I was born and raised during a golden era of English language education in China. By the time I was in the third grade, English had become a compulsory subject in our curriculum. However, many children were exposed to English even before that, through extracurricular classes. I was one of them. At just five years old, my parents enrolled me in a weekend English training program.
The 2008 Beijing Olympics elevated the English language to unprecedented prominence in China. ‘English fever’ swept the nation, fuelled by monthly English quizzes at school, motivational talks by successful English learners, American and British TV shows, and English songs on the radio. It felt like English was everywhere. For many Chinese EFL learners, becoming an ‘English native speaker’ was the ultimate dream.
After graduating from university, I went to the UK for my master’s degree. It was my first time in an all-English environment, and everything felt different. Like many of my Chinese peers, I had spent countless hours studying English in China and had good English reading and writing skills. However, I found myself anxious in the frequent classroom discussions, hesitating to speak English for fear of making mistakes and being mocked for my accent or grammar. At the same time, I was afraid to speak Chinese in class, worried it might be seen as disrespectful by the teachers.
This anxiety was finally broken by a teacher who warmly encouraged us, saying, “The ultimate purpose of language learning is communication. Speak up. Speaking in Chinese is you, and speaking in English is still you. As long as you can express yourself, why not do it?”
This perspective was completely different from the English education I received in China. The simple piece of advice gave me more confidence to express myself freely.
Later, I became a lecturer teaching English at a non-top-tier university in China. Standing at the front of the classroom and looking at my students was an amazing experience. In a sense, it felt like nothing had changed. The same as when I was a student, English was still a compulsory subject, and students still needed to spend a lot of time learning it. However, after decades of development in English language education in China, changes were taking place.
One such change was China’s pursuit of internationalisation in higher education, which included the establishment of many English-medium instruction (EMI) programmes. At my university, this language policy was now reflected in encouraging teachers and students to use English as much as possible in English classes.
However, I noticed that many students struggled in this environment. They believed that, to succeed, they had to speak English like native speakers and needed a high level of English proficiency to express their ideas. This was like my experience in the UK, when I was afraid to express myself in English.
I worried about how I was teaching them. As students, they might be wondering why they needed an English-only classroom environment. I questioned how English should truly be taught and perceived. Students’ language resources come from their past and point to their future – surely these resources should be seen as a whole?
I shared the words from my UK teacher with my students. I wanted them to know that their previous language knowledge and experiences shape their unique linguistic voices now and that these experiences are valuable. But then, what did this mean for my teaching of English? Would this just leave us all speaking Chinese, and these students struggling to speak up in other countries, just like I had? And what about the content of the lessons?
These questions led me to focus my PhD research on language practices among Chinese EFL learners in non-top-tier Chinese universities. All learners should surely have the opportunity to find their voice in class. Their real English learning conditions deserve attention, their language backgrounds and experiences deserve recognition, and our teaching goals and content deserve re-evaluation.