A few weeks ago I found myself sitting in a place that has become increasingly familiar over the past few months; at a table, surrounded by boxes of spelling words and freshly sharpened pencils sitting on top of folders covered in foam bees and ribbons, brimming with fresh rubrics ready to be filled out. I was helping out as a judge at a local English Festival. This has become a normal part of my routine over the past couple of months, particularly as more schools in my area have found out that there’s a gringa hanging around that is willing to help out on the judge’s panel at the festivals. Don’t mistake this description as distaste for offering ayuda at these festivals; on the contrary, one of my favourite parts about working in schools in Costa Rica has been helping at English Festivals. I love watching students get excited about language learning and to showcase how far they’ve come in their language learning process.

As the festival was al punto de comenzar (about to start), the director came forward to thank the parents and participants and give a short speech to the school community about the event that was about to ensue. His message was generous in showing his gratitude and admiration towards the students and the parents who had worked so hard practicing discursos (speeches) in English and drilling spelling words for hours on end. He then began to discuss the importance of English in today’s society. This is pretty standard procedure at these festivals, however, one part of his message in particular caught my attention:

“Una persona puede lograr el nivel más alto de estudio en su carrera, pero sin el inglés, no tendrá acceso verdaderamente a los mayores beneficios de esa área de estudio”

(Loosely translated: “A person can achieve the highest level of studies in their area of study, but without English, won’t be able to truly access the highest benefits of that area of study”)

This was striking and uncomfortable for me to hear then, and it has stuck with me ever since. This and the ideas behind it are things that I think about a lot, particularly as an English teacher in a Spanish-speaking country. This leads me to what I would like to spend the rest of this post discussing with all of you, my lovely readers: privilege.

It is a controversial word, and one that most of us probably prefer to avoid as opposed to opening a discussion forum about. Some people may associate it with guilt. Others may be tired of being lectured about all of the ways that their race/religion/social class/sexual orientation/gender make them more privileged than others.  In others it may incite anger, because it focuses on ways that our lives can be comparably easy for reasons that are completely fuera de nuestro control, while, al mismo tiempo, minimizing and neglecting to take into account the struggles we have all unequivocally had to face.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s provocative. It’s important to talk about.

Before really delving into this, we should put a definition to the idea of privilege. Para que todos estemos en la misma página, in the rest of this piece, privilege will be used to refer to ways in which individuals enjoy particular advantages in life due to things that are not a result of things they have done themselves; rather, things that are largely out of their control. It’s not something we can choose, but rather something inherent that generally comes as a result of how we look, where and how we were raised.

The question of language and privilege lends itself to an interesting topic of conversation. We all acquire the language(s) that we will likely use as the language(s) of our thoughts and identities when we are very young. While acquiring our native languages, we have very little control over what those languages will be, because they are a product of the environment in which we are raised. If it were the case that all languages in the world were treated equally, this would be a non-issue, and this post wouldn’t exist.

However, this is not the case, because languages are not treated equally in society.

If you’re reading this, for example, you were likely born into a situation in which you, like myself, acquired a “powerful” language (English) as your first language, thereby giving you an advantage in society. We didn’t sign up for that advantage, but it gives us privilege nonetheless. Language privilege can take the form of easier access to social and political institutions, economic opportunity ( for example, gaining employment in other countries as an English teacher, with the only prerequisite being that you are a native English speaker), easier access to education and information; the list goes on.

English is one of six languages chosen to be a United Nationals official language. When travelling to another country, one would expect to have to learn the language of the country to which they are visiting, verdad? Not quite. As the “universal language”, most English speakers can get by relatively easily using English without having to learn the local tongue, despite the fact that, in rankings by number of native speakers of the language, English falls in 3rd place on the global stage behind Chinese and Spanish. English is widely accepted as the universal language of science and technology, the media, and popular culture. Native English speakers live, work, travel, and study all over the world, and other governments and people bend over backwards in order to accommodate us. If you’re one of the 1.5 billion people who speak English (of whom, only 360 million people who speak it as their first language) this is good news for you. But what about the other 6 billion people who do not?

As a blonde haired blue-eyed woman (large child pretending to be an adult?), I find myself sitting in cafes and restaurants in Costa Rica, and am often addressed by the server in English, despite the fact that I am a foreigner in THEIR Spanish-speaking country. Could you (presuming you are a native English speaker from a country whose majority language is English), imagine being approached by an individual in your country of origin who speaks a language other than English, and switching from English to their language (whether it be Spanish, ASL, Portuguese, or any of the other 6,300+ languages that exist in the world) to accommodate them? Yes? No?

This is something I struggle with, particularly as an English teacher in a foreign country. Language, like knowledge, is a form of power. Can I work as an English teacher in a foreign country with a clear conscience knowing with certainty that I am not merely perpetuating the idea that, in order to achieve “success”, English is a prerequisite? By working to promote the power of English as an English teacher, am I actually a hypocrite when I try to consider myself an aspiring agent of social change? Am I really just an invader, serving merely to draw out an unhealthy post-colonialism hangover and fanning the flames that fuel oppression?

“So what does all this really mean, Lauren? What should we do about this? Not speak English anymore or something? ‘Fanning the flames that fuel oppression’ – you need to chill, you’re being really extra rn. Will you please get off your soapbox and just tell us what you want from us?”

Yes, yes, I openly admit that I can get carried away when it comes to this topic, and, honestly, I don’t know what I want from this. More than anything, I want to open up the floor for discussion. I am passionate about learning and teaching language. From my perspective, language learning is a way to enriquecer (enrich) our linguistic diversity, which is something we should celebrate, because this kind of diversity highlights a vast diversity of knowledge, experience, and abilities that exist in our world. It opens doors to worlds that one may have never before known existed and provides access to cultures and people on levels far more profound than one could find otherwise. It empowers us, it connects us. While I am a huge proponent of learning language as a way to open doors and achieve a greater level of understanding between people, one can’t ignore the social, cultural, and political implications that are closely intertwined with language. Language can be used as a tool to unite an connect us, but at the same time something used by one group to exert power over another.

So, how can we approach English language education in countries whose official language is not English without leaving the sour taste of imperialism in everyone’s mouth? How can we continue to promote language learning without making people feel that English is a requisite when we define “success”? 

This post isn’t mean to regañar (nag, scold) anyone. In nearly all cases, we did not play an active role in choosing our native language, nor did we choose to take on the privilege that comes with that language. Regardless, it is a a part of our experience, and will continue to be a part of our experience for as long as we speak those languages. While I won’t claim to have any perfect answers to the questions I posed above, I think a good place to start is by opening the floor for discussion about the privilege that our language(s) affords us. Our privilege grants us a better position to be acknowledged and heard by others with power and privilege. Ask questions about it. Talk about it. Challenge it.