the presence of academics. The key issue in such contexts is the need to explain why there is so much interest in commitment by NGOs and supranational bodies in language issues at this juncture in the history of Africa and internationally.

Reflecting on multilingual education and the role of language academies Central to the establishment of language academies is the promotion of notions of language ownership. In most of the language academies, it is taken as axiomatic that individuals own languages. The Afrikaans, English academies, and other lan­ guage associations are founded on the idea of language ownership as closed space (Hutton, 2010) that renders it feasible to mobilize linguistic and ethnic nationalism. Multilingualism, insofar as it is a multiplication of singular forms cannot exist as well, which epistemologically suggests that multilingual education is just a farce. This argument is extremely important and has implications for discussions about multilingual education. If language does not exist at least in the form it is assumed to be and multilingualism is a “pluralization of singularity,” then a major reason for the failure of some of the language academy projects is that they are seeking to “pluralize” that which does not exist. The search for multilingualism is likely to fail because it is not a question of the nature or lack of resources but a fundamental limitation in conceptualization. Another set of concepts that underlies some of the work of language academies is the idea of language description. The underlying philosophies of such a way of framing language have not been systematically analyzed or the underlying assumptions made clear. For instance, the assumption that one of the functions of the language academies is to describe language creates a false impression that lan­ guage is a naturalistic phenomenon. Language academies, therefore, inadvertently reinforce the idea of language as a primordial phenomenon. Description of grammatical features is founded on an assumption of clear distinctions between prescription and description, a distinction whose validity is open to questioning. Since prescription is something one does or refrains from doing, African lin­ guists should not refrain from prescribing because this is the public role commu­ nities expect them to take. It is difficult to see how one can be engaged in language

Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa  563 teaching without subscribing, to some degree, to forms of prescription. The issue should, therefore, not be whether or not one prescribes but whether what one pre­ scribes can find its basis in language description. A closely related point in the practices of language academies is the production of dictionaries. Although dictio­ naries are important and each language academy seems to measure its success partially in terms of the number and types of dictionaries it produces, the vocabu­ lary of a dictionary is held to be synonymous with that of a language—a vocabu­ lary that no speaker can know independently of the printed record. It becomes an objectified and authoritative thing, a text with fixed meanings rather than negoti­ ated ones (Liddicoat, 2000).

The future of bilingual/multilingual education: Power, resources and conflict One important but rarely articulated recurring theme implicit in the South African linguistic landscape is stated as an objective of linguistic analysis: power. Power is reflected in the institutions that have legitimacy to articulate national language objectives. The relationship between defining the linguistic objectives of repre­ sentations and power is dialogic: Those who have power to define and represent the sociolinguistic landscape and those that have defined the sociolinguistic landscape have their power legitimated through their ability to define the linguistic landscape. Yet the power of institutions is only meaningful if it is restricted and narrowed. In South Africa, power is limited unintentionally by the inconsistency between national objectives and the mechanisms used in realizing those objectives, which has meant aiming to accomplish national objectives of multilingualism through monolingual strategies like language academies. Power also produces unintentional resistance. In such cases, resistance manifests itself in processes of redefining the sociolinguistic landscape using different terms, thus producing alternative visions. What the South African case illustrates is that bilingual/multilingual education is both a space through which change and “stasis” can be articulated and sustained. It is not easy to predict with any degree of confidence the nature and form bilingual/multilingual education will take in the future. However, what can be said, though, is that bilingual/multilingual education will most likely be used in both war and peace.

Notes 1  This also shows the intricate webs of complicities between the colonizer and the colonized. 2  In post‐apartheid South Africa, this state of affairs would have a significant impact on perceptions of African languages.

564  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

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36 A Panoramic View of Bilingual Education in Sub‐Saharan Africa Reorienting the Lens for the Future Leketi Makalela

Introduction Sub‐Saharan African countries have inherited and maintained monoglossic lan­ guage‐in‐education policies from colonial ideologies since the sixteenth century. This wholesale policy maintenance has, inadvertently, put constraints on multi­ lingual discourse spaces and serially restricted optimal learning and teaching con­ ditions for multilingual children. This chapter provides a historical account of bilingual education policies and practices from the precolonial era to the present‐ day in sub‐Saharan Africa. It then analyzes tensions between monolithic policies and fluid classroom language practices that are curtailed by such policy imposi­ tions. Cultural, linguistic, and educational repercussions for African multilin­ gualism are explained in the light of these tensions. In this connection, the chapter presents an argument for true heteroglossic policies and practices that affirm mul­ tiple identities and holistic development of African‐multilingual children. In the end, it offers an alternative bi/multilingual education lens for the twenty‐first century, understood and expanded within a plural vision of a translanguaging framework and the African locus of “I am because you are.”

In the beginning: Precolonial Sub‐Saharan Africa To understand the evolution of bilingual education policies and the resultant ten­ sions that accrued in most parts of sub‐Saharan Africa, it is useful to consider the precolonial era. Sub‐Saharan Africa stands out as one of the complex regions in the The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bilingual Education in Sub-Saharan Africa  567 world, with its languages estimated at more than 2,000 (Bamgbose, 2000). Multilingualism has always been a norm, with discourse communities having the propensity to shuttle within and between various ethnic lines due to dialect continua that cut across a wider spectrum of the many languages known to date. Surprisingly, such plural and complex communication practices, which also included ancient writing systems, have not been adequately documented in the literature (Cox, 1992; Raum, 1996) for three reasons. First, the early anthropologists and ethnographers residually omitted local materials because they believed that “the peoples of Africa have not yet risen to the stage of education which can produce written records of important events or institutions” (Raum, 1996, p. 3). Second, the dialect continua did not fit their monoglossic ideology of a language as a bounded entity. Third, they wanted to promote their own cultural lens and use it to civilize the natives in the face of such varied and multiple ethnic and linguistic forms. Notwithstanding, there is evidence for cross‐language practices in the precolo­ nial era. One of these is the trans‐Saharan trade that took place between four major zones through cross‐linguistic communicative practices that transcended ethnic boundaries of the indigenous people (Cox, 1992). These include the forest king­ doms, southern kingdoms, lake kingdoms, and Congo kingdoms whose trade practices stretched from the premodern to the early modern age. The result of continued trade between the Arabs and the lake kingdoms, for example, gave birth to a cross‐border/ethnic language such as Kiswahili, which has a total population of about 38 million speakers (Mazui & Mazrui, 1998). The second example is that of the indigenous Khoi and San people in Southern Africa. The Khoi‐San communities lived side by side, one group as hunters and guardsmen and the other as farmers who cultivated land and looked after cattle. Despite their varying linguistic and ethnic roots, they learned and used each other’s languages, interacted, and moved in and out of each other’s discourse communities without linguistic barriers (Thompson & Wilson, 1982). Beyond their Khoi‐San movement, they also intermingled with amaXhosa and amaZulu people, as can be traced through a number of click sounds found today in Nguni languages of South Africa. Although ethic differences can be strong markers of ethnic tensions and wars between different groups (Obeng & Purvis, 2010), language practices in most sub‐ Saharan countries can best be described and understood if notions of harmony and co‐existence are empathized (Makalela, 2005). Corroborating evidence to attest flex­ ible boundaries among African languages can be gleaned from Alidou et al. (2006) who reported that traditional education in precolonial Africa did not suffer from language‐in‐education problems, but the “local mother tongue languages were used quite naturally within each ethnic or linguistic group for cultural socialization of the young generation” (p. 39). In brief, language was not a barrier to communication.

Scramble for Africa: External bilingual lenses It is axiomatic that language‐in‐education policies of colonial periods followed the colonization strategies that can be characterized as total assimilation in French, Portuguese, and Spanish colonies, on the one hand, and indirect rule or

568  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education the adaptation (cohabitation) approach in the British and Belgian colonies, on the other hand. It should be stated at the onset that education in the early part of colonization (i.e., prior to 1884) was carried out by the missionaries. The Protestant missionaries in the British colonies pursued a subtractive bilingual education model of using African languages in lower primary education and sudden transfer of the medium of instruction to English. These missionaries had an urgent mission to evangelize the local people and believed that instruction in mother tongue would rapidly spread the word of God in more effective ways than through the use of a foreign language. According to Mansour (1993, p. 12), “it was part of the missionaries’ task to analyze the phonology and grammar of the African language to devise a writing system, and ultimately to translate the Bible, the catechism and hymns.” Some of them went as far as encouraging the use of local languages in developing the local media. For example, Reverend Henry Townsend of the Anglican mission started the first newspaper written in an African language, Iwe Ihorin fun awon Ara Egba ati Yoruba in 1859 with the goal of cultivating the habit of reading for information acquisition (Salawu, 2006). In the French colonies, in contrast, the missionaries were directly controlled by the French colonizers when it came to language‐in‐education (Mazrui & Mazrui, 1998). The French believed that language was part of the package to civilize the natives. As a result, the French governors for West Africa believed that the primary aim of primary school teaching was to immerse indigenous people into spoken French in two ways: using French only in schools and forbidding teachers to allow the children to speak their local languages. When the scramble for Africa resulted in an official division of African people into nation‐states in 1884, the need to transition local people into Western cultural values necessitated an adoption of monoglossic practices from the missionary schools. As expected, the French, Portuguese, and Spanish colonies were not permitted to use any local language in tally with the total assimilation policy (Obeng & Purviss, 2010), thereby reducing multilingual learning spaces to expand education. In the West African region, children found using local languages on school premises were punished and students were often forced to put a label on their chest: “I am stupid; I used a vernacular on the school’s premises today” (Obeng & Purvis, 2010, p. 379). Ngugi wa Thiongo’o (1986) recounted similar humiliating experiences for children who reverted to their natural multilingual practices in Kenyan classrooms (East African region): The culprit was given corporal punishment—three to five strokes of the cane on bare buttocks—or was made to carry a metal plate around the neck with inscriptions such as I AM STUPID or I AM A DONKEY. (p. 11)

From this school experience, the African teachers believed that they were “helping” the school children to become proficient in colonial languages while furthering immersion ideology. This direction is even clear from the indirect rule  recommendations of the Phelps‐Stokes Commission of the 1920s (King, 1971, p. 56):

Bilingual Education in Sub-Saharan Africa  569 1. The tribal language should be used in the lower elementary standards or grades. 2. A lingua franca of African origin should be introduced in the middle classes of the school if the area is occupied by large Native groups speaking diverse languages. 3. The language of the European nation in control should be taught in the upper standards. While pursuing these general guidelines on immersing the local people into colonial culture and values, the Italian and German colonies took slightly different language‐in‐education routes. They promoted the use of local languages for the entire primary school education and transition into colonial languages at secondary education levels. The countries in question included Ethiopia (Amharic), Tanzania (Kiswahili), and Eritrea (Tigrigna and Arabic). Obeng and Purvis (2010), however, note that the Germans did so not in total support for local languages, but rather because, due to ethnocentric values, they did not want to share their German language with the local people. When the Germans and Italians forfeited their colonies after World War I, both Tanzania and Eritrea fell under the control of Britain (and Eritrea was later invaded by Ethiopia). In Eritrea, support of the two local languages for education was an anomaly that was based on the British mission to divide the local people on the basis of religion and to undermine national unity (Tseggai, 1988). The Christians were allowed to learn through the medium of Tigrigna, and Muslims through Arabic before the 1935 invasion of Ethiopia that imposed Amharic (Tseggai, 1988). Within the monologic bilingual policy frameworks described above, multilin­ gual children were expected to learn through their second languages before they had developed sufficient proficiency or conversational ability (Cummins, 2000) in the languages of instruction. After an analysis of the language developments in Eritrea, Hailemariam, Kroon, and Walters (1999) question the relevance of this transitional model of bilingualism among African states. In their view, most of the cases of transitional bilingual education involve transition to a language spoken natively by a large segment of the indigenous population such as English in the United States or French in France. Conversely, abrupt shift in language of instruction shows that the teaching of foreign languages has its origins in second language programs that were designed in Western countries to teach second languages aiming for conversation skills, writing tasks, and some literature, but not full mastery of the language to learn and teach mathematics, science, geog­ raphy, or history (Alidou et al., 2006). All these programs, taken together, show a consistent monoglossic ideology of immersion in one European language. This is summed up in García’s (2009, p. 51) explanation of the ideological underpinnings and outcomes of subtractive bilingualism: When monoglossic ideologies persist, and monolingualism and monolingual schools are a norm, it is generally believed that children who speak a language other than that of the state should be encouraged to abandon that language and instead take up only the dominant language.

570  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

Monoglossic lenses continue in the post‐independent era The period of independence from colonialism to “ethnic revival” (Obeng & Purviss, 2010) in the post‐independence period has shown constant policy maintenance trends and strong correlation between African languages as media of instruction and the former colonial language policies discussed above. As will be seen below, there are very few exceptions to the general practice and minor noticeable changes in the Anglophone and Francophone policies. In the post‐independence era, few French‐medium countries shifted from French‐only medium to home‐language instruction (e.g., Senegal) whereas some of the former British colonies that provided initial education in  home language shifted to a straight‐for‐English approach (e.g., Ghana and Zambia). Five post‐independence language‐in‐education policy scenarios exist: (i) delayed assimilation: 3–4 years subtractive bilingualism, (ii) total assimilation into French, (iii) double‐assimilation, (iv) retention of language‐ in‐education policies, (v) multilingual language‐in‐education policies. These are developed below:

Delayed assimilation: 3–4 years subtractive bilingualism There are parallels between former British and Belgian (French‐dominated) col­ onies with regard to strict adherence to subtractive bilingual policies. Nigeria, Botswana, Swaziland, Kenya, Uganda, and Zimbabwe, for example, have inherited the first three to four years of teaching through community or vernacular languages, following the language‐policy practices of the colonial governments in these countries. Deviation by Ghana and Zambia from this group showed fluctua­ tion between straight‐for‐English medium of instruction to either first year of home language or three to four years of instruction in African languages as the governments changed over time. In the former Belgian colonies––Rwanda, Burundi, and the Democratic Republic of Congo––there is a three‐ to four‐year retention of learning and teaching in local languages such as Lingala and Kinyarwanda and then a sudden shift to French as the medium of instruction beginning at higher primary school levels.

Total assimilation into French Retention of total assimilation policies is evident in former French (Francophone) colonies that include Benin, Niger, Burkino Faso, Mali, Ivory Coast; Portuguese colonies such as Cape Verde, Angola, and Mozambique; and the only Spanish colony: Equatorial Guinea. While there was experimentation and recognition of African languages in Mali and Burkina Faso in the past 10 years (Alidou et al., 2006), the general norm in these Francophone and Lusophone countries is that the use of African languages as media of instruction or as school subjects has been

Bilingual Education in Sub-Saharan Africa  571 prohibited. As a result, there are many African languages in Francophone coun­ tries that have not yet been scripted.

Double‐assimilation The postcolonial scenario of double‐assimilation includes countries that had more than one colonial power before they gained independence. Namibia, Tanzania, Mauritius, and Eritrea, for example, had the different experience of being colo­ nized twice and ended up retaining the policy of the strongest or latest colonial power. For example, Tanzania was under the control of Germany, but when Germany was defeated after World War I, the country was taken over by Britain and English was adopted. Similarly, the Eritreans were first colonized by Italy but the British exerted their control and a language‐in‐education policy of English in secondary schools was imposed. In both situations, there was a strong presence of African languages in primary school education and use of English as the medium of instruction in secondary schools, making them still subtractive towards mono­ lingualism as students advanced to higher levels of education.

Retention language‐in‐education policies A very small group of countries did not pursue colonial policies, and have indi­ rectly followed monolithic language ideology. Madagascar and Comoros were two French colonies, but after independence Malagasy became a dominant local language for learning and teaching in primary schools. Comorian also received the status of being a primary language of learning and teaching in primary schools. A related case is that of two Italian colonies, Somalia and Ethiopia, which used local languages, Somali and Amharic. Somali and Amharic continued to be used as media of instruction at least for the whole primary school education and early secondary education phases that were followed by transition into English in upper secondary school levels. While these countries are exceptions to the pattern of colonial inheritance, they largely pursued local monolingual practices and delayed transition to English or French monolingualism in higher education levels.

Multilingual language‐in‐education policies The case of South Africa merits some attention to demonstrate how monoglossic lenses can impede even grandiloquent policy statements (see also Chapter  35, “Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth”: Tension and Conflict between Language Institutions in South Africa). Apart from granting official status to 9 indigenous languages, together with Afrikaans and English, the Bill of Rights (1996) has made it possible for every child to be taught in their familiar language: Every child has the right to receive education in the official language of their choice in public educational institutions where that education is reasonably practicable. (Republic of South Africa, 1996, p. 29)

572  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education The caveat, “where that education is reasonably practicable” denotes a non‐com­ mittal stance of the state and devolution of such powers to school governing bodies that decide on school‐based language policy. Some of the guidelines include a requirement of 40 or more learners for a language to be granted the status of a medium of instruction in public schools. The following year (1997), the Language‐ in‐Education Policy stated: Subject to any law dealing with language in education and the constitutional rights of the learners, in determining the language policy of the school, the governing body must stipulate how the school will promote multilingualism through using more than one language of learning and teaching, and/or applying special immersion or lan­ guage maintenance programs. (Republic of South Africa, 1997, p. 8)

Despite these opportunities for use of local languages in their plural forms, the actual practices of more than 15 years reflect old subtractive bilingual methods. That is, the first three years are in home languages and then there is transition into the medium of English at the end of lower primary education. As in schools in Ghana and Namibia, some schools in South Africa have opted  to introduce “straight‐for‐English” policies; that is, schooling starts in English. Thus, these countries are going for total assimilation into English unilingualism. Part of the perceived failure to promote multilingualism in South Africa is the wholesale adoption of monolingual lenses that were used to create ethnolinguistic boundaries at different stages of colonization. First, the missionary linguists divided mutually intelligible language forms into different languages when they worked in different parts of the country with no central coordination. IsiNguni language varieties (isiZulu, isiXhosa, isiNdebele, Siwati), on the one hand, and Sesotho languages varieties (Sepedi, Setswana, and Sesotho), on the other hand, were written with different orthographies and inscribed as distinct languages. The 11 official language policy relied on “invented” (Makoni, 2003) or “artificial” constructions (Makalela, 2005) in the same way that apartheid divided people into separate homelands as proclaimed in Dr. H. F. Verwoerd’s decree: “Africans who speak different languages must live in separate quarters” (Alexander, 1989, p. 21). The 1996 policy did not take into account the history of these varieties and their mutual intelligibility and, consequently, it has fallen into the trap of exaggerated or overseparated multilingualism. Moreover, the Language‐in‐Education Document (Republic of South Africa, 1997) prescribed that a learner in South Africa is required to have at least two lan­ guages as school subjects––one should be the home language and the second one should be the language of learning and teaching. This policy has recreated old patterns where one learns one’s home language and English, with no opportunity for cross‐African language acquisition. One would consider this a nonfunctional multilingualism or multiple unilingualism approach, as it lacks a plural vision to reinforce fluid/flexible multilingual practices (Makalela, 2009). This means that languages have been separated and bounded in the same manner in which

Bilingual Education in Sub-Saharan Africa  573 colonialists saw African multilingualism––as a conglomeration of mutually unintelligible tongues. Subsequent to this overview, we can now summarize the bilingual and multi­ lingual policies and practices of post independent sub‐Saharan African countries as follows: 1. Colonial languages are used as languages of instruction in senior high school and tertiary institutions in most countries; 2. Former British colonies have adopted mother tongue as medium of instruction in lower primary education and African languages are taught only as subjects in higher levels of education; 3. Former French, Portuguese, and Spanish colonies only teach mother tongue as a subject. The mother tongues are not used as medium of learning and teaching (with exceptions such as Madagascar); and 4. Tanzania, Madagascar, Burundi, Rwanda, Somalia, and Ethiopia use mother tongues for the whole of primary school education.

Impact of narrow views on multilingual education What is surprising in sub‐Saharan Africa is the dismal failure of the policy makers to use the research findings on bilingualism and education spanning a period of over 100 years on the subcontinent. One of the effects of rigid language‐in‐education pol­ icies is the low adult literacy rate of 55% compared to the average literacy rate of 70% in the developing world (Bamgbose, 2000). The inhabitants of Franchophone Africa have the lowest rate of 44% compared to their Anglophone counterparts with 64%. One of the earliest UNESCO declarations decreed that: On educational grounds, we recommend that the use of the mother tongue be extended to as late as possible. In particular, pupils should begin their schooling through the medium of the mother tongue because they understand it best and because to begin their school life in the mother tongue will make the break between the home and the school as small as possible. (UNESCO, 1953, p. 47–48)

Since then, there has been a plethora of empirical studies that show the negative consequences of subtractive bilingual education and of total assimilation lan­ guage‐in‐education policies in sub‐Saharan Africa (e.g., Macdonald, 1990). The report from the Conference on Bilingual Education and the Use of Local Languages in Windhoek (Alidou et al., 2006), for example, shows that, under optimal condi­ tions where teachers have been trained and resources supplied, children usually need between six to eight years to learn an additional academic language and use it as the medium of learning. In less resourced schools, on the other hand, research evidence has shown that children may need up to 10 years. In the 1970s there were a number of bilingual education experiments in Africa. One of these was the Ife Project where primary school learners were taught through

574  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education the medium of Yoruba for 6 years. The Six Year Primary School Project is an exem­ plar project that was carried out by the Western Nigerian Ministry of Education and the University of Ife (currently called Obafeni Awolowo University). After six years of teaching, children taught in Yoruba had much higher achievement than those taught through the medium of English. More importantly, the experimental group also developed higher proficiency in English (Bamgbose, 2000). Related experiments also supported home language in Mali and Niger. It is noteworthy, however, that these experiments fall short of the vision: they stress one language (in this case, the home language) over another language instead of the multiplicity of the children’s lived experiences in the twenty‐first century where all discursive resources should be promoted.

Restrictive classroom practices Language‐in‐education policies have become out of sync with language practices in classrooms that are discursive, dynamic, and flexible. Many classroom interac­ tions have tended to reflect the dynamic languaging practices (García, 2009) of multilingual societies, but restrictions imposed on language use in classrooms have widened the tensions between the interactions and policy proscriptions. Obeng and Purvis (2010, p. 381) state that it is “not uncommon to see teachers explain certain salient points in an African language because some of the teachers’ competence in the English language could be called into question and the students knew very little of English.” Beyond perceived inabilities of the interlocutors in classroom contexts, there are also different academic communicative repertoires. Consider the following conversations with Lucy and Lorraine (pseudonyms) from remote rural areas of Limpopo Province in South Africa: Extract A (Lucy) Sometimes I am not able to explain a concept like photosynthesis in English; so I use Sepedi words to explain. But when I do not find Sepedi equivalents I use English again. So it depends on the word or phrase I am looking for.

Lucy explains her flexibility in drawing from her linguistic repertoires in talking about concepts such as photosynthesis. Equally, the degree to which each lan­ guage is used in the classroom depends on the subject, context, and type of words needed to fulfill the needs of the speech event. Lorraine cites particular scenarios that cannot be fulfilled through the use of a single language: Extract B: (Lorraine) In order for me to create true life context I am expected to communicate only in English, which sometimes makes it hard for me to express myself clearly and become creative. The learners too have problems talking about real life situation since they need more conversational ability.

Bilingual Education in Sub-Saharan Africa  575 In this extract Lorraine is aware of the need to explore her multilingual creativity to clarify topics that are close to real life (that is, where she uses more than one language). In these topics, it is important for her to have the opportunity to use not only English, despite the school policy restrictions. Likewise, children from multilingual settings struggle to communicate in a single language to be fully expressive. These two examples, taken together, are often misconstrued as a reflec­ tion of the teacher or the child’s inability to communicate in English. What we see instead is an imposition of monolingual instruction—an unnatural conversational injunction for most children from multilingual settings—that does not work either for the teachers or for the learners in their classrooms. We learn from these exam­ ples that monolingual instructional patterns can be frustrating and impede literacy development and comprehension across the curriculum.

Towards the future: From one plus one to an integrated plural vision The foregoing discussion on bilingual programs and policies in sub‐Saharan countries suggests that there has never been any real change on bilingualism/ multilingualism as perceived and imposed on Africans through the colonial lens of one nation, one language. Different colonial strategies were used in different parts of the subcontinent, which have left neocolonial language imprints many years after the colonizers have left. The real danger is that Africans themselves have not yet come to see language from their own point of view: a plural vision encompassed in what they share: I am because you are (Ubuntu)—a humanistic plural way of knowing that is all‐encompassing and institutionalized among multilingual speakers of Bantu languages in Africa. Clearly, multilingualism needs to be looked at again from an inside lens as a resource that is good for nation building and the reinforcement of the cultural plu­ ralism that is natural in multilingual settings. To explain the continuation of past colonial practices in language use in Africa, we need to understand that linguistic neocolonialism has become a deliberate strategy of advanced nations to maintain their influence on their former colonies. Beyond this, these policies are stuck in the past centuries and have not taken into account the realities of the twenty‐first century. García’s seminal work on bilingualism in the twenty‐first century is, in this connection, instructive: What is needed today are practices firmly rooted in the multilingual and multimodal language and literacy practices of children in schools of the twenty‐first century, prac­ tices that would be informed by a vision starting from the sum: an integrated plural vision. (García, 2009, p. 8)

The future of sub‐Saharan countries is that of plural societies, rooted in multi­ lingualism and its multimodalities. Transitional bilingual policies in their various forms will continue to put Africans behind the times and increase cognitive,

576  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education affective, and psychosocial challenges faced by children from these multilingual settings if the lenses are not reorganized and shifted to reflect the true sociolin­ guistic realities of local people.

Concluding Remarks This chapter has explored bilingual education in the context of African multilin­ gualism in select sub‐Saharan countries throughout historical epochs. It reveals that, while multilingualism is the norm in these countries, monoglossic lenses of language learning and medium of instruction are based on the external definitions of “language” and narrow monolithic ideologies of the former colonizers. This has limited the opportunity of many African children to be fully expressive in classrooms, as evidenced by the few experiments that have revealed success in teaching through a local language. Here too, our vision is bound by the need to see a “winning” language instead of resorting to the African worldview of plurality. In making the case for a plural vision embedded in the ideology of “I am because you are/Ubuntu,” cases of classroom‐story narratives from teachers and students who feel jettisoned by unilingual policy prescriptions must be described. It seems opportune that the lenses of bi/multilingualism be reoriented from monoglossic to heteroglossic focus, since this best represents the sociolinguistic realities of sub‐Saharan Africa.

References Alexander, N. (1989). Language policy and national unity in South Africa/Azania. Cape Town, South Africa: Buchu Books. Alidou, H., Boly, A., Brock‐Utne, B., Diallo, Y. S., Heugh, K., & Wolff, H. E. (2006). Optimizing learning and education in Africa—the langauge factor: Stock‐taking research on mother tongue and bilingual education in Subsaharan Africa. Gabon: Association for the Development of Education in Africa & UNESCO Institute for Education. Bamgbose, A. (2000). Language and exclusion: The consequences of language policies in Africa. Münster, Germany: LIT Verlag. Cox, G. (1992). African empires and civilizations: Ancient and medieval. New York: Pan African Publishing.

Cummins, J. (2000). Language, power and pedagogy: Bilingual children in the cross fire. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. García, O. (2009). Bilingual education in the 21st century: A global perspective. Oxford: Wiley‐Blackwell. Hailemariam, C., Kroon, S., & Walters, J. (1999). Multilingualism and nation building: Language and education in Eritrea. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 20(6), 475–493. King, K. J. (1971). Pan‐Africanism and education: A study of race philanthropy and education in the southern states of America and East Africa. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Macdonald, C. A. (1990). Crossing the threshold into standard three in black education. The consolidated main report of the threshold project. Pretoria, South Africa: HSRC.

Bilingual Education in Sub-Saharan Africa  577 Makalela, L. (2005). We speak 11 tongues: Reconstructing multilingualism in South Africa. In B. Brock‐Utne & R. Hopson (Eds.), Language of instruction in post‐ colonial Africa (pp. 147–174). Cape Town, South Africa: Casas & Dar es Salaam: Mkuki na Nyota. Makalela, L. (2009). Unpacking the language of instruction myth: Towards progressive language in education policies in Africa. In K. K. Prah & B. Brock‐Utne (Eds.), Multilingualism: An African advantage (pp. 170–194). Cape Town, South Africa: Casas. Makoni, S. (2003). From misinvention to disinvention of language: Multilingualism and the South African Constitution. In S. Makoni, G. Smithermann, A. Ball, & A. Spears (Eds.), Black linguistics: Language, society and politics in Africa and the Americas, (pp. 132–149). New York: Routledge. Mansour, G. (1993). Multilingualism and nation building. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Mazrui, A. A., & Mazrui, A. M. (1998). The power of Babel: Language and governance in the African experience. Oxford: James Currey. Ngugi wa Thiong’o. (1986). Decolonising the mind. London: Heinemann. Obeng, S. G., & Purvis, T. M. (2010). Sub‐ Saharan Africa. In J. Fishman & O. García

(Eds.), Handbook of language and ethnic identity, (2nd edn., pp. 353–368). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Raum, O. F. (1996). Chaga childhood: A description of indigenous education in an East African tribe. Oxford: International African Institute. Republic of South Africa. (1996). The Constitution of the Republic of South Africa. Act 108 of 1996 as addopted on 8 May 1996 and amended on 11 October 1996 by the Constitutional Assembly. Pretoria, South Africa: Government Printers. Republic of South Africa. (1997). Language in education policy document. Pretoria, South Africa: Department of Education. Salawu, A. Rich history, uncertain future. Rhodes Journalism Review. Issue 26. http://www.rjr.ru.ac.za/rjrpdf/rjr_ no26/rich%20history.pdf (accessed November 27, 2014). Tseggai, A. (1988). The history of the Eritrean struggle. In L. Cliffe & B. Davidson (Eds.), The long struggle of Eritrea for independence and constructive peace (pp. 67–84). Nottingham: Spokesman. Thompson, L., & Wilson, M. (1982). A history of South Africa till 1870. Cape Town, South Africa: David Philips. UNESCO. (1953). The use of vernacular languages in education. Paris: Author.

37 Language Education in Mexico Access, Equity, and Ideology Peter Sayer and Mario López Gopar Introduction Mexico is a complex, multilingual society. The education system has tried, with varying degrees of success, to educate its citizens in the national, global, and local languages. In Mexico, the term bilingual education refers to two parallel but quite distinct forms of language education. The first is bilingual instruction in Spanish and some European language; historically there were some German and French schools, but nowadays the default meaning of a “bilingual school” for most Mexicans is Spanish–English. These bilingual schools have been exclusively private elementary and secondary institutions. Within the last few years, English has also been expanded into public primary schools. The second form of bilingual schooling in Mexico is the Indigenous education system. This system is formally called Indigenous Intercultural‐Bilingual Education, and serves primary schools mostly in rural areas, educating children in one of Mexico’s 68 recognized Indigenous languages. This chapter considers the contexts of bilingual education in Mexico by presenting three cases. Each case describes a school that belongs to one of the three systems: (i) private Spanish–English bilingual education, (ii) public primary with English program, and (iii) Indigenous bilingual school. The cases presented here are composite sketches meant to depict typical schools of each type we are profiling. The descriptions are based on our own fieldwork and experiences with bilingual education in Mexico. Through these three cases, we discuss the contemporary issues and challenges of bilingual education in Mexico.

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Language Education in Mexico  579

Private bilingual schools In the K–12 system in Mexico, almost all private schools bill themselves as bilingual. However, the term “bilingual school” actually covers a wide range of private institutions, from a few hours weekly of English as a foreign language (EFL) instruction to elite English‐medium schools. Many are connected to churches, but many are secular. The inclusion of the term bilingual in the school’s name or sign indexes the prestige of English (Sayer, 2012) and, along with computer classes, is what has distinguished private schools’ curricula from the public system. The school profiled here represents a typical example of a private bilingual program.

Case 1: Bilingual school in Oaxaca, The Antequera Valley School The southern state of Oaxaca is the most culturally and linguistically diverse state of Mexico with 16 Indigenous languages officially recognized. The state capital of the same name is in the central valley, and the Antequera Valley School1 is located in an affluent suburb. It is a “bilingual” school that serves students ranging from kindergarten to middle school. Antequera Valley was one the first schools in Oaxaca to adopt the “bilingual” label to indicate that English is used as a medium of instruction in content areas and to strategically distinguish it apart from other private schools, which offer English as a subject. The bilingual label attracted middle‐ and upper‐ class parents who invest a significant amount of money on tuition each month, roughly equivalent to the entire monthly income of a working‐class family. The school uses a version of the 50–50 model, with two parallel but unaligned curricula. Students study the main content areas in both languages, but the Spanish and English curricula are kept rigidly separate. Alternating mornings and afternoons every other week, children study in English from 7:45 to 10:30 a.m. and in Spanish from 11:00 to 2:15 p.m. The English teachers work independently from their Spanish‐language colleagues. On the English side, the curriculum and language separation are accompanied by an English‐only policy, emphasized by the textbooks and materials, which have been imported from the United States and were developed for English‐speaking children. The school recently adopted books from the American state of Texas; parents must buy the complete set of books, which are very expensive, but they are seen as an improvement on the previous books, designed for EFL students, that were regarded as too easy. The teachers are almost all Mexicans—though many have spent time in the United States—who have been hired based on their English proficiency and perceived native‐like accent. While their language skills are generally excellent, and often much stronger than those of English‐language teachers in public schools, most of the teachers working in English at the Antequera Valley School do not have formal teacher preparation. Since the American materials are designed for an ESL setting, the level of linguistic difficulty is much too high for the students; however, the teachers have not been trained to use sheltered techniques and most lack

580  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education the pedagogical knowledge of how to scaffold the content and make the input— both from the textbook and the teacher’s own explanations—comprehensible. Often then, students do not understand what they are hearing or reading, and receive no primary language support (Wright, 2010). The topics covered in the English and Spanish tracks do not align because, while the English section follows a textbook based on the curriculum from the American state of Texas, the Spanish curriculum must still cover all content required by the Mexican Ministry of Education. Studying at a bilingual school places a heavy academic burden on children, especially at the elementary school level. In a typical Spanish‐speaking school, children cover the curriculum designed at the federal level in 4½ hours every day. At a bilingual school, children cover the same ground in 3½ hours. For this reason, children are sent home with a lot of homework, so that they can complete all the assignments in the Spanish, math, natural science, history, geography, civic and ethics formation, and physical and artistic education textbooks. In addition, bilingual schools do not escape the recently implemented federal standardized test (called ENLACE) in Spanish2 Hence, and in order to maintain a high status among the private schools, children are pressured to do well in these tests. The English curriculum is no less demanding and challenging academically. During kindergarten and first grade, children are able to deal with the difficulty of using materials designed for English‐speaking children since the language input is basic and the academic skills are comparable for their age. During this stage, Oaxacan children learn basic vocabulary and grammatical structures in English and their Spanish literacy skills and strategies keep them afloat while reading and writing in English. However, the problem begins in second grade where the reading texts contain higher vocabulary and grammatical structures beyond their language level, and is compounded in subsequent grades as texts becomes more difficult. Teachers have little time to scaffold the texts since they must complete all the exercises included in the reading exercise workbook, the spelling textbook, the phonics textbook, and the science textbook. Both the school administrators and parents expect teachers to have all these expensive textbooks completed at the end of the year.

Discussion Bilingual schools are prevalent around Mexico (see Smith, 2003 for an extensive review of elite bilingual schools). At least since the 1930s (Tapia Carlín, 2009), many private primary schools have marketed themselves by claiming to be bilingual. In this sense, a private bilingual school may be among the elite schools that offer English as the medium of instruction—some of like Antequera Valley School are modeled after (one‐way) dual language bilingual programs (Cloud, Genesee & Hamayan, 2000) in the United States—or it may be one that simply includes English as a foreign language in its curriculum. “Bilingual” is clearly one of the selling points for parents as well, since the tuition and cost of books at private schools represents a major financial burden for many aspiring middle‐ class families. The website of one such school explains that they create a “bilingual

Language Education in Mexico  581 community” and promises parents that their children will “obtain a high level [of English] to get a good score in TOEFL,” About 10% of schoolchildren nationally attend private schools, and almost all include English. In reality, there is a continuum of bilingual private schools, from the most expensive, English‐medium institutions to those that include a few hours weekly of English‐as‐a‐foreign language instruction. The discourse of English in Mexico links proficiency to greater economic opportunities and social mobility. However, schools that produce bilingual graduates— generally those incorporating English as a medium of instruction—charge tuition fees well above the means of ordinary Mexicans, and hence access to effective bilingual education in English became part of a de facto policy of elite bilingualism. As a desired form of linguistic capital in Mexico (Clemente, 2007), access to acquiring English has historically both reflected and reinforced divisions of social class. Moreover, the language ideology that equates bilingualism in Mexico with “Spanish–English,” at the same time entails an erasure (Gal & Irvine, 1995) of other forms of bilingualism, and indeed other languages, from the country’s linguistic ecology (see Case 3 below).

Public schools In many public elementary schools in Mexico, the Parents Committee organizes the hiring of an English teacher to give extra‐curricular classes either before or after school. Parents pay a few pesos (about 15 U.S. cents) per child per class, and the teacher, someone from the neighborhood who speaks some English, will improvise classes, usually without books or materials. In the 2000s, a few states began formal English programs in public primary schools, and in 2009 the Ministry of Education initiated the National English Program for Basic Education (NEPBE, or PNIEB in Spanish) as part of the national curriculum. The program has expanded English instruction to cover all preK–12 grades, and is now being implemented, to varying degrees, in all 32 states.

Case 2: Preschool in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Pre‐escolar Benito Juárez On the outskirts of Mexico’s second largest city, Guadalajara, population 8 million, there is a large military base. The base’s public preschool is near the southern gate, and serves both the military and affiliated civilian families living on the base, as well as nonmilitary families living near the base. The concept of preschool education is still somewhat new in Mexico, but has been expanded to include three grades from ages three to five: first, second and third grade of kindergarten. Preschools are usually separate from the primary schools that serve grades 1–6. For schools that are part of the national English program, English is taught starting in third grade of kindergarten (five‐year‐olds). Classes follow the national

582  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education curriculum, which is based on a “sociocultural approach” that was adopted in 2006 as part of a wider educational reform of the basic education (K–9) system. This curriculum emphasizes competencies, and the units are organized around social practices. For preschoolers, these include learning to follow routines and instructions in English, singing songs and nursery rhymes, learning to describe themselves, health and hygiene, and so forth. So, on a Wednesday morning in the school in Guadalajara, as in preschools across the country, classrooms of kindergarteners are enthusiastically singing “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes, knees, and toes…” After the morning warm‐up song to review the parts of the body, the teacher begins the first activity, to cut out and label pictures of common objects from their workbook. Students are seated in circular tables in groups of four. The teacher, speaking in clear English, asks the day’s helper to come get the supplies. She asks each student: “Gloria, how many scissors do you need for your group? Count the people in your group.” “Four,” replies little girl in her red school uniform. “Yes,” the teacher says, “there are four people in your group. Today you are the yellow group, so you will use the yellow scissors.” The teacher is a young woman who is a recent graduate from undergraduate program in English teaching at the local public university. Her English is quite good, but she has never travelled outside of Mexico. Other teachers are graduates of the Mexico Normales or teacher training schools, and have varying levels of English proficiency, and other teachers are children of migrant returnees who studied in the United States, or graduates from programs in tourism or business who speak English but found a job in education.

Figure 37.1  The English program in public schools emphasizes early biliteracy development. Source: Photo Peter Sayer.

Language Education in Mexico  583 The activity continues and, after cutting out the pictures to make vocabulary cards, the children practice copying the words from the board onto each card. Children begin literacy skills in kindergarten, and the teacher says that some parents are concerned that learning to read and write in English before the children have learned Spanish will confuse them because the languages are pronounced differently. However, the teacher thinks this biliteracy approach is good, and she feels that acquiring literacy simultaneously in both languages gives more reinforcement and actually helps the children learn faster. The English teacher finishes her lesson, and rotates to the next class as the regular Spanish‐speaking classroom teacher returns.

Discussion Mexico’s adoption of Primary English Language Teaching (PELT) in 2009 followed other developing countries in Latin American (notably Colombia and Chile, see de Mejía, 2004; Matear, 2008) in including English as part of the national curriculum for public primary schools. This effort has been framed as an economic argument, that average Mexicans need English proficiency in order to make the country globally competitive. The PNIEB curriculum explains the general goal of the program: By the time students complete their secondary education, they will have developed the necessary multilingual and multicultural competencies to face the communicative challenges of a globalized world successfully, to build a broader vision of the linguistic and cultural diversity of the world, and thus, to respect their own and other cultures (SEP, 2011, p. 22, authors’ translation).

The document explains that English is needed to accomplish the country’s National Development Plan 2007–12, and that knowledge of English allows Mexicans to “participate in society and resolve practical problems, improving living conditions and co‐existing in a society that is ever more complex” (p. 10). On the one hand, the PNIEB is premised on a discourse that Pennycook (2007) terms the “myth of international English,” the belief that globalization makes English necessary, and that its acquisition leads individuals and countries to greater social and economic prosperity. On the other hand, Mexico is clearly an emerging market with stronger ties to the United States, and there is a consensus that it makes sense to emphasize English both as a global and regional language. The educational side of the argument for English is based on the folk theory of second language acquisition that earlier is better. The “more and earlier” also mirrors other countries adopting PELT (Spolsky, 1996). It should be noted that there is not a general consensus amongst researchers about the relative benefits of early‐versus‐later introduction of a foreign language (Larson‐Hall, 2008). In second language acquisition (SLA) research the determination and nature of a critical period (called the “critical period hypothesis”) and the fundamental question about the effect of age on L2 learning have long been debated (DeKeyser & Larson‐Hall,

584  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education 2005). Recently, researchers have also begun to look at PELT in Mexico not just in terms of the linguistic gains students make, but also the impacts of such programs on the education system and students’ learning more generally (Sayer & Ban, 2013), including connections that support learning across the curriculum, and for students of transnational families. What is interesting about the PNIEB in Mexico is that it blurs what has traditionally been a line demarcating bilingual education from foreign language instruction. Whereas SLA and applied linguistics has generally been focused on adult or adolescent second language learning, the introduction of English in preschool and primary school recasts the “foreign language learner” as an “emergent bilingual” (García, 2009). Questions about the effect of early biliteracy, the effectiveness of the socioculturally oriented curriculum, and the overall impact of learning English on young children’s education are especially compelling in the Mexican context.

Intercultural‐bilingual indigenous education Mexico has historically been a culturally and linguistically diverse country, in which Indigenous peoples have resisted language and educational policies whose goal have been the erasure of Indigenous languages and the acculturation of Indigenous peoples (Garza Cuarón, 1997; Maldonado Alvarado, 2000). Nevertheless, due to Indigenous educators’ continuous resistance and political activism, there have been some bilingual (Spanish‐Indigenous language) primary schools established in different states with varying degrees of success since the 1970s. In 2003, due to international pressure and Indigenous activism such as the Zapatista movement (Hamel, 2008), Mexico constitutionally acknowledged its pluricultural and plurilingual reality. Along with these reforms, different educational and social projects have emerged to maintain or revitalize Indigenous languages such as the “Language Nests” project in Oaxaca (Meyer & Soberanes, 2009; for other projects see the General Coordination for Bilingual and Intercultural Education http://eib.sep.gob.mx/cgeib/ and National Institute of Indigenous Languages http://www.inali.gob.mx/). In the next case, we portray an Indigenous bilingual school.

Case 3: Indigenous school in Puebla, Escuela Bilingüe Niños Heroes The town of Nealtican is on a fertile plain at the edge of Mount Popocatéptl, an active volcano in the south‐central state of Puebla. The quiet farming community is close to two major urban centers: it is about an hour away from the state capital, the city of Puebla, and three hours away from Mexico City, one of the largest metropolises in the world. Townsfolk are mostly farmers, work in small local cement block and brick factories, or commute into the city to work. Near the town’s central plaza, there are many cement houses in various states of being built, a testament to the many migrant families working in the United States who send remittances home.

Language Education in Mexico  585 There are two primary schools in the community: the “general” school, which follows the regular national primary curriculum, and the bilingual school. The bilingual school has about 215 students in grades one to six, and teaches classes in Spanish and the local Indigenous language, Náhuatl. Náhuatl, properly called mexica or mexicano, is a Uto‐Aztecan language, and was the dominant language of central Mexico at the time of the Spaniards arrival in 1529. For several centuries it continued to be the main language spoken in many communities; however, in the twentieth century language shift accelerated. Whereas Náhuatl has 1.54 million speakers (INEGI, 2010) and continues to be spoken as the primary language in many isolated, rural communities, towns like Nealtican that are well connected to urban centers and have seen significant diaspora due to out‐migration have experienced rapid language shift in the last 50 years. None of the students in the bilingual school speaks Náhuatl as his or her primary language, though some of the students who are children of migrant returnee families are fluent English speakers. In fact, even many of the parents do not speak Náhuatl, and it is mostly the grandparents who are first language speakers of the communal language. While Náhuatl is still spoken by the elders in the community and used for ceremonial functions at cultural events, there has been significant intergenerational disruption (Fishman, 1991) of the transmission of Náhuatl from parent to child. Therefore, in this context the teachers see their role as part of a language revitalization effort. On a typical Monday morning at the bilingual school, children gather in the school patio to sing the National Anthem and recite the Flag Pledge in Náhuatl. The signage about the school reminds the children “No pushing” and “No yelling” in Spanish and Náhuatl. The students return to their classrooms, where they study mathematics and science in Spanish. Later comes the Náhuatl block, and the teacher asks the students to take out their Náhuatl notebooks. All the teachers are Indigenous: some of the teachers are strong Náhuatl–Spanish bilinguals, while others have varying degrees of proficiency in Náhuatl. The primers used in bilingual‐intercultural schools are developed by the Department of Indigenous Education of the national Ministry of Education, but are designed for students who are Náhuatl‐dominant, second language speakers of Spanish. The level of Náhuatl is much too high for the students here though, and the teachers prefer to use simplified Spanish–Náhuatl storybooks (a popular one is called El Perico Lector) or materials they create themselves. The third grade students are reviewing basic vocabulary from the story and creating a word wall in Náhuatl: flower, house, tree, sun. They discuss the activity with their partner in Spanish, before producing the word in Náhuatl. Most of the students are not conversationally fluent in Náhuatl, even by the time they finish sixth grade and go to the general, monolingual secundaria (middle) school. However, they do know many words in Náhuatl, can read and understand stories, and can sing songs and recite poems. Also, besides the linguistic knowledge, the bilingual school also approaches other subjects through an Indigenous cosmovision. For example, students learn how to read the Aztec calendar, a complex combination of solar and lunar calendars, as well as how to use their fingers as an abacus in the Aztec base‐20 counting system. The pedagogical approach also

586  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education reflects the community’s cultural and discursive practices. The third grade teacher presents a situation to her class: they are going to plan a cultural festival called a mayordomia. She begins by leading a whole‐group discussion, in Spanish, about what students can remember about the festival. Some students are asked come to the front to act out certain sequences. Then students form committees, and each committee is charged with organizing an aspect of the festival: the food, the music, the costumes and so forth. While some terms are used in Náhuatl, almost all of the discussion is in Spanish; however both the content of the lesson and the pedagogical approach reflect the community’s cultural values and heritage.

Discussion The intercultural‐bilingual education system is run as an independent department within the Ministry of Education, and was created in response to political pressure during the 1960–1970s to reverse centuries of ethnic and linguistic discrimination against Mexico’s Indigenous peoples. Indigenous schools are currently run as language developmental maintenance bilingual programs in communities where the local language is widely used, as well as language revitalization bilingual programs in areas where the local language has been largely displaced by Spanish. Hamel (2006) notes that in isolated, rural communities, where the vitality of the local Indigenous language remains high and most children arrive at school as monolingual speakers of their mother tongue, the non‐bilingual elementary school is often a harbinger of language shift. He notes that “the primary school has definitely found its place as an institution of prestige which nourishes the expectations of social mobility and integration through the transmission of Spanish and other skills of mainstream society” (Hamel, 2006, p. 54). However, even for the Indigenous schools, the question of the role of schools and schooling in reversing language shift and preserving Indigenous language in the Americas is a polemic one (Hornberger, 2008). Hamel (2008) explains that, even within the bilingual‐intercultural education system and for students who are proficient in the mother tongue, the Indigenous language has a reduced role: “The curriculum and teaching practices [in most bilingual schools in Mexico] do not profit from a central and widely acknowledged feature of any bilingual programme: the learners’ capacity to transfer cognitively demanding skills from one language to the other, a process which could bring about significant academic growth in both languages” (p. 317). Although some local efforts have recorded success in developing fully bilingual and biliterate students, such as the project initiated by two P’urhepecha schools in Michoacán reported in Hamel and Francis (2006, and see also Hamel, 2011), generally, the Indigenous curriculum and materials is still organized and implemented top‐down from the Ministry of Education. Therefore, communities have little control over developing programs that suit the many diverse and complex contexts of language maintenance and revitalization that exist in Indigenous communities throughout the country. In Oaxaca, for example, Hernández Díaz (2000) notes that, while most teachers in the Indigenous system are themselves Indigenous, they are not necessarily from the same ethnolinguistic

Language Education in Mexico  587 group; hence despite working in a community where most students arrive as monolingual speakers of Mixe, a teacher who is Chatina cannot provide instruction in her students’ home language. In Mexico, Indigenous languages have coped with the hegemony of the Spanish language, usually referred to as castellanización, influenced by schools, official institutions and migration. There are 68 Indigenous languages officially recognized as national languages (INALI, 2008). This number, however, obscures the fact that many languages counted as “one” have different mutually unintelligible varieties, which should be considered as different languages. For instance, in the state of Oaxaca 16 Indigenous languages are officially recognized; nevertheless, Díaz Courder (2003) argues that, depending on the linguistic criteria used, the number of languages in Oaxaca could be up to 100. Despite the current linguistic diversity found in Mexico, most Indigenous communities are experiencing language shift due to castellanización, the imposition of Spanish as the national language. The castenallización of Mexico’s Indigenous communities started with the arrival of the Spaniards, but its biggest impact was carried out by Mexican teachers, including Indigenous teachers, who after being indoctrinated into the discourse of modernity and Spanish‐equals‐success (Maldonado Alvarado, 2000) arrived in Indigenous communities and perpetuated this ideology. Not only have schools been foci for castellanización, but other official institutions such as the Church, municipal government, and clinics have also contributed to the ideological domination of Spanish. These institutions mainly operate in Spanish; hence, Indigenous peoples must learn Spanish if they want to have access to social programs. In addition to the institutional influence, national and international migration has impacted the language shift in Indigenous communities. Indigenous families have become transnational, diasporic families. In the new residing contexts, the dominant languages (e.g., Spanish and English) displace Indigenous languages. As in the case above, Indigenous children born in these new contexts typically do not learn the Indigenous language (see Stephen, 2007 for Indigenous people’s transborder lives). In spite of the complex and adverse scenario, Indigenous maintenance and revitalization educational initiatives have shown success in reversing language shift and promoting Indigenous ways of knowing even though they still face different challenges and dilemmas. Some educators have attempted to develop their own curricula and materials, which reflect the distinct languages and cosmovisions of the Indigenous peoples. For instance, Indigenous schools in the Zapatista territories in Chiapas have developed grass‐roots curricula, whose aim is to co‐construct new citizens and to even teach the world lessons on Mayan ethics and citizenship (Bertely Busquets, 2009). In Michoacán, Hamel (2006) has shown the success of a P’urhepecha school in developing high rates of biliteracy and academic achievement. This project has also shown how academic success impacts p ­ ositively on students’ identities3. Another successful case was the creation of intercultural universities in different states in Mexico and the Escuela Normal Bilingüe Intercultural de Oaxaca (Normal School for Indigenous Teachers). These higher education institutions have the responsibility

588  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education to prepare academics who respect, value, and build upon Indigenous languages and ways of knowing. These successful initiatives, however, are still facing difficulties due to lack of institutional support. The development of materials and primers for each of the different language varieties is a monumental task, especially due to shortages of teachers in many languages. Another challenge is the adaptation and replication of these projects. Most of these successful projects represent local efforts, which are many times unknown by the general public or other Indigenous communities. Finally, one of the biggest dilemmas for Indigenous educators, especially the ones educated with a linguistic purist perspective, is the evolving nature of Indigenous languages. Many Indigenous children living in urban centers continuously transform their Indigenous languages by adding words from Spanish and even English (López‐Gopar, Núñez Méndez, Sughrua & Clemente, 2013). This can alternately be seen as butchering the language or enriching it. Indigenous education projects must deal with this issue, especially if the materials are still produced at the federal level.

Conclusion As the three cases illustrate, bilingual education takes several forms in Mexico. The types of bilingual education reflect, on one side, the country’s close ties to the United States and the perceived need to acquire English as the international language in order to compete in global markets. On the other side, bilingual education in Indigenous communities is an effort—albeit largely symbolic as critics would charge—to recognize the value of Mexico’s ethnolinguistic diversity and the rights of Indigenous peoples to educate their children in their own language, as well as to ameliorate the oppression of colonial policies of eradication of autochthonous languages. Where students bring many mainstream forms of cultural capital to school, bilingual programs in Mexico—in particular elite private English–Spanish programs—generally do a good job of giving children access to acquiring English; this is true sometimes even in spite of the adoption of bilingual models from the United States whose applicability to the Mexican context may be dubious. In other cases, such as the introduction of English in public primary schools, the language hierarchy and linguistic ideologies are aligned to favor the global language. The early adoption of English as part of the public curriculum seems to combine elements of both a foreign language and bilingual program. The national program is still new, and its large‐scale implementation is a massive and complex endeavor, so it remains to be seen what the long‐term results will be. In the third case, bilingual intercultural education for Indigenous children, the vision of creating a bilingual education system to reorient the relationship between dominant and oppressed languages and peoples has been difficult to realize in practice (Hamel, 2008); true success stories are the exception rather than the rule (Hamel & Francis, 2006). As in other postcolonial contexts (e.g., Mozambique, see

Language Education in Mexico  589 Chimbutane, 2011), bilingual education certainly creates potential spaces for minoritized peoples to educate themselves in and through the community’s local knowledge, practices, and languages. In this sense, bilingual education clearly offers advantages over the general, monolingual‐cultural curriculum that has historically oppressed, marginalized, and assimilated Indigenous peoples. The challenge, however, is how to achieve these transformative goals while working through educational structures that are inherently aligned against them. Stable diglossic situations that have allowed Indigenous languages to be maintained for centuries since colonization have shifted in recent decades, and the loss of language diversity is accelerating. It is unclear to what extent bilingual education programs as a formal part of the Mexican education system can reverse this tendency. Dell Hymes, in the foreword to Heath’s (1972) Telling tongues: Language policy in Mexico, colony to nation, writes that: “this case study [of Mexico] will be of considerable interest, because the ingredients of the case recur so widely. Official policy versus local interests; generalized values versus efficacy in some particular task; uniformity and integration versus respect for existing difference and identity— just such questions arise in many cases in which policy toward language is an issue” (p. vii). Certainly “language” could be re‐written in the previous quote with “bilingual education,” as one of the main educational policies through which these tensions are confronted. In Mexico, we see that bilingual education is a means of propagating both global and local languages, and in its various forms has the effect of both accentuating and redressing social inequities.

Notes 1  All school names are pseudonyms. 2  Mexico is increasingly moving toward more standardized testing, especially after the results of the 2006 international PISA test ranked Mexico last in science and reading amongst OECD member countries. 3  There is a video documentary Hamel (2011) and see also one of the students at http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vyfjt7i4xBQ&feature=youtu.be (accessed November 28, 2014).

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(2011). Programa Nacional de Inglés en Educación Básica, Fundamentos curriculares (Fase de expansión). México, D.F.: Author. Smith, P. H. (2003). An introduction to bilingualism and bilingual education in Mexico. Mextesol Journal, 26(3/4), 9–12. Stephen, L. (2007). Transborder lives: Indigenous Oaxacans in Mexico, California and Oregon. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Spolsky, B. (1996). Prolegomena to an Israeli language policy. In T. Hickey & J. Williams (Eds.), Language, education, and society in a changing world (pp. 63–72). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Tapia Carlín, R. E. (2009). Memories, poems, and songs: Successful bilingualism in primary schools. Mextesol Journal, 33(1), 51–58. Wright, W. (2010). Foundations for teaching English language learners: Research, theory, policy, and practice. Philadelphia, PA: Caslon.

38 Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America Luis Enrique López Introduction The history of education for Indigenous peoples in Latin America has been one of either total invisibility, absolute indifference, or purely symbolic forms of recogni­ tion. In recent decades, laws on education relevant to Indigenous culture, lan­ guage, and identity have been enacted, but have hardly been implemented. There are yawning gaps between policy and practice regarding the implementation of intercultural bilingual education. Politically and theoretically sound positions aligned with the ideal of cultural pluralism and of diversity as a resource do not necessarily match what one encounters at operational levels. Discrepancies can be abysmal and administrators, school principals and teachers in indigenous settings continue working towards monoculturalism and monolingualism (López, 2013). In spite of the enormous difference that exists between corporate thinking and social engineering as to where educational ideals belong, contemporary Latin American discourse on quality education most generally gives pride of place to efficiency and effectiveness, emulating entrepreneurial discourse. As noted by Barratt et al. (2006, p. 2): [This] economist view of education uses quantitative measurable outputs as a mea­ sure of quality, for example enrolment ratios and retention rates, rates of return on investment in education in terms of earnings and cognitive achievement as measured in national or international tests.

Furthermore, standardized testing privileges language and math to the detriment of other curriculum areas and topics that are necessary for students to know who they are and to make sense of the world they live in. Hence, other equally important learning dimensions are left behind, such as those associated with the comprehensive education of committed citizens who are consciously aware of social injustice, inequality, racism, discrimination, and all the other iniquities that The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America  593 impinge on the construction of a new sociocultural order in which those almost 40 million Amerindian individuals and 600 distinct societies could fit. Hence, the notion of education quality, borrowed or mechanically transposed from the world of economics, ought to be revisited in order to account for cultural and linguistic appropriateness and social and economic relevance in a context of historical multiethnicity, multiculturalism, and multilingualism. Indeed, educational equity is an issue at stake since economic growth has not necessarily resulted in benefits for the underprivileged. In this general context there is a considerable educational gap between children from the most privileged homes and those belonging to the underserved sectors of society. Indigenous learners, especially girls and women in general, still have limited access to educa­ tion, and drop out before completing their basic education. In general, the gaps between urban and rural areas seem to be widening. Recently, efforts have been made to improve the basic education of children and young people. Unfortunately, the emphasis placed on education for all has privileged formal education of children and adolescents to the detriment of adult education and other alternative ways of learning and teaching. The above prob­ lems occur in all Latin American countries. After almost three decades of educational reforms in the continent, it is indispens­ able to take stock of accomplishments, particularly in regard to the education of Indigenous youth and adults who have not had any access to education or have been expelled early from the education system. In these reforms, emphasis has been laid on elementary education, often concentrating exclusively on reading and writing in the hegemonic language and on elementary arithmetic. The responsibility for all other matters has been reassigned to the family and society, for example, Indigenous youth and adult education (IYAE); hence, IYAE is most generally provided by NGOs and under projects supported by international donors. Here principles to reflect upon IYAE planning and implementation are pre­ sented. The information taken as a basis for the identification of such principles derives from a survey of literacy programs in seven Latin American countries— Bolivia, Brazil, Ecuador, Guatemala, Mexico, Nicaragua, and Peru—implemented by an international research team organized by the UNESCO Institute for Life Long Learning in Hamburg (UIL) and the Guatemalan GIZ Education Quality Support Program (López & Hanemann, 2009).1 The country studies analysed the history, developments and present situation of literacy programs in Indigenous settings.2 To complement and update this information, data collected and system­ atized by the author through dialogues with Indigenous leaders and intellectuals is also used.

The context Latin America is home to at least 40 million Indigenous persons, nearly 500 different languages, and 600 distinct Indigenous peoples. There are Indigenous populations in all Latin American countries except Uruguay. Bolivia and Guatemala constitute

594  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education two paradigmatic cases, since their Indigenous populations constitute real major­ ities and not ethnic‐linguistic minorities (which is how the Indigenous are usually regarded); they amount to 40 or 60 percent of the national population. At the other end of this continuum, El Salvador and Brazil register as Indigenous only 0.2 and 0.4 percent of their national population (Sichra, 2009). The countries selected for study reflect Latin American diversity. Indigenous population density is high in one set of countries comprising Bolivia and Guatemala, whereas, in the other group, including Brazil and Nicaragua, it is demographically less influential in general national life. The latter two countries constitute cases of contrast with those that have historically been marked as national societies in which Indigenous populations have always played a deter­ mining role, namely, Bolivia, Ecuador, Guatemala, Mexico, and Peru. Nonetheless, the above statement must be qualified somewhat for, in the areas where Indigenous peoples traditionally live, they may very well constitute the majority population group. Nonetheless, these politically minoritized populations are now undergoing complex sociopolitical transformations which gradually change the politically constructed image and constitution of the countries they live in (Varese, 2007). Processes of ethnogenesis are underway as people of Indigenous ancestry rediscover and socially and politically position themselves as Indigenous even when they may live in urban areas. For almost three decades, the sociopolitical dimensions of ethnogenesis have periodically confronted Latin American politics. Indigenous leaders and intellec­ tuals resort to their own epistemic categories and sociopolitical constructs to query the existing hegemonic, racially and culturally determined social order. In so doing, they claim their right to self‐rule and self‐determination and demand national recognition, acceptance, and respect for their knowledge, belief, and value systems, languages, and way of life (López, 2013). Factors such as these are seldom taken into account in IYAE planning and implementation. Thus, in spite of what the anthropology and sociolinguistics of literacy show (Street, 1984), more often than not educational programs perceive literacy merely as a set of isolated and autonomous decoding skills to the detriment of literacy as a complex social construction, frequently determined by the ­populations’ sociocultural practices and place in society. Indeed, most generally the strictly pedagogical aspects of literacy programs are emphasized and insuffi­ cient attention is paid to the contextual conditions that influence their success or failure. Limited understanding of the sociopolitical complexities of literacy and/ or the short‐term perspectives adopted by planners and implementers may very well be responsible for these shortcomings. A serious problem IYAE has to cope with is the limited reliability of available demographic data. Indeed, the design and implementation of national population censuses experience limitations, particularly with Indigenous populations. It is now internationally acknowledged that being Indigenous is primarily a political act of self‐determination and self‐recognition of an inherited status that is simulta­ neously assigned and adopted. Nonetheless, the persistence of a colonial mindset that creates attitudes of ethnic shame and thus of self‐negation represents a serious

Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America  595 limitation for determining who is Indigenous and who is not. Similarly, it is also complicated to establish accurate measures of the population that speak a histori­ cally oppressed language. Indigenous peoples still constitute subaltern communities with insufficient access to the benefits of full citizenship. The notion of citizenship and the manner of its construction and attainment have developed without regard to the countries’ inherent multiethnicity, plurilingualism, and multiculturalism. Indigenous’ collective and individual rights do not enjoy the same status across the countries studied. For example, subtle legal prescriptions establish important differences between some languages and others: some are recognized as official (Bolivia, Ecuador, Nicaragua and Peru), others as national (Guatemala and Mexico) and in some cases there is a legal vacuum (Brazil) but some Indigenous languages are partially used in education. When sanctioned as national, Indigenous languages are most often subordinate to Spanish, the “official language”; and even when they are legally official, they are used almost exclusively in education during the early stages of schooling. The fact is that all Indigenous languages in the region con­ tinue to be subordinate to Spanish, Portuguese, English, Dutch, or French. Indeed, the constitutional amendments of the last three decades that led to the recognition of the multilingual make‐up of Latin America continue as unaccomplished well‐ intentioned and politically correct declarations. Nonetheless, the legal status of Indigenous languages may impact the educational strategies employed with Indigenous individuals and societies— strategies which most generally are planned and implemented from the top down, with scarce or limited community participation (López, 2013). The 2007 United Nations Declaration on Indigenous Rights establishes that Indigenous peoples “have the right to revitalize, use, develop and transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures, and to designate and retain their own names for communities, places and persons” as well as to “establish and control their educational systems and institutions providing education in their own languages, in a manner appropriate to their cultural methods of teaching and learning (Articles 13 and 14). But, in most cases, state Ministries of Education continue to think for them and, without free, prior, and informed consultation, organize educational programs that remain based on ideals of homogeneity and cultural assimilation, even under the contemporary notion of social cohesion. Only exceptional are the instances where Indigenous organizations, leaders, and communities participate in decision making and arrive at educational programs rooted in their own linguistic, social, and cultural traditions and institutions. The fact that an Indigenous intelligentsia now forms part of the political community is increasingly encouraging Indigenous self‐recognition and self‐ identification. This process, coupled with growing critical awareness, has led in recent years to the emergence of demands for the recovery of or relearning of the heritage language that Indigenous families and individuals were forced to abandon. These new demands have been combined with other substantive claims to land, territory, and to other individual and collective civil and political rights.

596  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Indigenous people seek recognition collectively as subjects of law, not only as objects of public policy. Hence, they want to be considered as persons entitled to exercise the citizenship granted to them by law but nonetheless denied or manip­ ulated by government institutions and the dominant sectors of society. This vital new development has not been sufficiently assessed by official education systems, although some NGOs and research centers committed to IYAE try to do so. Such difficulties affect, in particular, the education prospects of Indigenous youth and adults. Nevertheless, in view of the long history of Indigenous literacy education, there are now a number of shared convictions, derived from research findings. These convictions can guide work in multiethnic, pluricultural, and multilingual settings such as those inhabited by Indigenous men and women who have not learned the alphabetical code and wish to do so because of the growing need to interact with the surrounding sociocultural environments and practices.

Principles for Indigenous Youth and Adult Education (IYAE) Socioeconomic principles Indigenous people are not only disadvantaged politically and economically, but also socially and educationally. Economic and educational inequalities generally go together: Indigenous areas record the highest illiteracy, repetition, and drop‐out rates, resulting partly from the questionable sociocultural relevance of education. Elementary education may now be universal, but the adult illiterate population is highest in these areas, and women are affected worse. Depicting Indigenous people as invariably poor (Hall & Patrinos, 2005) is influenced by predominantly urban indicators of well‐being. These indicators reflect patterns of civilization, forms of social organization and worldviews that differ from those held by most Indigenous peoples. They refer, for example, to the provision of basic sanitation, health, education and electricity services or to per capita income from officially recognized economic activities. These a priori imposed indicators do not strictly reflect reality in Indigenous settings (Chirif, 2002). Literacy standards are a good example since they do not generally take into account the availability or the quality of written materials, failing to contribute to their education and the transmission of values and knowledge necessary for their survival, as is the case of the ancestral oral systems of socialization. Indeed, poverty is not a natural trait of Indigenous peoples but a by‐product of the external aggres­ sion to which their system of Life‐for‐the‐Common‐Good has been subjected. From an Indigenous viewpoint, important indicators would be the capacity to live peacefully or, in any case, to manage their own conflicts, to share their joys with others, even to laugh—and the possibility to live in a healthy and sustainable social and natural environment (Chirif, 2002). Thus, the ontology of literacy and of education is questioned by these marked discrepancies regarding the readings and understandings of well‐being.

Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America  597 Similarly, a need for a new epistemology of development becomes apparent. In such contexts, severe revision is called for in IYAE. However, we need also con­ sider that a market economy and consumerism are slowly penetrating Indigenous families, communities and territories.

Sociopolitical principles Due to our colonial legacy, the patterns of interethnic and intercultural relation­ ship are unquestionably determined by the socioracial structure of society. In spite of the significant social transformations this region has undergone, and of the generally perceived political progress made with regard to democracy and the rule of law, the persistence of a colonial frame of mind is responsible for the continuity of racism and discrimination. This historic and well‐established condition rules the current coloniality of power and knowledge that explains and justifies persistent social injustice and the unequal distribution of power (Quijano, 2000) among the different nations that make up one single country. This general situation becomes even more excruciating in countries where Indigenous presence and visibility cannot be easily ignored. Such is the case of Guatemala where, in spite of the official adoption of multicultural policies, racism and discrimination prevail to such an extent that for some social scientists and UN officers Guatemala is ruled by undeclared apartheid.3 To understand the Indigenous subaltern condition, one needs to revisit the history of colonization in Latin America and become aware of the severe problems of communication and understanding encountered ever since the European invasion. This mismatch derived from underlying discrepancies based on diver­ gent worldviews and rationalities. Thus, by force and through the exercise of political and military power, unknown and exotic local knowledge became socially, culturally, and economically hegemonic. And now, Latin American elites continue absorbing foreign ideology and knowledge and adopt them without any critical analysis vis‐à‐vis the epistemological diverse context where they are applied. The racial structure of society just mentioned is responsible for sustained Eurocentrism and for concomitant denial and repression of Indigenous knowledge. Knowledge is assigned only to those that see Western knowledge as their legacy: “Europe’s hegemony over the new model of global power concentrated all forms of the control of subjectivity, culture, and especially knowledge and the production of knowledge under its hegemony” (Quijano, 2000, p. 540). Hence, Indigenous knowledge, belief, and value systems are regarded as obso­ lete and an impediment to development. This culturally hegemonic understanding bears direct influence on pedagogy and thus the mission of education is still viewed as one of cultural assimilation, based on the superiority of Western models. The persistence of this racist view has not changed much since the European invasion. Thus, education must contribute to the social emancipation of subaltern societies and at the same time to a process of national interculturalism that could lead to the negotiation and reconciliation of these divergent epistemologies and ideologies. IYAE must then contribute to the construction of an intercultural view

598  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education of citizenship leading to a necessary process of mental decolonization and to a more equitable distribution of power. Hence, youth and adult education in general must be closely linked to the notion of agency. In the case of Indigenous individ­ uals and societies the issues of agency, of Freire’s consciousness awareness (Freire, 1973) and of self‐pride become more crucial.

Sociolinguistic and sociocultural principles Due to the political and cultural oppression historically suffered by Indigenous peoples, they do not all speak their ancestral language nor live in the places where their language community was traditionally established. Although they may self‐ identify as Indigenous, many of them speak a non‐standard variety of Spanish, Portuguese, English, French, or Dutch in which, to varying extents, the influence of the underlying Indigenous languages can be detected. The Sociolinguistic Atlas of Indigenous Peoples in Latin America (Sichra, 2009) identifies at least 100 peoples out of a total of over 500 who now use only a local variety of a European language in daily life. In other words, owing to the colonial mindset, 20 percent of Indigenous societies now speak and communicate in a socially stigmatized variant of a European language. IYAE does not always take this fact into account and interven­ tions are planned on an idealized image of the traditional Indigenous person and community. Similarly, as more Indigenous children, youth, and adults live in cities, the debate about their education cannot be circumscribed to rural areas—hence the discussion of why, for what purpose, how, and in which languages literacy pro­ grams must be extended to the cities, since it is there that alphabetic writing is most useful for communicating with the State. In this diverse and more complex sociolinguistic context, appropriation of alphabetical techniques is now recognized as binding and even features in the desire to recuperate Indigenous languages. It is equally true, however, that other forms of graphical representation that differ from the alphabet subsist and form an active part of current social practices. Examples include sophisticated body paint­ ings and patterns used on clothing in Amazonian societies, complex textile designs in the Andes and Meso‐America, and motifs used in ceramics. Images such as these, generally regarded only as aesthetic representations, actually convey meaning and represent elements of a worldview that differs from the alphabet‐ based, Western view. Indigenous peoples have retained aspects of different techniques that, unlike the alphabet, appear to focus on the text and not on the letter and on whole messages rather than their parts. This semiotic reinterpretation of Indigenous communication (Arnold & Yapita, 2006; Menezes de Souza, 2002, López, 2001) has recently led to the view that a multimodal approach to literacy must be developed (Menezes de Souza, 2002). Under such an approach, traditional forms of graphical communication would be recognized, reappraised and even used as the basis for introducing people to alphabetical writing (López, 2001), which in many cases Indigenous people themselves regard as supplementary to conventional writing methods.

Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America  599 Likewise, it must be acknowledged that Indigenous communication systems rely on communicative and cognitive skills developed through the oral medium. Indeed, life in Indigenous societies is regulated by ancestral orality, as it does with knowledge, beliefs, ethics, and the intergenerational transmission of language (Sichra, 2008). Hence, orality differs from oral expression as acknowledged in school curricula. Therefore, it is not enough to develop skills for effective oral com­ munication in today’s world; it is also essential to recognize, accept and contribute to the revitalization of ancestral orality. In Indigenous settings literacy education should relate to all ways and means by which these societies convey meaning and communicate. One should also consider that the construction and transmission of knowledge in Indigenous societies now combine practices inherited from ancestral sources with those appropriated through contact with the nation‐state, schools, and alphabetic writing. From this standpoint, the multimodal approach mentioned above ought to be based on an ecological view of language and on a semiotic understanding of meaning and language use. Incidentally, various studies have revealed that Indigenous societies regard observation and involvement in an activity or in a specific task as a more effective way of learning than oral transmission. In such contexts, in which the learner is required to do something, it is not only reasoning that comes into play but also the learner’s own state of mind, tastes, feelings, and sensibility, as learning is also considered to involve the heart (Castillo, 2005). It is also important to recognize that learning is seen as social and collective in character, rather than an individual responsibility. Therefore, IYAE programs need various pedagogical strategies in order to accommodate different culturally determined learning conceptions and styles. In this regard, cooperative and activity‐based learning need particular consideration. Similarly, the approach to learning ought to be critical and political in order to train youth and adult learners to reflect upon the situation of their community, and of the Indigenous peoples to which they belong. From this perspective, IYAE and education in general must be intertwined with broader issues such as intercultur­ alism and active citizenship in a multiethnic society.

Sociopedagogical and politico‐pedagogical principles Nowadays, to lead their communities and to defend their rights, Indigenous men and women must appropriate the written code, since dealings with the hegemonic society require writing. Hence, they increasingly send their children to school. However, writing is still far from being fully functional in Indigenous commu­ nities, especially in rural areas. Although indispensable for communication with the outside world, writing is not seen as quite necessary for communication within the community. IYAE programs and especially literacy programs in Indigenous settings should then move on to a semiotic perspective, where writing is placed within a wider and ecological framework of representation and meaning. Consideration should then be given to programs that aim at complementarity

600  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education rather than to the imposition of a single way of feeling, thinking, signifying, communicating, and representing. Let us remember that the ultimate goal of IYAE is the social recovery and empowerment of an oppressed group, which requires solidarity and support as it mobilizes in its struggle for social emancipation and recognition as a subject of law. The development of agency also requires an analysis of the social and political aims of IYAE. Literacy must be regarded as the first step in a wider intercultural process leading to a comprehensive education that is radically different from the basic education currently provided to Indigenous youth and adults. In many cases, content and strategies meant for children’s education are merely replicated for adults, without necessarily considering the reasons for which Indigenous youth and adults might wish to appropriate knowledge of the hegemonic society. The appropriation of the written word is most generally seen in isolation, rather than as a sociopolitical endeavor leading to the learners’ empowerment. It is there­ fore not surprising that solutions often seek immediate skills and problems such as learning to sign one’s name or to copy simple texts heavily influenced by school culture and far‐removed from those read by literate persons in real life. In short, literacy remains anchored in coding and decoding and does not attain the level required in a literate society. Reading and writing as social practices remain a sociopedagogical challenge, and this might be why functional illiteracy increases. Given this situation, recognized Indigenous leaders express their wish and need to learn the elaborate and complex codes of the hegemonic language in order to communicate not only effectively and efficiently, but also in poetry and the arts (Green, 1996). They wish to disseminate, without recourse to intermediaries, their wisdom, histories, knowledge, values, and literature in hegemonic codes, so that the mainstream might re‐evaluate its relations with the Indigenous world.

Conclusion Literacy education should transcend the strict context of bilingual education, lan­ guage teaching, and sociocultural considerations; in particular the highly political and intercultural nature of the process needs to be taken into account. As a result, planners and implementers should promote reflection upon divergent knowledge systems, Indigenous knowledge and skills and the existing complementarity or opposition between Indigenous knowledge and skills and those derived from the rationalist‐positivist vision currently regarded as universal. A model that, in addition to being bilingual or multilingual, is also intercultural and aims at a dialogue of knowledge remains a distant possibility. Such a dialogue also implies an exchange among different civilizing models within equally distinct worldviews. In this respect, the obstinate Indigenous insistence, currently sweeping through Latin America and advocating Life‐for‐the‐Common‐Good as a paradigm must be borne in mind. It is on the basis of that paradigm that Indigenous societies’ knowledge of their languages and cultures, the role assigned to them

Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America  601 and their view and interpretation of perspectives and content learned must be identified and analyzed. Hence, the complexity of the Indigenous sociocultural real‐life situation also prompts questions about the epistemological nature of written language acquisition and the dividing line between the acquisition of alphabetic techniques and the analysis of other forms of Indigenous graphical representation that may exist. Specific attention also needs to be given to the development of critical language awareness (Fairclough, 1992), or to taking a personal and group stand on the social situation and on societal change (Freire, 1973) in pursuit of greater democracy, equality and social justice. It is crucially important for subaltern sociohistoric groups to develop critical language awareness as it is the only way by which they can become stronger in order to support their peers in their endeavour to actively and more effectively participate in national political life. They will thus build capacity not only to negotiate and manage conflicts inherent in all inter‐ethnic and intercultural relations and communication, but also to convince non‐Indigenous people in viewing cultural and linguistic diversity as a rich resource, and not as a problem. In other words, intercultural and bilingual literacy must increase the social importance and cultural relevance of education provided to Indigenous peoples and bring all peoples, Indigenous and non‐Indigenous, closer to an inter­ cultural understanding of democracy and citizenship, which is much required in the situation prevailing in Latin America at present. In such a situation the current notion of education quality must be revisited. A comprehensive and ecological view of education in Indigenous settings requires not only a move from a pure linguistic to a more comprehensive semiotic perspective, but also deeper cultural and political reflection based on sound knowledge of the roles formal and non‐formal education can play in Indigenous societies at a moment of history in which many of them rediscover their specificity and reaffirm their indigeneity and otherness. In other words, there is no longer room for the application or replication of models designed elsewhere and without the active participation of those involved in the learning processes. Participatory planning should then be considered as an unavoidable initial phase of a process leading to the development of critical awareness at a point in time where Indigenous visibility and political activism and participation is at stake.

Notes 1  GIZ is the acronym for Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit. 2  The country studies were prepared by G. Carrarini, F. Guillermo, and L. Jiménez (2009)— Bolivia; L. M. Menezes de Souza (2009)—Brazil; F. Yanez (2009)—Ecuador; L. Verdugo and J. Raymundo (2009)— Guatemala; S. Schmelkes, G. Águila. and M.A. Núñez (2009)— Mexico; M. Cunningham (2009) Nicaragua; and M. Zuñiga (2009)—Peru. 3  In 2001, Gerd Merren, head of the UN Guatemalan Mission described Guatemalan de‐ facto apartheid. See http://www.lalibre.be/actu/international/article/36833/les‐­ indiens‐du‐guatemala‐victimes‐d‐un‐apartheid‐de‐fait.html.

602  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

References Arnold, D., & Yapita, J. D. (2006). The metamorphosis of heads: Textual struggles, educations and land in the Andes. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Barrat, A., Chawla‐Duggan, R., Lowe, R., Nikel, J., & Ukpo, E. (2006). The concept of quality in education: a review of “international” literature on the concept of quality in education (Working Paper No. 3). EdQual. University of Bath & University of Bristol. http://www. edqual.org/publications/workingpaper/ edqualwp3.pdf Carrarini, G., Guillermo, F., & Jiménez, L. (2009). Alfabetización de jóvenes y adultos indígenas en Bolivia [Indigenous youth and adult literacy in Bolivia]. In L. E. López & U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 35–97). Guatemala: UNESCO‐UIL & GTZ. Castillo, M. (2005). Aprendiendo con el corazón. El tejido andino en la educación quechua [Learning with one’s heart. Andean weaving in Quechua education]. La Paz: PINSEIB, PROEIB Andes, Plural Editores. Chirif, A. (2002). “¿Es humano el desarrollo?” [Is development human?], Quehacer, (Lima), 139, 20––25. Cunningham, M. (2009). “La experiencia de Nicaragua”. [Nicaragua’s experience]. In L. E. López and U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 291–330). Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL & GTZ. Fairclough, N. (Ed.). (1992). Critical language awareness. New York: Longman. Freire, P. (1973). Education for critical consciousness. New York: Continuum.

Green, A. (1996). Políticas lingüísticas [Language policies]. Comments at Mirna Cunningham’s plenary talk on language policies. Second Latin American Congress on Intercultural Bilingual Education. Santa Cruz, Bolivia, 11–14 November 1996. Hall, G., & Patrinos, H. (2005). Pueblos indígenas, pobreza y desarrollo humano en América Latina 1994–2004 [Indigenous peoples, poverty and human development in Latin America 1994–2004]. Washington, DC: World Bank and Mayol Ediciones. López, L. E. (2001). Literacy and intercultural bilingual education in the Andes. In D. Olson & N. Torrance (Eds.), The making of literate societies (pp. 201–224). Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. López, L. E. (2013). Indigenous intercultural bilingual education in Latin America: Widening gaps between policy and practice. In R. Cortina (Ed.), The education of indigenous citizens in Latin America (pp. 19–49). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. López, L. E., & Hanemann, U. (2009). Alfabetización y multiculturalidad, Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and Multi­ culturalism. Views from Latin American]. Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL y GTZ. Menezes De Sousa, L. M. (2009). Relatorio sobre Educacao Indígena diferenciada inter–cultural e bilíngüe no Brasil [Report on intercultural bilingual and differentiated indigenous education in Brazil]. In L. E. López & U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 99–128). Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL & GTZ. Menezes De Sousa, L. M. (2002). A case among cases. A world among worlds: The ecology of writing among the Kashinawa in Brazil. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 1(4), 261–278.

Indigenous Youth and Adult Education in Latin America  603 Quijano, A. (2000). Coloniality of power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America. Nepentla: Views from the South, 1(3), 533–580. Schmelkes. S., Águila, G., & Núñez, M. A. (2009). Alfabetización de jóvenes y adultos indígenas en México [Indigenous youth and adult literacy in Mexico]. In L. E. López & U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 237–289). Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL & GTZ. Sichra, I. (Ed.) (2009). Atlas sociolingüístico de pueblos indígenas en América Latina [Sociolinguistic atlas of Indigenous peoples in Latin America]. Cochabamba: FUNPROEIB Andes, UNICEF and AECID. Street, B. (1984). Literacy in theory and practice. New York: Cambridge University Press. Varese, S. (2007). Witness to sovereignty: Essays on the Indian movement in Latin America. Sikive, Denmark: IGWIA. Verdugo, L., & Raymundo, J. (2009). Alfabetización de jóvenes y adultos

indígenas en Guatemala [Indigenous youth and adult literacy in Guatemala]. In L .E. López & U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 181–236). Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL & GTZ. Yánez, F. (2009). Alfabetización de jóvenes y adultos indígenas en el Ecuador [Indigenous youth and adult literacy in Ecuador]. In L. E. López and U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 129–179). Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL & GTZ. Zúñiga, M. (2009). La alfabetización de jóvenes y adultos indígenas en el Perú [Indigenous youth and adult literacy in Peru). In L. E. López and U. Hanemann (Eds.), Alfabetización y multiculturalidad. Miradas desde América Latina [Literacy and multiculturalism. Views from Latin America] (pp. 331–413). Guatemala: UNESCO–UIL & GTZ.

39 Multilingual Education across Oceania Joseph Lo Bianco Introduction At 166 million square kilometers the Pacific Ocean exceeds the combined total of all land areas on earth, containing one third of the planet’s physical space and half its free water, extending from the Arctic to Antarctica, bounded by Asia and Australia to the west, the Americas to the east, and dotted with innumerable islands (NOAA, 2013). Traditional Pacific society is conventionally organized into three geographic ethno‐linguistic clusters: Melanesia (Papua New Guinea (PNG), Solomon Islands, Vanuatu); Micronesia (Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, Marshall Islands, Palau, Kiribati, Tuvalu) and Polynesia (Cook Islands, Fiji, Niue, Tonga, Samoa), whose language ecologies range from the world’s greatest density in  Melanesia to near unilingualism in Polynesia. Everywhere language‐­ identified populations retain cultural distinctiveness despite permanent disruption of traditional communication by intrusion of empire‐building ­ maritime powers. The emergence of independent states over the past 50 years saw repatriation of teacher training, curriculum preparation, and examination schemes from metropolitan countries, yet ambiguous political statuses persist. Many are micro‐nations in which small scale and geographic dispersion preclude development of ­differentiated institutions and efficient administrative structures, leaving them vulnerable to external influence and economic and security dependence on larger states (Hezel, 2012). Practically all children receive some of their education bilingually, typically ­vernacular instruction at infants or elementary levels progressively substituted by  literacy‐based subject instruction in languages of wider communication (Lotherington, 2008). Transitional vernacular literacy is common, occasionally

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Multilingual Education across Oceania  605 because explicit policy fosters mother tongues, often because pragmatic constraints on education delivery require accommodation to surrounding multilingualism (Mangubhai, 2002). Maintenance bilingual education is common in Polynesian settings with long‐established political sovereignty. Recently, Melanesian countries have expanded the range of languages included in education, mainly through decentralization to more efficient village‐based provision. After 1995 PNG became the world leader in multilingual education delivery (Siegel, 1996) but now appears to be returning to English‐centered policies. Across Anglophone Oceania while English dominates secondary, higher and technical education, pragmatic constraints of local communication often mean there is more use of vernaculars than is officially encouraged or publicly appreciated. English is not entirely foreign, since it “lurks” within the vocabulary base of the four Melanesian creoles (Tok Pisin, Hiri Motu, Solomon Islands Pijin, and Bislama) that facilitate intercultural relations, but sociologically it remains a distant ­language at the village level. The combination of social power but demographic restriction has given rise to hierarchical diglossia involving vernaculars, creoles, and Standard English each with compartmentalized functions ­ (Mühlhäusler, 1996). Some transitional or mixed societies (e.g., Fiji and Vanuatu) contain additional differentiation. In Fiji this is due to fusion of Melanesian and Polynesian elements, and the presence of a large Hindi speaking population. Vanuatu’s differentiation comes from “dual colonization,” British and French, requiring it to reconcile 100 vernaculars, English, French and the creole Bislama. As a result, schooling is language‐streamed, reflecting political history and ethnolinguistic clan identities. While English and French remain the teaching languages, they are separated, the lack of integration perpetuating colonial practice. The native languages are marginalized and school policies often ban their use, yet code switching is common, especially with Bislama, supplying students a covert intellectual resource in completing academic tasks (Willans, 2011). Thus, teaching/learning environments are caught in “culturally undemocratic” practice (Thaman, 2009); the discrepancy between metropolitan and Pacific modes of learning and communicating led Thaman to call use of students’ vernaculars the priority education reform across Oceania. Like all multilingual sociologies Oceania’s communicative profile is also influenced by political economy, inevitable because of the near‐universal practice of governments to prioritize investment in languages of wider communication, matched by speakers developing multiple, often partial, language proficiencies for migration, as many leave island homes to repatriate income through itinerant labor schemes in metropolitan settings. Occasionally, agitation for recognition of local cultures surfaces, but nationalist politics rejecting metropolitan languages is rare. Fiji’s mobilization against dilution of traditional life by concessions to Hindi‐speakers mostly concerned land tenure and political representation.

606  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

Polities The 15 main Oceania polities are dominated by two fully sovereign Europeanized states—Australia and New Zealand, with populations descended from settler colonists supplemented by recruited immigration, plus a small linguistically diverse indigenous component in Australia, and a larger but linguistically consolidated indigenous component in New Zealand. Four types of sovereignty characterize the remaining 13: 1. complete independence with domestic institutions and administration; 2. political independence with long‐term reliance on external assistance in security and economic affairs; 3. limited (unincorporated) sovereignty in permanent association with external powers (e.g. USA: Trust Territory of the Pacific and other Micronesian “Compacts of Association”); 4. extended incorporation into Oceanic or extra‐Oceanic states (e.g., USA: Hawaii, fully incorporated state; American Samoa permanent “association” // France: New Caledonia, Tahiti, Wallis, Futuna varying from full incorporation to pays d’outre‐mer and collectivite` d’outre mer of the French Republic // Nieu and Tokelau’s designations as “self‐governing in free association” with New Zealand). Pooled sovereignty often compensates for small size and wide dispersion, as with the University of the South Pacific (USP), a regional university critical to language planning through encouragement of individual languages, teacher training, knowledge creation, and its own language choices. While English is the teaching language, some 200 others are spoken in its 12‐country catchment area. In 1983 USP created the Pacific Languages Unit to develop locally appropriate professional language skills through research, short courses, and a Diploma in Pacific Language Studies (Lynch & Mugler, 2002).

Frameworks Cenoz and Gorter (2010) propose a Continuum of Multilingual Education comprising linguistic status, sociolinguistic status, and educational status. Although devised with reference to international examples, particular communicative and sociopolitical circumstances of Oceania make some of its categories problematic. The Ethnologue entry for Melanesia alone records 1,052 languages among 8,545,000 people (Lewis, Simons, & Fennig, 2013), the world’s greatest linguistic concentration distributed among its smallest speaker populations. Many polities in Oceania lack the assumed “container” of an autonomous national state on which the Continuum relies. Where state institutions do exist, their language shaping effects can be mitigated by micro‐scale sociologies; even states with unambiguous sovereignty can have an extraordinary profusion of subnational

Multilingual Education across Oceania  607 Table 39.1  Continuum of Multilingual Education. Linguistic Status Sociolinguistic Status Educational Status Polity Status

language distance, script, oral literacy minority, official, international, immigrant, clan, regional, national, diglossia school subjects, medium of instruction, age of introduction, methodologies, non‐formal education sovereignty statuses: autonomous institutions, political independence, assistance reliant, trust dependency, colonial administration

Adapted from Cenoz and Gorter (2010).

clan‐affiliating languages, which, despite small size, low literacy rates, and highly localized geographies, do not necessarily suffer low vitality (Landweer & Unseth, 2012). These world‐unique characteristics require separate specification in analytical frameworks hence my addition in Table  39.1 of polity status, a tentative effort to address unique sociolinguistics of Pacific island nations. Broadly and nontypologically, that is, using sociopolitical rather than linguistic criteria, Oceanic languages are: Indigenous: Austronesian, Australian and Papuan families; over 1,200 separate languages, ethnicity‐identifying, nominally recognized; Creoles and Pijins: Interaction‐derived contact varieties, creoles being stabilized forms that pijins assume when transmitted to children, several have expanded from intra‐ familial and inter‐cultural formation to institutional presence and official status, including Chavacano, Bislama, Hiri Motu, Norfuk, Pitkern, Solomon Islands Pijin, Tok Pisin; functionally expanding; Colonial: English and French mostly, indigenized and localized, socio‐politically and educationally dominant; Immigrant: Chinese, Greek, Hindi, Italian, Turkish, Vietnamese; subnational heritage languages, occasionally recognized, substantial language shift; International: Foreign languages, lack domestic institutions; present among social elites and in education, trade and diplomacy.

Identities In popular imagining the Pacific is associated with vastness and emptiness and therefore separation, while much historical scholarship focuses on relations of islander inhabitants with external intruders. This binary provides little information about the diverse interactions and intercultural contact over centuries, without denying negative characterizations of Oceanic peoples that provided legitimation

608  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education for episodes of pillage and imperialism. The nineteenth century is replete with brutal projects of colonization of labor and land, but interaction between islanders and outsiders shows evidence of other kinds of agency and initiative, accommodation and appropriation, producing contemporary Oceania’s multicultural reality. Pacific artists and poets have explored a new Pacific/Oceania consciousness, working to restore cultural and political agency to islanders, thereby contesting images of physical emptiness and cultural vulnerability with their implicit invitation to imperially minded outsiders (Thomas, 2012a). Epeli Hau’ofa pursued a lifetime project of “rediscovering our sea of islands,” whose inhabitants are “connected rather than separated by the sea. Far from being sea‐locked peoples marooned on coral or volcanic tips of land, islanders formed an oceanic community based on voyaging (1993).” Especially disturbing to Hau’ofa was the term “Pacific Rim,” prominent in late twentieth century geopolitical strategizing about new political architecture for the “Pacific Age,” erasing the Rim’s populated center. Hau’ofa’s enduring contribution, in literature and in scholarship, was to reconceive the empty Pacific as a peopled place, effectively an ocean highway for centuries “criss‐crossed by voyagers” (Hau’ofa, 2008) even if today islanders “probably get sea‐sick as soon as we set foot on a rocking boat. … We are no longer sea travellers or fisherfolk.” (Hau’ofa, 1993, p. 38). Voyaging can serve as metaphor and description of economic life and of communication, for Pacific islanders as settled but mobile individuals, of cultural encounter and struggle to control change and tradition. Hau’ofa’s career in English, Fijian, French, Hindi, Samoan, and Tongan, plus PNG clan languages and creoles, was testament to his voyaging ancestors, fusing Micronesian, Polynesian, and Melanesian worlds with the metropoles (Thomas, 2012b). Samoan novelist Albert Wendt’s New Oceania (1976) also imagined arts‐led creation of new identities, a renaissance of pride with pragmatism, also repudiated romanticization of Oceanic historiography (e.g. “South Sea paradise of noble savages living in harmony with a bountiful nature,” Hau’ofa, 1993, p. 34), without denying loss, degradation, cultural pacification, colonization, ecological vulnerability, nor continuing subjugation to foreign security calculations and interests (e.g., American, British, and French nuclear testing).

Australia In 40 years of multilingual policy development Australia has embraced assertively multicultural and Asianist perspectives, exploring and reconstituting national identity (Lo Bianco & Aliani, 2013). This has resulted in multilingual education practice through the teaching, supporting and examining some 100 of Australia’s 300 spoken languages (Lo Bianco & Slaughter, 2009). Despite issuing a stream of ambitious policies targeting international, immigrant, and indigenous languages, the Pacific and Oceania feature only marginally and intermittently. International languages are promoted as though their speakers are foreigners, although domestic multilingualism means all have local populations; community

Multilingual Education across Oceania  609 languages support heritage maintenance, but by definition have foreign speaker populations, while indigenous languages claim national uniqueness. The academic and cultural content of programs in which learners are acquiring a prestige international language tends to stress utilitarian aims, home language maintenance for indigenous and immigrant languages has mostly been transitional, permitting learners to intellectualize their mother tongue knowledge and gain literacy in a familiar language before shifting to English. However, Australia’s policy development has been beset by changing priorities, inadequate and inconsistent implementation, and contested aims and purposes. The bulk of language programming has involved traditional second‐language teaching, reinforced from 2014 with adoption of a national curriculum. The most dramatic question in bilingual education concerns the politics surrounding indigenous languages—the subject of continual disagreement about how general education for Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders should be conducted, and what role and seriousness to accord to traditional languages. Recognition of indigenous rights accelerated through litigation, culminating in the Mabo Decision, a landmark ruling of the High Court. Mabo recognized a state of unextinguished native land title that survives the late‐eighteenth‐century British claim to the entire Australian continent, based on rejection of the terra nullius doctrine, one of the three ways (along with conquest or cession), which international law recognizes as “ ways of acquiring sovereignty” (HCA, 1992, clause 33). Native title pre‐exists British occupation and survives as “traditional connection” to land and is established through demonstrations of continuous cultural connection to land, mainly via indigenous language, culture, and law. Although the most important consequences of Mabo apply to land claims, it reinforced language awareness and education. However, by 2007 bilingual education in the Northern Territory was under threat, influenced by English literacy difficulties of indigenous learners, and their mistaken attribution to bilingual teaching. Closure occurred through a requirement that the first four hours of instruction be in English‐only (Simpson, Caffery, & McConvell, 2009). In close analysis of this dismantling, Devlin (2011) studied the schools’ academic literacy performance, showing the false attribution and exposing inadequate understanding among policymakers of bilingual teaching. Despite being introduced and supported as “additional” languages in the largest states (New South Wales and Victoria) and the national curriculum, indigenous languages remain highly vulnerable (McKay, 2011). Erosion of programs can occur even under supportive policy, via language prejudice entrenching the elevated status of Standard English over traditional languages (Truscott & Malcolm, 2010) serving as invisible language policy to privilege monolingualism or rank some bilingualisms higher than others. Immigrant language pressures are similar, if less extreme, and generally language education has become decidedly utilitarian, focused on key Asian trade‐servicing languages. This language hierarchy means that excluded ­languages, whether Asian, European, or Pacific, are relegated to heritage maintenance.

610  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

New Zealand/Aotearoa New Zealand’s national identity is connected to the Pacific more directly than Australia’s; one of its official names ties it linguistically to Oceania (the other to the Netherlands). The country is evolving symbolic acknowledgements of indigenous identity and geographic location, fused with British institutional and sociopolitical roots, both percolating into wider society through attention to correct Māori pronunciations, toponyms, and cultural imagery. The 2006 census, the latest available, shows Māori is the most commonly spoken minority language followed by Samoan, French, Hindi, Yue and Northern Chinese, but that 76.6% of New Zealanders are monolingual. Ethnicity attachments predict language preferences and attitudes (Barkhuizen, Knoch, & Starks, 2006) for Pakeha‐, Māori‐, Pasifika‐ and Asian‐identified youngsters. Despite dominant monolingualism, concessions to Māori have expanded from isolated early local initiatives (Benton, 1984), culminating in 1987 with the adoption of the Māori Language Act, aiming to stem its deteriorating vitality. Māori support is being emulated among Pasifika communities (Goldring, 2006) implying a wider multicultural accommodation (May & Hill, 2005). Oceania migration is over six decades old, its continual replenishment, return visits, communications technology, and language teaching improve prospects of multilingual vitality in New Zealand; however, Polynesian Pasifika languages are unlikely to survive without systematic language revival measures (McCaffery & McFall‐McCaffery, 2010). Community practices of compartmentalization— Pasifika homes and public life in English—need to be replaced with an additive bilingual communication regime to support intergenerational language retention (Tuafuti, 2010). Multilingual education for minority language students involves complementary first language and English support in cross‐curricula academic‐oriented bilingualism (LEAP, 2007), underscoring that bilingual education in Anglophone Oceania is always premised on English + Other. Bilingualism is relatively new in New Zealand primary education with wider implementation hampered by teacher training designs focused on secondary schools. Specifically in Māori‐medium education controversial and underresearched questions remain unreconciled (Hill, 2011), such as the role and proportion of English (Glynn, Berryman, Loader, & Cavanagh 2005). In a synthesis of research on proficiency in bilingual education relating to te reo Māori, Skerrett (2010) identified contradictions, inconsistencies, and a paucity of systematic information about the language skills of beginning teachers and how language education is hampered by absence of a guiding national language policy. The prospects of achieving coordinated, systematic language policy are mixed. In 1992 the Ministry of Education commissioned the country’s most ambitious language policy investigation (Waite, 1992), influenced by its 1987 Australian predecessor. The Waite report included all language interests, and received popular support, but was rejected by government and lapsed. Agitation for national policy resumed recently with the Action Plan for Human Rights and at the Diversity

Multilingual Education across Oceania  611 Forum in 2005, but to no avail. While absence of explicit language policy does not preclude innovation in multilingual education, it renders initiatives less effective, lacking coherence, coordination, and support. A combined approach involving English, te reo Māori, Cook Island Māori, Pasifika languages (e.g., Niuean, Tokelauan), Asian and European community languages, plus international languages of trade and tourism alongside traditional “prestige” languages, is the most promising. Despite general endorsement of a comprehensive approach, advocates, both academic and community‐based, promote different priorities. May (2005) addresses questions of language rights, cultural diversity, and minority interests, while East, Chung, and Arkinstall (2013) examine trade/tourism languages beyond Oceania regionalism and propose an “entitlement” model for public school students between the ages of 11–14. Kēpa and Manu’atu (2011, p. 619) are critical of policy moves that enshrine individualism and “technocratic assumptions that marginalise indigenous and migrant peoples” in the “Pakeha mainstream,” but concur with other scholars that absence of policy leads to nonserious programming, and serves to “sustain English‐language domination.”

Papua New Guinea The Independen Stet bilong Papua Niugini occupies the eastern half of the island of New Guinea (its western regions comprise two provinces belonging to Indonesia— West Papua and Papua)—and some 600 islands occupied by 6.7 million people of Melanesian ethnicity, with coastal zones of Polynesian settlement. Ethnologue lists 836 living languages, 61 classified as “institutional,” 295 as “developing,” 340 as “vigorous” 104 as being “in trouble” and 36 as “dying”; English and Tok Pisin are classified as “national” languages (Lewis, Simons, & Fennig, 2013). Identity is closely linked to language, exemplified by the 310 speakers of Kaki Ae, a language typical of those spoken in Gulf and Western Provinces, whose loyalties are affected by exogamous marriage, Christianity, education, and position in the cash economy or labour market. Speakers value the uniqueness of the language as a kind of secret localized code (Clifton, 1994). Identity is also language‐linked for speakers of Mussau‐Emira on the St. Mathias islands (Brownie, 2012), whose repertoire of dialects shows a situated and relational sociolinguistics of identity, involving history of trade, kinship and geography, manifested through code mixing, switching and borrowing. The sociolinguistic profile of PNG is of astonishing diversity. English occupies an unassailed diglossic position as code of elite functions, in national formal politics, higher education, high‐level and international commerce, mainstream media, and most professions, especially the judiciary and legal domain generally, except policing. Only varieties of English represent any kind of challenge to its overall status, since indigenous languages serve localized identities uniquely and not the formal sense of “the nation.” Two English‐based creoles are Hiri Motu, around Port Moresby (the ethnically Papuan capital region), and Tok Pisin in most

612  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education other parts of the country. English is not represented in any substantial way among the languages of intimacy and transmission in familial or traditional settings, in which vernaculars called “tok ples” dominate. Tok Ples oral programs are widely established as the beginning point of most children’s education. Many teachers are unenthusiastic about vernacular education, and have assisted a recent trend against it, though they utilize instructional strategies of translation, metalinguistic comparison, and contrast and elaboration (Franken & August, 2011) to support its success. Although Tok Ples initiatives are of worldwide significance, “language” is absent from 11 policies on the National Department of Education website (NDE, nd), however, under Students: Basic Education, it states: At 6 years of age all children begin their basic education in an elementary school in a language that they speak. For the next three years they develop the basis for sound literacy and numeracy skills. … At 9 years of age children continue their basic education in a primary school. After six years of primary education that begins with a bilingual program. …[they] use English to understand basic social, scientific, technological, and personal concepts and value learning after grade 8.

These stages are Elementary (three years in children’s mother tongue), Primary (9–14‐year‐olds, six years) and upper primary where bridging to English commences. The curriculum remains bilingual, however, with the formative years devoted to vernaculars, the primary years to bilingual transition, and from upper primary transition to English medium. The four years of secondary schooling are divided into upper and lower segments and language guides are progressively fewer with syllabus stipulations replaced by subject guides, assumed to be delivered in English, possibly frequently supported by Hiri Motu or Tok Pisin. In her study of the transition phase in East New Britain Province, August (2010) found great need for “research informed professional development” (p. 97) precisely for bridging Tok Ples or Tok Pisin to Standard English, where teachers were using a replacing model, anxious to effect a full transition to English. PNG has a long history of language education experimentation, using both vernacular and creoles, such as on Lutheran missions from the German colonial period (Paris, 2012). By 2005 PNG took the radical step of issuing an elementary syllabus stipulating use of students’ first languages as exclusive teaching languages for the elementary school cycle, justifying the Secretary of Education’s claim that PNG “is the only country in the world to recognise over 800 languages as official languages of the education system” (Baki, 2005). Early 1980s decentralization of education administration postponed children’s entry into English‐medium streams, permitting initial literacy in vernaculars or locally used pidgins in village schools, with a locally designed curriculum and locally engaged teachers selected by villagers. By 1995 major progress had been made in implementation towards nationwide mother‐tongue‐based multilingual education (Malone & Paraide, 2011), with over 400 languages used by 2000, representing the model instance of multiple language delivery for early basic education

Multilingual Education across Oceania  613 (Klaus, 2003). Today it is threatened with resurgent pressure to abandon or curtail its extent. Individual vernaculars may still require revitalization support, such as Maiwala in Milne Bay Province, where a community‐based Tok Ples project was upgraded to vernacular medium for three years of schooling, but in which Maiwala needs revitalization activity to shore up its future vitality (Nagai, 2003).

Samoa Bilingual education, and bilingualism as a result of education, are the typical condition of Samoan society. With international assistance, Samoan educators have greatly improved education, including widespread professionalization, creating the National University of Samoa in 1984 and establishing the Samoan Teachers’ Certificate as the entry‐level qualification. All students attend four years of village primary schooling, and two thirds continue to district secondary schools. Samoa benefits from a common examination system, diversified learner pathways, and fully domestic teacher preparation including syllabus design/curriculum planning; yet, despite its complete and comprehensive national education which greatly enhances prospects for Samoan vitality, a defensive tone pervades language legislation including subtle domination of English. The constitution contains no direct clauses about the status of Samoan, but sections 9 and 54, which refer to legal/parliamentary procedures, appear to enshrine its normal use by stipulating that records be in “the Samoan language and the English language.” Section 112 declares that, while the Samoan and English versions of the constitution are equally authoritative, “in case of difference, the English text shall prevail.” By contrast, education law requires promotion of Samoan, often bracketed with cultural activity. English is introduced from early childhood and year one, when the medium of instruction is Samoan with progressive transfer to English (see Table 39.2): The Year 8 examinations are also language‐determined, all subjects examined in English, except for “Samoan Language” (Samoa, n.d.). Table 39.2  Samoan/English Bilingual Education. Year EC/Year 1 Year 2 Year 3 Year 4/5 Year 6 Year 7/8

Samoan 100% 80% 70% 60% 50% 40%

English 0% 20% 30% 40% 50% 60%

614  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Language policy has long affirmed an additive principle: English for all, supplementing and extending primary knowledge of Samoan and, in some iterations, the primary teaching language. During the 1980s, when the author worked on language and curriculum reform in Samoa it was even anticipated Samoan would replace English in parts of upper secondary schooling; in effect, what has evolved is diglossic separation, English as H and Samoan as L. Yet, Samoan remains a vital language with almost 200,000 speakers in Samoa and 56,700 in American Samoa, a worldwide presence of 364,257 (mostly in Australia and New Zealand, the 2006 Census showing 95,428 claimants, plus Tonga, Fiji, California, and Hawaii) (Lewis, , Simons, & Fennig, 2013). Samoan has been written since 1834 when the London Missionary Society commenced proselytizing work on the islands, Romanization being a prelude to an influx of Anglicized Latin and Greek vocabulary along with Anglo‐Saxon English words. Oratory and ceremonial language are central to expression, with specifically designated orator chiefs, tulāfale, who use “dignified language,” classical terms, and prose rhetoric, in specific speech forms also critical in traditional governance and organization of social roles. Samoa has particularly complex sociolinguistics, but shares the unilingualism characteristic of Polynesia. Relations between English and Samoan are evident in classroom communication, where Lo Bianco and Liddicoat (1991) report extensive teacher and student code switching and code choices indicative of the communication load of each, including frequent and concurrent use in all subject areas. Classes in which English was used exclusively by students had much higher levels of mixing than those in which students used only Samoan. Both languages are now so enmeshed in schooling, performance in one affects and structures prospects in the other (Toloa, McNaughton, & Lai, 2009). Samoa’s bilingual context is the exemplar for Polynesia: single, uncontested national languages and single uncontested languages of wider communication. Samoa perfectly encapsulates the dependency struggles of Pacific Island nations. Late‐nineteenth‐century rivalry between Britain, Germany, and the United States for control of its islands exploited civil and chiefly wars, culminating in a crisis in 1889 when the contending powers directed warships into Apia harbour, but conflict was postponed because of the weather! Confrontation among the powers returned in 1899; exploiting local conflict, the United States and Germany divided the islands (American and Deutsch‐Samoa) with Britain accepting German cession of North Solomons, and Samoans forced to abolish their monarchy. Resistance to German rule persisted under royal leaders, the Mau movement, and orator chiefs from 1908 until New Zealand forcibly occupied Deutsch‐Samoa in 1914 and was granted a League of Nations mandate. Under the 1919 Treaty of Versailles, Germany relinquished all territorial claims and Samoan resistance was transferred to New Zealand rule (occasionally violently repressed). Repeated demands for independence were eventually granted in 1962. The country’s name was changed from Western Samoa to Samoa in July 1997, causing friction with American Samoans interpreting it as a cultural claim on Samoan identity. Samoa remains separated from its American half.

Multilingual Education across Oceania  615 In poetry Albert Wendt expressed a fused Pacific consciousness: German ancestry, New Zealand habitation, Samoan ethnicity. His 1979 novel Leaves of the Banyan Tree traces generations of Samoans through the imposition of colonial rule, resistance struggles, and ultimately to independence. Rural grandfather Tauilopepe struggles against foreign intrusion, but his motivations are often greedy and personal, his son Pepe rebels against European religious and cultural assimilation but grandson Lalolagi, from a New Zealand boarding school, chooses English over Samoan and joins in what emerges as general exploitation of the islands’ natural wealth. The strategies and consequences of compromise and opposition, of personal agency, greed and honor, conceding to unassailable external force, merge in Leaves of the Banyan Tree, a key work of unromantic postcolonial Pacific literature. Political accommodations and constrained choices continue in language practices in multi‐lingual policy and education today. Postcolonial prospects in Oceania recall Hau’ofa’s voyaging, as they shift and travel, reinforcing and symbolizing how all Oceanian polities have included languages of wider communication with their languages of identity, community, and connection.

References August, M. (2010). Supporting English language learning by bridging from childrens’ first languages in Papua New Guinea. Med thesis presented to the University of Waikato. http:// researchcommons.waikato.ac.nz/ bitstream/handle/10289/4278/thesis. pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y Baki, P. M., (2005). Secretary’s message, Language: Elementary Syllabus, amended 2005. Department of Education, Port Moresby, PNG.http://www.education. gov.pg/Teachers/elem‐crip‐materials/ syllabus‐elementary‐language.pdf Barkhuizen, G., Knoch, U., & Starks, D. (2006). Language practices, preferences and policies. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 27(5), 375–391. Benton, R. (1984). Bilingual education and the survival of the Māori language. Journal of the Polynesian Society, 93(3), 247–266. Brownie, J. (2012). Multilingualism and identity on Mussau. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 2012(214), 67–84.

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616  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Glynn, T., Berryman, M., Loader, K., & Cavanagh, T. (2005). From literacy in Māori to biliteracy in Māori and English. Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 8(5), 433–454. Goldring, M. (2006). Weaving language with identity; The story of Samoan Secondary students. Letoga: A Precious Thing. Thesis presented to the Department of Education, University of Canterbury. http://ir.canterbury.ac.nz/bitstream/ 10092/1053/1/thesis_fulltext.pdf Hau’ofa, E. (1993). Our sea of islands. In E. Waddell, V. Naidu, & E. Hau’ofa (Eds.), A new Oceania: Rediscovering our sea of islands (pp. 2–16). Suva: Social and Economic Development, University of the South Pacific. Hau’ofa, E. (2008). We are the ocean: Selected writings. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press. HCA (High Court of Australia). (1992). Mabo v Queensland (No 2) (“Mabo case”) [1992] HCA 23; (1992) 175 CLR 1 (3 June). http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/cases/ cth/HCA/1992/23.html Hezel, F. (2012). Pacific island nations: How viable are their economies? (Pacific Islands Policy, No. 7). Honolulu, HI: East‐West Center. http://www. eastwestcenter.org/sites/default/files/ private/pip007_0.pdf Hill, R. (2011). Rethinking English in Māori‐medium education. Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 14(6), 719–732. Klaus, D. (2003). The use of indigenous languages in early basic education in PNG. Language and Education, 17(2), 105–111. Kēpa, M., & Manu’atu, L. (2011). An indigenous and migrant critique of principles and innovation in education in Aotearoa/New Zealand. International Review of Education, 57(5‐6), 617–630. Landweer, L., & Unseth P. (2012). An introduction to language use in Melanesia. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 2012(214), 1–3.

LEAP (Language Enhancing the Achievement of Pasifika). (2007). Resource for teachers of Pasifika students. Wellington, New Zealand: Ministry of Education and Learning Media. Lewis, P., Simons, G., & Fennig, C. (2013). Ethnologue (17th edn.) Dallas, Texas: SIL. http://www.ethnologue.com/country/PG Lo Bianco, J., & Aliani, R. (2013). Language planning and student experiences. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Lo Bianco, J., & Liddicoat, A. (1991). Language use in classrooms in Western Samoa. Working Papers, National Languages Institute of Australia, 1(1), 83–100. Lo Bianco, J., & Slaughter, Y. (2009). Second languages and Australian schooling. Camberwell, VIC.: Australian Council for Educational Research. Lotherington, H. (2008). Bilingual education in the South Pacific. In J. Cummins & N. H. Hornberger (Eds.), Encyclopedia of language and education: Bilingual education (pp. 267–280). New York, NY: Springer. Lynch, J., & Mugler, F. (2002). Pacific languages at the University of the South Pacific. Current Issues in Language Planning, 3(1), 76–81. Malone, S., & Paraide, P. (2011). Mother tongue‐based bilingual education in Papua New Guinea. International Review of Education, 57(5/6), 705–720. Mangubhai, F. (2002). Language‐ in‐education policies in the South Pacific. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 23(6), 490–511. May, S. (2005). Bilingual/immersion education in Aotearoa/New Zealand. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 8(5), 365–376. May, S., & Hill, R. (2005). Māori‐medium education: Current issues and challenges. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 8(5), 377–403. McCaffery, J., & McFall‐McCaffery, J. (2010). O Tatou Ō Aga’i I Fea?; ’Oku Tau Ō Ki Fe? Where are we heading? AlterNative Journal 6(2), 86–121.

Multilingual Education across Oceania  617 McKay, G. (2011). Policy and indigenous languages in Australia. Australian Review of Applied Linguistics, 34(3), 297–319. Mühlhäusler, P. (1996). Linguistic ecology: Language change and linguistic imperialism in the Pacific region. London: Routledge. Nagai, Y. (2003). Designing a vernacular English bridging programme in Papua New Guinea. Convergence, 36(2), 119–130. NDE (National Department of Education). (0000)(n.d). PNG National Department of Education, Policies. http://www. education.gov.pg/QL_Policies/index. html NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration). (2013). National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Department of Commerce, United States Government. http://oceanservice.noaa.gov/ Paris, H. (2012). Sociolinguistic effects of church languages in Morobe Province, PNG. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 2012(214), 39–66. Samoa, (n.d.). Ministry of Education, Sports and Culture, Apia. http://www.mesc. gov.ws/index.php?option=com_content &view=section&id=15&Itemid=127 Siegel, J. (1996). Vernacular education in the South Pacific. Canberra: Australian Agency for International Development. Simpson, J., Caffery, J., & McConvell, P. (2009). Gaps in Australia’s indigenous language policy. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies http://www.aiatsis.gov. au/_files/ntru/DP242009Simpson.pdf

Skerrett, M. (2010). Whakamanahia te reo Māori: He tirohanga rangahau. New Zealand Teachers Council. 232. University of Canterbury. School of Māori, Social and Cultural Studies in Education. Thaman, K. (2009). Towards cultural democracy in teaching and learning with specific references to Pacific Island Nations (PINs). Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, 3, 2. http:// digitalcommons.georgiasouthern.edu/ ij‐sotl/vol3/iss2/6/ Thomas, N. (2012a). Islanders: The Pacific in the age of empire. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Thomas, N. (2012b). “We Were Still Papuans.” A 2006 Interview with Epeli Hau’ Ofa. The Contemporary Pacific, 24(1), 120–133. Toloa, M., McNaughton, S., & Lai, M. (2009). Biliteracy and language development in Samoan classrooms. Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 12(5), 513–531. Truscott, A., & Malcolm, I. (2010). Closing the policy–practice gap. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Tuafuti, P. (2010). Additive bilingual education. MAI Review 1, 1–14. Waite, J. (1992). New Zealand ‐ Aoteareo: Speaking for ourselves. Wellington, New Zealand: Ministry of Education. Willans, F. (2011). Classroom code‐ switching in a Vanuatu secondary school. Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 14(1), 23–38. Wendt, A. (1976). Towards a New Oceania. Mana Review, 1(1), 49–61.

40 Language, Conflict, and Social Change Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa Zeena Zakharia Introduction It has been argued that all education in Arabic is bilingual or multilingual, or at least bi‐ or multi‐dialectical, with Classical and Modern Standard Arabic used to formally teach curricular subjects and local spoken varieties used in classroom communication and non‐formal school spaces. Because this heteroglossic situation is generally taken for granted,1 this chapter focuses on bilingual and multilingual education as those forms of schooling that engage these multiple forms of Arabic alongside at least one other language—such as French, English, Italian, Hebrew, or other languages.2 After briefly describing the heteroglossic nature of Arabic‐language education, this chapter provides a historical overview of bilingual education in the broader Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region. Dating back to nineteenth century colonial and missionary enterprises, including the introduction of Eastern and Western European, American, and Ottoman schools, bilingual education in MENA has a rich and contested history. Contemporary bilingual education policies and practices in the Maghreb, Levant, and Arab Gulf have also evolved from different historical periods and social, political, cultural, and economic circumstances, each with its tensions. Drawing on illustrative examples of bilingual education policies and models from each of these subregions, I provide a snapshot of the current landscape of bilingual education. In the final section, I draw on research conducted in bilingual schools in Lebanon to reflect on Arab nationalism, political conflict, inequality, and global political and economic pressures—tensions articulated by youth about bilingual education and social change. Understanding youth perspectives about bilingual education, and The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  619 how language policies in education exacerbate or mitigate vulnerabilities, is critical for developing sound bilingual programming that empowers minoritized youth, particularly in the context of violent conflict and the mass upheavals ­currently being experienced in the region.

Arabic language education as bilingual education The Arabic language has multiple spoken varieties, which are considered “home” languages, and together are referred to as ‘āmmiyya or dārija. These varieties vary within and across countries and are not written or formally taught at school. However, they are used for general school operations, including in many cases class discussion, extracurricular activities, communication between students and between teachers, and other activities that are not under the formal purview of the School. Reading, writing, and formal school functions on the other hand are conducted in fuṣ′ḥā, a term used to refer to the “high status” varieties of Arabic, which are used in written texts across the Arabic‐speaking world and in spoken texts in all formal and official spaces, such as governmental, religious, educational, and media communications. Fuṣ′ḥā includes Classical Arabic, or the language of the Qur’an, and Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), its contemporary form.3 Standardized in the eighth and ninth centuries, fuṣ′ḥā is relatively conservative in form and has remained largely unchanged as a corpus; whereas, spoken varieties have diverged over time and geographic distance, such that ‘āmmiyya at one location differs both from fuṣ′ḥā and from ‘āmmiyya at another location and time.4 Students formally begin to learn MSA, with the first introduction of literacy at school. By high school, a typical class might involve reading a text in MSA, discussing the content in ‘āmmiyya, then doing a written task, such as in‐class writing exercises, homework, or an examination in MSA. Indeed, students and teachers move between the “high” and “low” status varieties of Arabic throughout the day. Further, at Arabic‐medium Islamic schools, students also engage in the study of the Qur’an and its teachings in Classical Arabic, thus employing at least three varieties of Arabic throughout their school week. The use of both ‘āmmiyya and fuṣ′ḥā in schools makes all education in Arabic at least multidialectical (Zakharia, 2009a).5 From a linguistic standpoint, this education is bi‐ or multilingual, as linguistic criteria would designate the various varieties of Arabic as multiple languages. However, due to political and social processes, fuṣ′ḥā and an unfixed number of spoken varieties of ‘āmmiyya, together, have been considered one macrolanguage, shared by people across a diverse geography (Zakharia & Menchaca Bishop, 2013). For this reason, the heteroglossic or bilingual nature of Arabic‐medium education has been largely taken for granted. Rather, bilingual education in MENA has been considered to be those forms of schooling that employ these multiple varieties of Arabic alongside at least one other “foreign”/“western” language, most ­commonly French or English in the contemporary period. Even then, bilingualism

620  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education among Arabic speakers has not received much attention in the literature on bilingual education (Al‐Khatib, 2006). The sections that follow take up this widely held conception of bilingual education—as education in Arabic and at least one “foreign” language—by tracing the history of official bilingual school policies in MENA and the enduring tensions articulated by youth about bilingual education and social change.

Bilingual education in MENA: Historical overview and contemporary landscape6 Bilingual education in MENA has a rich and contested history that dates back to the first emergence of colonial and missionary schools. Fuelled by various eastern and western European, Ottoman, and American political and social interests, the use of multiple languages in formal schooling structures served to establish spheres of influence and to differentiate local populations as early as the mid‐ nineteenth century (Shaaban & Ghaith, 1999).7 According to archival records, school languages included Arabic, Armenian, English, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Latin, Russian, Spanish, Turkish, and other languages, often guided by the language of the sponsoring religious community. This influence grew after World War I with the carving up of the Ottoman Empire largely into British and French mandates and protectorates. In the Maghreb, for example, the French, Italian, and Spanish languages gained preeminence, while in the Levant, French and English gained ground in accordance with the language of the mandatory power. As Arab states gained independence after World War II, a policy of Arabization in education spread throughout the region with the rise of Arab nationalism, and in response to western imperialism (Boutieri, 2013).8 New countries on the Persian or Arabian Gulf established formal systems of schooling in the latter half of the twentieth century, incorporating the teaching of English into their development plans (Brewer & Goldman, 2010), in part because of British and American influence, and in part because of an influx of diverse peoples from around the world during the oil boom and the rapid industrialization and urbanization that followed. Thus, the development of multiple languages in schools in these three sub‐regions of MENA—the Maghreb, the Levant, and the Arab Gulf— evolved from very different historical, social, political, cultural, and economic ­circumstances and periods, some as recent as the last decade. Today bilingualism is highly valued across the region for a variety of reasons, although it is not equally enjoyed by all students (Benrabah, 2007; Ennaji, 2003; Marley, 2004; Zakharia, 2010a, 2010b). Most MENA students who finish government schooling have been exposed to instruction in Arabic and at least  some English and/or French, to varying degrees. In addition, minority languages such as Berber, Kurdish, Armenian, and Aramaic continue to be taught through community‐run schools, although these languages have not enjoyed the same status in national and post‐Independence educational projects (Boutieri, 2012).

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  621 Furthermore, discussions about language‐in‐education policy continue to reflect tensions between, on the one hand, the articulated value of national identity and cultural “authenticity” (through Arabic and, in some cases, other local languages), and on the other, claims of progress (presumably through English and/or French) (Ennaji, 2003; Marley, 2004; Zakharia, 2010b). These interact with competing pedagogical visions for the School and in relation to the job market and processes of national development (Boutieri, 2012). Bilingual education, though contested (e.g., Benrabah, 2007) and fraught with challenges (e.g., Bahous, Bacha, & Nabhani, 2011), has emerged as an expression of political ideology, and understanding its opposition requires a historical perspective (Benrabah, 2007) and insight into contemporary conflict and social change in the region. The following discussion provides a sampling of bilingual education efforts at the level of the State in selected educational systems across the region, comprising twenty‐two states in which Arabic is the official language, beginning with the Maghreb to the west, then moving east to the region known as the Levant, and further east and south to the Arab Gulf States. This discussion is intended to provide an overview of systems‐wide initiatives in bilingual education. It is not comprehensive. Rather, through a handful of cases, it serves to highlight the commitment to various forms of bilingual education across the region arising from different historical, social, and developmental realities, and with varying success and support.

The Maghreb The countries of the Maghreb, including Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya, share a similar linguistic and religious history, with Arabic introduced during the eighth and ninth century Islamic conquest and French, Italian, and Spanish introduced with European colonization in the nineteenth century. The Indigenous Berber languages (also known as the Amazigh languages and collectively as Tamazight) survived and are spoken today by a significant portion of the population (for example three dialects of Berber account for approximately 45% of Moroccan speakers), but are not generally used in the schooling of Berber children. After independence from colonial rule in the latter half of the twentieth century, a policy of Arabization established Arabic as the sole official language of Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia; however, French continued to dominate nonreligious areas of public life as the unofficial second language. Bilingual education in Morocco is characterized by linguistic complexity and a heterogeneity of language systems that compete for prestige, functionality, and curricular space. These include different varieties of Arabic and Amazigh, as well as French, Spanish, and English (Ezzaki, 2007). Currently, Arabic is the main language of instruction. National education reforms introduced in 2002 established French as the first foreign language, starting in Grade 2. According to the policy, a second foreign language is introduced in Grade 6, namely English. Furthermore, in 2004 Tamazight was introduced as a subject into primary schools in rural areas (Errihani, 2006; Hoffman, 2008), under the purview of subnational authorities to

622  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education facilitate the learning of content areas in Arabic (Ezzaki, 2007). In practice, students study the humanities and social sciences in Arabic, while mathematics and sciences are generally taught in French. Similarly, in Tunisia, students begin school in Arabic. French is introduced as a compulsory subject from Grade 2 and English from Grade 6 (Daoud, 2011). Otherwise all subjects are taught in Arabic until the secondary level. Despite sustained efforts to Arabize the curriculum across the educational span, French continues to be the language of instruction for secondary school mathematics, sciences, and economics, as well as vocational training (Daoud, 2011). Whether these disciplines should be taught in French prior to secondary school (i.e., Grades 7–9) remains an issue of intense debate. Recent years have also seen a push towards expanding the teaching of English, in part in response to economic exigencies and the observation that employment in the Arab Gulf States favors the English language. Algeria began to Arabize its curriculum and faculty in the early 1960s, replacing French with Arabic as the language of instruction at the primary level. Later this was moved up to the secondary level. This process has been a subject of tremendous debate (see Benrabah, 2007 for a detailed discussion). Today all subjects are taught in Arabic except for the foreign languages. In 1992, English was introduced from Grade 4 as a first foreign language option alongside French: students choose between these two languages. In Grade 8, students pick up the other language (French or English) as their second foreign language and some students study a third foreign language as part of their curriculum in the secondary cycle. In 2003, after an extensive political struggle, Tamazight was permitted in schools nationally, to be taught as a subject at the middle school level (Benrabah, 2007). Other reforms soon followed, and in 2004, French was reintroduced as a required first foreign language, starting in Grade 2. As of September 2006, the teaching of French as a subject begins in Grade 3.

The Levant The sociolinguistic history of the Levant, or Eastern Mediterranean, comprising Lebanon, Jordan, Syria, and Palestine differs from that of the Maghreb. Under centuries of Ottoman occupation, culminating in missionary activity in the educational arena during the nineteenth century, and French and British mandatory control after World War I, the region was historically exposed to multiple languages in formal school structures. Except for Syria, in which a monolingual educational policy was established with Arabization after independence from France, the countries of this region maintained the already integrated missionary and colonial languages of their school systems, particularly in the private sector, after World War I. Lebanon has a long history of bilingual educational practices. First established with Christian missionary schools in the first half of the nineteenth century, bilingual educational practices developed along the lines laid down by their European and American missionary sponsors (Shaaban & Ghaith, 1999), thus spreading along sectarian lines during the late Ottoman period and prior to World

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  623 War I (Frayha, 2004). Schools operated in Arabic and the language of the mission, such as French, English, German, Greek, or Russian, thus establishing a tradition of bilingual schooling. However, the role of these languages in education remained the subject of intense public debate (Sbaiti, 2010), implicating formal schooling in religious inequality and sectarian struggle (Zakharia, 2010b). The French mandate (1920 to 1943) established French and Arabic as official languages, imposed the French educational system and language, and encouraged the establishment of private French schools and French missionary institutions.9 After independence (1943), Arabic was made the sole official language; however, French continued to dominate private institutions and public life. In 1946 English was officially introduced as an alternative foreign language option to French in schools, and while all  subjects were to be taught in Arabic in Grades 1 to 6, students could sit for government examinations in mathematics and sciences in Arabic, English, or French. Today, based on this legacy, the national curriculum, which governs public and private schools, operates in Arabic, French, and English for all students, in different combinations. Arabic and either French or English are introduced from the primary grades, and the second foreign language (English/French) is introduced from Grade 7. In practice, many private schools, which in 2013 accounted for 70 percent of students, introduce the second foreign language as early as the primary grades, but with lesser weight. After the primary grades, half of the curriculum (humanities and social sciences) is taught in Arabic, and the other half (mathematics and sciences) is taught in the first foreign language (French or English). Arabic and the first foreign language are given equal weight in terms of number of language‐ teaching hours, and number of hours in each language of instruction. Approximately 56 percent of schools function with French as the first foreign language of instruction and almost 22 percent function with English as the first foreign language of instruction (i.e., for mathematics and sciences). Just under 23 percent of schools offer both French and English as first foreign languages (Lebanon Ministry of Education, 2006). In addition, a number of private schools also teach in Armenian and other languages such as German and Italian. All schools, however, teach Arabic as the common denominator for all, while being in different degrees bilingual, and choice of language‐medium for public and private schooling is, in theory, made by parents or guardians.

The Arab Gulf States In the Arab Gulf, comprising the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Bahrain, Kuwait, and Oman, the establishment of formal systems of education and ministries of education is relatively new, and generally accompanied the discovery of oil and the rapid industrial development and urbanization that followed in the early 1970s (Brewer & Goldman, 2010). As a result, growth in enrollment and literacy has been phenomenal in recent years. Today, a large percentage of Gulf country residents are nonnationals, or expatriates, both from Arab and non‐Arab countries. Thus school systems were established in a relatively short period to cater to the languages and cultures of diverse peoples.

624  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education For example, the educational system of the United Arab Emirates (UAE) was established in the early 1970s, and includes a large network of public, private, and international schools. Non‐UAE nationals represent 70 to 80 percent of the resident population of the UAE. All schools are licensed by the Ministry of Education and operate in accordance with government policy, which stipulates that all schools offer Islamic education and the Arabic language as core subjects for students of Arab origin, and as non‐core subjects for non‐Arab students. Until recently, bilingual education in the UAE was primarily the domain of elite private and international schools, which enroll both national and expatriate populations. These schools, alongside private schools offering foreign language education and curricula specifically aligned with the school system of expatriate communities’ countries of origin (British, American, Indian, Pakistani, French, Russian, German, Iranian, etc.), account for over 40 percent of the student population (UAE Ministry of Education, n.d.). Public, or free tuition government schools, on the other hand, teach all subjects in Arabic and introduce English language as a limited subject from the primary grades. The recent educational development strategy by year 2020, however, entails a shift in language‐in‐education policy for all public schools in line with the modernizing objectives of the government. The elaborate series of five‐year plans involves development of the educational infrastructure through public‐private school partnerships and model schools in which mathematics and sciences are taught in English for all students. The reform initiative launched its pilot program in late 2006 and involves the development of English language skills for elementary students, in collaboration with Zayed University, starting from Grade 1, at four model schools, with the goal of universal implementation by 2020. A central component of the plan is the “Emiratization” of the teaching staff in government schools to ensure Islamic principles and traditions. In order to meet the twin objectives of increasing the numbers of UAE teachers to 90 percent of the teaching staff by 2020, and teaching mathematics and science subjects in English, the UAE government is focusing a large component of its teacher training on developing English language skills within the teaching profession. Furthermore, in 2013, following concerns about the development of the Arabic language, the government announced a strategy towards reforming the Arabic language curriculum and teaching methods, starting with three model public schools and expanding to reach all public schools by 2017. The educational system of Saudi Arabia grew out of a history of religious and basic literacy teachings in mosques during the 1930s, when the first formal secular primary schools were founded. Established in the 1950s, the Ministry of Education oversees all government and local private schools and supervises the operation of private and international schools. The vast majority of students are educated in government schools whose primary emphasis is on Arabic language and Islamic studies, which together account for up to 18 hours per week, or over half the number of hours of classroom study. Saudi Arabia’s 10‐year plan for education (2004 to 2014) aimed at improving the quality and quantity of education for a growing student population and, in line

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  625 with state development plans for “preparing human resources that are capable of creating and achieving comprehensive social development for the community in the various aspects of its social and economic life” (Kingdom of Saudi Arabia Ministry of Education, 2005, p. 5). Among the priorities of the strategic plan was the improvement of both the quality and quantity of English‐language teaching. Previously, English was taught as a mandatory subject from Grades 7 to 12.10 In 2011, English instruction in all public schools was moved to the primary grades, with instruction starting in Grade 4. The commitment to English‐language teaching in public schools was reaffirmed in 2013 as part of a vision for twenty‐first‐century learning. At the same time, the large number of expatriates working in Saudi Arabia has made English a lingua franca. The majority of foreign and international private schools, which cater to diverse expatriate groups, operate largely in English and offer other foreign languages and curricula. These include British, American, Indian, Pakistani, and Filipino schools. In addition, elite bilingual schools operate in French, German, and Japanese. Qatar wants to ensure that Qatari children are educated in Islamic and other local cultural values, and the government is increasingly interested in having all children develop proficiency in English. They are thus experimenting with bilingual forms of education, with math and science being taught in English (Al‐Thani, 2004; García, 2004). The education reform initiative of Qatar, “Education for a New Era,” calls for new innovative schools, “guided in their teaching by internationally competitive curriculum standards in Arabic, English, mathematics and science” (Education for a New Era Fact Sheet, 2004; Brewer & Goldman, 2010). The emphasis on innovation and competition, towards building a knowledge economy, drives both the push for greater incorporation of English and the privatization of schooling (Asmi, 2013). As we have seen, the contemporary landscape of bilingual education in MENA stems from diverse historical, social, religious, and economic circumstances. While Arabic is used by most as the vehicle for everyday expression and communication throughout the region, foreign languages are increasingly needed for economic and technical domains, and educational planning reflects these imperatives. Because of the distance between local vernaculars, Modern Standard Arabic, and Classical Arabic, as well as the introduction of other languages in formal schooling structures, all contemporary education in MENA is bilingual in theory. However, in practice, this bilingualism is differentially experienced by youth in their schools.

Bilingual education, conflict, and social change: Youth perspectives Because of the symbolic and functional significance of the Arabic language in religious and secular discourse and its central role in defining the national self (Suleiman, 1994, 2004), the issue of medium of instruction has been contested for much of the educational history of the region (Benrabah, 2007; Boutieri, 2012;

626  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Sbaiti, 2010; Zakharia, 2009b). Bilingual education has also been differentially experienced by children and youth in their schools. Social conflict, political violence, and inequality mediate this experience, against a backdrop of colonial legacies and nationalist agendas in education, and contemporary global political and economic pressures that increasingly shape the educational experiences of youth. Drawing primarily on research conducted in bilingual schools in Lebanon, this section reflects on these tensions, as articulated by youth, regarding bilingual education and social change. Violent conflict and political upheaval has created new vulnerabilities for youth, and language policies in education can exacerbate these vulnerabilities, particularly for students from minoritized populations (Zakharia, 2010a).11 Observations from Lebanon, Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt, and Qatar suggest that political conflict brings disputes about language policy and bilingual education into the public arena, creating a pull towards Arabic that is articulated in terms of patriotic ideals. At the same time, conflict creates an impetus for youth to learn foreign languages as a pathway to security (Zakharia, 2010b). Thus, youth articulate both a strong connection to the Arabic language, as well as strong multilingual ideology during periods of national or regional sociopolitical conflict (Zakharia, 2010b). In Lebanon, “the positioning of the Arabic language in national educational policy and in local schooling practices has been intimately connected to political and economic processes that have alternately positioned Arabic as both cherished and devalued in relation to other languages” (Zakharia, 2010a, p. 41; 2009b). In particular, youth articulate the endurance and reconfiguration of colonial and post‐independence disputes regarding the values ascribed to languages and their imbedded inequalities. However these are overlaid with an articulated sense of insecurity wrought by political and economic realities. Thus language learning serves as a site of contestation for contemporary youth concerns (Zakharia, 2010b). In Lebanon, youth were conscious of disparities in bilingual policy implementation across schools and spoke about their own school’s bilingualism in terms of social inequality and insecurity. This latter point was frequently made in relation to regional political instability, access to higher education and employment as ways to overcome that instability, and/or linguistic discrimination, as experienced by Arabic speakers with limited foreign language proficiency. Thus students talked about the importance of learning foreign languages in terms of security and justice. They ascribed the knowledge of multiple languages to a “good” education (Zakharia, 2010b). In looking at the ways in which Arabic school teachers contend with the increased privileging of English teaching in Qatar’s schools, Asmi (2013) asserts that teachers and students of Arabic are marginalized by the State’s drive towards a knowledge economy in which English is prized as a global symbol. Similarly, Lebanese youth suggested that monolingual Arabic speakers bore a stigma as being not “modern” or “cultured” (Zakharia, 2009b). This sense of inferior status is reinforced by educational policies and structures in which “high status” streams of the educational system, namely mathematics and sciences, are taught and assessed in foreign languages, thus marginalizing the humanities

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  627 and social sciences, alongside the Arabic language and its speakers (Zakharia, 2009b). In documenting this same phenomenon in Morocco, Boutieri (2012) describes the ways in which unequal linguistic access leads to differentiated academic and social chances. Thus, despite efforts to Arabize the school system in Morocco, the linkage between the scientific streams and the French language effectively serves as a mechanism for reinscribing social hierarchy along linguistic lines (Boutieri, 2012). When considered alongside language policies in higher education, this situation exacerbates educational inequalities and vulnerabilities through diminished access to both higher education institutions and particular academic disciplines that operate in other languages (Boutieri, 2012; Zakharia, 2010a). In turn, youth experience exclusion from a range of professional pursuits. The disparity in bilingual education within MENA states is productive of social inequality, an articulated sense of injustice, and ultimately the disengagement of minoritized youth from school, particularly where monolingual Arabic identities are stigmatized by social and political processes. As observed in other classroom contexts, such as Syria, interactions in the second language can be contrived rather than authentic (Hasan, 2006) and students may graduate from ostensibly bilingual school systems in Lebanon, Morocco, and Qatar with limited knowledge of a foreign language, as well as difficulties with Arabic fuṣ′ḥā. By devaluing the Arabic language through the perpetuation of a deficit discourse about the monolingual Arabic speaker, and through mundane school practices, which place a lower priority on learning Arabic, schools create tension for the development of dynamic bilingualism that is grounded in valuing of the mother tongue in concert with other languages. For students with low levels of foreign language proficiency, this tension leads them to resist foreign language learning, viewing it as irrelevant to their lives, which until this point have been circumscribed by their neighborhoods. Often this resistance is expressed in terms of Arabization as a cause. However, I contend, and when questioned, youth have concurred, that this resistance to language learning is an expression of a deficit in an educational system that deprives them of fulfilling their potential as emergent bilinguals. (Zakharia, 2010a, p. 43)

In her study of linguistic contestation, hierarchy, and educational anxiety in Morocco, Boutieri (2012) notes that the 2011 and 2012 youth‐led revolts in North Africa were in part a reflection of a gradual, “collective disengagement from the public school as a space of empowerment and integration” (p. 445). Understanding youth perspectives about language learning, inequality, and social change is critical to the promotion of strong bilingual education models that support minoritized youth in negotiating the terrain of political and economic uncertainty currently experienced in the region. As described in this chapter, language policies in education have the potential to exacerbate or mitigate vulnerabilities wrought by the political economy. Thus while bilingual education has a long and rich history in MENA, its contestation continues to be refashioned by the realities of contemporary linguistic plurality, shifting political agendas, and movements for social change.

628  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

Notes 1  Despite the difficulties of teaching Arabic literacy and curricular content in a variety of  Arabic that is nobody’s home language, educators generally take this diglossic or heteroglossic situation for granted. 2  For simplicity I use “bilingual education” to refer to an array of bilingual and multilingual forms of schooling. This chapter focuses on bilingual education as enacted through “official” educational policy, that is, policy at the national level, which tends to favor “western”/“foreign” languages emerging from colonial or contemporary contact, over historically minoritized languages, such as Aramaic, Armenian, Berber/Tamazight, Circassian, and Kurdish, among others. It is important to note that bilingual education through community‐based schools, family arrangements, religious institutions, and other non‐formal spaces serves to perpetuate these languages alongside official Arabo‐ nationalist agendas. However discussion of these schools is beyond the scope of this chapter. Furthermore, the situation of Arabic bilingual education in Israel is not addressed here. For a rich discussion of Arabic–Hebrew/English/French for the Arab minority in Israel, see Amara and Mar’i (2002). For Arabic–Hebrew bilingual/binational integrated education in Israel, see for example, the extensive work of Zvi Bekerman (2007, 2009, etc.). 3  It should be noted that not all educators recognize a distinction between Classical Arabic and MSA. For example, the principal of an Islamic school in Beirut stated that at her school there was no distinction made between Classical Arabic and MSA; together these were considered the language of the Qur’an (interview, 2007). According to Bassiouney (2009), the distinction between Classical Arabic and MSA is a western invention, as it  does not correspond to any Arabic term, although stylistic, syntactic, and lexical differences exist between the two. 4  Spoken varieties or dialects of Arabic may be mutually unintelligible at the furthest extremes. “Educated speakers” communicate across dialect boundaries by drawing on resources from MSA (Bassiouney, 2009). Television and other media sources have also promoted broader comprehension of particular dialects, such as Egyptian Arabic, across geographic boundaries (Bassiouney, 2009; Hoffman, 2008). 5  Bassiouney (2009) describes the linguistic situation as having both vertical and horizontal forms of diglossia. Vertical diglossia refers to “low” and “high” status varieties corresponding to āmmiyya and fuṣ′ḥā, respectively. Horizontal diglossia refers to national/subnational varieties, which differ across geographic space and time. 6  This is a revised version of Zakharia, 2009a. 7  This chapter limits its discussion to the “modern” school. It should be noted, however, that, prior to the nineteenth century, a long history of education existed across languages in the form of religious, cultural, legal, and scientific scholarship and exchange. Notably, during the Islamic Golden Age (c. 750‐1258) intensive translation efforts were sponsored by Islamic leaders and men and women philanthropists who established universities, libraries, and research institutions in major urban centers across the MENA region. These were devoted to learning and intellectual exchange with Europe and Central, South, and East Asia. Scholars and translators from various religious, ethnic, and geographic regions travelled vast distances to teach, learn, document, and  exchange ideas across Arab, Chinese, Greek, Indian, Latin, Persian, and other languages.

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  629 8 The process of Arabization was simultaneously contested and immersed in contention with notions of western imperialism, nationalism, pan‐Arabism, and pan‐Islamism (Boutieri, 2013; Zakharia, 2009b). 9 See Sbaiti (2010) for a discussion of language education in French mandate Lebanon (1920–1943). 10 See Al‐Seghayer (2005) for a discussion about teaching English in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. 11 The term minoritized is used here to refer to populations that are not necessarily numerical minorities, but rather, those who have been socially, politically, and/or ­economically marginalized through historical processes of power (McCarty, 2004).

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societies. In Z. Bekerman & C. McGlynn (Eds.), Addressing ethnic conflict through peace education: International perspectives (pp. 91–106). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bekerman, Z. (2009). Yeah, It is important to know Arabic—I just don’t like learning it: Can Jews become bilingual in the Palestinian–Jewish integrated bilingual schools? In C. McGlynn, M. Zembylas, Z. Bekerman, & T. Gallagher (Eds.), Peace education in conflict and post‐conflict societies: Comparative perspectives (pp. 231–246). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Benrabah, M. (2007). Language‐in‐ education planning in Algeria: Historical development and current issues. Language Policy, 6, 225–252. Boutieri, C. (2012). In two speeds (A deux vitesses): Linguistic pluralism and educational anxiety in contemporary Morocco. International Journal for Middle East Studies, 44(3), 443–464. Boutieri, C. (2013). Inheritance, heritage and the disinherited: Ambiguities of religious pedagogy in the Moroccan public school. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 44(4), 363–380. Brewer, D. J., & Goldman, C. A. (2010). An introduction to Qatar’s primary and secondary education reform. In O. Abi‐Mershed (Ed.), Trajectories of

630  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education education in the Arab World: Legacies and challenges (pp. 226–246). New York: Routledge. Daoud, M. (2011). The sociolinguistic situation in Tunisia: Language rivalry or accommodation? International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 2011(211), 9–33. Education for a New Era Fact Sheet. (2004). Qatar Education Reform Initiative, Supreme Education Council, Doha. Ennaji, M. (2003). Language contact, Arabization policy and education in Morocco. In A. Rouchdy (Ed.), Language contact and language conflict in Arabic: Variations on a sociolinguistic theme (pp. 70–89). New York: Routledge. Errihani, M. (2006). Language policy in Morocco: Problems and prospects of teaching Tamazight. The Journal of North African Studies, 11, 143–154. Ezzaki, A. (2007). Formal schooling in Morocco: The hopes and challenges of the current educational reform. In C. Brock & L. Z. Levers (Eds.), Aspects of education in the Middle East and North Africa (pp. 209–222). Oxford: Symposium Books. Frayha, N. (2004). Developing curriculum as a means to bridging national divisions in Lebanon. In S. Tawil, & A. Harley, (Eds.), Education, conflict, and social cohesion (pp. 159–205). Geneva: UNESCO International Bureau of Education. García, O. (2004). Language‐in‐education policies: Global perspectives. Considerations for Qatar. Unpublished report submitted to Adel Al‐Sayed. Hasan, A. S. (2006). Analysing bilingual classroom discourse. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 9(1), 7–18. Hoffman, K. E. (2008). We share walls: Language, land, and gender in Berber Morocco. Malden, Oxford, & Carlton: Blackwell Publishing. Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Ministry of Education. (2005). The executive summary of the Ministry of Education Ten‐Year Plan 1425–1435 H (2004–2014 (2nd edn.).

http://planipolis.iiep.unesco.org/ upload/Saudi%20Arabia/Saudi%20 Arabia%20Education%20Plan%20 English%20summary.pdf Lebanon Ministry of Education. (2006). Ministry of Education preliminary statistics. Beirut: Ministry of Education. Marley, M. (2004). Language attitudes in Morocco following recent changes in language policy. Language Policy, 3(1), 25–46. McCarty, T. L. (2004). Dangerous difference: A critical historical analysis of language education policies in the United States. In J. W. Tollefson & A. B. M. Tsui (Eds.), Medium of instruction policies. Which agenda? Whose agenda? (pp. 71–93). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Sbaiti, N. (2010). “If the devil taught French”: Strategies of language and learning in French mandate Beirut. In O. Abi‐Mershed (Ed.), Trajectories of education in the Arab World: Legacies and challenges (pp. 59–83). New York: Routledge. Shaaban, K., & Ghaith, G. (1999). Lebanon’s language‐in‐education policies: From bilingualism to trilingualism. Language Problems and Language Planning, 23(1), 1–16. Suleiman, Y. (1994). Nationalism and the Arabic language: An historical overview. In Y. Suleiman, (Ed.), Arabic sociolinguistics: Issues and perspectives (pp. 3–24). Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press. Suleiman, Y. (2004). A war of words: Language and conflict in the Middle East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. UAE Ministry of Education. (n.d.). Education in the UAE. https://www. moe.gov.ae/English/Pages/UAE/ UaeEdu.aspx Zakharia, Z. (2009a). The Arab Middle East and North Africa. In O. García (Ed.), Bilingual education in the 21st Century: A global perspective (pp. 276–280). Oxford: Blackwell.

Arabic Bilingual Education in the Middle East and North Africa  631 Zakharia, Z. (2009b). Positioning Arabic in schools: Language policy, national identity, and development in contemporary Lebanon. In F. Vavrus & L. Bartlett (Eds.), Critical approaches to comparative education: Vertical case studies from Africa, Europe, the Middle East, and the Americas (pp. 215–231). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Zakharia, Z. (2010a). Language and vulnerability: How educational policies exacerbate inequalities in higher education. In J. Calabrese (Ed.), Higher education and the Middle East: Empowering under‐served and vulnerable populations (pp. 41–44). Washington DC: Middle East Institute Viewpoints Publications.

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41 Bilingual and Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics The Case of Latvia Gatis Dilāns and Brigita Zepa Introduction The primary aim of this chapter is to examine the case of bilingual education in the post‐Soviet republic of Latvia. However, we start by providing a brief historical overview of titular– Russian bilingualism in all former Soviet republics.1 This was mainly implemented by an enhanced teaching of Russian to various titular groups, while the use of the language was mandatory in formal communication with power structures (Pavlenko, 2008). During the Soviet era, titular ethnic schools merely coexisted alongside Russian schools. Not all of the titular populations within the former Soviet republics either acquired or used the Russian language in equal measure. This is why our succinct introductory description of bilingualism in the republics serves as a useful background to understand the case of present‐day Latvia, which once had the highest rate of Russian knowledge (68.3%) among the non‐Slavic titular populations of the former Soviet republics (Pavlenko, 2008). In addition, we describe the current state of bilingual and/or multilingual education in the former and now newly independent republics. Specific cases are outlined, where bilingual education is used as a way to increase the knowledge of  a new, official language among formerly dominant Russian speakers (e.g., in Estonia). Cases with a significantly decreasing number of Russian schools, involving no bilingual education yet still having multilingual education for various non‐Russian ethnic groups (e.g., the Armenian case), are outlined as well. Finally, we discuss the specific case of bilingual education in Latvia (Batelaan, 2002; Kļava, Kļave, & Motivāne, 2010; Zepa, 2003). First, we provide a brief outline

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia García. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bi/Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics  633 of the geographical, demographic, and historical profile of the country. After that, bilingual education rationales are discussed, specific bilingual education models are illustrated, and problem areas and successes of bilingual education are outlined.

Historical Overview of Titular–Russian Bilingualism in the Former Soviet Republics The Soviet Union, before its collapse in 1991, consisted of 15 republics. Fourteen of these were non‐Russian and consisted of ethnically and linguistically diverse local populations. The 14 were regionally grouped, belonging to four distinct geographical areas: the Baltic region with Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia; the Western region with Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine; the Caucasus region with Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia; and, finally, the Central Asian region with Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan (Grenoble, 2003). The Russian language, as lingua franca (Pavlenko, 2006), was taught and used extensively in all the above‐mentioned republics to ensure effective communication with Moscow, where the central government of the USSR was based. Local languages were preserved through school education, while living in the shadow of Russian, which was the main medium of administrative communication. Bilingualism, consequently, in the former Soviet republics implied speaking a local language plus Russian as the common language of the Soviet Union (Baker, 2011). Russian was taught as a second language in non‐Russian schools, but it was not necessarily used as a medium of instruction to teach other subjects. Instead, two parallel education systems were created to accommodate both local and Russian‐ speaking populations. Bilingualism at the time meant segregated schools (separate native/titular and separate Russian), which in many former republics led to titular– Russian bilingualism (but not vice versa). The Baltic region of the former USSR, where Latvian, Lithuanian, and Estonian used to be the official languages of formerly independent states, tried to preserve their local languages in all levels of education. Russian was mandatory, and it was evident that most of the bilinguals were the titular population. Therefore, only a minority of Russians who resided in the Baltic republics spoke the local languages. Titular–Russian bilingualism was especially strong in Latvia where most migration by the Russian‐speaking population occurred, diminishing the size of the local population. This may explain why post‐independence language policies may have been more stringent in the republic. There was a significant difference between the republics in terms of the knowledge of Russian among the titular inhabitants at the time of 1989 Census. While Estonia and Lithuania reported 34.6% and 37.6%, respectively, Latvia showed 68.3% (Pavlenko, 2008). The Caucasus region comprised the Armenian, Azerbaijani and Georgian socialist republics. The region has always been linguistically very diverse with smaller linguistic groups competing not only with Russian, but also with the

634  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education native languages of the titular republics (see Lazarev & Pravikova, 2005). For example, Georgian–Russian bilingualism on the part of ethnic Georgians was less widespread, rated at 23% in 1970 (Grenoble, 2003). Similarly, Armenians and Azeris did not report a high percentage of Russian knowledge either albeit in the respective capitals the percentage was higher, that is, around 60% (Grenoble, 2003). While all three republics had relatively small Russian populations (below 10% in all three republics), the Russification effort was considerable, and was promoted as a means of upward mobility. Georgia’s higher education was only in Russian (Grenoble, 2003), 50% of Armenian families sent their children to Russian schools (Karapetyan, 2003) and Azeris had to use the Russian (Cyrillic) alphabet to code their own language. While looking at the available literature, it is still difficult to tell the actual level of bilingualism within the Caucasian republics during the Soviet time. What is generally known is that locals wishing to empower themselves saw knowledge of Russian as an instrument of that empowerment. The Central Asian region included Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan. The respective Central Asian languages Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Tajik, Turkmen, and Uzbek appeared to be fully developed languages at the end of the Soviet era (Aminov et al., 2010; Schlyter, 2008). All the above‐mentioned languages adopted the Cyrillic alphabet under Soviet influence. People of Kazakhstan’s titular nationality, for example, formed a minority (27.1%) during the Census of 1989 (Fierman, 2006). Russian was predominant and all levels of education in Kazakh were of inferior quality (Dave, 2007). Titular bilingualism was not widespread because of the linguistic split between urban Kazakhs who spoke only Russian and rural Kazakhs who were fluent predominantly in Kazakh (Fierman, 2006). Similarly, albeit not so dramatically, Kyrgyzstan’s population consisted of ethnic Kyrgyzs at 52.4% at the time of Census in 1989 (Pavlenko, 2008). Kyrgyz– Russian bilingualism, which stood at 35.2% in 1989 (Landau & Kellner‐Heinkele, 2001) was sustained for two main reasons: upward mobility and interethnic communication with Uzbeks and other smaller ethnic groups (Orusbaev, Mustajoki, & Protassova, 2008). Tajikistan, on the other hand, had a relatively solid ethnic Tajik majority during the Soviet period (62.3% according to Pavlenko, 2008) with Tajik– Russian bilingualism at 27.7% (Landau & Kellner‐Heinkele, 2001). Again, Russian was used as a means of communication with the Uzbek minority in Tajikistan (Schlyter, 2008). Soviet Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan also had relatively high majorities of titular ethnic groups (72.0% and 71.4%, respectively according to Pavlenko, 2008). Landau and Kellner‐Heinkele (2001) quote the 1989 Soviet population Census as showing that knowledge of Russian among Turkmens and Uzbeks was below 30%. Consequently, predominantly elite urban Turkmen–Russian and Uzbek–Russian bilingualism can be inferred, which fits the overall pattern of titular–Russian bilingualism in all former Central Asian republics under Soviet rule. Finally, the Western region with Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine shows similar trends referring titular bilingualism, the diminished role of local languages, and increased Russification attempts during the Soviet period. While Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine had substantial titular ethnic presence in their own republics by 1989—at 77.9%, 64.5%, and 72.7%, respectively; (Pavlenko, 2008)—the pressure to

Bi/Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics  635 use Russian succeeded for several reasons. For one thing, Belarusian and Ukrainian were considered as mere dialects of Russian and Moldovan was forced to adopt the Cyrillic alphabet, while being considered a dialect of Romanian (Grenoble, 2003). For another, demographic movement to urban, elite locations compelled majorities of native speakers of all three languages to abandon the use of their native tongues, relegating them to rather symbolic status (Grenoble, 2003). Census data from 1989 shows 80.2% of ethnic Belarusians, 71.7% of Ukrainians, and 57.6% of titular Moldovans reporting Russian as their second language (Pavlenko, 2008). In Moldova, ethnic Moldovans used Russian both to climb the social ladder and for interethnic communication (Ciscel, 2008), but this pattern appeared to be uniform for all former Soviet republics attaining the goal of the Soviet language policy (Grenoble, 2003). In sum, Soviet‐style titular–Russian bilingualism was defined along these lines for all former Soviet republics that later became independent states and began to implement relative countermeasures.

Current state of bilingual and multilingual education in the post‐soviet republics Most of the newly independent countries began dismantling the separate (i.e., titular and Russian) school system, whereas some established bilingual education to teach their new official languages to ethnic minorities. We start with a brief description of post‐Soviet bilingual education in the Baltic States since they were the first to leave the Soviet Union in 1991. After that, we discuss either bilingual or multilingual education in other regionally situated independent states that formerly were socialist republics of the USSR with the Russian language dominating their public lives. After renewing their independence in 1991, the Baltic States began an arduous journey of reclaiming power for their titular languages in all spheres of public life. The process was particularly difficult in Latvia for two main reasons: the high percentage of Russian speakers who were willing to stay and also the high percentage of titular–Russian bilingualism among ethnic Latvians (Dilans, 2009; Druviete, 2000). This led to a protective set of language‐policy measures in the form of language laws not only in Latvia, but also in Estonia and Lithuania (see also Rannut, 2008; Pavlenko, 2008). In other words, the official status of Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian was increasingly reinforced by language legislation, thus enforcing the knowledge of the titular languages among mostly Russian‐speaking minorities. In Latvia, bilingual education was started in 1999 in Russian‐language primary schools and, in 2004, in Russian‐language secondary schools. Until 2004, the official plan called for the Russian secondary schools to accept 100% instruction in Latvian. In other words, the Russian schools had to become Latvian schools simply at the stroke of a pen (Druviete, 2000). While Latvia began transforming the Russian secondary schools by addressing the issue urgently, Estonia chose to adopt a similar measure in a more gradual manner. It started in 2007 with the goal of covering at least 60% of the curriculum in Estonian. The latter approach was stretched over a period of five academic years, whereas the academic subjects taught in Estonian were to be added to reach the 60% threshold

636  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education (Vaiss, 2008). By contrast, Lithuania did not use bilingual education to make Russian schools adopt the titular language instruction. In Lithuania, schooling is predominantly conducted in Lithuanian, yet a number of ethnic schools (e.g., Belarusian and Polish) are in evidence, with Russian schools on the decrease (Pavlenko, 2008). Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia, forming the Caucasus region, are unique in that they had already proclaimed their titular languages official before the USSR fell apart. Armenia has no bilingual education per se and most of the schooling takes place in Armenian. Schools using Russian medium of instruction are virtually nonexistent with only a couple of private Russian schools in evidence (Гаврилов [Gavrilov] et al., 2008). However, a more recent surge of interest in higher education using the Russian language has been observed. Pavlenko (2008) reports a multilingual trend in Armenia’s provision of secondary education that takes place in “Assyrian, Greek, Kurdish, Russian, and Yezidi” (p. 292). Similarly, Azerbaijan has no bilingual education, but Russian is still used in higher education. Georgia, however, has a fair number of non‐Georgian schools offering native‐language education, with Russian schools decreasing (Popjanevski, 2006). In Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan comprising the Central Asian region, the picture is mixed with both bilingual and multilingual education in evidence. Fierman (2006) reports on demographically transformed post‐Soviet Kazakhstan having titular–Russian bilingual or mixed‐medium schools alongside separate Kazakh and Russian schools. However, only Kazakh‐medium schools keep growing, with 80% of ethnic Kazakh students attending them. It is also equally interesting that, in bilingual schools, students have chosen Russian as their language of interethnic communication outside the classroom. Similarly, Kyrgyzstan still uses Russian as a language of communication wherever the need arises (interethnic relations, business, even government) while the importance of the Kyrgyz language keeps growing. Pavlenko (2008) notes that the Kyrgyz, Russian, Tajik, and Uzbek languages are used in the country’s secondary education. With Russian schools virtually nonexistent in Tajikistan, the country has been struggling to implement Tajik‐language education with mixed results. Although the new official language is prioritized, Russian has made significant inroads by becoming a mandatory second language in secondary education (Pavlenko, 2008). In addition, doctoral dissertations have to be written in Russian (Parks, 2010). Alongside the official Tajik language and Russian as a second language, a number of minority languages have also become a part of secondary education in Tajikistan. They are: Kyrgyz, Turkmen, and Uzbek. Turkmenistan has also almost no Russian schools left, with Turkmen as the sole language of both secondary and higher education. Uzbek and Russian—the languages of the largest ethnic minorities in Turkmenistan—have not been represented in secondary education. Payrose (2008, p. 18) reports only one Russian secondary school in existence. He also notes that an “additional 50 or so schools teach partially in Russian and partially in Turkmen.” While the great majority of Uzbeks choose Russian as their language of interethnic communication, Uzbekistan provides most of its secondary education in the Uzbek

Bi/Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics  637 language. Russian schools are in evidence with around 300,000 students from various ethnic groups attending (Pavlenko, 2008). In contrast, higher education is conspicuously multilingual, involving not only Uzbek, Russian, English, and Karakalpak, but also Kazakh, Tajik, and Turkmen, which are used selectively (Pavlenko, 2008). Post‐Soviet Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine in the Western region have a somewhat blended picture as far as the role of either bilingual or multilingual education is concerned. For example, in officially bilingual Belarus, education is provided in the official languages (Belorussian and Russian) and two minority languages, Lithuanian and Polish. However, Russian still appears to be the dominant language of education (Ulasiuk, 2011). Although Russian has become a constitutionally protected language in Moldova, it still does not enjoy official status, as Moldovan does. The new version of Moldovan is predominantly used in education that also includes a minor usage of Russian, Ukrainian, Bulgarian, and English (Ciscel, 2008). Finally, Ukraine has been subject to various developments that are similar to the Latvian case (detailed in the final section of the chapter below). Namely, bilingual education is used as a transformational vehicle to increase the role of Ukrainian as the new state language. As a result, the use of Ukrainian in education is gradually overtaking Russian, with the number of Russian schools dwindling (see Parks, 2010). However, secondary education can still be obtained in Russian, Moldovan, Romanian, Hungarian, Polish, and Crimean Tatar, all of which have the status of minority languages (Pavlenko, 2008). Considering the present situation in Ukraine, that is, after the annexation of Crimea by Russia and Russian “incursions” into Eastern Ukraine, there has apparently been a shift from the “Ukrainization” pattern to adjusting to linguistic needs of Russian speakers in the regions. However, it is difficult to tell how much of that pattern has been reflected in education, because it usually takes time before policy shifts affect educational practices.

Implementation of bilingual education in latvia Geography, demography, and history of Latvia in brief The newly independent republic of Latvia is located in northeastern Europe bordering the Baltic Sea, right between Estonia and Lithuania. It also borders Russia and Belarus on its east side. Latvia, whose population, according to 2011 Census, stands at around 2 million is ethnically diverse, although during the last 20 years minority numbers have slightly decreased while the percentage of ethnic Latvians has proportionally grown (see Table 41.1). In other words, Table 41.1 shows that Latvian minorities decreased more than ethnic Latvians themselves, yet overall demographic gains point towards Latvians (+10.1%) with the Russian ethnic minority losing the most (–7.1%). Although the Latvian Census of 2011 did not include questions on language use, the Census of 2000 results show that both Latvian and Russian were known by around 80% of Latvia’s population (see Dilans, 2009) which indicates a high degree of de facto societal bilingualism.

1,387,757 (52.0%) 905,515 (34.0%) 119,702 (4.5%) 92,101 (3.5%) 60,416 (2.3%) 34,630 (1.3%) 22,897 (0.9%) 3,312 (0.1%) 40,237 (1.5%) 2,666,567

Census 1989 1,370,703 (57.7%) 703,243 (29.6%) 97,150 (4.1%) 63,644 (2.7%) 59,505 (2.5%) 33,430 (1.4%) 10,385 (0.4%) 2,652 (0.1%) 36,671 (1.5%) 2,377,383

Census 2000 1,285,136 (62.1%) 557,119 (26.9%) 68,202 (3.3%) 45,798 (2.2%) 44,772 (2.2%) 24,479 (1.2%) 6,437 (0.3%) 2,007 (0.1%) 36,421 (1.7%) 2,070,371

Census 2011

+10.1% −7.1% −1.2% −1.3% −0,1% −0.1% −0.6% 0.0% +0.2% −596,196

Difference (B‐D)

Census 1989, Институт демографии Национального исследовательского университета “Высшая школа экономики”; Censuses 2000 and 2011, the Central Statistical Bureau of Latvia (www.csb.lv).

Latvians Russians Byelorussians Ukrainians Poles Lithuanians Jews Estonians Others Total

Ethnicity

Table 41.1  Statistics on residents of Latvia by ethnicity from 1989 to 2011.

Bi/Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics  639

Figure 41.1  A surviving Soviet occupation era bilingual Latvian–Russian street sign in Rıḡ a (2006). Source: Author photograph.

Historically, Latvia became a country in 1918 and retained its independence until the first Soviet occupation in 1940. Later, after World War II, the Soviets began reshaping the political, economic, ethnic and linguistic landscape of the land (see Figure 41.1 for a bilingual street sign). Batelaan (2002) provides an excellent summary of relevant Latvian history in order to understand the minority and bilingual education rationales in the newly independent Baltic State. Other historical accounts that appeared to justify language policies in the post‐Soviet Latvia can be found in Ozolins (1999).

Language policy in Latvia from 1988 to 1999 According to data from the 1989 Census, only 22.3% of Russian‐speaking minorities residing in Latvia knew Latvian at the time, while the majority of Latvians could speak Russian—close to 70% (see also Pavlenko, 2008). The necessity for special language policies after regaining independence in 1991 followed from the fact that, during the Soviet period, the Russian language became the dominant language of communication in Latvia. The Latvian and Russian languages functioned alongside each other in education and mass media. Latvian only had dominance in the sphere of culture with unlimited use of Latvian only possible in private life. In terms of policy, Latvian had already been granted official status in 1988, that is, three years before independence. In 1992, the Latvian Parliament changed the Law of Languages (passed in 1989 introducing the official Latvian–Russian bilingualism) and proclaimed Latvian to be the only language of government and state administration (Druviete, 2000). The latest and the newest Language Law was passed in 1999.

Bilingual education in Latvia: Rationale, implementation and models Societal integration in multi‐ethnic Latvia is based on common civic values and the Latvian language. The integrative function of Latvian language policy is supplemented by education policy, in which the most important role has been

640  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education performed by minority education reforms—including the implementation of bilingual education. The goals of bilingual education policy in the broader context of public integration include the integration of society on the basis of the Latvian language, offering equal opportunities to all members of society in obtaining a higher education and in being competitive in the labor market. The educational reform in the minority schools was one of the ways to ensure that students in schools with mainly Russian as the language of instruction would acquire the knowledge of Latvian to the level required to study in universities in Latvian and to participate in the labor market. In addition, education reform had two goals, one oriented towards strengthening the Latvian language, the other geared towards reducing the exclusion threats of the minorities with native ­languages other than Latvian. Contrary to the traditional perceptions on the role of bilingual education (i.e., to maintain minority languages), the goal of bilingual education in Latvia has not been to maintain Russian as a minority language (Batelaan, 2002). The actual aim of the Latvian bilingual education has been to dismantle the Russian school model inherited from the USSR by instituting a common education system for all children in Latvia as stipulated by the Latvian Education Law of 1998 (Kļava, Kļave, & Motivāne, 2010). In other words, bilingual education serves as a transformational vehicle to increase the role of Latvian exclusively in ethnic Russian schools. Consequently, bilingual education for the Russian speakers of Latvia “is understood as a system where Latvian as a second language (i.e., the state language) is used alongside a minority language both as a language of instruction and a subject matter” (Kļava, Kļave, & Motivāne, 2010, p. 12, authors’ translation). Additionally, Kļava and colleagues (2010) report that primary‐school bilingual minority education programs, mainly in former Russian primary schools (first to ninth grade), began in 1999, but in the respective secondary schools (tenth to twelfth grade) bilingual education was started in 2004. The primary‐school programs provide a mixed kind of transitional bilingual instruction toward Latvian. The secondary school ad hoc model (since the original intent was Latvian‐only instruction) allows 40% of the curriculum instruction in a minority language (mainly Russian) while requiring that at least five subjects be taught in Latvian. The primary‐school bilingual education programs are represented by four specific bilingual education types. In all four types, there are a fixed number of hours to be spent on language and literature in both languages. Other subjects are taught in Latvian, the minority language (e.g., Russian or Ukrainian), or bilingually (e.g., using Latvian and Russian). In the first type, the subjects taught in the minority language are only mathematics in grades 1 to 4 (and health in grade 5). In the second type, the subjects taught in a minority language are computer science (1 hour in grade 7) and physics/ chemistry (4 to 5 hours in grades 8 to 9). In this type of bilingual education, many subjects are taught bilingually. In the third type, more subjects are taught in a minority language until grade 9. In grade 9, almost all subjects are taught in Latvian. Finally, in the fourth type, mathematics, natural science, sports, and arts are taught in a minority language until grade 3. In short, minority schools can select from amongst four different types of bilingual education programs. Each

Bi/Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics  641 school must license its program with the Ministry of Education and Science of Latvia. Schools can submit programs which are based on one of the aforementioned types, or they can design their own program. The Baltic Institute of Social Sciences (BISS, 2002) surveyed the implementation of bilingual education. The schools which at the time were using the first type of minority education were basically implementing a process of “voluntary assimilation,” because the Latvian language was deemed very important in the teaching process for the model. Teachers in these schools expressed comparatively positive views about their ability to teach bilingually. Attitudes toward bilingual education were mostly positive among principals, parents, and teachers in the schools that used the first type. Parents tended to have good Latvian‐language skills. The first type was mostly being implemented in the region of Latgale with its distinctly Russian environment. These schools were chosen by parents who were strongly motivated in terms of the desire for their children to learn the Latvian language. The second type was recommended to students who were able to converse in Latvian, but who did not live in an area where the Latvian language was spoken very often. Contrary to all expectations, this minority program quite often was chosen in regions with a predominantly Latvian environment—Kurzeme and Zemgale. Parents of the children attending schools using the second type were more likely to want to send their children to a “Russian school”, however, such schools were not available in the areas. Only one‐third of the teachers in these schools believed that the level of quality of the bilingual education was “high.” Most teachers (71%), however, also said that students had a positive attitude toward bilingual studies. Attitudes toward bilingual education reforms and towards teaching mainly in the Latvian language in secondary schools vary—approximately equal shares of respondents either supported or rejected the transition process. The third type was chosen by schools which were still preparing for the changes about to occur—most often in Latgale and in Rīga. The third type involves the fewest teachers who work bilingually. More than half of teachers (57%) claimed that students had difficulty using two different languages in the education process. Only one‐fifth of teachers said that the level of quality of the bilingual education in their schools was “high.” The fourth type was implemented mostly in schools located outside of any Latvian‐speaking environment. In these schools, the BISS (2002) encountered more skeptical views about bilingual education and about the transition to teaching mainly in Latvian. Teachers at these schools had the lowest opinion of their own ability to work bilingually, and were most likely to say that the attitudes of c­ hildren were rather negative. In sum, a little more than 10 years after the implementation process began, parents of minority students appeared to be comparatively pessimistic about the effect which minority education reforms (i.e., Russian school reforms) would have on Russian culture and the psychological feelings of students. They were also very skeptical about the way in which the reforms would influence the ability of their children to enter Latvian universities. These parents did not have much motivation in terms of ­pressuring their children to learn the Latvian language at the time (BISS, 2002).

642  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education

Results and impact of the implementation of the bilingual education in Latvia Surveys conducted by the BISS (2002, 2004) show that the implementation of bilingual education has brought a number of achievements—first, it facilitated the acquisition of Latvian by primary and secondary school students; second, it has spread positive attitude towards bilingual education among teachers; and third, it has facilitated the development of teacher skills in order to work bilingually. At the same time, these surveys also revealed some negative consequences of the reform implementation. First, in many cases, the stress for pupils during lessons increased due to learning in two languages. Second, sometimes when learning bilingually, the quality of knowledge of the particular subject would suffer. According to language surveys (BISS, 1999, 2008), the Latvian‐language competence reflecting reading, writing, and oral communication of young minorities improved greatly between 1999 and 2008. In 1999, more than a half (59%) of those surveyed responded that they knew Latvian only at the most basic level. In 2008, the proportion of those with poor knowledge of Latvian was only 27%. Additionally, in 2008, 73% of minority students evaluated their Latvian knowledge as being at the intermediate or highest level. Key reasons hampering a successful implementation of the reform may be inferred from these surveys: (i) the rush with which the reform was implemented; (ii) insufficient dialogue between the Russian schools and the Ministry of Education and Science; (iii) the lack of methodological teaching material; and (iv) the insufficient knowledge of Latvian by the minority school teachers.

Conclusion The aim of this chapter was to examine bilingual education in Latvia by providing a background summary on the history of titular–Russian bilingualism and current developments in either bilingual or multilingual education in all former Soviet republics. Our findings show that bilingual education in the post‐Soviet area is mainly used as a transformational tool to advance the status and utility of newly official languages amongst minorities (e.g., in Estonia, Latvia, and Ukraine). Some former republics that have no bilingual education for Russian speakers still provide multilingual education for other ethnic groups (e.g., in ethnically dense Caucasian and Central Asian regions). There is one thing that most of the former republics appear to have in common, namely, that the role of primary and secondary education in the Russian language is shrinking. However, not so in Belarus where Russian has acquired official status. Furthermore, a detailed analysis of the Latvian case shows that the implementation of the four types of bilingual education was criticized for its authoritarian nature, the lack of readiness among minority school teachers, the lack of information among policy participants and target audiences, and the lack of materials and technologies. However, there is a general consensus that positive results have been

Bi/Multilingual Education in the Former Soviet Republics  643 achieved in line with the broadly formulated goals of the policy, namely, the improvement of Latvian language skills among minority students and enhanced competitiveness in higher education and the labor market. These conclusions are also supported by Kļava, Kļave, & Motivāne (2010). Finally, the Latvian language competence surveys (BISS, 1999, 2008) show a tendency towards rapid improvement of the Latvian language skills in the age group of 15 to 24 among minorities in the time period 1999‐2008. It appears that increases in the minority student population with an improved competence in Latvian have contributed to social inclusion, especially in terms of educational opportunities and labor market participation. At the same time, there is an evident persistence among Russian‐speaking minorities of Latvia to maintain their language and identity in changing times.

Note 1  A titular language was the language of the ethnic majority in a Soviet republic (see Grenoble, 2003).

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Ciscel, M. (2008). Uneasy compromise: Language and education in Moldova. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 11(3/4), 372–394. Dave, B. (2007). Kazakhstan: Ethnicity, language and power. New York: Routledge. Dilans, G. (2009). Russian in Latvia: An outlook for bilingualism in a post‐Soviet transitional society. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 12(1), 1–13. Druviete, I. (2000). Sociolinguistic situation and language policy in the Baltic States. Riga, Latvia: The University of Latvia. Fierman, W. (2006). Language and education in the post‐Soviet Kazakhstan: Kazakh‐medium instruction in urban schools. The Russian Review, 65, 98–116. Grenoble, L. A. (2003). Language policy in the Soviet Union. Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers.

644  Global Dimensions of Bi/Multilingual Education Гаврилов К. А., Козиевская Е. В, Куренной В. А., Хргиан А. А., & Яценко Е. Б. (2008). Русский язык в новых независимых государствах [Russian in newly independent states]. Москва: Фонд “Наследие Евразии”. Karapetyan, R. (2003). Language policy in the Republic of Armenia in the transition period. In F. Daftary & F. Grin (Eds.), Nation‐building, ethnicity and language politics in transition countries (pp. 139–161). Budapest, Hungary: Open Society Institute. Kļava, G., Kļave, K., & Motivāne, K. (2010). Latviešu valodas prasme un lietojums augstākās izglītības iestādēs: Mazākumtautību izglītības satura reformas rezultāti. Rīga: Latviešu valodas aģentūra. Landau, J. M., & Kellner‐Heinkele, B. (2001). Politics of language in the ex‐Soviet Muslim states: Azerbayjan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan and Tajikistan. Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan Press. Lazarev, V., & Pravikova, L. (2005). The North Caucasus bilingualism and language identity. In J. Cohen, K. T. McAlister, K. Rolstad, & J. MacSwan (Eds.), ISB4: Proceedings of the 4th International Symposium on Bilingualism (pp. 1309– 1327). Somerville, MA: Cascadilla Press. Orusbaev, A., Mustajoki, A., & Protassova E. (2008). Multilingualism, Russian language and education in Kyrgyzstan. In A. Pavlenko (Ed.), Multilingualism in post‐Soviet countries (pp. 202–226). Bristol, UK: MPG Books. Ozolins, U. (1999). Between Russian and European hegemony: Current language policy in the Baltic States. Current Issues in Language and Society, 6(1), 6–47. Parks, K. T. (2010). How long will Russian remain the lingua franca of the former Soviet Union? Garmisch, Germany: George C. Marshall Center.

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Index

Note: Page numbers in italics refer to Figures; those in bold to Tables. Aborigines, 328, 465–9, 609 academic achievement, 6, 56, 58, 67, 80, 96, 112, 114, 146, 149, 152–3, 156, 160, 213, 216, 220, 282–3, 288, 291–3, 302, 310, 319, 337, 347, 373, 376, 416, 423, 452, 454, 456, 468, 490, 508, 538–9, 546–7, 587 academic discourse, 243, 246, 330, 378, 488 academic literacy, 8, 33, 215, 241–9, 360–361, 609 academic register, 33, 453 accent, 173, 255, 430, 435, 579 acculturation, 379, 392, 402, 584 acquisition planning, 165, 167 administrators, 14–15, 20–21, 48, 50, 58, 70, 101, 105, 118, 120, 131, 133, 152, 160, 195, 199, 241, 256, 261, 263, 276, 277, 282, 288, 290, 324, 328, 338, 361, 436, 452–3, 458, 508–10, 526, 539, 544, 580, 592, 604, 606–7, 612, 633, 639 adolescents, 139, 337, 339, 342, 584, 593 adults, 11, 14, 40, 123, 133, 253–4, 259, 261, 265, 293, 301, 307, 346–7, 351, 400, 403, 417, 422, 423, 428, 430, 437, 477, 511, 521, 573, 584, 592–3, 595–600 advocacy, 7, 9, 59, 80, 92, 95–7, 99–106, 112, 122, 139, 165, 169, 170, 177, 181, 206, 210, 212, 213, 255, 261, 264, 272, 283,

287, 289, 294, 321, 338, 341, 350, 374, 377, 380, 400–401, 422, 466, 481, 523, 528, 550, 554, 600, 611 Africa, 13–14, 86–7, 95, 109, 161, 172, 174, 185–6, 189, 192, 196, 330, 356–9, 364, 367, 409, 411, 429, 432–3, 435, 439, 449, 554–63, 566–9, 571–6, 618–19, 621, 623, 625, 627 African American, 245, 323, 376, 404, 432 African American Vernacular English, 245, 432 Africanisation, 411 Africanist, 558 Afrikaans, 13, 172, 358, 362, 365–7, 369, 405, 429, 432, 554–6, 558–62, 571 Afrikaner, 556, 560–561 agricultural, 155 Alaska, 200, 329, 412 Albanian, 211 Alberta, 467–9 Algeria, 621–2, 626 alphabet, 150, 154–5, 167, 244, 249, 405, 432, 521, 527, 596, 598–9, 601, 634–5 Amazigh, 621 amendments, 31, 99, 283–4, 418, 595 America see United States American, 27–8, 69, 102, 167, 169–70, 217, 234, 284, 313, 392, 399, 411, 449–50, 559, 580, 608, 618, 620, 622, 624–5

The Handbook of Bilingual and Multilingual Education, First Edition. Edited by Wayne E. Wright, Sovicheth Boun, and Ofelia Garcia. © 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

646 Index American Samoa, 340, 606, 614 American Sign Language see language: sign language Americas, 13, 172, 186, 409, 586, 604 Amerindian, 418, 593 Amharic, 569, 571 Andean, 97, 419 Anglicization, 555–6, 558, 560, 614 Anglo, 20, 292, 295, 377, 411, 448, 555, 614 Anglophile, 533, 535 Anglophone, 63, 116, 209, 236, 401, 461, 463–5, 467, 496, 556, 570, 573, 605, 610 Angola, 570 Aotearoa, 14, 185, 192, 411, 415, 436, 610, 615 Apartheid, 161, 172, 175, 411, 555–61, 563, 572, 597, 601 Arabic, 14, 40–41, 168, 180, 226, 244, 256, 356, 358, 428, 437, 439–40, 537, 540, 567, 569, 618–29 Arabs, 40–41, 439–40, 567, 618, 620–624, 628 Aramaic, 620, 628 arbiters, 168, 174, 179 Argentina, 101, 418 arithmetic, 502, 527, 593 Armenia, 633, 636 Armenian, 193, 620, 623, 628, 632–4, 636 Asia, 12–13, 24, 95, 98–9, 117, 185, 189, 196, 198, 409, 439, 449, 495, 499, 515, 533–4, 542–3, 545–51, 604, 628 Asian, 12–13, 20, 58, 98, 136, 197, 285, 293, 302, 339, 376, 433, 435, 497, 499–500, 528, 537–8, 542–7, 549–51, 609–11, 633–4, 636, 642 assessment accommodations, 260, 265, 382 assimilation, 111, 117, 152, 172, 175, 179, 215, 293, 347, 391, 404, 414, 418–20, 436, 438, 450, 485, 506, 514–15, 532, 536, 567–8, 570–573, 595, 597, 615 Assyrian, 636 asylum, 112, 261, 399 Athabaskan, 412 attainment, 11, 60–61, 64, 80, 115, 179, 259, 291, 301, 372, 377, 378, 442, 468, 539, 595, 600, 635 Australia, 14, 29, 45, 78, 81, 185, 260–263, 328, 342, 355, 401, 410, 496, 604, 606, 608–10, 614

Australian, 261, 393, 433, 496, 607, 609–10, 615 Austria, 186, 342, 357 Austronesian, 150, 415, 607 autochthonous, 410, 588 autonomous, 76, 214, 216, 225, 228, 235, 243–4, 250, 337, 477, 479, 490, 594, 606, 607 autonomy, 49, 84, 150, 153, 175, 205, 231, 277, 323, 404, 416 Azerbaijan, 633, 636 Azerbaijani, 633 Azeris, 634 Aztec, 585 Bahasa Brunei, 13, 325, 531, 533, 535–40 Bahasa Malaysia, 13, 325, 531–2, 534, 537–40 Bahasa Melayu, 325, 539–40 Baltic, 633, 635, 637, 639, 641 Bangladesh, 172, 438, 507, 544, 546, 548 Bangladeshi, 84–6, 439 Bantu, 555, 557, 558, 575 barrier, 191, 286, 288, 291–2, 295, 303, 360, 372–3, 375, 397, 403, 501, 510, 532, 546–7, 567 Basque, 110, 112, 117, 124, 200, 215–16, 358, 473–4, 477, 479–81 Bavarian, 76 Belarus, 633–4, 637, 642 Belarusian, 635–7 Belgian, 568, 570 Belgium, 474, 476, 480 Bengali, 86, 169, 172, 428, 433, 436, 438–9, 543–4, 546 Berber, 620–21, 628 Bhutan, 544, 546 bicultural, 5, 11, 39, 42 bilingual acquisition, 311, 429–31, 433–4, 440 bilingual education additive bilingual education, 3, 6–7, 10, 101, 106, 112, 117, 147, 206, 208–11, 213–14, 223, 319, 349, 450, 452, 490–91, 610, 614 bilingual education policy, 2–3, 6–9, 12–15, 21–2, 26–8, 30, 44, 56, 69–70, 97–8, 100–102, 104, 166, 171, 197, 256, 271, 283, 358, 432, 450, 459, 470, 514,

Index  647 534, 544–8, 551, 554–5, 560–61, 569–71, 608, 621, 624, 626, 639–40 community bilingual education, 430, 433, 437–8, 522, 528 de-facto bilingual education, 356 developmental bilingual education, 223, 384, 528 dual language bilingual education, 12, 111–12, 210–213, 216–19, 227, 231, 234, 304, 451, 580 early exit, 80, 113, 191–2, 320, 379, 452, 549–50 early total immersion, 115–17 effectiveness of bilingual education, 121, 124 elite bilingual education, 209 immersion bilingual education, 66, 110, 112, 114–15, 217, 464 Indigenous bilingual education, 122, 323, 578, 584–5, 588 late exit, 80, 113, 550 maintenance bilingual education, 14, 210, 605 non-formal bilingual education, 11, 428–42 research on bilingual education, 2, 12, 109–24, 132, 242, 308, 429, 440 secondary bilingual education, 10, 336–51 subtractive bilingual education, 117, 206, 208, 209, 568, 572–3 transitional bilingual education, 111, 113–14, 174, 177, 208–10, 213, 219, 304, 320, 324, 326–7, 379, 451, 522, 524, 569 two-way immersion, 56, 114, 224, 321, 323, 325–7, 330, 459, 499 bilingual schools see schools: bilingual schools bilingual students, 2, 8, 87, 230–231, 236–7, 304, 311, 320, 327, 338, 340, 342–3, 347–51, 359, 413, 450, 452–3, 456, 458 bilingual teachers see teachers: bilingual teachers bilingual teaching, 99, 272, 279, 429, 487, 609 bilingualism additive bilingualism, 210, 214, 223, 329 balanced bilingualism, 61, 210–211, 214, 218

dynamic bilingualism, 223, 337, 627 emergent bilingualism, 338, 341 flexible bilingualism, 76, 130, 226, 236, 351, 441 limited bilingualism, 175, 492 official bilingualism, 461, 470 recursive bilingualism, 223 subtractive bilingualism, 223, 559, 569–70 biliteracy, 2, 26, 76–7, 78–9, 81, 124, 148, 176–7, 226, 229, 245, 247–8, 278, 306–7, 325, 328–9, 363–4, 413, 416, 419–20, 451, 458, 528, 539, 558, 582–4, 587 Black, 245, 283, 411, 555–60 Blackfeet, 412 Boers, 555–6 Bolivia, 14, 97, 101, 200, 418–19, 593–4, 601 Bolivian, 419 Bollywood, 433 Bologna process, 189, 355 books see textbooks borders, 2, 44, 58, 136, 219, 248, 343, 354–7, 362, 377, 413, 428, 432, 531, 567, 637 Borneo, 532–3 Bosnians, 87 Botswana, 570 Braille, 196 Brazil, 2, 14, 101, 401, 410, 418, 439, 501, 593–5, 601 Brazilian, 393, 432, 439, 501–2 Britain, 186, 263, 356, 393, 533, 537, 569, 571, 612, 614 British, 13, 20, 22, 27, 28, 34, 167, 169, 260, 275–6, 328, 393, 410–411, 415, 439, 461–2, 467, 469, 531–3, 535–6, 539, 549–50, 556, 568–71, 573, 605, 608–10, 620, 622, 624–5 brokers, 230, 294, 383, 430–431 Brunei, 13, 325, 531, 533, 535–40 Brunei Darussalam, 325, 531 Bruneian, 537, 540 Brussels, 475 Bulgarian, 637 Burakumin, 501 Burkina Faso, 99, 570 Burma, 436, 438 Burmese, 436 Burundi, 570, 573 Byelorussians, 638

648 Index Calgary, 260, 468 California, 1–2, 71, 95, 113, 179, 212, 289, 290, 295, 301, 325, 343, 377, 422, 438, 451, 452, 614 Cambodia, 2, 13, 500, 507, 517–25, 528–9 Cambodian, 2, 376, 518–20, 524 Canada, 6, 12, 45, 109–10, 112, 114–18, 185, 188, 260, 275–7, 339–40, 342, 357–8, 364, 401, 433, 461–70 Canadians, 110, 116, 461–2, 465, 469–70 Cantonese, 22–6, 34, 133–5 Cape Verde, 369, 432, 557, 570, 576 Caregivers, 307, 311, 429–30, 434, 496 Caribbean, 323, 418 castellanización, 97, 587 Castilian, 97, 165, 168—9, 215, 358 Catalan, 215, 357–8, 366, 476–7 Catalonia, 117, 358, 474–5, 477 Caucasian republics/regions, 634, 642 censuses, 150, 161, 285, 286, 412, 464–6, 470, 594, 610, 614, 633–5, 637–9 Central America, 295, 418 Cherokee, 412 Chicana, 217 Chichewa, 197 Chile, 101, 401, 583 China, 12, 22, 25, 45, 165, 197, 285, 358, 401, 484–7, 489–92, 495, 499–500, 532–3 Chinese, 21–2, 26–7, 30, 34, 78, 132–7, 165, 169, 226, 285, 358, 376, 436, 439, 468, 473, 484–92, 495–500, 502–4, 507, 511, 520, 525, 532–5, 537, 539–40, 607, 610, 628 citizens, 46, 186, 197, 214, 236, 255, 259, 262, 263, 354, 416, 439, 500, 507–8, 532, 540, 578, 587, 592 civil rights, 11, 95–6, 106, 171, 373, 392 cochlear implants, 391 codemeshing, 129, 234, 245–6 codeswitching, 8, 30, 41, 76, 86, 130, 178, 181, 218, 225, 245–6, 325, 351, 361–2, 364, 366–7, 369, 605, 611, 614 college see education: higher education colonialism, 6, 13, 14, 19, 21, 22, 29, 30, 34, 57, 79, 97–9, 104, 145–6, 150–152, 158, 160–161, 170, 186, 192, 207, 218, 325–6, 355–6, 358, 409–11, 418, 421–3, 449, 531–2, 549–50, 555, 557–8, 566–71, 573,

575, 588–9, 594, 597–8, 605, 607, 612, 615, 618, 620–622, 626, 628 Columbia, 260, 275–6, 340, 467 Common Core State Standards (CCSS), 180, 340 Common European Framework, 44, 275, 476 communicative, 23, 26, 30, 32, 34, 58, 61, 62–3, 65, 68, 70, 129–30, 141, 159–60, 166, 181, 225, 228, 229, 235, 241, 248, 325, 337, 347, 391, 395, 398, 405, 429, 481, 497, 499, 510, 560, 567, 574, 599, 605–6 community of practice, 276 community-based organizations, 11, 283, 288, 293, 296, 311–12, 428, 439 conflict, 14, 92, 95, 101, 193, 218, 360, 439, 441–2, 465, 533, 543, 554–5, 557, 563, 571, 614, 618–19, 621, 625–6 Confucius Institute, 439, 520 Congo, 432, 567, 570 constitution, 34, 150, 151, 161, 187, 196–7, 230, 419, 435, 467, 501, 543, 560–561, 594, 613 contact, 11, 24, 58–9, 70, 85, 129, 145, 151, 216, 223, 228–9, 249, 282, 285, 339, 342, 344–5, 350, 359, 393, 395–8, 402, 405, 429, 431, 433, 439, 442, 473, 477, 536, 599, 607, 628 content and language integrated learning (CLIL), 12, 112, 215, 340, 356, 478, 480, 486 continua of biliteracy, 26, 78–9, 81, 226, 247 continua of multilingual education, 79, 475 Cook Islands, 604 corpus planning, 166–7 creativity, 23, 38–52, 226, 242, 249, 308, 575 creoles, 14, 605, 607–8, 611–12 Crimean Tatar, 637 Croatia, 86 Croatian, 86 cross-lingual, 148, 156–7, 160 Cuba, 439 Cuban, 95, 450 cultural capital, 93–4, 343, 490, 550, 588–9 culture, 5, 9, 11, 30, 38–9, 77, 84–5, 92–100, 103–6, 110–112, 115, 116, 118, 146–7, 152, 158, 170, 193–5, 199, 206, 210–212, 226, 242, 253, 260, 274, 283, 286, 288,

Index  649 293, 295–6, 303, 306, 309, 310, 323, 326–7, 329, 379, 385, 392, 400–402, 404, 410–413, 417–19, 421–2, 432, 436, 439, 442, 464, 468, 477, 487–9, 491, 497–9, 503, 506, 511, 514–15, 520, 550, 557–8, 569, 592, 597, 600, 609, 639, 641 curriculum, 4, 9, 22, 27–8, 31, 45–52, 66, 87, 98, 102, 110, 112, 115–18, 121, 123–4, 152, 155, 171, 205, 212, 234–6, 257, 271, 274, 288–90, 295, 306, 313, 319–20, 322–3, 326–7, 329, 337, 339, 344, 349, 351, 377–8, 380, 384, 400–401, 412–14, 417, 421, 423, 441–2, 456–7, 466–8, 474–5, 478–9, 481, 487, 499, 508, 510, 512, 514, 520, 522, 525–6, 528, 533, 537–40, 545, 547, 549–50, 575, 579–86, 588–9, 592, 604, 609, 612–14, 622–5, 635, 640 Czech, 356, 478 Danish, 393, 405, 551 deaf, 10–11, 123, 186, 358, 391–405, 497, 503 decoding, 81, 83, 594, 600 decolonial, 106, 146, 150, 161, 550, 598 deculturation, 172 deficit, 4, 9, 11, 62, 99, 283–4, 291, 295, 377–8, 383, 391–2, 458, 515, 627 democracy, 14, 107, 243, 255, 263, 499, 544–5, 557, 570, 597, 601 Denmark, 185, 262, 401 destroy, 170, 191, 449, 466, 518 Deutsch, 368, 614 dialects, 5, 93–4, 129, 165, 169, 190, 207, 227, 414, 433, 436, 495, 536, 543, 567, 587, 611, 618, 621, 628, 635 diaspora, 343, 351, 585 dictionaries, 58, 78, 86, 155, 168, 260, 325, 358, 363, 437, 502, 522, 561–3 diglossia, 11, 158, 398, 500, 605, 607, 628 Diné see Navajo diplomacy, 439, 607 disabilities, 372–4, 376, 379–80, 382–3, 392, 398, 403 discourses, 8, 22, 26–8, 31, 46, 51, 67, 97, 101–2, 104, 128–9, 132–3, 137, 141–2, 152, 155, 169, 180, 181, 212, 224, 233–4, 236, 243–4, 246, 248, 262, 276–7, 283, 310, 330, 343, 355–6, 361, 364–5, 378,

450–451, 458–9, 469, 488, 506, 508–9, 554, 560, 566–7, 581, 583, 587 discrimination, 8, 149, 165, 169, 172–3, 182, 190, 194–5, 198, 254, 259–62, 321, 373–4, 418, 421, 467, 499, 508, 542–3, 549, 551, 586, 592, 597, 626 discursive, 8, 102, 213, 225, 230, 233–4, 351, 574, 586 disempower, 84, 99 disenfranchised, 212, 415 disorders, 373, 376, 379, 403 divergent thinking, 40, 42–5, 49 diversity, 5, 10, 12–14, 20–23, 33–4, 44, 48, 51, 52, 57, 75, 77, 88, 95–106, 122, 130, 150, 166, 180, 189–90, 196, 205, 220, 227, 243, 255, 262, 264–5, 270, 273–5, 321, 324, 326, 330, 336, 367, 378, 383, 409, 432, 449–50, 459, 469, 479–81, 508, 514–15, 542–3, 583, 587–9, 592, 594, 601, 610–611, 615 domains, 21, 164, 172, 189, 228, 242, 258, 290, 411, 417, 429–30, 434, 440, 477, 542–5, 625 Dominican Republic, 439–40, 485, 490–491 Dong, 490 dropouts, 210, 260, 292, 347, 523 dual language learners (DLLs), 9, 301, 303, 308, 314, 479 Dutch, 133–4, 136–7, 215, 263, 369, 393, 405, 418, 449–50, 473, 475, 557, 595, 598 early literacy, 81, 83, 87 early years, 208, 304, 310, 313, 325, 451, 532, 536, 545 ecology, 104, 242, 284, 380, 431, 434, 581, 599, 604 economy, 27, 32, 46, 100, 104, 118, 214, 243, 437, 481, 495, 500–501, 509, 532, 543–5, 550, 597, 605, 611, 625 Ecuador, 14, 97, 101, 433, 593–5, 601 education adult education, 14, 592–3, 595–6, 598 bilingual education see bilingual education deaf education, 11, 391, 395, 399–401, 403, 405, 503 early childhood education (ECE), 9, 301, 303–5, 307, 309–11, 313, 479 early education, 302–5, 310, 546–8, 593

650 Index education (cont’d ) education policy, 2, 14, 86, 97–8, 100–102, 104, 165, 197, 256, 271, 283, 296, 310, 330, 358, 432, 450, 467, 470, 514, 534, 544–6, 548, 554–5, 560–561, 570–572, 621–2, 624, 626, 628, 639–40 elementary (primary) education, 22, 118, 152–3, 188, 195, 197, 474, 479, 533, 568, 572–3, 593, 596, 610–612 exceptional education, 11, 372, 379, 382 gifted (and talented) education, 11, 372–8, 380–385, 512 heritage language education, 113, 117, 124, 343, 436 higher education, 1–2, 6, 9–10, 21–2, 30, 33, 40–43, 124, 128, 135, 178–9, 197–8, 210, 236, 241, 244–5, 248, 256, 259, 276–7, 290, 295, 326, 339, 342, 348, 351, 354, 357–9, 364–8, 394, 400, 416–18, 422, 459, 463, 477–8, 486–7, 495, 497, 503, 509, 511, 515, 518–19, 525–6, 529, 539, 546, 549, 554, 571, 574, 582, 587, 606, 611, 613, 624, 626–7, 634–7, 640, 643 indigenous education, 122, 323, 410, 423, 578, 584, 588 mother tongue education, 2, 7, 102, 171, 196, 198, 200, 409, 451, 463, 520, 545, 547–8, 559, 612 multicultural education, 100, 283, 442, 448, 507, 509, 511–15 private education see private schools secondary education, 283, 339, 347, 361, 373, 450, 474, 533, 569, 571, 583, 636–7, 642 special education, 11, 327, 372–81, 383–5, 391 teacher education, 5, 8, 85, 87–8, 97, 105, 118, 179–81, 227, 270–279, 306, 341, 383, 403, 417, 439 trilingual education, 12, 484, 486, 489–92, 499–500 egalitarian, 19, 29–31, 33, 542, 549 Egypt, 398, 626 El Salvador, 101, 594 elders, 210, 292–3, 323, 325, 414, 416, 422–3, 431, 585 Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA), 283, 373, 450

elite, 22–3, 26, 28–9, 69, 94, 207, 209, 217, 220, 485, 497, 518, 520, 533, 555, 557, 559, 561, 579–80, 588, 611, 624–5, 634–5 emotions, 41, 45, 50, 85, 118, 122–3, 141, 294, 304, 349, 376, 403, 423, 512, 538 employment, 21, 27, 46, 52, 118–19, 121, 132, 136, 164, 253, 262, 294, 359, 403, 433, 501, 549, 622, 626 endangered, 200, 409, 412, 420–423, 436, 465–6, 542 England, 136, 399, 435, 473 English as a Second (Foreign) Language (ESL/EFL), 65–6, 81, 113, 173, 175, 256, 265, 285, 304, 314, 340, 344, 375, 379, 451, 579 English language learners (ELLs), 67, 119, 124, 148, 199, 296, 337, 341, 459 enrichment, 112, 175–7, 372, 449, 451–2, 454, 458, 462 equality, 10, 14, 96, 101, 134, 137, 179, 278, 311, 313, 319, 321, 326, 377, 381, 383, 550–561, 560–561, 578, 593, 601 Equatorial Guinea, 570 Eritrea, 569 Esperanto, 558–9 Estonia, 215, 262, 478, 632–3, 635, 637, 642 Estonian, 215, 262, 633, 635 ethnic minorities, 13, 100, 164, 262, 294, 513, 515, 517, 520–521, 526, 539, 635–6 ethnicity, 11, 93, 96, 128, 136–7, 147, 198, 285, 302, 329, 375–6, 379, 500, 508, 532, 607, 610–611, 615, 638 ethnography, 6, 127–8, 131, 133, 140–142, 243–4, 345, 347, 452, 497 Eurocentrism (Ethnocentric), 569, 597 Europe, 12, 44–5, 76, 95, 165, 180, 185, 189, 195–6, 206, 215–16, 219, 220, 257–8, 272–3, 355–7, 398, 399, 433, 449–50, 473–81, 558, 597, 628, 637 European, 12, 20, 29, 44–8, 58, 95, 112, 131–2, 137, 140–142, 186–7, 192, 195, 207, 214–15, 217, 257, 262–3, 272, 274, 292, 336, 339, 340, 355, 357, 359, 376, 411, 421, 439, 449, 469, 473–81, 556, 569, 578, 597–8, 609, 611, 615, 618, 620–622 exam, 258, 260–261, 263, 326, 339–41, 497, 504, 526

Index  651 exceptional students, 11, 42, 46, 372, 374, 379–80, 382–4 extinction, 210, 465–7 family ancestors (ancestral), 29, 152, 172, 501, 596, 598–9, 608 fathers, 151, 174, 293, 435, 510, 549 genealogy, 155 godfathers, 292 godmothers, 292 grandchildren, 431, 433 grandfather, 615 grandmother, 415 grandparents, 83, 292, 309, 431, 433, 585 grandson, 615 intermarriage, 421, 536 marriages, 431, 496, 499, 506–7, 531, 611 mother, 83, 177, 293 parents, 9, 15, 21, 27, 34, 50–51, 75, 79–80, 83, 86–7, 96, 101, 110, 123, 133, 137, 139, 154, 170, 173, 194–5, 199, 200, 212, 232, 274, 282–96, 311–12, 322–4, 328, 337, 341, 346, 350, 379, 395, 400, 402, 404–5, 416, 418, 422, 429, 431, 434, 436, 441, 453, 477–9, 497–504, 508–10, 512–13, 518, 534, 561, 579–81, 585, 623, 641 siblings, 79, 80, 83–4, 322, 431 sister, 431 son, 501, 615 spouses, 262–3, 499–500, 526 wives, 500, 511, 532 Farsi, 40, 42–3, 438 federal, 2, 96, 111, 169, 172, 283, 303, 340, 343, 373–5, 413–14, 450–451, 456, 462–3, 465–7, 469, 580, 588 Fiji, 118, 604–5, 614 Filipino, 503, 625 financial, 2, 7, 44, 196, 247, 283, 360, 373, 463, 467, 510, 513, 522–3, 580 Finland, 185, 357, 365, 401, 421 Finnish, 137–9, 357, 365, 405, 422 Flemish, 357, 480 Florida, 95, 113–14, 382 fluency, 40–43, 60, 65, 77, 128, 404, 417, 432, 435, 451, 464 foreigners, 496, 498, 501, 507, 509, 512, 515, 608

former Soviet republics (Union), 15, 262, 342, 355, 632–3, 635, 637, 642 France, 6, 24–6, 165, 186, 216, 273, 276, 342, 355, 356, 359, 399, 401, 476, 518–19, 569, 606, 622 francophone, 15, 356, 462, 464, 467, 496, 519, 570, 573 Friesland, 474 Gaelic, 435 Gambia, 132 gender, 93, 96, 147, 165, 167, 169, 285, 329, 339, 376, 431, 538–9 Georgia (U.S.), 343, 633–4, 636 Georgian, 633 German, 43, 57, 262, 275, 323, 357, 393, 428, 449–50, 458, 468, 473–4, 476, 480, 504, 569, 578, 612, 614–15, 620, 623–5 Germany, 215, 262, 323, 328, 342, 355, 357, 359, 458, 474, 571, 576, 614 Ghana, 570, 572 globalization, 27–8, 57–8, 79, 104, 213–14, 220, 354, 356, 359–60, 478, 506, 543, 550, 583 glossaries, 78, 81, 260, 358 God, 151, 568 government, 47–8, 95, 102, 104, 166–9, 171, 198, 215, 254, 310–312, 354, 360, 439, 461, 464, 474, 501, 508, 511, 514, 562, 570, 605, 619 graffiti, 25–6 grammar, 4, 8, 43, 58, 60–61, 65–6, 77, 82, 94, 129, 165–7, 180, 207, 229, 231, 242, 249, 255, 257, 261, 307, 344, 346, 349, 351, 394, 397, 437, 549, 562, 568, 580 Greece, 362 Greek, 109, 138, 339, 362, 398, 437, 607, 620, 623, 628, 636 Guam, 340 Guatemala, 14, 101, 118, 418–19, 433, 593–5, 597, 601 Gujarati, 78, 430, 436 Hainanese, 34 Haiti, 118 Haitian, 439–40 Hakka, 34 Han, 484–5, 489–92 Hangul, 168

652 Index Hawai’i, 171–3, 210, 436, 606, 614 Hawai’ian, 171, 173, 210, 256, 412, 415–18 hearing, 123, 186, 358, 391–5, 397–8, 402–5, 433, 580 Hebrew, 80, 167, 256, 259, 405, 437, 440, 468, 618, 620, 628 hegemony, 32–3, 58, 68, 102, 170, 206, 220, 243, 367, 423, 549, 557–9, 587, 593–4, 597, 599–600 heterogeneous, 158, 207, 218, 328, 385, 621 heteroglossia, 7–8, 13, 23, 33, 127, 130, 132, 141–2, 206, 213–14, 216–17, 219, 434, 441, 549, 566, 576, 618–19, 628 Hindi, 167, 428, 543, 548, 605, 607–10, 610 hip hop, 4, 23–4, 26, 57, 219 Hispanic, 71, 404 Hispanophone, 236 Hmong, 98, 376 Hñähñö, 420 Hokkien, 34 homogenous, 5, 68, 71, 88, 207, 223, 256, 258, 326 Honduras, 101 Hong Kong, 4, 21–3, 25–7, 30–31, 34, 45, 98, 135, 491 human rights, 7, 95–7, 106, 164, 185, 187–8, 190–192, 194, 198, 200, 310, 501–3, 508, 550, 610 Hungarian, 637 Hungary, 478 Iceland, 480 identity, 6, 14, 20–21, 34, 57–8, 87, 118, 122, 129, 131–4, 137–8, 140–141, 145–7, 149–51, 156, 160, 165, 194, 207, 218, 220, 234–5, 245, 253, 255, 263, 274, 276, 303, 319, 323, 345, 356, 378, 382, 392, 398, 401, 404, 414–16, 419, 429, 430, 436–8, 441, 450, 462–3, 486–9, 491, 498–500, 502–3, 506, 534, 536–7, 539, 543–5, 547–8, 550, 559, 589, 592, 608, 610–611, 614, 615, 621 idiolect, 190 illiteracy, 153, 160, 524, 596, 600 immersion, 27–8, 31, 56, 63–6, 70, 97, 109–10, 112–17, 124, 175–6, 209–11, 215, 217, 219, 223–4, 227, 253, 256, 272, 278, 304, 320, 323, 340, 412–17, 422, 451, 453,

464, 466, 468, 478, 481, 486, 488, 496, 510–512, 568–9, 572 immigrants, 40, 42, 44, 48, 94–5, 112, 117, 189, 217, 236, 253–4, 256, 258–9, 261–4, 283–4, 293–5, 301, 303–10, 337, 341, 349, 431–6, 436–7, 440, 449–50, 496, 501, 508 independence, 20–21, 153, 178, 518, 533–5, 537, 543–4, 570–571, 606–7, 614–15, 620–623, 626, 633, 635, 639 India, 20, 117, 196–8, 200, 285, 356, 439, 532, 543–9 Indian, 20, 21, 170, 172, 217, 330, 376, 410–413, 420, 533, 543–7, 624–5, 628 Indigenous, 6, 11, 13–14, 20, 95, 98–102, 104, 106, 112, 117–19, 121–2, 145–6, 149–50, 152, 172–3 Indonesia, 496, 500, 611 Indonesian, 405 industry, 33, 361, 433, 532, 536 inequities, 14, 165, 423, 489, 508, 510, 542, 589 intercultural, 14, 133, 214, 272, 411, 578, 584–9, 592, 597, 600–601, 605, 607, 643 interdependence hypothesis, 361 interethnic communication, 539, 597, 634–6 intergenerational, 409, 423, 585, 599, 610 Internet, 23–4, 34, 57, 78, 87, 136, 193, 200, 237, 241, 313, 433, 513 interpreting, 2, 5–6, 23, 64, 77, 99, 109, 122, 127–32, 134, 138, 140–141, 146, 171, 174, 179, 188, 192–3, 195, 197, 199, 248, 262, 309, 311, 313, 323, 340, 344, 349, 351, 358, 366–8, 392, 433, 485, 502, 515, 557, 601, 614 Inuit, 20, 466 Inuktitut, 20, 358, 465–6 Iranian, 40, 624 Ireland, 117, 215, 357, 401, 476 Irish, 215, 357, 476 isiNdebele, 572 isiNguni, 572 isiXhosa, 365, 572 isiZulu, 429, 572 Israel, 256, 259, 440, 628 Israeli, 342, 393, 402 Italian, 42, 80, 215–16, 323, 357–8, 405, 473, 475, 569, 571, 607, 618, 620–621, 623

Index  653 Italy, 215–16, 357–8, 474, 476, 571 Ivory Coast, 570 IYAE, 593–4, 596–600 Japan, 12, 165, 181, 495–504, 520, 538 Japanese, 12, 80, 165, 215, 231, 234, 324, 376, 393, 428, 436, 466, 468, 473, 495–504, 511, 520, 533, 625 Jarai, 520–521, 523 Jordan, 622 kana, 495, 502 kanji, 495, 502 Kaqchikel, 419 Karen, 436, 438 Kazakh, 634, 636–7 Kazakhstan, 633–4, 636 Kenya, 174, 178, 196, 198, 326, 557, 570 Kenyan, 169, 174, 178, 196, 568 Keres, 412, 414–15 Khmer, 2, 517–28 Khoi-San, 555, 558, 567 K’iche’, 419 Kikuyu (Gikuyu), 169, 174, 177 kindergarten, 21, 110, 113–15, 302–3, 308, 312, 314, 375, 413, 417, 455, 468, 580–581, 583 Kiribati, 604 Kiswahili, 178, 326, 567, 569 knowledge, 3, 7, 10, 15, 28, 32–4, 39, 43, 46, 49, 51–52, 56, 60–61, 63, 70, 75, 77, 82, 84–5, 87, 97–8, 100–101, 103–6, 112, 134, 137–8, 140, 148, 152–3, 155, 159, 174, 177, 180–181, 192, 205, 216, 218, 219, 225, 230, 231, 233–6, 242–3, 248, 253–4, 258, 261–5, 270–273, 275, 277–8, 286, 290, 295, 304, 306, 313, 323–4, 328, 339–40, 342, 344, 349, 351, 360–362, 364, 379, 382–3, 393, 402, 410, 413, 416–17, 423, 432–4, 436, 440–442, 451, 456, 470, 476, 487, 495–6, 515, 522, 524–6, 539, 547, 555–6, 562, 580, 583, 585, 589, 594, 596–7, 599–601, 606, 609, 614, 625–7, 632–5, 640, 642 Korea (South), 13, 27, 28, 31, 435, 495, 499–501, 506–15, 538 Korean, 13, 27–8, 168, 285, 376, 434–5, 490, 498–501, 504, 506–15, 520 Kreung, 520–523, 525

Kui, 548 Kurdish, 186, 437, 620, 628, 638 Kurds, 186 Kuwait, 623 Kuy, 520–521, 523, 525 Kyrgyz, 634 Kyrgyzstan, 633 language aboriginal languages, 465–9 academic language, 67–70, 77, 114, 116, 120, 247, 257, 265, 340, 342, 343, 349, 359, 363, 366, 476, 502, 573 additional language, 42, 48, 70, 116, 132, 154, 178, 209, 215, 225, 248, 302, 329, 422, 423, 428, 466, 468, 478, 480–481, 539, 609 common language, 171, 174, 379, 450, 495, 526, 533, 633 community language, 134, 140–141, 177, 212, 328 dominant language, 1, 21, 26–8, 77, 80, 83, 97–8, 101, 145–9, 170, 172, 180–181, 191–3, 198–200, 206, 209–10, 212, 253, 301, 320, 327, 382, 409, 417, 457, 476, 489, 543–4, 546–8, 550, 569, 585, 587, 637, 639 dual language, 7, 9, 12, 86, 109, 111–14, 117, 119, 121, 124, 148, 176–8, 210–213, 216–20, 224, 227, 231, 234, 301–5, 307–8, 314, 330, 384, 441, 449, 451–5, 457, 459, 479, 510–511, 580 dual language books, 86, 234, 441 endangered language, 200, 422, 465–6, 542 family language, 156, 435 first language, 6, 21, 60, 69, 80–81, 115, 117, 148, 175–6, 179–80, 191, 246, 261, 303, 307, 392, 402, 409, 423, 451, 457, 468, 473–4, 479, 536, 540, 559, 585, 610, 612, 615 foreign language, 14, 30, 44, 65, 175–6, 180, 192–3, 198–9, 258, 271, 274, 277, 307, 328, 336, 343, 461, 469, 474, 476, 479–81, 484–6, 490, 497, 503–4, 512, 519–20, 568–9, 579–81, 583–4, 588, 607, 620–626, 628 formal language, 68, 173, 359, 429, 437 global language, 435, 588

654 Index language (cont’d ) heritage language, 21, 34, 113, 117, 124, 131, 150, 176, 179, 210, 336, 343, 409, 414, 431, 436, 467–9, 487, 511, 595 home language, 1, 4, 44, 48, 57, 68–70, 84, 111, 118, 206, 208–11, 216, 223, 229, 235, 245, 254, 264–5, 278, 287–8, 294, 296, 304–6, 309, 311, 319, 328, 336–7, 341, 347, 349–50, 358, 362–3, 369, 377, 380, 413, 432, 437, 479, 484, 486, 492, 501, 547, 570, 572, 574, 587, 609, 619, 628 Indigenous language, 6, 11, 100–101, 112, 117–20, 145, 150, 173, 195–6, 208–11, 213, 256, 326, 329, 343, 409–10, 412, 415–16, 418–21, 423, 432, 434, 520–522, 524–8, 571, 578–9, 584–9, 595, 598, 608–9, 611 informal language, 321, 428 intergenerational language, 409, 423, 610 international language, 1, 14, 117, 178, 467–9, 544–5, 588, 608, 611 language academies, 58, 555–6, 560, 562–3 language assessment, 179, 253–65 language attitudes, 367 language (linguistic) awareness,, 14, 43, 148, 157, 228, 231, 233–6, 273–4, 361, 478, 481, 601, 609 language beliefs, 68, 158, 270, 274, 412, 458 language brokers, 230, 294, 383, 430–431 language change, 29, 181, 338, 428 language classes, 343, 479, 509, 519–20 language (linguistic) community, 57, 173, 207, 275, 393, 422, 436, 463, 542, 546–8, 550–551, 560, 598 language (multilingual) competence, 116, 199, 216, 363, 474, 548, 642 language contact, 129, 395–7, 402 language (linguistic) development, 10, 56, 61–2, 69, 157, 209, 232, 247, 258, 302, 304–7, 310, 321, 324, 328, 339–41, 343, 348–50, 360, 366, 368, 377, 384, 385, 416, 431, 464, 485, 522, 526, 547, 554, 575 language diversity (linguistic), 12–13, 34, 44, 77, 88, 95, 97–9, 101, 166, 180, 189–90, 220, 270, 274, 321, 336, 358, 432, 459, 542–3, 587, 601

language (linguistic) ecology, 431, 434, 581, 604 language education, 3–4, 11, 14, 27–8, 31–2, 58, 86, 101, 106, 113–14, 117–20, 122, 124, 174, 179, 181, 223–4, 227–8, 270, 307, 320, 336, 343, 410–413, 415, 417–22, 432, 436, 440, 453, 458, 463, 477, 484–5, 487, 489, 491–2, 497, 500, 509–11, 519, 534, 539, 545–6, 549, 551, 555, 560, 567–72, 576, 578–9, 581, 583, 585, 596, 599–600, 609–10, 612, 615, 618–21, 624, 629, 636, 637 language endangerment, 409, 412, 542 language (linguistic) identity, 20–21, 133, 137, 218, 245, 274, 345, 430, 438, 503, 536, 550 language ideology, 145–61, 207, 253, 434, 559, 571, 581 language immersion, 124, 412–13, 415, 510–511 language in education policy, 86, 101, 432, 459, 534, 545, 560, 570–572, 621, 624 language institutions, 465, 509, 554–63, 571 language instruction, 4, 6, 10, 63, 65, 71, 79–80, 96, 100–101, 113, 115, 152, 160–161, 171, 174, 208, 210, 224, 305, 320, 325, 330, 381, 402, 414, 429, 432, 437, 439, 451, 454, 457, 463, 473–4, 476–80, 499, 511, 517–18, 522, 544, 547, 558, 561, 569–70, 581, 584, 622–3, 636, 640 language learners, 9, 62, 67, 83, 119, 148, 161, 173, 199, 209, 245, 296, 301, 303, 305–14, 337, 341, 344–5, 476–9 language learning, 10, 14, 28, 44, 46–7, 50–51, 62, 66, 70, 88, 115, 205, 215–16, 223, 243, 257–8, 271, 273, 279, 324, 342, 345, 354, 367–8, 373, 423, 428–9, 431, 433–4, 438–40, 463, 466, 474, 481, 571–2, 576, 584, 626–7 language loss, 117, 223, 421, 466 language maintenance, 92, 97, 148, 160, 412–13, 422, 431, 438, 586, 609 language medium, 63, 193, 195, 198–200, 413, 415, 503, 537, 540, 623 language (linguistic) minority, 96–7, 100–101, 111, 117–18, 124, 149, 164,

Index  655 170–171, 173–81, 212, 282, 293, 296, 340–343, 468, 470, 476 language nest, 210, 414–16, 422, 436 language of classroom, 136, 175–7 language of communication, 499, 534, 636, 639 language of instruction, 10, 63, 65–6, 71, 79, 96, 100, 113, 115, 152, 160–161, 171, 174, 208, 210, 305, 320, 325, 330, 381, 402, 414, 429, 432, 437, 439, 451, 454, 457, 463, 473–4, 476–80, 499, 511, 517–18, 522, 544, 547, 558, 561, 569–70, 581, 584, 622–3, 636, 640 language of power, 440, 486, 543–4, 576 language of schooling, 150, 160, 416, 463, 547 language of teaching, 57, 60, 62–3, 65–6, 133, 180, 186, 195, 229, 271, 274, 328, 336, 340, 422, 467–9, 479, 484–5, 487, 511, 546–7, 583, 605–6, 609–10, 614, 623, 625 language planning (and policy), 6, 58, 165, 168, 423, 434, 515, 536, 550, 606 language policy (and planning), 6, 9, 14, 21, 26–7, 30–31, 50, 103, 139, 158–9, 164–81, 197, 214, 254–6, 258, 273, 351, 357, 363, 400–401, 411, 419–20, 432, 452, 455, 461, 465–7, 469, 485, 544–5, 555–6, 570, 572, 576, 589, 609–11, 614, 626, 635, 639 language portfolio, 324, 476 language practices, 7–8, 10, 13, 19, 21, 57–8, 76, 112, 156, 168, 170, 206–7, 211, 213, 216–17, 223–5, 228–33, 235–7, 254–7, 264–5, 336–8, 340–341, 344, 349–50, 362, 429–30, 432, 434, 436, 440, 566–7, 576, 615 language proficiency, 4, 42, 56–7, 66–8, 77, 110, 114, 120–121, 180, 254, 256–60, 263, 265, 278, 285–6, 326–7, 336–7, 347, 357, 359, 366, 368, 372, 375, 377, 481, 502, 525, 550 language programs, 7, 68, 98, 114, 117, 178, 212, 343, 415, 439, 451–3, 463–4, 468, 496, 569 language revitalization, 6, 143, 145, 193, 409, 414–17, 422, 436, 466, 585–6, 610

language (linguistics) rights, 7, 9, 106, 122, 185–99, 310–311, 403–4, 418–20, 550, 611 language school, 436, 438 language shift, 223, 401, 414, 420, 542, 545, 550, 585–7, 607 language socialization, 61, 242–4, 429–31, 437–8 language support, 272, 343, 348, 360–361, 375, 418, 522, 580 language teachers, 66, 179, 275, 485, 579 language testing, 254–6, 258, 262–5 language tests, 232, 255, 257, 261–3, 265, 347 local language, 13, 27–8, 33, 57, 98, 152–3, 158, 170, 197, 320, 336, 356, 435, 543, 549, 556–8, 568–73, 576, 578, 586, 589, 621, 633–4 major language, 180, 465, 543, 545–6, 548, 551 majority language, 11, 56, 78, 118, 138, 148, 175–7, 208–12, 223, 228, 301, 308, 320, 326, 372, 401, 442, 463, 469, 476, 480, 547 minoritized language, 185, 205–6, 208–14, 217–19, 223, 228, 233–4, 256, 416, 434, 628 minority language, 15, 63, 69, 84, 86, 111, 117, 122, 138–9, 148, 174, 175, 192, 228, 275, 301, 325, 330, 442, 451, 463–4, 474, 476–7, 491–2, 503, 511, 610, 640 national language, 12, 28–9, 165, 167–8, 170, 172, 193, 207–8, 215, 253, 260, 262, 320, 336–7, 342, 470, 518, 524, 531, 534–5, 537, 540, 544, 546, 548, 558, 562–3, 587, 609–11, 614 native language, 96–7, 102, 104, 172, 193, 286, 291, 320–321, 324–5, 327–8, 376, 379, 395, 405, 417, 438, 451, 453, 457, 555, 557, 605, 634, 636, 640 new language, 66, 77, 190, 197, 209, 225, 229–30, 233, 235, 258–9, 264, 341, 345, 351, 428, 532 official language, 7, 15, 21, 27, 84, 139, 150, 168–71, 185, 193, 256, 259, 357–8, 411, 418–19, 461–5, 469, 473, 476–7, 480, 485, 489, 534, 543–5, 558, 560–561, 571, 595, 612, 621, 623, 632–3, 635–7, 642

656 Index language (cont’d ) primary language, 113, 210, 344, 379, 412, 571, 580, 585 regional language, 1, 173–4, 178, 181, 215, 543–5, 548, 583 school language, 118, 133, 149, 172, 235, 270, 324, 341, 432, 451, 474, 479, 612, 620 second language, 4, 12, 15, 21, 56–7, 59–63, 66, 69–71, 80–83, 112–13, 115–16, 118, 121, 148, 173–4, 175–6, 179, 192, 199, 209, 228, 230, 246–7, 250, 254, 256, 258, 261, 274, 278, 285, 301, 304, 307, 311, 314, 320, 324–5, 32730, 340, 344, 356, 377, 383, 422, 430, 451, 457, 463, 474, 479–81, 485, 496, 509, 511, 519, 535, 569, 583–5, 609, 621, 627, 633, 635–6, 640 sign language, 186, 196, 358, 392–6, 399–402, 405, 416, 473, 503 signed language, 11, 391–8, 400–401, 403–4 societal language, 1, 5, 56, 168, 174, 549 spoken language, 2, 4, 68, 86, 166, 189, 391, 393–7, 400–402, 404–5, 409, 474, 495, 608 standard language, 26–8, 59, 68–9, 71, 165, 170, 177, 181, 207, 228, 233, 236–7, 476, 559 state language, 12, 56, 58, 168, 195, 259, 473–81, 519, 544, 547, 549, 637, 640 teaching language, 57, 60, 62–3, 65–6, 133, 180, 186, 195, 229, 271, 274, 328, 336, 340, 422, 467–9, 479, 484–5, 487, 511, 546–7, 583, 605–6, 609–10, 614, 623, 625 third language, 77, 84, 112, 215, 364, 436, 474, 477, 481, 489, 491 vernacular language, 151–2, 169, 206, 393, 403, 405, 521, 524, 526–7, 550, 570 written language, 26, 32, 68, 76–8, 81, 145, 150, 154, 158–9, 243, 247, 349, 432, 487, 495, 601 Laos, 500 Laotian, 376 latecomer, 337–8, 340–341, 343, 345–7, 349 Latin, 109, 168, 473, 477, 614, 620, 628 Latin America, 14, 95, 189, 211, 409, 411, 418, 420–421, 434, 439, 449, 592–601 Latin American, 339, 583

Latino (Latina), 96, 236, 285, 290–295, 303, 323–4, 341, 349, 433–4 Latvia, 15, 188, 262, 477, 632–43 Latvian, 262, 632–43 Lau v. Nichols, 95, 450 law, 1–2, 14, 99, 151, 170–172, 186–8, 193, 199, 212, 255–6, 303, 345, 359, 368, 373–4, 419–20, 451, 464, 469, 487, 501, 503, 508, 520, 535, 561, 572, 592, 596–7, 600, 609, 613, 635, 639–40 leadership, 50, 88, 101, 151, 155, 159, 168, 207, 211, 236, 287, 294, 320, 327, 349, 414–15, 451, 512, 525, 539–40, 558, 593–5, 600, 614, 628 Lebanese, 626 Lebanon, 618, 622–3, 626–7, 629 legal, 151, 169, 171, 185, 188, 191, 193, 195, 199, 282, 302, 311, 337, 373, 465, 476–7, 487, 511, 561, 595, 611, 613, 628 legislation, 2, 25, 100–101, 119, 214, 303, 373–4, 466–7, 613, 635 lexical, 26, 43, 81, 129, 157, 246, 261, 344, 346, 395–6, 628 lexicon see vocabulary lingua franca, 32, 261, 340, 355, 487, 499, 509, 540, 569, 625, 633 linguicide, 188, 410 linguicism, 7, 199, 542–3 linguistic linguistic capital, 138, 189, 209, 359, 488, 581 linguistic genocide, 7, 99, 104, 172, 188, 190–191, 199, 310 linguistic imperialism, 181 linguistic landscape, 80, 134, 150, 365, 461, 556, 563, 639 linguistic resources, 28, 362, 440 listening, 71, 115, 148, 235, 306, 400, 430, 476, 503, 513 literacy, 1, 4–6, 8, 14–15, 23, 30, 46, 52, 67, 75–88, 110, 115, 122, 148–52, 154–61, 165, 167, 169, 172, 174–7, 192, 211, 215, 224, 227, 231–2, 236, 241–50, 254, 259, 262–3, 265, 272, 286, 288–9, 291, 302, 304–9, 319, 321, 326, 342, 357, 360– 361, 363, 372, 378, 400–402, 404, 413–14, 416–17, 429, 432–3, 437–8, 490, 495, 502, 513, 521, 522, 524–6, 539, 547–8, 557–9, 573, 575, 580, 583, 593–4,

Index  657 294, 598–601, 604, 607, 609, 612, 619, 623–4, 628 literate, 6, 68, 76, 78, 110, 150–153, 160–161, 244, 247, 600 Lithuania, 478, 633, 635–7 Lithuanian, 633, 635–7 local knowledge, 33, 522, 524, 589, 597 loyalty, 168, 172, 253, 255, 292 Luganda, 433 Lusophone, 356, 570 Luxemburg, 357–8 Luxemburgisch, 358 Macedonia, 211, 362 Macedonian, 211, 362 Madagascar, 571, 573 Maghreb, 618, 620–622 mainstream, 62, 64, 66, 84, 99, 112–18, 123, 131, 159, 176, 179–80, 205, 225–6, 272, 309, 326–7, 342–3, 348, 351, 372, 379, 382, 403, 414, 436, 467, 496, 506–9, 511–12, 522, 586, 588, 600, 611 Malawi, 196–8, 328 Malaya, 532–3 Malayalam, 532 Malayan, 534 Malays, 532–4, 539–40 Malaysia, 13, 531–40 Malaysian, 534–5, 537–9 Mali, 570, 574 Mam, 419 Mandarin, 21, 27, 34, 133–4, 165, 180, 405, 428–9, 468, 484, 489–90 Manitoba, 467–8 Māori, 99, 103, 192, 219, 321–2, 411, 414–16, 418, 421, 436, 610–611, 615 marginalization, 8, 30, 71, 102, 104, 192, 210–213, 216–17, 254, 286, 293, 355, 415, 506, 542, 545, 560 Marshall Islands, 604 Massachusetts, 2, 95, 179, 399, 451 materials, 11, 60, 86–8, 96–7, 116, 118, 154, 158, 177, 179–80, 198, 216, 248, 253, 271, 285, 304, 324–7, 343, 348, 358, 363, 365, 367–8, 423, 435, 451, 454–5, 457, 469, 476, 509, 513, 522–3, 528, 548, 567, 579–81, 585–8, 596, 615, 642 mathematics, 27, 46, 51, 111–13, 115–17, 192, 211, 259, 265, 290, 301–2, 304, 324, 327,

339–40, 342–3, 346, 358, 414, 502, 510, 512, 526–7, 535, 538, 545, 569, 580, 585, 592, 622–6, 640 Mauritius, 571 Mayan, 209 Mebengokré-Xikrin, 410 media, 1, 26–8, 31, 69–70, 78–80, 181, 197, 224, 226, 235, 247, 249, 429–30, 433–5, 437, 462, 475, 508, 515, 554, 558, 568, 570–571, 611, 619, 628, 639 medium of instruction, 1, 21–2, 27, 63, 80, 146, 170, 197, 215, 223, 253, 319–20, 329, 413, 415, 436, 486–8, 490, 497, 499, 503, 518–20, 556, 568, 570–573, 576, 579–81, 607, 613, 625, 633, 636, 643 Melanesia, 604, 606 Melanesian, 605, 608, 611 mestizaje, 217 metacognitive, 50 metalinguistic, 43, 148, 157, 228, 234–6, 401, 481, 612 metrolingualism, 23, 130 Mexicans, 313, 385, 578, 579, 581, 583 Mexico, 13–14, 69, 78, 96, 101, 171, 208–9, 295, 313, 341, 346, 374, 377, 382, 401, 414, 419–20, 432–3, 578–89, 593 Michoacán, 586–7 Micronesia, 604 migration, 58, 104, 134, 351, 435–6, 485, 585, 587, 605, 610 Minnesota, 290, 412 minoritized, 185, 205–6, 208–14, 217–19, 223, 228, 233–4, 254–6, 354–5, 360, 416, 434, 438, 441, 589, 594, 619, 626–8 minority students, 2, 96, 179, 181, 199, 245, 282, 293, 296, 337, 340–341, 343, 376, 468, 489, 509, 511–13, 517, 519, 521, 528, 641–3 mobility, 33, 50, 83, 130, 200, 248, 254, 354–6, 358–9, 368, 508, 550, 555, 557, 581, 586, 634 Mohawk, 412 Moldova, 633–5, 637 Moldovan, 635, 637 Mondulkiri, 519–21 monocultural, 274, 383, 385 monoglossic, 7, 206–7, 209, 211–14, 216–18, 227, 549, 566–71, 576

658 Index monolingual, 5, 8, 10, 12, 26–7, 31–2, 34, 38, 40–43, 57–9, 62, 75–6, 78, 81, 96, 111, 114–15, 118, 129, 147, 149–50, 155, 180, 186, 206–7, 211, 213, 216, 223, 225, 227, 235, 247, 254–5, 259, 261, 265, 274, 276, 301–2, 304–9, 311, 320, 325, 344, 347–8, 355, 359–61, 363–4, 368, 374, 385, 413, 419–20, 456–8, 463, 475–6, 481, 485, 490, 496, 526, 563, 569, 571–2, 575, 585, 587, 589, 610, 622, 626 Montreal, 470 Moroccan, 437–8, 326–7, 621 Morocco, 621, 626–7 mother-tongue, 1, 2, 7, 12, 20, 34, 80, 98, 102, 110, 118, 164, 188–9, 191, 194–8, 200, 214–15, 320, 328, 405, 409–10, 413, 419–20, 422–3, 430, 432, 436, 451, 463, 465–6, 468–70, 474, 480, 487, 490, 496, 501–3, 520, 533, 537, 545–50, 559–60, 567–8, 573, 586, 609, 612, 627 Mozambique, 570, 588 multiculturalism, 21, 242, 309, 458, 461, 467, 469, 500, 506, 508, 514–15, 593, 595 multiculturalist, 22 multiethnic, 507, 596, 599 multigenerational, 423, 434 multilingual children, 87, 226, 566 classrooms, 4, 10, 77, 81, 83, 85–6, 88, 227, 235, 364–5 contexts, 14, 105–6, 177, 181 education see bilingual education policy, 560, 608 practices, 10, 20, 44, 274, 355, 363–4, 368, 568, 572 programs, 10, 104, 272, 282, 296, 323, 329–30, 360, 475 schools, see schools: multilingual schools societies, 29, 98, 542, 574 spaces, 323, 325 speakers, 86, 224, 481, 575 strategies, 361, 363 students, 9–10, 243, 245, 248–9, 278, 355, 361, 365, 368, 385 teachers see teachers: multilingual teachers tests, 8, 254, 265 multiliteracies, 8–9, 76–7, 79, 87, 241–50, 368

multimodal, 8, 30–31, 34, 87, 225, 231, 235, 242–3, 247, 337, 575, 598–9 music, 24–7, 30, 51, 57, 77, 439, 500, 586 mutually intelligible, 75, 86, 174, 558, 572 Myanmar, 436, 438 Náhuatl, 13, 585–6 Namibia, 571–2 nationalism, 14, 27, 79, 124, 169, 181, 207, 211, 214, 220, 540, 543–4, 556, 560, 562, 605, 618, 620, 626, 628, 629 Native American, 40, 170, 172–3, 404, 411–12, 414, 417, 421 native speakers, 1, 4, 28, 44, 60, 62, 82, 102, 116, 159, 179, 181, 212, 248, 259, 279, 327, 467, 501, 503, 510–511, 635 Navajo (Diné), 110, 117–18, 256, 412–14, 466 Nāwahī, 417 Nepal, 117, 185, 198, 200, 544–5, 547, 549 Nepali, 376, 544–5, 547, 549 Netherlands, 132, 133–5, 261–3, 401, 438, 474–5, 610 New Zealand, 14, 99, 118, 185, 192, 219, 321–2, 327, 342, 355, 411, 415–17, 436, 606, 610, 614–15 newcomers, 10, 229, 294, 337, 341, 344–5, 347, 499–500, 532 Nguni, 558–9, 567 Nhlapo, 557–61 Nicaragua, 14, 101, 593–5, 601 Niger, 208–9, 570, 574 Nigeria, 118, 323–4, 570 Nigerian, 325, 574 Niuean, 611 No Child Left Behind (NCLB), 2, 56, 78, 81, 83, 119, 256, 282, 339, 341–3, 372–3, 456 non-formal education, 521, 525, 528, 601, 607 non-governmental organizations (NGOs), 508, 514, 517, 520, 525, 528, 562, 593, 596 non-native, 64, 212, 411, 467, 501, 510 nonprofit, 289, 416, 469 nonstandard, 67, 69, 71, 173, 257, 343 nonverbal, 40–41, 156, 382, 402 North America, 111, 275, 409–10, 418, 449, 462

Index  659 North Korea, 499–500 Norway, 185, 327, 401, 421 Norwegian, 76, 167, 327, 421 numeracy, 192, 612 Oaxaca, 579–80, 584, 586–7 Oceania, 14, 152, 604–15 Oceanian, 615 Oceanic, 150, 606–8 oppressed, 392, 558, 560, 588–9, 595, 600 oracy, 67, 325, 400–401, 404 oralism, 399–400 oralists, 399–401, 405 orality, 599 orally, 232, 325, 430 organizations, 11, 13, 100, 166, 180, 200, 241, 263, 283, 286–7, 289–90, 293–4, 296, 311–12, 338, 393, 400, 428–9, 434, 437, 439, 508, 517–18, 526, 561–2, 595 orthography, 87, 154, 167, 437, 495, 523 Oto-Manguean, 420 Ottoman, 193, 618, 620, 622 Pacific, 14, 150–151, 185, 189, 207, 409, 415, 423, 604–10, 614–15 Pakistan, 84, 172, 431, 501, 544–5, 547–8, 551 Pakistani, 501, 624–5 Palau, 604 Panjabi, 82, 128, 137 Papua New Guinea, 14, 320, 604, 610 Papuan, 607, 611 Paraguay, 101, 324 parliament, 198, 421, 462, 466, 523, 639 partnerships, 9, 283, 293–4, 416, 624 peace, 12–13, 186, 193, 257, 429, 440–442, 518–19, 563 pedagogy, 33, 75, 85–7, 98–100, 104, 107, 123, 138, 218, 226, 231–7, 243, 245, 247–9, 275, 278, 290, 360, 367–8, 383, 414, 416, 524, 550, 576, 597 Persian, 438, 620, 628 Peru, 14, 97, 101, 200, 438, 501, 593–5, 601 Philippines, 118, 285, 496, 500, 507 pidgin, 173, 393, 395, 605, 607 pluralism, 14, 102, 122, 176–7, 255, 450–451, 458–9, 515, 592 pluricultural, 214, 274, 282, 596 plurilingual, 20, 30–31, 34, 57, 76, 160, 214–16, 220, 227–9, 274–5, 584

Poland, 357 policymakers, 6, 15, 45, 110, 119–20, 260, 310, 313, 609 politics, 6, 81, 94, 110, 123–4, 152, 180, 249, 419, 437, 451, 461, 486, 491, 509, 523, 534, 550, 594, 605, 609, 611 polylingual, 351 Polynesia, 6, 145, 150, 153, 156, 158–61, 604, 614 Polynesian, 6, 14, 145, 150–161, 415, 605, 608, 610–611 Portuguese, 356, 358, 418, 428, 432, 439, 473, 502–3, 567–8, 570, 573, 595, 598 poverty, 98, 102, 149, 283, 285–6, 289, 376, 418, 439, 456, 490, 498, 506, 510, 519, 538, 542, 546–7, 596 power, 1, 6, 8–9, 11, 25, 28–30, 50–52, 57–8, 68, 76, 92, 94–5, 98, 103, 106, 116, 120, 128, 145–61, 167–70, 186, 198, 205, 212, 214, 217–20, 228, 244, 248, 254–6, 258, 261, 265, 270–271, 274, 362, 364, 375, 383, 395, 397, 399, 405, 411, 438, 440, 442, 459, 462, 474, 486, 489–91, 496, 501, 518, 521, 542–4, 550, 555–7, 563, 571–2, 597–8, 604–6, 614, 620, 629, 632, 635 prestige, 22, 27–8, 30–31, 94, 116, 118, 167, 220, 253, 256, 265, 411, 486, 544–5, 559, 579, 586, 609, 611, 621 principal, 59, 133, 170–171, 327, 454, 462, 487, 628 professional development, 87, 154, 155, 180, 272, 277, 321, 341, 403, 419, 454, 457–9, 469, 513, 612 Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), 260, 478, 589 pronunciation, 27, 68, 167, 169, 261, 369 Proposition 227 [in California], 1–2, 95 Proposition 203 [in Arizona], 95 Pueblo, 414–15 Puerto Rican, 431 Puerto Rico, 69, 96, 171, 358 Punjabi, 428, 433, 437, 544–5 P’urhepecha, 419, 586–7 Putónghuà, 167 Qatar, 439, 623, 626–7 Q’eqchi’, 419 Quebec, 20, 357–8, 461–4, 467, 469, 496 Quechua, 20, 357–8, 461–4, 467, 469, 496 Question 2 [in Massachusetts], 95

660 Index race, 11, 45, 93, 147, 173, 191, 194, 259, 285, 292, 294, 302, 310, 312, 329, 339, 373, 375–6, 379, 383, 396, 418, 456, 508, 533, 539, 555–6, 558, 597 racism, 7, 11, 169, 172–3, 418, 423, 442, 468, 556, 559, 592, 597 rap, 23–6 Ratanakiri, 519–23, 525, 529 reading, 7, 15, 49, 52, 67, 71, 75, 77–8, 80–84, 86–8, 110–113, 115, 121, 134, 137, 148, 151, 153–7, 180, 225, 230, 234, 276, 286–7, 301–2, 306, 323–4, 327, 346, 391, 402, 413–14, 430, 433, 476, 502, 513, 522, 526, 547, 558, 568, 580, 589, 593, 600, 619, 642 reforms, 165, 167, 419–21, 499, 584, 593, 621–2, 640–641 refugee, 336, 342, 434, 436–7 registers, 23, 30–31, 33–4, 68–9, 141, 167, 243, 453 religion Baptism, 151 Bible, 151, 160, 169, 438, 556, 568 Buddhist, 438, 517–19 catechism, 150–151, 568 Christian, 5, 10, 12, 151, 160, 320, 336, 438, 622 church, 151, 437–8, 587 evangelize, 568 God, 151, 568 gospel, 151, 207 Greek Orthodox, 437 interreligious, 442 Islamic, 84, 535, 619, 621, 624–5, 628 Jewish, 259, 638 Lutheran, 151, 612 mission, 88, 152, 328, 338, 343, 469, 514, 532, 568–9, 597, 601, 623 missionaries, 150–151, 160, 168, 207, 411, 485, 556–7, 568 monk, 399 mosque, 83–4, 532 Muslim, 430, 437, 531 Pentecostal, 438 proselytizing, 557, 614 Qur’an, 84–5, 430, 619, 628 religion, 85, 93, 151, 194, 310, 442, 462, 569 religious-organizations, 429, 434, 437

spiritual, 51, 414, 436, 540 remote, 13, 97, 433, 485, 490, 517–22, 525, 528, 532, 574 repertoire, 8, 20, 31–2, 62–3, 68, 134, 137, 215–16, 218–19, 225–31, 233–4, 237, 244, 246, 248, 265, 475–6, 481, 611 restrictive, 172, 179, 345, 364, 376, 384, 501, 574 resurgence, 419, 450 retain, 195, 255, 294, 431, 535, 595, 604 revitalization, 6–7, 11, 46, 99, 145, 160, 190, 193, 196, 199, 210–211, 223, 409, 411–13, 415–18, 422, 436, 465–6, 570, 585–7, 599, 610, 613 Rhodesia, 555 Rhodesians, 555 Rom, 216 Romanized, 167, 521, 614 rural, 69, 71, 100, 170, 346, 419, 432, 506, 510–511, 513, 518–19, 534, 538, 574, 578, 585–6, 593, 598–9, 615, 621, 634 Russia, 401, 421, 507, 637 Russian, 15, 40, 42, 43, 215, 262, 393–5, 405, 428, 438, 473, 518, 620, 623–4, 632–3 Russification, 634 Rwanda, 570, 573 Saami (Sámi), 200, 421–3 Samoa, 14, 118, 340, 604, 606, 613–15 Samoan, 321, 608, 610, 613–15 Saskatchewan, 467–9 Saudi Arabia, 431, 623–5, 629 scaffold, 225, 234, 340, 342, 350, 580 Scandinavia, 110, 327 school leavers see dropouts schools bilingual schools, 13, 48, 124, 578–9, 584–5, 620 elementary schools, 1–2, 10, 113, 118, 148, 153, 156, 188, 195, 211, 284, 286, 306, 319, 324, 337, 415, 420, 452, 454, 498, 502, 580, 586, 593, 596, 612 high schools, 2, 25, 101, 115, 131, 178, 236, 260, 286, 290, 336–41, 344–51, 377, 402, 417, 439, 498, 501–3, 509, 518–19, 546, 573, 619 junior high schools, 339, 497–8, 501–2, 523

Index  661 kindergarten, 21, 110, 113–15, 153–4, 302–3, 308, 314, 375, 413, 455, 468, 580–581, 583 middle schools, 499, 508, 511, 579, 585, 622 multilingual schools, 273, 474–5, 477 prekindergarten, 285, 417, 454–5 preschool, 14, 210, 277, 304, 307, 311–13, 314, 412, 415, 419, 473–4, 477, 479, 490, 520, 581, 584 primary schools, 9, 13–14, 178, 197, 226, 246, 274, 319–30, 357, 418, 473–4, 477, 479, 519, 521, 568–71, 573–4, 584, 586, 612, 640 private schools, 497–8, 509–10, 520, 534, 545, 548, 579–81, 623–5 public schools, 27, 165, 310, 340, 374, 414, 417, 438, 450, 462, 467–9, 496–9, 501, 506, 508, 511, 518–20, 526, 572, 579, 581–2, 611, 624–5, 627 secondary schools, 9, 22, 271, 283, 286, 312, 336–50, 359, 361, 373, 450, 463–4, 474, 477–9, 533, 569, 571, 583, 622, 636–7, 640, 642 science, 21, 27, 46, 98, 115–17, 120–121, 151, 192, 198, 211, 215, 265, 290, 324–5, 340, 343, 346, 358, 487, 497, 507–8, 510, 512, 514, 527, 535, 538, 557, 569, 580, 585, 589, 624–5, 640–642 Scotland, 117, 435 Seal of Biliteracy, 2 second language acquisition, 4, 57, 59–66, 69, 192, 274, 307, 311, 325, 329, 344, 383, 503, 510, 519, 545, 578–80, 583, 588, 623–4 segregation, 112, 175, 259, 285, 374, 376, 400, 453 Senegal, 519, 570 Sepedi, 572, 574 Serbia, 86 Serbian, 86 Sesotho, 359, 572 Setswana, 572 sexual orientation, 93, 96, 285, 329 Shanghai, 486, 488 Sikh, 437 Sindhi, 544–5, 551 Singapore, 21, 27, 31, 45, 98, 532, 538 Singaporean, 21

Sinhala, 544, 546, 548, 550 Siwati, 572 Slovak, 356 Slovakia, 188 social justice, 14, 95–6, 98, 102, 105–6, 160, 219, 235–6, 258, 273, 278, 501, 601 social studies, 116–17, 211, 323, 327, 346, 527, 622–3, 627, 641, 643 sociocultural, 1, 4, 14, 19, 33, 39–40, 42–43, 50–51, 61, 96, 226, 230–231, 244, 307–8, 319, 357, 376, 382, 385, 392, 400, 437, 582, 593 socioeconomic, 101, 103, 111, 114, 149, 156, 285, 287–8, 301, 415, 508, 510, 535, 539, 542, 544, 555–7, 596 sociohistorical, 96, 128, 130, 205, 207, 214, 410 sociolect, 190 sociolinguistics, 4, 130, 249, 368, 594, 607, 629 sociopolitical, 4, 19, 26, 29, 96, 104, 145, 225, 235, 319, 329, 430, 485, 487, 489, 594, 597, 600, 606, 607, 610, 626 sojourner, 346 Somali, 571 Somalia, 196, 571, 573 Sotho, 558–9 South Africa, 13, 86–87, 109, 161, 172, 174, 185, 357–9, 364, 367, 411, 429, 432, 435, 554–63, 567, 571–2, 574 South America, 14, 97, 122, 276, 358, 500–501 South Korea see Korea Soviet Union, 262, 342, 355, 633, 635 Spain, 96, 112, 168–9, 186, 214, 216, 358, 399, 401, 437, 458, 473–7, 479 Spanglish, 236 Spanish, 1–2, 13, 29, 30, 57, 71, 78, 82–3, 86, 94, 96–7, 111, 113–14, 138–9, 165, 171–2, 180, 208, 211, 218–19, 226, 231, 279, 292, 295, 303–5, 324–5, 341, 344–9, 356–8, 378, 381, 396, 405, 418, 420, 428–9, 431–2, 438–9, 449–50, 453–4, 456–8, 468, 473, 475, 477, 479, 481, 503, 567–8, 570, 573, 578–81, 583–6, 588, 595, 598, 620–621 spelling, 80, 82, 155–7, 166–7, 169, 369, 431, 562, 580 Sri Lanka, 245, 544, 546, 548

662 Index standards, 56–7, 67, 166, 170, 179–80, 254–5, 323, 339–40, 343, 366, 373, 380, 383, 384, 507, 510, 539, 569, 596, 625 status planning, 166–7 submersion, 80, 112, 175, 178, 191–3, 208–9, 501, 546–7, 551 Sub-Saharan, 13, 76, 433, 566–7, 569, 571, 573, 576 Sudan, 196, 438, 557 Sudanese, 437 suppression, 98–9, 103, 255, 410 survival, 11, 92, 100, 104, 178, 190, 410, 422, 463, 465–6, 518, 596 Swahili, 178, 437 Swaziland, 570 Sweden, 22, 139, 185, 261, 342, 401, 421, 474–5 Swedish, 137–9, 357, 394, 433, 473, 475 Switzerland, 279, 342, 357–9, 364 Syria, 622, 627 Tagalog, 511 Tahiti, 150–152, 160, 606 Tahitian, 148, 150–161 Taiwan, 499, 537 Tajik, 637 Tajikistan, 633–4, 636 Tamazight, 621 Tamil, 21, 245, 532, 534–5, 539, 543–4, 546, 548, 550 Tampuen, 520–523, 525 Tanzania, 569, 571, 573 teacher preparation, 179–80, 306–11, 383, 417, 423, 513, 579, 613 teachers bilingual teachers, 272, 311, 349, 377, 463, 513, 522–3, 528 classroom teachers, 63, 64, 311, 379–80, 453, 583 English (ESL) teachers, 179, 344, 451, 485, 498, 510, 579, 581, 583 in-service teachers, 28, 50, 100, 118, 180, 217, 228, 233, 257, 271–3, 275–6, 294, 338, 367, 374, 383, 433, 462, 507, 518, 522–5, 527–8 language teachers, 66, 179, 275, 485, 579 mainstream teachers, 84, 180, 327, 351 multilingual teachers, 105, 288, 364

preservice teachers, 271–2, 275–6, 518–19, 522–8 student teachers, 274–8, 287 technology, 11, 21, 26, 46, 58, 151, 155, 159, 325, 428, 431, 433, 487, 497, 507–8, 512, 514, 540, 610 television, 24, 171, 430–41, 433, 531, 628 Telugu, 20, 543, 547 tests, 8–9, 38, 40, 43, 64, 67, 69–70, 110–113, 115, 121, 232, 253–65, 311, 323, 347, 368, 381–2, 456–7, 497, 526, 580, 592 Texas, 2, 12, 113, 211, 295, 343, 347, 375, 377, 382, 431, 449–50, 452–3, 456–7, 529, 579–80 textbooks, 3, 33, 39, 52, 68, 83, 85–6, 96, 110, 114–16, 121–2, 152, 154, 156, 192, 234, 246, 323, 325, 327, 356, 365, 392, 467, 488, 498–9, 502, 522, 526–9, 537, 547–8, 579–81 Thai, 503, 520 Thailand, 200 theory, 3, 5, 15, 33, 60–61, 63–4, 77, 80, 87–8, 92, 100, 104, 109, 120, 129, 140, 145, 158, 165, 180, 224, 230, 243–4, 274, 277, 347, 411–12, 515, 583, 623, 625 Tlingit, 465–6 TOEFL, 497, 581 Tok Pisin, 605, 607, 611–13 Tokelauan, 611 tolerance, 6, 43–4, 49–50, 159, 171, 194, 198, 205, 450 Tonga, 609, 614 Tongan, 608 trade, 165, 473, 486, 532, 537, 542, 567, 607, 609, 611 transdisciplinary, 12, 200, 224, 491 transfer, 60, 65, 77, 118, 148, 153, 156–7, 159, 226, 230, 235, 247, 311, 313, 344, 346, 362, 383, 422, 441, 502, 547, 568, 586, 613 translanguaging, 7–9, 12–13, 23, 28, 86, 123, 130, 177, 213, 223–38, 264–5, 278, 325, 338, 351, 363, 429–30, 434, 440–442, 520, 566 translation, 24, 41, 78, 95, 138, 152, 179, 188, 225, 288, 344, 362, 365, 368, 435, 441, 489, 507, 523, 559–560, 583, 612, 628, 640 translingual, 218–19, 248

Index  663 transmission, 94, 146, 159, 161, 275, 404, 409–10, 423, 466, 585–6, 596, 599, 612 transnational, 100, 249, 354–6, 360, 363, 368, 431–2, 434, 499, 584, 587 trilingual, 12, 134, 154, 215–16, 359, 470, 484, 486, 492–500, 544, 548 Tunisia, 621–2, 626 Turkey, 186, 193, 437 Turkish, 87, 167, 359, 436, 438–9, 607, 620 Turkmen, 634, 636–7 Turkmenistan, 633–4, 636 Tuvalu, 604 two way immersion see bilingual education: two-way immersion Uganda, 437, 570 Ukraine, 633, 637, 642 Ukrainian, 468, 635, 637, 640 underrepresented, 98, 101, 303, 354, 373, 375–6, 383 undocumented, 261, 337, 343, 346, 433–4, 436 United Arab Emirates, 40–41, 623–4 United Kingdom, 46, 81, 86, 226, 262, 401, 405, 474, 479 United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), 2, 100, 194, 522–4, 529 United Nations Declaration on Rights of Indigenous People, 191, 411, 595 United Nations Declaration on Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic Minorities, 164, 199 United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), 2, 34, 76, 100, 190, 194, 199–200, 319, 401, 518–21, 524, 529, 542, 573, 576, 593 United States, 1, 2, 9, 12, 23–4, 44, 56, 68–9, 71, 78, 80–81, 92, 95, 96, 101, 110–111, 113, 117–19, 122, 148–9, 165, 168–9, 171–3, 180, 185–6, 199, 210–211, 218, 225, 229, 259–60, 262–3, 272, 275, 277, 282–4, 286, 294–6, 301–3, 305, 310–314, 325, 336–7, 339–40, 342–3, 349, 355, 356, 358, 372–5, 380, 385, 392, 393, 395, 399–401, 405, 410–412, 414, 416, 429, 431, 433, 436, 439, 449–59, 479, 485, 501, 507, 509, 558, 569, 579–80, 582–4, 588, 614

Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 164, 194 university see education: higher education urban, 51, 96, 110, 129, 136, 237, 290, 339, 344, 347, 377, 420, 437, 452, 465, 469, 495, 510, 519, 534, 538, 584–5, 588, 593–4, 596, 628, 634–5 Urdu, 84, 167, 405, 431, 544–6, 548 Uruguay, 2, 418, 593 Uruguayan, 432 USSR, 15, 633, 635–6, 640 Uzbek, 634, 636–7 Uzbekistan, 507, 633–4, 636 Vanuatu, 118, 604–5 varieties, 1, 5, 8, 27–8, 34, 69, 71, 75, 86–7, 134, 137, 140–141, 158, 165, 167, 170, 177, 181, 207, 242, 248, 257, 329, 355, 411, 431–2, 449, 475, 485, 495, 558–9, 572, 587–8, 607, 611, 618–19, 621, 628 vernacular see language: vernacular language Vietnam, 14, 22–3, 26, 78, 116, 151–2, 159, 165, 169, 206–7, 243–4, 246, 393, 403, 405, 432, 521, 524, 526–7, 543, 550, 568, 570, 604, 612–13 Vietnamese, 98, 285, 376, 434, 502, 503, 511, 518, 521, 525, 607 vocabulary (lexicon), 41, 58, 68, 77–8, 95–6, 156–7, 165, 167, 231, 236, 257, 304, 306–7, 344, 346, 351, 369, 394, 415, 500, 557, 580, 583, 585, 605, 614 Wales, 109–10, 112, 117, 123–4, 200, 434, 609 war, 13, 23–4, 152, 171, 186, 191, 193, 259, 283, 421, 466, 495, 499–500, 518, 533, 544, 555, 563, 569, 571, 620, 622–3, 639 washback, 80, 249, 257, 260 Welsh, 86, 109, 112, 224–5, 232, 357, 476 workplace, 172, 253–4, 256, 361, 434, 513 writing, 7–8, 22, 24, 29–30, 33–4, 56, 67–8, 71, 75, 77–8, 81, 83–4, 86, 115, 132, 148, 150–159, 165–7, 195, 225–6, 232, 234, 241–2, 244–7, 249, 276, 323, 325–6, 361, 364, 392, 394–5, 404–5, 410–411, 413–14, 430, 432, 435, 441, 476, 502, 513, 547, 567–9, 580, 593, 595, 598–600, 619, 642

664 Index xenophobia, 95 York, 399 Yoruba, 324–5, 568, 574 Yue, 610

Yugoslavia, 86 Yup’ik, 329, 412 Zambia, 432, 570 Zimbabwe, 555, 557, 570

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