Suggested Reading

1. Duranti, A., & Goodwin, C. (Eds.). (1992). Rethinking context: Language as an interactive phenomenon. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
2. Kramsch, C. (2008). Language ecology in multilingual settings: Towards a theory of symbolic competence. Applied Linguistics, 29(4), 645–71.
3. Lakoff, G. (1987). Women, fire and dangerous things. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.
4. Pennycook, A. (2001). Critical applied linguistics: A critical introduction. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
5. Risager, K. (2015). Linguaculture: The language–culture nexus in transnational perspective. In F. Sharifian (Ed.), The Routledge handbook of language and culture (pp. 87–99). London, England: Routledge.
6. Risager, K. (2016). Lingua francas in a world of migrations. In P. Holmes & F. Dervin (Eds.), The cultural and intercultural dimensions of English as a lingua franca (pp. 33–49). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.

The term globalization is used in a wide range of academic discussions and has been defined according to the needs of fields such as economics (Bhagwati, 2004), education (Suarez‐Orozco & Qin‐Hilliard, 2004), and cultural anthropology (Appadurai, 1996). Giddens (1990) defines globalization as “the intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa” (p. 64). Language plays a crucial role in globalization, as it is a vehicle for interactions between people and spaces, while at the same time it is itself affected by global forces.

Mufwene (2010, p. 31) states that “neither economic globalization nor language spread is new in the history of mankind.” Trade relations and military conquest led to increased language spread, as is clear from the expansion of Latin during Roman imperialism, and of Spanish, Portuguese, and English during European colonialism. Historically, less dominant languages have disappeared in the face of more powerful ones, as in the case of many indigenous languages, and globalization can be seen as increasing the pace of this phenomenon. However, while globalization is not entirely new, its intensity and scope have increased with the development of mass media, popular culture, and multinational corporations, leading to a contraction of the temporal and spatial scales of socioeconomic connections, thus consolidating political, economic, cultural, and linguistic power.

In particular, the spread of English as a global language has been the focus of much research. For example, the field of World Englishes has addressed how English has moved beyond its traditional linguistic bases in places such as the UK, the USA, and Australia (Inner Circle) to regions such as India and Nigeria (Outer Circle), and further to countries such as Japan and Brazil (Expanding Circle) (Kachru, 1992; Low & Pakir, 2018). Although English is not the only language of international communication, it is the primary language associated with globalization due to its prevalence in international media, popular culture, scientific literature, and the institutional discourses of multinational corporations, economic blocks, and nongovernmental organizations. More recently, digital Englishes has gained attention (see Friedrich & Diniz de Figueiredo, 2016). In particular, the fluid and hybrid nature of English usage in cyberspace has been highlighted; the resultant possibilities for empowerment and creativity have also been raised.

The status of English as the dominant language of globalization has been a subject of critical inquiry. Phillipson (1992) argues that the ascent of English has not been a neutral process, but rather one that has been deliberately propagated at the expense of other languages, which he terms linguistic imperialism. This view has been criticized for being overly deterministic. Canagarajah (1999), Pennycook (2001), and Blommaert (2010) have pointed out that Phillipson's view does not account for agency, resistance, and appropriation, nor for the deterritorialized, polycentric nature of language usage. Pennycook, Canagarajah, and Blommaert do not consider languages as bounded entities (as traditionally conceived), but rather focus on languages as semiotic resources, on the linguistic practices of speakers, and on translingual practices (see Canagarajah, 2013; Wei, 2017), especially in contexts of superdiversity (Arnaut & Blommaert, 2016; Creese & Blackledge, 2018).

The dominance of English in scholarly publication has led to concerns of linguistic injustice, as non‐native speaker (NNS) authors may need to invest more effort, time, and money into writing in a second language (Politzer‐Ahles, Holliday, Girolamo, Spychalska, & Berkson, 2016). Some NNS authors believe they are discriminated against for using nonstandard English language (see Flowerdew, 2008). Some NNS authors may feel pressure to publish in international English‐medium journals rather than local journals (see Curry and Lillis, 2004). However, Hyland (2016) has questioned the view that NNS scholars are at a greater disadvantage than NS authors, who also encounter difficulties in writing for publication; in response, Politzer‐Ahles et al. (2016) highlight the role of linguistic privilege in publishing success.

Finally, globalization has impacted language teaching. The assumed one‐to‐one correspondence between language and culture has been problematized (Kumaravadivelu, 2008). Scholars have emphasized pedagogies that expose students to different varieties of the language and engage them in critical understandings of culture (e.g., Matsuda & Friedrich, 2011). Attention has also been given to the growing necessity for preparing teachers to engage with such practices (see Matsuda, 2017).

The education of language minorities in light of globalization has also been addressed (e.g., Banks, Suarez Orozco, & Ben‐Perez, 2016). Immigrant flows have demanded that schools reassess how they conceptualize language, culture, and teaching. As with all the issues presented here, the intensification of globalization has demanded increased attention to the role of language in shaping the realities experienced by people in diverse contexts.

SEE ALSO: Lingua Franca and Language of Wider Communication; Linguistic Imperialism; World Englishes and Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages

“Identity” refers to the way we conceive ourselves as individuals or as members of groups—or, indeed, the way others perceive and categorize us. Although “language” requires a more nuanced definition, for present purposes we can understand it to comprise two important facets: the communicative and the symbolic. The former refers to its familiar instrumental uses, while the latter has to do with its emblematic functions as an expression and encapsulation of culture. While the symbolic aspects of language arise from the more mundane instrumental ones, they can outlive “ordinary” language shift for some time: One may no longer know the original or ancestral language of one's group, while yet retaining a psychological attachment to a medium uniquely important for a shared history, poetry, and narrative. The essence, then, of the language–identity linkage may include instrumentality but it also goes well beyond that. People who have been willing throughout history to fight for the preservation and continuation of their linguistic and cultural traditions would hardly have done so had communicative efficiency been the pivotal issue. They are motivated more by what George Steiner (1992, p. 494) so felicitously referred to as the “natural semantics of remembrance.”

At the same time, both history and formal scholarship tell us that the maintenance of identity, the perception of a continuing cultural thread that connects us to our forebears, rests more upon the preservation of group boundaries than it does upon any specific cultural content within them. Fredrik Barth (1969) is perhaps the most influential of contemporary scholars who have argued that the essential point here is the boundary between groups. Among other things, this hypothesis illuminates the phenomenon of group maintenance across generations, particularly in immigrant contexts where the cultural “stuff” of people's lives usually changes dramatically in the course of a few generations. Third and fourth generation immigrants in the USA, for example, are generally quite unlike their first generation relatives, yet, to the extent to which they recognize links (and differences from other groups), the concept and utility of group boundary has significance. Of course, the cultural content within boundaries, while mutable, remains important. An examination of traits, practices, and customs which disappear or become less visible, compared with those that show more longevity, can elucidate the ways in which boundaries are maintained in the face of changing circumstances.

Language provides a specific instance here: The decline of an original variety clearly represents a cultural change—the abandonment of that language as a regular communicative instrument, and the adoption of another. But, to the extent to which the ancestral medium remains as a valued symbolic feature of group life, it may still contribute to the maintenance of boundaries. A generation ago, Carol Eastman (1984) discussed the notion of what she termed an “associated” language, one that group members no longer use, but which continues to be part of their heritage. This allows language to become a nationalist rallying point, even for those group members who no longer speak it—or, indeed, who never did. We should bear in mind, too, that language as symbol is at least theoretically capable of regaining an instrumental and communicative status. Putting aside the case of Hebrew in Israel, there are many instances in many settings of nonspeakers setting themselves the task of learning an original variety, and this—even in instances where there is little realistic hope of actually using that variety on any sort of regular or unselfconscious basis—is because of a strengthened or reawakened interest in culture and tradition.

Languages do not disappear suddenly. There is typically an intervening period between a quotidian life in which instrumentality and symbolic potency coincide, and a more parlous existence as communicative shift begins to take hold. Languages in this state are often endangered, of course, and it is not difficult to understand why identity concerns usually surface most noticeably at this time. Thus, as can be inferred from the opening remarks here, most of the language and identity literature centers upon varieties seen to be at risk. The greatest threat to the communicative continuity of most (but by no means all) of the languages that have shrunk to some “lesser used” status is of course English. This fact is not in dispute. What is a question of much discussion, however, is whether the global spread of English is essentially an unplanned consequence of broader social currents, or whether it substantially benefits from a more intentional Anglophone “imperialism.” The situation is complicated by questions of “ownership,” by the growth and maturity of many different “Englishes,” by the degree to which English is either forced upon people or welcomed by them, and so on. All of these matters are not without links to identities, of course.

The idea that the preservation of that original language is essential for the continuity of identity is of course central to the conceits of all language nationalists and revivalists. In 1797, Wilhelm von Humboldt wrote that “language is the spiritual exhalation of the nation” (Cowan, 1963, p. 118), and the sentiment remains powerful. Many scholars, too, have subscribed to the idea that, once language shift has occurred, the writing is on the wall for group identity. While language is clearly very important for a continuing sense of “groupness,” however—and while, indeed, the maintenance of an original variety may constitute the strongest single pillar here (religion is also a contender, of course)—this does not mean that identity cannot outlive language shift. Groups that have shifted, in communicative terms, from their ancestral variety to another often retain a distinctiveness at the level of accent or dialect, of course. Such “marking”—as in the case, say, of the English‐speaking Irish, Welsh, or Scots, of Portuguese‐speaking Brazilians, of Spanish‐speaking Peruvians, or of German‐speaking Austrians—can obviously contribute very substantially to the maintenance of group borders. It is probably fair to say that, in all instances in which two or more groups have come to “share” a common language, distinctions have arisen at the dialectal level. This also applies at regional levels: Irish English is not English English, but neither is it some undivided entity; speakers from Cork, Galway, Dublin, and Donegal are identifiably different. In a world made ever smaller by ubiquitous media and by the strong homogenizing pressures of “Westernization,” the persistent strength of these distinctions is surely further testimony to the powerful symbolic significance that linguistic markers at all levels can possess for identity.

It has already been pointed out here that the language–identity relationship is of more salience in some contexts than in others, and here are some further examples. The need that most languages have felt for standardization has resulted in the creation of official academies or other such institutions, whose duties have included the production of dictionaries and grammars. Their prescriptivist work, however, has very often led to efforts to keep languages “pure,” to keep out foreign borrowings—efforts which have gone beyond (or even countered) best instrumental practice, in the name of group identity protection. Translation is an area in which language and identity concerns have sometimes collided: The person whose abilities allow the straddling of language group borders may also take sensitive or private matters across those lines. The old Italian proverb that equates translation with treason (traduttori, traditori) is blunter. This is of course a variety of what has come to be called “voice appropriation,” the alleged cultural theft that occurs when outsiders—in what is often seen as neocolonialism—tell the stories that belong to the group, narratives that often belong to a particular group or caste and which typically have spiritual significance. Other important settings involve religious language, gendered language, and other intertwinings that further underscore the centrality of language to the formation and maintenance of identity; see also Edwards (2009).

The increasing attention given to language “rights” is one of the two most important recent developments (“rights” is in inverted commas here because most of the ecology of language literature in which the matter is discussed confuses—sometimes intentionally—rights with claims). The appeal is obvious: If a case can be made that speakers of threatened languages have certain linguistic rights, then support for those speech communities and their group identities obviously has greater weight. The matter remains a vexed one; see Edwards (2012). The other contemporary thrust of note is the attention now given to “new speakers” of endangered languages. This reflects a decline in what some have termed the “aspirational” thinking that so long underpinned hopes and dreams for revitalized linguistic heartlands, and a growing feeling that the most likely additions to the strength of “small” varieties will come from voluntary language learners, typically in urban centers.

SEE ALSO: Discourse and Identity; Linguistic Imperialism

Although there may be no singular definition of what “popular culture” is, Moody (2010) notes three characteristics that appear in most definitions: (a) popular culture is usually associated with mass media (especially “free” media like radio or television); (b) popular culture is consumer‐oriented and mass consumption frequently entails that consumers are “fans” of performers, products and/or genres; and (c) popular culture—like most expressions of consumer culture—is increasingly globalized. As situated practice the language of popular culture not only expresses “sets of beliefs about language” (Silverstein, 1979, p. 193), but more broadly ideology that “penetrates the whole fabric of societies or communities and results in normalised, naturalised patterns of thought and behaviour” (Blommaert, 2005, p. 159). Language in popular culture, then, is designed to appeal commercially to consumers by referencing and articulating language ideologies that justify particular uses of language.

The role of the “standard language ideology” (SLI) in promoting the “authority” of media language is already well understood (see Milroy, 2000; Bolton, 2010). More recently investigations into media language, and especially the media language of what Queen (2015) calls the “narrative media,” have demonstrated that ideologically driven concerns with the “authority” of language are balanced with concerns about the “authenticity” of language (see Bucholtz, 2003; Bauman, 2011; Moody, in press). Sociolinguistic analysis of language in popular culture is increasingly interested in the representation of authenticity (see Seargeant, 2005; Moody, 2012; Dovchin, 2016; Cutler, 2018). Language ideologies are usually observed through two non‐exclusive channels in popular culture: within the performative channel, which examines the influence of language ideologies upon language choice in the production of pop culture artifacts, and the affiliative channel, which examines the reception and reactions toward language in pop culture artifacts.

The performative channel focuses on the language ideologies that are incumbent within pop culture performances. Hebdige (1979) observed the phenomenon of “putting on” or appropriating another's voice (frequently an ethnic or social dialect) with the effect that “utterances project personas, identities and genres other than those that are presumedly current in the speech event” (Coupland, 2001, p. 350). In two early studies of language in popular culture Trudgill (1983) and Coupland (2001) examine the influence of American English (AE) pronunciation in British pop songs and in DJ talk on English‐language radio in Wales respectively. Each of the studies examines the sociolinguistic meanings that are expressed when performers in pop culture use language varieties that are not native to either the performers or the audience (i.e., Coupland's “stylization”). The use of AE, however, may be considered “authentic” for the style or genre of the performance, rock music, or DJ song introductions. Similarly, ideologies related to AE and African American English (AAE) have been observed in a number of musical genres—especially “hip‐hop” genres—where neither AE or AAE are spoken as a native languages, such as China (Zhou & Moody, 2017), Korea (Lee, 2007), Malaysia (Pennycook, 2003), Tanzania (Higgins, 2009), and the USA (Cutler, 1999). The examination of variety performance has also been used in film to portray stereotypes (e.g., see Higgins & Furukawa, 2012) and recent work by Boberg (2018) and Walshe (2017) suggest that performances are representationally accurate.

The second channel for the examination of language ideologies within popular culture is the affiliative channel. Whereas the performative channel examines language ideologies from pop culture performances, the affiliative channel examines fans' reaction to language used in popular culture. Two aspects of popular culture make this channel especially important for the examination of language ideologies: First, popular culture is largely driven by a marketplace that encourages consumers to evaluate performance, and, second, the multimodal nature of popular culture encourages intertextual references between artists and fans. Park (2012) uses the affiliative channel to examine fan reactions to a South Korean actress's English performance on an Internet chat site, noting that reactions “engage with English in television commercials within a highly complex field of social relations . . . and cultural practices” (p. 267). Similarly, Moody (2012) examines the fan reactions to a Japanese pop music group's performance and argues that efforts to authenticate the performance are ideologically driven. By using both the performative and the affiliative channels to examine the authenticity of language (see Bleichenbacher, 2012 and Planchenault, 2012 for analyses that incorporate both channels), data from popular culture can be increasingly informative of language ideologies.

SEE ALSO: Language and Globalization

The notion of language ideology has become a key concept in critical research about language and society. While it is axiomatic for linguists that “all languages are equal” in terms of their meaning‐making potential and their worth as objects of academic inquiry, a quick look at the “real world” will reveal a very different picture—one in which linguistic phenomena are unequally ranked according to different meanings and values, so that, say, “language A” is believed to be lexically richer, more logical or beautiful, and thus better suited for wider communication within a polity than “dialect B.” The notion of language ideology aims to grasp the belief systems underlying such social processes of naming, signifying, and valorizing linguistic practices. This entry begins by clarifying the notion of language ideology, followed by a reflection over the notions of public versus private in relation to language ideological processes. The entry concludes with some current developments and directions in language ideology research.

Language Ideology and Public Discourse

According to Silverstein, who is possibly the first scholar who put forward a definition of the term, language ideology consists of “sets of beliefs about language articulated by users as a rationalization or justification of perceived language structure and use” (Silverstein, 1979, p. 193). Focusing less on rationality, and highlighting instead the sociocultural situatedness of viewpoints about language, Irvine claims that language ideology is “the cultural (or subcultural) system of ideas about social and linguistic relationships, together with their loading of moral and political interests” (Irvine, 1989, p. 255). Kroskrity (2010) puts more emphasis on the role played by the stakes of those involved in ideological production. He suggests that language ideology encompasses the “beliefs, feelings, and conceptions about language structure and use, which often index the political economic interests of individual speakers, ethnic and other interest groups, and nation‐states” (p. 192). These indexical linkages between “social” and “linguistic” relationships have been made more precise by Woolard, who states that “ideologies of language are not about language alone. Rather, they envision and enact ties of language to identity, to aesthetics, to morality, and to epistemology” (Woolard, 1998, p. 3; italics added). In sum, the notion of language ideology aims to grasp the belief systems through which linguistic phenomena are invested with specific meanings and values, through connections with broader sociocultural categories.

The words “ideas” and “beliefs” might convey that we are dealing with some kinds of inner states lodged somewhere in a speaker's mind. While the cognitive dimension of such ideas and beliefs about language should not be dismissed, Cameron reminds us that ideologies are ultimately “social constructs: they are ways of understanding the world that emerge from interaction with particular (public) representations of it” (2003, p. 448). Here, the terms “representations” and “public” are particular important for the purpose of this entry.

Since research on language ideologies aims to understand how linguistic phenomena are imbued with particular meanings and values that become over time culturally scripted in conventional ways, representations about language—that is, what people overtly say and write about languages or even how they visually represent them—provide the analyst with the most readily available and fruitful repository of beliefs about language. In a similar vein, a focus on public representations is motivated by the accessibility of these texts (see below, however, for a reservation). Furthermore, a focus on public, rather than private, representations is of political relevance because of the potential impact that that such representations might have for a mass audience (though see below for a problematization of the public/private dichotomy).

Against this backdrop, it is perhaps unsurprising that a large body of work on language ideologies has concentrated on public debates about language, debates which were orchestrated by different media providers in different contexts (see Blommaert & Verschueren, 1998; Blommaert, 1999; Blackledge, 2005; Johnson & Ensslin, 2007; Johnson & Milani, 2010; Milani, 2010; Vessey, 2017; Borba, 2018). This leaves us with the question of the extent to which language ideologies that are circulated in the public arena are reproduced or contested in apparently more mundane, private contexts (see Kroskrity, 2010, for a similar observation).

Language Ideologies: Differences and Commonalities

It is a truism that language ideologies can assume very different guises in different contexts. To take examples from contexts with which I am most familiar, it is not uncommon to hear in South Africa that isiZulu is a rudimentary and deficient language, in contrast to English, which is considered full‐fledged, complex, and refined. In Sweden, different politicians have asked for the abolition of mother‐tongue instruction, arguing that Swedish is the only language migrants should learn. In the UK, the USA, as well as elsewhere in the world, it is still rather common to read that men and women misunderstand each other because they are from different planets; men are rational Martians while women are emotional Venusians.

Of course, thirty years of scholarship in applied linguistics have proved these statements to be “myths,” in Cameron's (2007) interpretation of the term. They are not just “widespread but false belief[s]” (2007, p. 3). They are also stories that

people tell in order to explain who they are, where they come from, and why they live as they do. Whether or not they are “true” . . . such stories have consequences in the real world. They shape our beliefs, and so influence our actions. (p. 4)

A quick glance at the linguistic structure of isiZulu will reveal that this language is far from being rudimentary and indeed shows a high degree of grammatical complexity. Not only is the pronouncement about isiZulu's simplicity false, but it is also the palpable trace of the historical legacy of apartheid South Africa and its racist devaluing of black speakers (see also Alim, Rickford, & Ball, 2016, for a groundbreaking collection of studies on the relationships between language and race in a variety of contexts). Similarly, research on bi/multilingualism has convincingly illustrated the benefits of mother‐tongue and bilingual education (see Baker, 2006, for an overview). Regardless of this scientific evidence, the proposal to abolish mother‐tongue instruction is indicative of the currency in political contexts of the belief that there should be only one language as the medium of instruction (see Cummins, 2008). Such a view is not innocuous because it is deeply bound up with romantic ideas about the importance of the homogeneity of the nation for the good functioning of society (see also Blommaert & Verschueren, 1998). This, in turn, leads to the discrediting of minority languages and multilingualism to the advantage of one “national” language. Finally, research on language and gender has demonstrated that there are more similarities than differences in the ways in which men and women speak (see, in particular, Cameron, 2007). Crucially, the belief that “men are from Mars and women are from Venus” (Gray, 1992), and that gender differences lead to an unavoidable incomprehension between the two sexes, is not harmless, but is strategically invoked by men because “pretending not to understand what someone [i.e., women] wants you to do is one way to avoid doing it” (Cameron, 2007, p. 89).

Notwithstanding the differences in the ideological underpinnings of the above examples, language ideologies share deep‐rooted traits. With this in mind, Irvine and Gal (2000) have proposed three semiotic processes that could be taken as common denominators of language ideological production. These processes are iconization, fractal recursivity, and erasure. First, through iconization, “linguistic features come to depict or display a social group's inherent nature or essence” (Irvine & Gal, 2000, p. 37). The second process, fractal recursivity, involves “the projection of an opposition salient at some level of relationship onto some other level” (p. 37). Finally, erasure is simplification by rendering certain voices inaudible—in other words, certain stories are not told (p. 39).

Irvine and Gal exemplify iconization, fractal recursivity, and erasure by looking at a few historical cases from southern and western Africa as well as the Balkans. Most notably, more recent studies have testified to the cross‐cultural and contemporary relevance of these semiotic processes (see, e.g., Stroud, 2004; Blackledge, 2005; Milani, 2010; Androutsopoulos, 2010; see also Rosa & Burdick, 2017, for an excellent overview of studies). To take a now canonical study, Blackledge (2004, 2005) analyzed media texts and policy documents about multilingualism in the UK in the wake of the social unrest—the so‐called “race riots”—which broke out in 2001. The main point put forward by Blackledge is that a perceived or presumed “lack of English” among migrants is “iconically associated with a predisposition to be keen to join in with violent criminal activity” (2004, p. 79; italics original). Blackledge (2004, pp. 79–80) further shows how an opposition at a linguistic level (proficiency in English vs. lack of English language skills) recurs on other dimensions (e.g., presence vs. lack of social cohesion; social order vs. disorder). What is erased from this picture is the wide social, ethnic, linguistic, and cultural diversity that characterizes migrants.

Public Versus Private?

Public discourse is perhaps one of the fuzziest notions in academic writing (see Wodak & Koller, 2010). It is difficult to dispute that a Web page on an Internet site is an example of public discourse. This is insofar as such a Web page is potentially available to everyone who has access to a technological device which is connected to the Internet. But does a conversation in a queue at an electoral ballot count as public discourse? What about an exchange between a teacher and their pupils in a state school?

From a structuralist point of view, it could be argued that the notion of “public” derives its meaning ex negativo from its opposite, “private.” However, Fairclough (1995) reminds us that it is a difficult, if not impossible, task to clearly define the boundaries between “public” and “private” in late modern societies. Not only has there been a progressive “conversationalization” of public discourse in such a way that public texts have become increasingly more reminiscent of private interactions, but digital media have also contributed to making private and intimate events available for broader audiences (see, e.g., YouTube). To this, it should be added that what counts as “public” and “private” is often dependent on the role and choice of the researcher vis‐à‐vis the object of inquiry. For instance, a conversation between a teacher and their pupil in a state school would remain private until a researcher/ethnographer observed it, reported it in a publication or conference presentation, and thereby made it known to a wider academic audience.

These liminal spaces at the intersections between public and intimate constitute one of the most important challenges for language ideology research. Too strong a focus on representations of language in media texts and policy documents may not give a full picture of language ideologies in contemporary societies. In fact, large‐scale, societal “macro” discourses may fail to fully capture the social life of language (see Agha, 2007), a life which also involves the voices of those who are often the object of media firestorms but who can only be heard in more “intimate” contexts. And these are contexts which, unlike many media texts, are not easily accessible “with a click of the mouse,” but require more time‐consuming involvement and negotiations on the part of the researcher.

For example, Milani and Jonsson (2012) have analyzed the ways in which a group of adolescents of multiethnic descent in suburban Stockholm employ a range of linguistic resources in school settings, from more standardized language to a variety of different youth styles. Whereas dominant media discourses in Sweden are built on a dichotomy between “good” “standard Swedish” and “bad” “youth language,” some of the school interactions documented by Jonsson and Milani bear witness to a more complex reality, one in which adolescents do not just reproduce dominant beliefs about standard language versus youth styles, but also contest and subvert such dominant ideologies in mundane daily interactions. This might not be particularly new in light of Foucault's (1978, p. 95) observation that where there is power there is resistance. What is more unexpected is that this is a form of agency that does not manifest itself in outright disagreement, but takes more subtle forms of parodic imitation and mimicry (see also Rampton, 1995; Blackledge & Creese, 2010). The young men in Milani and Jonsson's (2012) study indeed employ standard Swedish as an index of being a good student, on the one hand, and youth styles as an index of unruly behavior, on the other. However, the usage of standard Swedish is not always serious but may be mocking. This leads the authors to conclude that the adolescents in the study are staging a Bakhtinian carnival that is “both critical of social order and complicit with it” (Wolfreys, 2004, p. 27). In fact, these adolescents skillfully mobilize the dichotomy between standard Swedish and Rinkeby Swedish, together with the associations related to them. The parodic keying of the interaction subtly disturbs this order, however, not least because parody is never sheer imitation of an original but “simultaneously change[s] the original through recontextualization” (Pennycook, 2007, p. 587).

Of course, one might wonder to what extent “local practice [can] challenge the hegemony of national and global policy” (Blackledge & Creese, 2010, p. 6). Whilst it was beyond the remit of Milani and Jonsson's (2012) analysis to answer this question, what their study clearly illustrates is that local practices challenge what Cummins (2008) calls the “two‐solitudes assumption,” namely a widespread belief that languages should be learned separately and one after the other; these practices also question the very notions of “authenticity” and “linguistic ownership.” Analogous to the “drag performances” studied by Judith Butler (1990), the adolescents' parodic usage of standard Swedish artfully unsettles a well‐established language ideology according to which only “ethnic Swedes” are “authentic” speakers who own the Swedish language.

Moving Beyond Language: Current Developments in Language Ideology Research

Apart from engaging with the interstices between public and private spaces, research on language ideology and media discourse has recently foregrounded other important issues, one of which is the imperative to go beyond language (in the narrow sense of written and spoken codes), thereby incorporating and expanding upon recent theoretical insights into visual communication and critical multimodal discourse analysis (see, in particular, Johnson, 2007; Blackledge, 2010; Johnson, Milani, & Upton, 2010; Thurlow & Mroczek, 2011; Li Wei, 2018).

Kress and van Leeuwen forcefully state that “language always has to be realized through, and comes in the company of, other semiotic modes” (1998, p. 186; italics added), and go on to conclude that “any form of text analysis which ignores this will not be able to account for all the meanings expressed in texts” (p. 186). If we similarly want to account fully for the processes through which language ideologies operate in late modernity, we then cannot afford to overlook the growing field of critical research on multimodality (Machin & van Leeuwen, 2016), that is, the dynamic interplay between the verbal, the visual, and other semiotic modes. Put differently, notwithstanding the particular theoretical and methodological approaches one might want to adopt, research on language ideologies cannot be confined to the “purely linguistic” elements of a text.

For example, without accounting for the relationship between the verbal and the visual, it would have been impossible for Johnson et al. (2010) to unpack the different language ideological layers underpinning the home page of a BBC Web site (www.bbc.co.uk/voices) dedicated to celebrating the linguistic and ethnic diversity of the UK. By analyzing the home page of the Voices Web site through a multimodal lens, Johnson et al. (2010) demonstrate that the BBC tried to do justice to the linguistic and cultural diversity of the UK. However, while regional and local dialects have been foregrounded, multilingualism is notable by its absence. In fact, standard British English is the nearly exclusive linguistic code chosen for the verbal text—the only exceptions being a hyperlink in Welsh and a few dialectal lexical items. Moreover, despite the acknowledgment of regional variation with regard to the English language, an analysis of the maps on the Web page points to the visual prominence of (southern) England and the dialects spoken therein. Finally, in spite of the recognition of ethnic and racial diversity, there are no pictures of those who are commonly associated with multilingualism in contemporary British political and media discourse, namely members of “Asian”—that is, Pakistani, Indian, or Bangladeshi—minorities (see Blackledge, 2005).

All in all, Johnson et al.'s (2010) study not only illustrates how the BBC has chosen a monolingual voice together with a diverse but nonetheless unthreatening face to represent the UK on the home page of the BBC Voices project (see Jaworska & Themistocleus, 2018, for a comprehensive study of public discourses of multilingualism in the UK). From a theoretical point of view, this study also teaches us that without a serious engagement with the visual and other semiotic modes, it is difficult to tease out the complexity of language ideologies embedded in texts as produced in late modern contexts (see also Li Wei, 2018, for a similar point about understanding the ideologies and practices of translanguaging). Indeed, this is one of the key challenges for language ideology research in the near future.

SEE ALSO: Identities and Language Teaching in Classrooms; Language and Identity; Language Ideology in the Discourse of Popular Culture; Multimodal Discourse Analysis

Qin Shihuangdi (259 BC–210 BC) was the first emperor of unified China. Although he was a controversial figure in Chinese history, he did contribute significantly to the development of China from different perspectives. One of his contributions to Chinese culture was the unification of Chinese writing, which has drawn debate in the academic field (Chen, 1997, pp. 594–6). The Shutongwen policy, the unification of writing, was regarded as the first intentional language planning activity enforced by Chinese authority in Chinese history (Chen, 2015, pp. 150). It had a great impact on the further development of Chinese scripts and even on Chinese culture (Li, 1985).

The implementation of Shutongwen policy was triggered by both the political and linguistic situation during the Warring States period (475 BC–221 BC). Before Qin Shihuangdi unified China in 221 BC, the country was divided into seven states: Qi, Chu, Yan, Han, Zhao, Wei, and Qin. Each state ran its own administrative system and manifested different cultural characteristics. In terms of language, these states varied in dialects and writing regulations, a situation that clearly was a negative factor with regard to political unification. Among them, as Qiu Xigui (1988, p. 52) explains, the Chinese script in the Qin state was relatively conservative in comparison with the other six eastern states, due to its remote geographical location. To facilitate intercourse between these states, and later the transmission of military orders, Qin Shihuangdi promoted the unification of writing in conjunction with his political expansion (Chen, 1997).

Although scholars hold different views about the nature of Shutongwen policy due to the fact that no relevant documents have survived from the Qin dynasty (Chen, 1997), to some extent they have reached consensus on the following: (a) Xiaozhuan, the Small Seal Script, was the official script for formal usage; (b) Lishu, the Clerical Script, was used more extensively in everyday life; (c) scripts which were employed in the eastern states and were different from the Qin script were eliminated. It is estimated that 25% of Chinese characters used in the pre‐Qin period were eliminated (Cui & Lu, 1992, p. 54). After bamboo slips of the Qin dynasty were unearthed in Liye, new views about the nature of Shutongwen policy were proposed by scholars. Chen Kanli (2014, p. 79) claimed, based on his interpretation of the sentence “‘A’ character remains the same [in certain contexts] and will be written as ‘B’ [in other contexts]” in these bamboo slips, that one of the focuses of this policy was to reassign characters for polysemes. In his opinion, the regulation on the use of Chinese characters in official domains under this policy achieved its purpose, as well as the regulation on the writing of Chinese characters (Chen, 2014, p. 80).

During the process of codification, Li Si, the prime minister, was appointed to compile an index of Chinese characters and standardize the way of writing. According to Shuowen jiezi (Xu Shen, 1996, p. 315), the first dictionary of Chinese characters in China (published in AD 121), Li Si suggested unifying all Chinese characters when Qin Shihuangdi became the first emperor:

When Qin Shihuangdi unified China, the Prime Minister Li Si suggested unifying Chinese characters and abandoning scripts which were different from the writing in the Qin state. Li Si compiled Cangjiepian, Zhao Gao compiled Yuanlipian, and Hu Wujing compiled Boxuepian. All the scripts were Dazhuan, the Great Seal Script from Shizhou. Some scripts were simplified and modified. As a result, Xiaozhuan, the Small Seal Script, came into being. (Preface to Shuowen jiezi)

However, recent studies (Chen, 2003; Galambos, 2006; Holm, 2010) indicate that the unification of scripts was a long process which had started before Qin Shihuangdi unified China.

In light of the theory of language planning, codification is a crucial procedure for corpus planning (Haugen, 1966) that focuses on the language itself—orthography, compilation of dictionaries, reform of writing systems, and so on (Kloss, 1969). In a society, the code that carries greatest importance and enjoys a higher status will be chosen. The Small Seal Script, Xiaozhuan, which is based on Dazhuan, the Great Seal Script, according to Xu Shen, was used as the official script in the Qin dynasty. However, Qiu Xigui (1988, p. 65) holds a different opinion, contending that the characters used in the Qin state from the Spring and Autumn period had evolved gradually into the Small Seal Script (Qiu, 1988, p. 65). No matter how scholars interpret the term “Xiaozhuan” and its origin, they all agree that the official and standard script promoted by Qin Shihuangdi is Xiaozhuan.

There are several ways to standardize the writing of Xiaozhuan: (a) regulate the writing of radicals; (b) fix the position of radicals; (c) eliminate variants; (d) unify the writing of strokes (Gao, 1980). As part of corpus planning, Li Si, Zhao Gao, and Hu Wujing compiled three textbooks, which are known as Sancang, containing 55 chapters with 60 characters in each chapter (Bodde, 1967, p. 150). These textbooks are the fundamental teaching materials in which standard Chinese characters in Xiaozhuan are provided.

With strong promotion and strict regulation, Xiaozhuan was introduced all over the country. It was used in all formal domains as the standard form, for inscriptions, school textbooks, and so on. Meanwhile, Lishu, the Clerical Script, was extensively used by the populace due to its simplified structure and straight strokes, which gradually developed into the standard script in the succeeding Han dynasty. As a matter of fact, the use of Lishu is one of the contributions of Qin Shihuangdi (Li, 1985) as Lishu is a milestone in the evolution of Chinese characters leading to the modern Chinese script.

To summarize, Qin Shihuangdi was the first person in China to consciously plan the Chinese script to meet the needs of unification and communication among the people. What he did can be analyzed in the framework proposed by Haugen (1966), who divided language planning into four stages, namely norm selection, codification, implementation, and elaboration. Norm selection falls into the category of status planning since it promotes a prestigious norm; the other three stages are regarded as corpus planning since they are related to the language itself. By selecting Xiaozhuan as a unifying script for the whole country, Qin Shihuangdi found a way to unite people from diverse dialectal backgrounds. This tradition was passed on, dynasty after dynasty. In this sense, Qin Shihuangdi established a tradition of using a unified script which is supra‐dialectal and supra‐regional. Although Chinese script has evolved several times in the history of China, its function as a bridging form across geographical regions never changes. The policy of Shutongwen by Qin Shihuangdi was indeed a successful language policy (Chen, 2015, p. 151) and a great contribution to Chinese culture (Guo, 1972; Cui & Lu, 1992).

SEE ALSO: Language Policy and Planning: Kemal Atatürk's Contribution

Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (1881–1938) was an Ottoman military officer who led the Turkish war of independence against the entente powers in the aftermath of the Ottoman defeat in World War I. He and his followers, later known as the Kemalists, abolished the sultanate and the caliphate and founded the Republic of Turkey in 1923 on the remains of the Ottoman Empire (Mango, 1999). Atatürk was elected the first president of the new republic and spent much of the 1920s consolidating his power base in Turkey and institutionalizing an authoritarian regime, which was to carry out a broad package of Westernizing and secularizing reforms. As part of that radical reform program, the Turkish government imported the Swiss civil code and the Italian penal code to replace Islamic law, granted full equality to women, and adopted Western garb, clocks, numerals, and calendar. Having entrusted daily politics to a loyal prime minister in 1926, Atatürk focused on identity questions more and more with the ultimate aim of providing a secular identity for the Turks to replace their former Islamic identity. Therefore, it is no surprise that the rewriting of Turkish history and reform of the Turkish language became his pet projects, to the extent that he devoted most of his time to historical and language studies until he died in 1938.

Language and alphabet reform was an important subject on the agenda even before the establishment of the republic. Ottoman intellectuals and statesmen started to complain about the difficulty of writing Turkish with the Arabic alphabet as early as the 1860s (Gülmez, 2006, pp. 64–89) and drew attention to the negative impact of the wide gap between spoken Turkish and its written form, the language of the government and high culture (Heyd, 1954). By 1910 a movement for simplifying the flowery prose of Ottoman Turkish was already afoot, counting among its members some of the most important authors and poets of the day (Öksüz, 1995, pp. 77–165). Ziya Gökalp, arguably the most important ideologue of Turkish nationalism in the 20th century, was at the forefront of this movement and preached a moderate reform of the written language as well as the turkification of the language of prayer. Nevertheless, it was Atatürk who gave the reformers a sense of direction and much‐needed government support and funding. Without his crucial backing, language reform in Turkey would have never picked up pace, nor would it have assumed such colossal proportions.

During the first years of the republic, the Turkish government did not have a clear‐cut language policy and vacillated between an essentially Gökalpist strategy of moderate reform and radical purism. While everybody agreed on the necessity of some sort of language reform, the Turkish government and intelligentsia were divided with respect to the extent, depth, and limits of reform as well as the role of the state in language planning. Although the majority endorsed the moderate reform plan, radical purists and romanizers enjoyed support from Atatürk, who was the ultimate decision maker in the system. Certainly with his sponsorship, the Language Council (Dil Heyeti) was established by an act of the parliament in 1926 as the first republican institution to be in charge of language policy and planning in Turkey (Aytürk, 2008, pp. 276–9). The Language Council did not function as an independent committee or a language academy, but was a branch of the Ministry of Education from an administrative point of view, receiving orders from the top. It achieved its first goal by writing a report on romanization in Turkey, which was successfully implemented in 1928 (Aytürk, 2010, pp. 106–8). The Council was not as successful, however, in its second task of preparing a Turkish dictionary, because of internecine conflict between moderates and radicals, and ceased its activities in 1931.

The following year, in 1932, Atatürk established the Turkish Language Institute (Türk Dil Kurumu or TDK) with lessons learned from the failure of the Language Council. Procedural separation between the state and the TDK was allowed so that the new institutional framework for language reform could resemble a scientific committee or, better, a language academy. While the TDK was designed as a private society, it could not possibly have escaped the orbit of the Turkish government, since its founder was the powerful president of the country. Indeed, Atatürk now threw his full support behind the radical purists, who dominated the TDK, in order to carry out what he called a “language revolution” and to create a new Turkish free especially of Arabic and Persian vocabulary. From 1932 to 1934, this policy was implemented religiously: the TDK launched a massive campaign to collect “authentically” Turkish words from ancient Turkic sources; when an ancient word could not be found to replace the unwanted Arabic or Persian term, new words were coined from ancient roots; all this new material was published by the TDK for use in the newspapers and other media; most of the newspapers agreed to use the new vocabulary despite a fall in their readership; and Atatürk and prominent Kemalist statesmen gave speeches peppered with neologisms in order to provide language reform with political clout (Lewis, 1999, pp. 40–56). Although opposition to the official language policy was possible, it did not go down well with the government and only a few individuals dared to object publicly.

The radical phase of language reform which started with enormous expectations in 1932 ran aground in only two years. By the early months of 1935 it was clear to all, including Atatürk himself, that the desire to create a completely purified Turkish and the unmethodical work of the TDK to achieve that goal produced nothing but chaos. Articles in newspapers, laws, and government directives in officialese were no longer intelligible to all, wreaking havoc in public life. It was at this point that Ataturk came up with the notorious Sun‐Language Theory (Laut, 2000, pp. 48–161; Aytürk, 2009, pp. 23–31) as a face‐saving formula, which helped him terminate the radical stage of language reform without compromising its revolutionary fervor and his prestige. Essentially, the theory was a bewildering combination of pseudo‐philology, psychology, and themes from Freudian and Jungian psychoanalysis. Its practitioners claimed to have discovered layers of prehistoric Turkish influence in all languages of the world, a discovery that made Turkish the Ursprache of all humans. According to this logic, if all languages actually branched off from a Turkish mother tongue, then foreign vocabulary in Modern Turkish ceased to be an issue.

After the proclamation of the Sun‐Language Theory at the Third Turkish Language Conference in 1936, Atatürk and the TDK returned to the Gökalpist path of reform. The radical phase of reform, however, was to taint the prestige of the TDK from then on and politicize language planning forever, dividing the nation as supporters (Kemalists and leftists) versus opponents (conservatives, Islamists, and liberals).

SEE ALSO: Council of Europe Language Policy and Planning; Role of Linguistic Human Rights in Language Policy and Planning

References

1. Aytürk, İ. (2008). The first episode of language reform in Turkey: The Language Council from 1926 to 1931. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 18(3), 275–93.
2. Aytürk, İ. (2009). H. F. Kvergić, and the Sun‐Language Theory. Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 159(1), 22–44.
3. Aytürk, . (2010). Script charisma in Hebrew and Turkish: A comparative framework for explaining success and failure of romanization. Journal of World History, 21(1), 97–130.
4. Gülmez, N. (2006) Tanzimat'tan Cumhuriyet'e Harfler Üzerine Tartişmalar. Istanbul, Turkey: Alfa Aktüel.
5. Heyd, U. (1954). Language reform in modern Turkey. Jerusalem, Israel: Israel Oriental Society.
6. Laut, J. P. (2000). Das Türkische als Ursprache: Sprachwissenschaftliche Theorien in der Zeit des erwachenden türkischen Nationalismus. Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz.
7. Lewis, G. (1999). The Turkish language reform: A catastrophic success. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
8. Mango, A. (1999). Atatürk. London, England: John Murray.
9. Öksüiz, Y. Z. (1995). Turkçe'nin Sadeleşme Tarihi: Genç Kalemler ve Yeni Lisan Hareketi. Ankara, Turkey: Türk Dil Kurumu Yayınları.

Suggested Reading

1. Aytürk, İ. (2004). Turkish linguists against the West: The origins of linguistic nationalism in Atatürk's Turkey. Middle Eastern Studies, 40(6), 1–25.
2. İmer, K. (2001). Türkiye'de Dil Planlaması: Türk Dil Devrimi. Ankara, Turkey: T. C. Kültür BakanliğI Yayınları.
3. Levend, A. S. (1972). Türk Dilinde Gelişme ve Sadeleşme Evreleri. Ankara, Turkey: Türk Dil Kurumu Yayınları.

Note

1.      Reproduced from İlker Aytürk (2013). Language policy and planning: Kemal atatürk's contribution. In C. A. Chapelle (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of Applied Linguistics. John Wiley & Sons, Inc., with permission.

Language Program Evaluation

CAROL A. CHAPELLE

Introduction to Program Evaluation

Language program evaluation entails systematic collection of information that is useful for making judgments about the value of a program. The specific types of information gathered and the value judgments depend on the intended uses of the evaluation. All program evaluations focus an empirical lens on selected elements of programs and the roles they are intended to play for stakeholders. In a sense, evaluation is akin to research, as it involves asking questions, designing investigations to answer those questions, and collecting pertinent data. However, some professionals make a distinction between evaluation and research because of their respective motivations. Research is generally seen as theory driven (i.e., either generating or testing theories) whereas evaluation is typically decision or action driven. The questions that motivate evaluation are asked and answered with particular, practical purposes in mind, such as improving program quality, providing funding to support innovation, developing the capacities of participants, holding programs accountable to ethical or achievement standards, and disseminating understandings about “best practices.” Of course, a strict distinction between theory‐oriented and action‐oriented investigations is difficult to maintain in applied linguistics, where the goal is to conduct theory‐informed research intended to shed light on practice.

In applied linguistics and social science more broadly, program evaluation generally treats the whole program as the unit of analysis even though the definition of a program can vary widely. Evaluations take into account numerous variables that interact as programs are realized, from practitioners and participants, to physical settings, to resource constraints, and beyond. The methodologies for evaluation range across the entire “qualitative” to “quantitative” spectrum in order to answer the variety of questions that might be asked about programs, in all their complexity, and to meet particular decision‐making purposes. For this reason, Cronbach et al. (1980) argued, “The evaluator will be wise not to declare allegiance to either a quantitative‐scientific‐summative methodology or a qualitative naturalistic‐descriptive methodology” (p. 7). Epistemologically, then, evaluation is best described as a pragmatic undertaking, with “utility” as the primary criterion, and it thus accepts the widest variety of data‐collection methods in accordance with the diversity of questions and foci for inquiry (Patton, 2008). Ultimately, the intent of evaluation is to produce evidence that can be used by actual decision makers and other stakeholders to understand programs and take justifiable actions.

Program evaluation in social science has a relatively recent history (Rossi, Lipsey, & Freeman, 2003). Emerging in conjunction with large‐scale federal investment in social programs during the post‐World War II era, largely in the United States, evaluators adopted primarily summative (product‐oriented) and accountability‐driven investigations focusing on the measurement of outcomes and the comparison of programs through experimental methodologies. During the 1960s and 1970s, evaluation practice evolved in response to demands for formative (process‐oriented) insights that could be applied to the improvement of programs, especially in education. Some evaluators adopted new designs and data‐collection methods, from survey research to observations and interviews. The 1980s saw the formalization of evaluation as a professional/scholarly discipline, including the founding of the American Evaluation Association in 1986; and, by the early 1990s, standards of professional practice, including a broad commitment to methodological heterogeneity, had been adopted. The 1990s and 2000s witnessed rapid expansion of program evaluation worldwide, including the creation of the International Organization for Cooperation in Evaluation in 2003, as well as the diversification of evaluation interests in contexts ranging from business and health to social and governmental services to international development, and, of course, to all aspects of education.

The Emergence of Language Program Evaluation

Within applied linguistics, program evaluation is associated primarily with language education and, to some extent, language policy and planning. Historically, language program evaluation paralleled the emergence and development of mainstream evaluation during the early decades, though the corresponding published record is scant. Two approaches were predominant during this first phase of language program evaluation (Beretta, 1992). On the one hand, evaluators sought to demonstrate the superiority of one language teaching method over another through the use of quasi‐experimental comparisons between classes, schools, or both, utilizing batteries of language tests as the primary indicator of program effectiveness. On the other hand, short‐term managerial evaluations were carried out for the purpose of monitoring programs and ensuring their accountability to funders. By and large, these evaluations occurred at the behest of large‐scale English language teaching organizations (e.g., the Overseas Development Administration in the UK), and they featured brief visits to schools by a language expert (generally an applied linguist), who would reflect on aspects of program implementation and then render some kind of a judgment about the program's future.

Critical reactions to these prevailing approaches spawned numerous publications on evaluation during the 1980s and 1990s, initiating the first scholarly treatments of language program evaluation in applied linguistics (e.g., Mackay, 1988; Brown, 1989; Alderson & Beretta, 1992). First, evaluators realized that large‐scale experimentation with language programs or methods was virtually impossible due to the lack of control over population sampling, teacher preparation, actual program delivery, and numerous other variables that inhere within real educational settings. Second, they argued that the “Jet‐In Jet‐Out Expert” (Alderson & Scott, 1992, p. 25) approach was largely arbitrary and hence unfair to program insiders, and that it led to very little in the way of empirical evidence that could be used for local purposes. Third, it became apparent that a thorough understanding of context and implementation was essential for an understanding of how and why language education practices were functioning or not, which implied new methodologies for investigating and accounting for complex interactions between people, environments, and program elements. Fourth, innovative efforts at involving teachers and other program insiders in evaluation led to the realization that participation by stakeholders is vital, given that such involvement led to greater local investment in the process and more actions being taken to improve programs. Finally, perhaps the key contribution of this first generation of scholars was the broad agreement that language education needed to be evaluated for a variety of purposes, ranging from local development and improvement to external accountability and funding, and that any single evaluation method was not likely to meet all possible purposes. Accordingly, the starting point for any evaluation had to be the identification of precisely which purposes were being pursued, followed by the determination of appropriate methods.

Concluding this energetic initial stage in the scholarship of language program evaluation was the publication of a handful of highly informative textbooks and edited collections (see Suggested Readings), contributing a newfound awareness about the scope of language programs (from needs to outcomes) and useful guidance on the array of data‐collection methods (from focus groups to proficiency tests). However, following the mid‐1990s, publications on language program evaluation diminished markedly, and it was not until the mid‐2000s that interest in and demand for evaluation reappeared.

Contemporary Impetus for Language Program Evaluation

Several key issues have provided an impetus for renewed interest in language program evaluation since the early 2000s. The accountability movement, coupled with a variety of mandates to evaluate educational outcomes, has, for better or worse, forced language educators to consider the role evaluation is playing in shaping their programs and practices. In higher education (e.g., in the form of university accreditation in the USA, quality assurance mechanisms in Japan, or assessment exercises in the UK), language programs are required to draw connections between the valued achievements of their students and the design of courses and curricula, to document that relationship using evaluation—in particular, outcomes assessment. Program staff are then to act upon the resulting evidence in cycles of program improvement (e.g., Norris, Davis, Sinicrope, & Watanabe, 2009). In primary and secondary education, accountability‐driven evaluation takes the form of large‐scale standardized assessments of the progress being made by learners toward the achievement of learning standards in core competencies; in the United States, for example, considerable evaluative attention has been paid to the English language development of immigrant and language‐minority learners (e.g., Gottlieb & Nguyen, 2007). Similarly, governmental language education policies worldwide have come increasingly with the stipulation that policy implementation and outcomes be subjected to public scrutiny through evaluation, such as the assessment of Irish language development among school‐age learners in Ireland (e.g., Harris, 2009). Lastly, the funding of research and innovation in language education is also increasingly accompanied by the requirement of rigorous external evaluation, such as the evaluation of experimental heritage language programs in Australia (e.g., Elder, 2009).

In spite of, or perhaps because of, attention to externally mandated evaluations, a second trend has arisen in the form of internally driven evaluation of language programs. In a survey of college language educators in the United States (Watanabe, Norris, & González‐Lloret, 2009), one of the main reasons reported for engaging in evaluation was a personal/professional responsibility to ensure the value of language education. Key here is the notion that language teachers are at the heart of all aspects of language education, and it is only through the direct involvement of language teachers in evaluation, and the valuing of their perspectives, that meaningful, lasting change can take place (e.g., Kiely, 2009). Also at stake is the emerging realization that evaluation offers a medium through which language educators can express and demonstrate the unique contributions of their language programs to institutions and society, not least as a means of disciplinary survival in a time of burgeoning economic crises coupled with an existential crisis of the humanities in general (e.g., Norris, 2006).

Characteristics of Contemporary Program Evaluation

In the contemporary era of heightened awareness of and investment in language program evaluation, approaches have evolved by building upon the foundations outlined above. Language program evaluation today embraces Patton's (2008) utilization‐focused approach which can take into account any of the elements that constitute programs, including (a) the needs of individuals to which programs respond, (b) the theories that underlie program design, (c) the human and other resources that are invested in program development and delivery, (d) the activities and materials via which programs are implemented, (e) the effectiveness of programs at helping participants learn or achieve other goals, and (f) the benefits or drawbacks that accrue for individuals and society as a result of programs. Key characteristics include the following:

• Evaluation consultants facilitate the evaluation processes rather than rendering “objective” judgments, and program insiders and other intended users are expected to participate directly in the process. For example, Norris et al. (2009) document examples of university language teachers and administrators developing, implementing, and acting upon their own evaluations in response to external mandates.
• Evaluation processes begin with identification of intended users and uses for evaluation, and the prioritization of important questions. Yang (2009) demonstrates how teachers and administrators in an English language program first collaborated in establishing the purposes for an evaluation and in determining appropriate data‐collection methods, and then used findings to make needed changes in teacher induction practices.
• Evaluations target elements of language programs relevant at particular stages in their development and implementation. Norris (2008) reports on multiple cycles of evaluating the assessment practices as they evolved in a German language program. Gruba, Cárdenas‐Claros, Suvorov, and Rick (2016) describe evaluations of technology integration in language programs that target a variety of levels of analysis, from a micro evaluation of materials and tasks to a macro evaluation of programs.
• Data‐collection designs and tools are becoming more precise, and mixed methods are regularly employed to answer evaluation questions. Llosa and Slayton (2009) report on the contribution of both standardized achievement testing, within an experimental design, and classroom observations and interviews in order to capture the implementation realities of a supplementary reading program and its apparent lack of impact on English language learner development.
• Longitudinal evaluations are being undertaken, with evaluation practices being built into language program delivery from the outset. McDonough and Chaikitmongkol (2007) trace the collection and use of evaluative data over a year of innovation efforts in a task‐based language program in Thailand.
• Meta‐analytic methods are beginning to address questions about teaching approaches across programs. Bryfonski and McKay (2017) report a meta‐analysis investigating the outcomes achieved when task‐based language teaching (TBLT) was implemented in a number of programs.

These examples demonstrate the potential value of program evaluation to both illuminate and improve language education. Nevertheless, countervailing trends persist, such as the heavy‐handed emphasis on “objective” accountability testing for educational reform (e.g., the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001) and “rigorous” scientific methods for educational evaluation perpetuated by the US Department of Education in its What Works Clearinghouse. Technical capabilities and institutional appetites exist for programs to generate, analyze, and report large amounts of data. In this environment, the need has never been greater for applied linguists to develop an understanding of how data can be used meaningfully for program evaluation (Norris, 2016). Automated data generation is only as useful as the evaluation framework used to interpret it. It remains to be seen how language education culture will evolve to meet persistent requirements for accountability while pursuing ongoing program development and perhaps even empowerment (Kiely & Rea‐Dickins, 2005).

The future of language program evaluation will depend in part on the success of evaluation capacity‐building efforts within language programs and applied linguistics (Davis, Sinicrope, & Watanabe, 2009; Norris & Mills, 2014). The future of language program evaluation will also depend on research into the realities of organizational and other kinds of learning that can result from evaluation. Similarly, the interface between theories of second language acquisition, language teaching methods, and educational programming remains ambiguous at best, yet it is precisely at this interface—as theory‐ and research‐based ideas are put into practice with actual teachers and learners—that program evaluation stands to contribute not only to local decision making but also to more generalized understandings about effective language instruction. This goal needs to be tackled in conjunction with well‐motivated specifications of learning outcomes and assessment of student learning (Norris & Davis, 2015).

Current movement in the field of second language acquisition to engage with multiple perspectives toward learning is a useful step (e.g., Hulstijn et al., 2014; Douglas Fir Group, 2016), but challenges exist for program evaluators attempting to express the theories motivating the aspects of programs to be evaluated. Kiely and Rea‐Dickins (2009) “envisage that future evaluation for the development of instructional strategies will involve accounts of implementation . . . accounts of how decisions are taken, rather than ‘branded’ methods tested and quality‐assured for replication in new contexts” (p. 668). Ways of expressing the complex relationships between aspects of instruction, materials, learning processes, and outcomes are beginning to be used in research and development in applied linguistics (e.g., Chapelle et al., 2018), but such approaches are not widely recognized in language program evaluation. A future where program evaluation is embraced as a core endeavor within applied linguistics may well be within reach of the next generation, but only to the extent that applied linguists are educated in evaluative methodologies; their training encompasses relevant theories of learning and methods to use a range of data sources; scholarly traditions of meta‐evaluation are fostered; and publication and presentation venues for this work are expanded.

SEE ALSO: Needs Analysis; Quantitative Methods

References

1. Alderson, J. C., & Beretta, A. (Eds.). (1992). Evaluating second language education. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
2. Alderson, J. C., & Scott, M. (1992). Insiders, outsiders and participatory evaluation. In J. C. Alderson & A. Beretta (Eds.), Evaluating second language education (pp. 25–57). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
3. Beretta, A. (1992). Evaluation of language education: An overview. In J. C. Alderson & A. Beretta (Eds.), Evaluating second language education (pp. 5–24). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
4. Brown, J. D. (1989). Language program evaluation: A synthesis of existing possibilities. In R. K. Johnson (Ed.), The second language curriculum (pp. 222–41). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
5. Bryfonski, L., & McKay, T. H. (2017). TBLT implementation and evaluation: A meta‐analysis. Language Teaching Research. Advance online publication. doi: 10.1177/1362168817744389
6. Chapelle, C. A., Schmidgall, J., Lopez, A., Blood, I., Wain, J., Cho, Y., … & Dursun, A. (2018). Designing a prototype tablet‐based learning‐oriented assessment for middle school English learners: An evidence‐centered design approach (TOEFL Research Report Series, RR‐18‐46). doi: 10.1002/ets2.12232
7. Cronbach, L. J., Ambron, S. R., Dornbusch, S. M., Hess, R. O., Hornik, R. C., Phillips, D. C., … & Weiner, S. S. (1980). Toward reform of program evaluation: Aims, methods, and institutional arrangements. San Francisco, CA: Jossey‐Bass.
8. Davis, J. McE., Sinicrope, C., & Watanabe, Y. (2009). College foreign language program evaluation: Current practice, future directions. In J. M. Norris, J. McE. Davis, C. Sinicrope, & Y. Watanabe (Eds.), Toward useful program evaluation in college foreign language education (pp. 209–26). Honolulu: University of Hawai'i, National Foreign Language Resource Center.
9. Douglas Fir Group. (2016). A transdisciplinary framework for SLA in a multilingual world. The Modern Language Journal, 100 (Suppl.), 19–47.
10. Elder, C. (2009). Reconciling accountability and development needs in heritage language education: A communication challenge for the evaluation consultant. Language Teaching Research, 13(1), 15–33.
11. Gottlieb, M., & Nguyen, D. (2007). Assessment and accountability in language education programs: A guide for administrators and teachers. Philadelphia, PA: Caslon.
12. Gruba, P., Cárdenas‐Claros, M. S., Suvorov, R., & Rick, K. (2016). Blended language program evaluation. London, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
13. Harris, J. (2009). Late‐stage refocusing of Irish‐language programme evaluation: Maximizing the potential for productive debate and remediation. Language Teaching Research, 13(1), 55–76.
14. Hulstijn, J. H., Young, R. F., Ortega, L., Bigelow, M., DeKeyser, R., & Ellis, N. C. (2014). Bridging the gap: Cognitive and social approaches to research in second language learning and teaching. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 36, 361–421.
15. Kiely, R. (2009). Small answers to the big question: Learning from language programme evaluation. Language Teaching Research, 13(1), 99–116.
16. Kiely, R., & Rea‐Dickins, P. (2005). Program evaluation in language education. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.
17. Kiely, R., & Rea‐Dickins, P. (2009). Evaluation and learning in language programmes. In K. Knapp, B. Seidlhoffer, & W. Widdowson (Eds.), Handbook of foreign language communication and learning (pp. 663–94). New York, NY: De Gruyter.
18. Llosa, L., & Slayton, J. (2009). Using program evaluation to inform and improve the education of young English language learners in US schools. Language Teaching Research, 13(1), 35–54.
19. Mackay, R. (1988). Program evaluation and quality control. TESL Canada Journal, 17(2), 33–42.
20. McDonough, K., & Chaikitmongkol, W. (2007). Teachers' and learners' reactions to a task‐based EFL course in Thailand. TESOL Quarterly, 41(1), 107–32.
21. Norris, J. M. (2006). The why (and how) of student learning outcomes assessment in college FL education. Modern Language Journal, 90(4), 590–7.
22. Norris, J. M. (2008). Validity evaluation in language assessment. New York, NY: Peter Lang.
23. Norris, J. M. (2016). Language program evaluation. The Modern Language Journal, 100 (Suppl.), 169–89.
24. Norris, J. M., & Davis, J. M. (Eds.). (2015). Student learning outcomes assessment in college foreign language programs. Honolulu, HI: National Foreign Language Resource Center.
25. Norris, J. M., Davis, J. McE., Sinicrope, C., & Watanabe, Y. (Eds.). (2009). Toward useful program evaluation in college foreign language education. Honolulu, HI: National Foreign Language Resource Center.
26. Norris, J. M., & Mills, N. (2014). Innovation and accountability in foreign language program evaluation. Boston, MA: Cengage.
27. Patton, M. Q. (2008). Utilization‐focused evaluation (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.
28. Rossi, P., Lipsey, M., & Freeman, H. (2003). Evaluation: A systematic approach (7th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.
29. Watanabe, Y., Norris, J. M., & González‐Lloret, M. (2009). Identifying and responding to evaluation needs in college foreign language programs. In J. M. Norris, J. McE. Davis, C. Sinicrope, & Y. Watanabe (Eds.), Toward useful program evaluation in college foreign language education (pp. 5–58). Honolulu: University of Hawai'i, National Foreign Language Resource Center.
30. Yang, W. (2009). Evaluation of teacher induction practices in a US university English language program: Towards useful evaluation. Language Teaching Research, 13(1), 77–98.

Suggested Readings

1. Brown, J. D. (1995). The elements of language curriculum: A systematic approach to program development. New York, NY: Heinle.
2. Davis, J. McE., & McKay, T. H. (Eds.). (2018). A guide to useful evaluation of language programs. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press.
3. Lynch, B. K. (1996). Language program evaluation: Theory and practice. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
4. Rea‐Dickins, P., & Germaine, K. P. (Eds.). (1998). Managing evaluation and innovation in language teaching: Building bridges. London, England: Longman.
5. Weir, C., & Roberts, C. (1994). Evaluation in ELT. Oxford, England: Blackwell.

Note

1.       Based in part on J. M. Norris and Y. Watanabe (2012). Program evaluation. In C. A. Chapelle (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of Applied Linguistics. John Wiley & Sons Inc., with permission.

Language Teaching and Learning: Quantitative Methods

JOSEPH COLLENTINE AND KARINA COLLENTINE

Quantitative methods are frequently used in applied linguistics to assess the comparative quality of different approaches to language instruction. These methods can help researchers to determine objectively the effects of an intervention between different treatment conditions and over time. Tasks involve holistic language, where learners communicate in the second language to accomplish some goal of everyday life, at work, and so on (Long, 2015). Some argue that task complexity is an important predictor of the extent to which learners will make form–meaning connections, such as mapping words to their semantic denotations (e.g., Robinson, 2005). A common criterion for distinguishing simple and complex tasks is the amount and distinctiveness of referential information a task entails (Samuda & Bygate, 2008).

An Example Study

To demonstrate how quantitative methods help to explain the differential effects of task complexity on learning, the following fictitious study examines incidental vocabulary acquisition in two tasks differing in complexity. The research question is as follows: Does task type determine the amount of incidental vocabulary students learn? Although the researchers believe that a complex task fosters more incidental vocabulary learning than a simple task, they set up their study to test the following null hypothesis: The amount of incidental vocabulary learned does not depend on task type.

Method

In both tasks, beginning level learners of Spanish first read a cartoon story about the theft of a purse. The cartoon contains the accounts of various witnesses. The complex task differs from the simple task in that its cartoon contains twice as many witnesses (and so twice as many details). Learners see mug shots of potential culprits, among which they must identify the thief without being able to return to the cartoon (for a similar task, see Duran & Ramaut, 2006).

Forty learners are randomly assigned to either the simple or complex version of the task, producing two groups of twenty. A predetermined set of 12 words is seeded into the cartoon's dialogs. Based on the learners' curriculum, the words are unlikely to be known to them. Before and after the tasks, the participants take a 20‐item vocabulary test with the 12 targeted items and 8 distracters. The students are to identify the words they know and define them in their first language (L1).

Since learners were assigned to one of two groups and their vocabulary knowledge was tested before and after the instructional task, this study employs a repeated measures linear mixed model analysis (LMM). This statistical approach allows the researcher to reasonably account for (a) each participant's unique learner profile (e.g., overall proficiency level, motivation), (b) his or her baseline performance on both the pretest and the posttest (e.g., some students understand the demands of a test more than others), and (c) how such baseline performance affects the comparison of the pretest and the posttest scores by task type (Cunnings & Finlayson, 2015). The variable group is a fixed factor since each learner participated in one type of task, either simple or complex. The variable test is a repeated fixed factor since each participant provided a pretest score on the vocabulary test and a posttest score on that test. Each student is a random factor nested within group.

In Figure 1, we see (truncated) screenshots of part of the data set in both Excel and SPSS. (See the Appendix for the complete data set.) The first column, named student, uniquely identifies each participant. The second column contains a textual reference to each participant's group assignment. The third column, named time, indicates the test (i.e., pretest or posttest) to which a value in the score column refers.

To answer the research question, both descriptive and inferential statistics are used. While it is beyond the scope of the present article, it is important to consider basic data‐screening procedures to ensure that the study's data meet the assumptions (e.g., Are the data normally distributed? If not, what is an acceptable transformation of the data?) of any inferential statistical analysis (see Larson‐Hall, 2010, chap. 6). In any event, descriptive statistics such as means and standard deviations provide basic quantitative summaries of groups. Inferential statistics extrapolate from a sample the likelihood that quantitative results can be generalized to whole populations. Theoretically speaking, when two or more groups' quantitative characteristics are determined to be significantly different, an inferential statistic has indicated that the groups represent different populations (see Bryman & Cramer, 2011). In practical terms, inferential statistics indicate whether a value is significantly greater than zero or if two or more means are significantly different.

To set up the statistical test for this data set using SPSS, we select in the application's menus Analyze > Mixed Models > Linear . . .

As shown in Figure 2, the initial dialog box requires the user to identify the subjects and the repeated measure. We select student from the left column, and click the arrow button so that it moves into the Subjects box. We then move time into the Repeated box since each subject provided a score for both the pretest and the posttest. With the dropdown box at the bottom of the dialog box titled Repeated Variance Type, we select the option Unstructured. Finally, we click the Continue button.

Next, as Figure 3 shows, in the Linear Mixed Models dialog box, we select score from the left‐hand list and use the right‐pointing arrow to move it to the Dependent Variable box. We also move group and time to the Factor(s) box. Next, we need to identify the fixed factors in our analysis. We click the Fixed button, which prompts a new dialog box. Here, we indicate that both group and time are fixed factors by selecting them in the left‐hand box and clicking the Add button to move them over to the Model box. We click Continue to close this dialog box, returning to our Linear Mixed Models dialog box.

We obtain descriptive statistics utilizing some options in the Linear Mixed Models dialog box in Figure 3. We first click the Statistics button, check the Descriptive Statistics option, and click Continue. Next, we click the EM Means button, and move (OVERALL), group, time, and group*time to the Display Means for box, and again click Continue. Finally, we click OK to obtain the results of the analysis.

Results

The left‐hand column of the results viewer shown in Figure 4 has an outline of the statistics produced by the analysis.

This outline displays various important elements of this analysis, concepts that are generalizable to similar experiments. We focus on those elements that are most critical to answering the research question posed here.

• Descriptive Statistics. This rather long table contains scores for each participant, as well as summary statistics. Most importantly, the end of the table contains a section titled Total, which breaks down the number of participants by test and group, as well as the mean and standard deviation for the participants by test and group.
• Model Dimension. This provides information about the study's variables by type.
• Information Criteria. This contains measurements of the appropriateness of the independent variables that are included in the analysis (Cunnings & Finlayson, 2015). If, for instance, the researcher were to further subdivide the dataset by, say, proficiency level (e.g., intermediate versus advanced students), she or he could redo the analysis with this additional independent variable. If the information criteria were not significantly reduced (a further analysis that is beyond the scope of the present article), then such subdivision would not be advisable. This, in and of itself, is important to report since it would eliminate a possible explanation for the results.
• Fixed Effects. This contains two tables indicating whether there is any main effect for test or group, or both, and whether there is an interaction between test and group. For this LMM analysis, we focus on the table titled Estimates of Fixed Effects.
• Estimated Marginal Means. These tables provide descriptive information along with measures of the standard error and means' confidence intervals. A mean indicates what a group of people scored on a measurement, on average, and this sample mean is used as an estimate of the population mean. Considering that the sample mean is used as an estimate, statisticians can calculate the range within which the population mean should fall with a confidence level of 95% (or even higher). A mean of 2.2 with confidence intervals of ±1.2 signifies that the true (i.e., population) mean is 95% likely to be between 1.0 and 3.4. If the confidence intervals for two means overlap, we cannot be confident that they are significantly different (Smithson, 2003).

In what follows, important results of the SPSS output have been formatted according to APA style to show how they should be reported. Let us first consider the statistics along with plausible interpretations. Then, we will evaluate our hypothesis.

What do the statistical analyses show? The important descriptive statistics are the means, standard deviations, and confidence intervals. Regarding the pretest, we can state that the two groups scored relatively the same because the simple‐task group's mean (M = 1.40; SD = 1.19) is virtually equal to the complex‐task group's mean (M = 1.50; SD = 1.15). Additionally, a consideration of the 95% confidence intervals indicates that the scores of the two groups overlap almost completely. Concerning the posttest, both groups appeared to score higher, although the simple‐task group appears to have a greater increase than the complex task group. There are two statistics that support this. First, considering that the pretest scores were basically equal, the simple‐task group's score increased more because its posttest mean (M = 7.90; SD = 1.77) was higher than that of the complex‐task group (M = 5.70; SD = 1.72). Second, posttest confidence intervals of the two groups do not overlap at all.

Regarding the inferential statistics, we build Table 2 from the Estimates of Fixed Effects table from the results. The analysis indicates that there was a significant interaction between test and group. The important indicators here are: (a) the estimate value of −2.30, the sign of which can be ignored; (b) the standard error of 0.26; (c) the degrees of freedom of 38, which is a reflection and a reminder of the study's sample size; (d) the t‐test value of −3.19, again ignoring the sign; (e) and the p value of .003. The results also reveal a significant main effect for test [estimate = 6.50, SE = 0.51, t (38) = 12.73, p = .000]. However, the analysis indicates that there was not a significant main effect for group.

How do we interpret these results? First, when an analysis reveals a significant interaction between variables, the main effects are usually not considered. This is due to the interpretation of the interaction; namely, a learner's score is dependent on both the type of task he or she participated in and whether we are considering the pretest or the posttest. Another way of portraying this relationship is to say that the two groups realized different changes in their mean vocabulary test scores.

This finding of a significant interaction seems to be at odds with the descriptive statistics. An additional type of data display is extremely helpful in interpreting the results, giving a clearer picture of the data and helping the researcher to know what to focus on. In Figure 5 the mean scores of the simple and complex groups are plotted in a graph. As a rule of thumb, researchers consider statistically significant interactions to be practically significant if the lines cross. By looking at the plot, we see that the lines do not cross, except for maybe a very little bit at the pretest. We see that the statistically significant interaction was due to the fact that both groups were the same on the pretest, but they diverged on the posttest.

Conclusion

Is the research hypothesis supported? Recall that our null hypothesis was the following: The amount of incidental vocabulary learned does not depend on task type. Notice that to make a defensible conclusion about the research hypothesis we have to consider both the descriptive and the inferential statistics, as well as the plot of means. Since the members of the two groups scored about the same on the pretest, but significantly differently from each other on the posttest, we can confidently reject the null hypothesis. What is important, however, is that our experiment does not corroborate the hypothesis that a complex task fosters more incidental vocabulary learning than a simple task. We found the opposite to be true.

Given that the hypothesis for this fictitious study was not supported, in our conclusions we would need to consider perspectives from the literature that hint at making claims contrary to the original hypothesis. In this instance, we would do well to consider the research on processing load, which may suggest that learners who process relatively large amounts of information have fewer resources to dedicate to form–meaning connections when they are primarily focused on a nonlinguistic task.

Additional Considerations

When constructing tables and graphs, we must refer to the required style sheet for the journal or book where the research will be published. In the absence of clear guidelines, we utilize the APA style sheet, to which Tables 1 and Tables 2 adhere. Also, we should build in Excel a plot of our results by group and test, again following a designated style sheet. We need to follow stipulations relating to the use of black and white colors, keeping plots two dimensional, and labeling axes. Figure 5 here follows the APA stipulations.

Although we limit ourselves here to the available statistics produced by the SPSS repeated measures output, we could use a variety of techniques to compare between‐subjects means. See Smithson (2003) for an intriguing and readable treatment of the usefulness of confidence intervals for comparing means.

					95% Confidence Interval
Test	Group	M	n	SD	Lower Bound	Upper Bound
pretest	simple	1.40	20	1.19	.87	1.93
	complex	1.50	20	1.15	.97	2.03
posttest	simple	7.90	20	1.77	7.11	8.69
	complex	5.70	20	1.72	4.91	6.49

						95% Confidence Interval
Parameter	Estimate	SE	df	t	p	Lower Bound	Upper Bound
Intercept	1.40	0.26	38	5.36	.000	0.87	1.93
Group	0.10	0.37	38	0.27	.788	−0.65	0.85
Test	6.50	0.51	38	12.73	.000	5.47	7.53
Group X Test	−2.30	0.72	38	−3.19	.003	−3.76	−0.84

‐2 Restricted Log Likelihood = 280.352

SEE ALSO: Assessment of Vocabulary; Task‐Based Learning: Cognitive Underpinnings; Teaching Vocabulary

References

1. Bryman, A., & Cramer, D. (2011). Quantitative data analysis with SPSS 17, 18 & 19: A guide for social scientists. London, England: Routledge.
2. Cunnings, I., & Finlayson, I. (2015). Mixed effects modelling and longitudinal data analysis. In L. Plonsky (Ed.) Advancing quantitative methods in second language research (pp. 159–81). New York, NY: Routledge.
3. Duran, G., & Ramaut, G. (2006). Tasks for absolute beginners and beyond: Developing and sequencing tasks at basic proficiency levels. In K. Van den Branden (Ed.), Task‐based language education (pp. 47–75). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
4. Larson‐Hall, J. (2010). A guide to doing statistics in second language research using SPSS. New York, NY: Routledge.
5. Long, M. (2015). Second language acquisition and task‐based language teaching. Malden, MA: Wiley‐Blackwell.
6. Robinson, P. (2005). Cognitive complexity and task sequencing: Studies in a componential framework for second language task design. International Review of Applied Linguistics in Language Teaching, 43, 1–32.
7. Samuda, V., & Bygate, M. (2008). Tasks in second language learning. Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
8. Smithson, M. (2003). Confidence intervals. Quantitative applications in the social sciences, 140. Belmont, CA: Sage.

Suggested Reading

1. Brown, J. D. (1988). Understanding research in second language learning: A teacher's guide to statistics and research design. London, England: Heinemann.
2. Brown, J. D., & Rodgers, T. S. (2002). Doing second language research. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
3. Mackey, A., & Gass, S. (2005). Second language research: Methodology and design. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
4. Norris, J. M., & Ortega, L. (2006). Synthesizing research on language learning and teaching. Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
5. Phakiti, A., De Costa, P. I., Plonsky, L., & Starfield, S. (Eds.). (2018). The Palgrave handbook of applied linguistics research methodology. New York, NY: Palgrave.
6. Plonsky, L. (Ed.). (2015). Advancing quantitative methods in second language research. New York, NY: Routledge.

Appendix: Data Set

student	group	time	score
student01	simple	pretest	0
student02	simple	pretest	3
student03	simple	pretest	1
student04	simple	pretest	0
student05	simple	pretest	1
student06	simple	pretest	1
student07	simple	pretest	2
student08	simple	pretest	3
student09	simple	pretest	0
student10	simple	pretest	2
student11	simple	pretest	3
student12	simple	pretest	0
student13	simple	pretest	2
student14	simple	pretest	1
student15	simple	pretest	3
student16	simple	pretest	3
student17	simple	pretest	2
student18	simple	pretest	1
student19	simple	pretest	0
student20	simple	pretest	0
student21	complex	pretest	2
student22	complex	pretest	3
student23	complex	pretest	0
student24	complex	pretest	3
student25	complex	pretest	2
student26	complex	pretest	1
student27	complex	pretest	0
student28	complex	pretest	1
student29	complex	pretest	2
student30	complex	pretest	3
student31	complex	pretest	2
student32	complex	pretest	0
student33	complex	pretest	1
student34	complex	pretest	3
student35	complex	pretest	1
student36	complex	pretest	0
student37	complex	pretest	2
student38	complex	pretest	3
student39	complex	pretest	1
student40	complex	pretest	0
student01	simple	posttest	7
student02	simple	posttest	11
student03	simple	posttest	9
student04	simple	posttest	10
student05	simple	posttest	7
student06	simple	posttest	10
student07	simple	posttest	6
student08	simple	posttest	7
student09	simple	posttest	8
student10	simple	posttest	7
student11	simple	posttest	8
student12	simple	posttest	6
student13	simple	posttest	7
student14	simple	posttest	6
student15	simple	posttest	8
student16	simple	posttest	6
student17	simple	posttest	8
student18	simple	posttest	6
student19	simple	posttest	9
student20	simple	posttest	12
student21	complex	posttest	4
student22	complex	posttest	4
student23	complex	posttest	7
student24	complex	posttest	8
student25	complex	posttest	4
student26	complex	posttest	6
student27	complex	posttest	6
student28	complex	posttest	10
student29	complex	posttest	4
student30	complex	posttest	7
student31	complex	posttest	4
student32	complex	posttest	5
student33	complex	posttest	6
student34	complex	posttest	7
student35	complex	posttest	4
student36	complex	posttest	7
student37	complex	posttest	4
student38	complex	posttest	4
student39	complex	posttest	7
student40	complex	posttest	6

Languaging: Collaborative Dialogue as a Source of Second Language Learning

MERRILL SWAIN AND YUKO WATANABE

A theoretical claim is that languaging is a source of second language (L2) learning (Swain, 2006, 2010). The concept of languaging derives from Vygotsky's work, which demonstrated the critical role language plays in mediating cognitive processes. Language and thought are not the same thing; in fact, Vygotsky argued that language “completes thought.” In essence, we can think of languaging as an activity, a “process of making meaning and shaping knowledge and experience through language” (Swain, 2006, p. 98), and as such, it is part of the process of learning. The verb languaging forces us to understand language as a process rather than as an object.

When confronted with a complex problem, we may speak with another person about the problem and how to solve it (collaborative dialogue, interpersonal communication), or we may speak aloud or whisper to ourselves (private speech, intrapersonal communication). These are two types of languaging. Talking with (or writing to) others and talking with (or writing to) oneself are connected theoretically and in practice. As with any example of languaging, the goal is to solve a complex cognitive problem using language to mediate problem solution.

This entry first defines collaborative dialogue (a type of languaging). Following that, it discusses research that suggests that collaborative dialogue (CD) is a source of L2 learning and development, contexts implicated in the quality and quantity of CD, mediational means, and the inseparability of cognition and emotion in CD. It concludes with a statement of why CD is important to both learners and teachers of second or foreign languages. The focus throughout this entry is on research concerning CD between peers in the area of second or foreign language education. It includes studies that (a) explicitly use the term collaborative dialogue, or (b) provide data which the authors consider to be examples of CD although the researchers may label it differently.

Definition

Collaborative dialogue has been defined as dialogue in which speakers are engaged in problem solving and knowledge building (Swain, 2000). CD may be about anything (e.g., mathematics, physics, language). During CD, one or both speakers may refine their knowledge or come to a new or deeper understanding of a phenomenon. Speakers (or writers) are using language as a cognitive tool to mediate their own thinking and that of others. Speaking produces an utterance, a product (an artifact) that can be questioned, added to, discredited, and so forth. This action of co‐constructing meaning is CD, and is a source of language learning and development.

The example below is illustrative. In this example, two grade 8 French immersion students, Doug and Kathy (pseudonyms), are in the process of writing out a story based on a set of pictures they have been given (see Swain & Lapkin, 1998, for details of the task). In the part of their dialogue provided below, they are working out how to write in French their intended meaning, “while she combs her hair and brushes her teeth,” to complete what they have already written, “Yvonne se regarde dans le miroir . . .” (“Yvonne looks at herself in the mirror . . .”). The translation of what Doug and Kathy say is in bold.

1. Kathy: Pendant qu'elle brosse les cheveux. (while she brushes her hair)
2. Doug: Et les dents. (and her teeth)
3. Kathy: Non, non, pendant qu'elle brosse les dents et . . . (No, no, while she brushes her teeth and . . . )
4. Doug: Elle se brosse . . . elle SE brosse. (She brushes . . . she brushes [emphasizes the reflexive pronoun])
5. Kathy: Pendant qu'elle se brosse les dents et peigne les cheveux. (While she brushes her teeth and combs her hair)
6. Doug: Ya!
7. Kathy: Pendant qu'elle . . . se brosse . . . les cheveux, I mean, no, pendant qu'elle se PEIGNE les cheveux. (While she . . . brushes . . . her hair, I mean, no, while she COMBS her hair)
8. Doug: Ya.
9. Kathy: Et se brosse . . . (And brushes . . . )
10. Doug: Les dents. (Her teeth.)
11. Kathy: Pendant qu'elle SE peigne les cheveux et SE brosse les dents. (While she combs her hair and brushes her teeth [emphasizes the reflexive pronouns]) (from Swain, 2000)

In this example, we see Kathy and Doug co‐constructing the second half of the sentence. They end up with the complex and correct structure “pendant qu'elle se peigne les cheveux et se brosse les dents” (“while she combs her hair and brushes her teeth”). To do so, they had to consider which verb goes with which noun, and the reflexive nature of the particular verbs they were using. Kathy started off with “brosse les cheveux,” a phrase that directly translates the English “brushes” and “hair.” Doug's offer of “et les dents” (“and her teeth”) in turn 2, however, triggered Kathy to reject her verb/noun collocation of “brosse/cheveux” and replace it with the more usual collocation of “brosse/dents” (turn 3). Doug quickly reacted to Kathy's use of “brosse” in turn 3 by pointing out through emphasis in turn 4 that “brosse” is a reflexive verb: “elle SE brosse.” Kathy incorporated this information in turn 5 for “brosse” and generalized it (correctly) to “peigne” in turn 7 although her focus in turn 7 was on using the verb that best accompanied “les cheveux.” In turn 9, with Doug's encouragement, she continued with “et se brosse,” then hesitated. Doug again provided her with the appropriate noun “les dents.” In turn 11, Kathy shifted her focus to the form of the verbs as reflexives, thus fully incorporating Doug's contributions to this conversation.

The dialogue between Kathy and Doug represents “collective cognitive activity which serves as a transitional mechanism from the social to internal planes of psychological functioning” (Donato, 1988, p. 8). Through it, they regulated each other's mental (and affective) activity, and their own. Their dialogue provided them with opportunities to co‐construct a complex linguistic structure by focusing their attention and providing opportunities to revise their own language use.

Collaborative Dialogue (CD) as a Source of Learning

A number of studies have suggested that peer–peer CD is a source of L2 learning. Donato's (1994) pioneering study examined the CD of university French L2 learners as they jointly constructed a scenario to be performed. Their CD showed that three learners, regardless of their linguistic abilities, provided mutual support to each other in order to solve the linguistic problems they encountered. Some of the forms that the students collaboratively constructed were successfully reused when they role‐played the scenario. Donato's study demonstrated that although the students were individually novices, collectively they were experts who created linguistic forms that none of them could have created on their own.

Swain and her colleagues have shown how interaction provides L2 learners with an opportunity to engage in CD as they seek out and provide assistance with language‐related problems (e.g., Swain & Lapkin, 2002; Brooks & Swain, 2009). These studies used language‐related episodes (LREs) as a unit of analysis to operationalize the construct of CD. Swain and Lapkin (1998) defined LREs as “any part of a dialogue where the students talk about the language they are producing, question their language use, or correct themselves or others” (p. 326). Through CD, students form and test hypotheses about the appropriate and correct use of language, as well as reflect on their language use. By using posttests tailor‐made to the LREs produced by each pair of students, it is possible to trace the L2 learning that occurred during the LRE. Thus, an LRE is a useful unit for understanding the process and product of L2 learning. In effect, LREs represent L2 learning in progress.

Several studies have compared whether CD is more effective than working alone in L2 learning. Many of these studies compared CD to the solitary condition involving the use of think‐alouds or no (recorded) verbalization during task completion. Most of these studies have reported that engaging in CD is more conducive to learning. For example, Taguchi and Kim (2016) examined the impact of CD in learning L2 pragmatics of request. The study found that the young English as a foreign language (EFL) students who completed tasks collaboratively produced more pragmatic‐related episodes and used the target language more successfully than those who completed them independently while thinking aloud.

Few studies have compared CD to the solitary condition involving the use of private speech (versus think‐alouds which do not necessarily serve the same mediating function as private speech) and found that students benefit from both languaging conditions. For example, Borer (2007) and Watanabe (2019) found that when the same learners engaged in a similar task collaboratively and individually, both conditions were equally effective in learning vocabulary (Borer) and writing a composition (Watanabe).

Contexts Implicated in the Quality and Quantity of CD

Studies on CD have explored how certain aspects related to the context affected the quality and quantity of CD. The research to date has examined: patterns of interaction, L2 proficiency differences, and task characteristics. Some of these studies have focused on multiple aspects.

Patterns of Interaction

Storch's (2002) foundational study underscored the importance of peer relationships during peer–peer dialogue. Using the dimensions of mutuality and equality, Storch distinguished four patterns of pair interaction. Moreover, Storch found that the pairs with a collaborative stance (collaborative and expert/novice) had more opportunities for learning than the pairs with a noncollaborative stance (dominant/dominant and dominant/passive). Researchers who applied Storch's framework have confirmed her findings that peer relationships affect the nature of CD and L2 learning (e.g., Storch & Aldosari, 2013). In the context of CMC, the studies have agreed that similar to face‐to‐face interaction, a collaborative pattern of interaction is most conducive to L2 learning (e.g., Li & Kim, 2016).

Mozaffari (2016) examined the impact of teacher‐assigned and student‐selected pairings on adult EFL learners' CD. The findings showed that teacher‐assigned pairs produced significantly more LREs than student‐selected pairs during their collaborative writing and that no difference was found in terms of the pattern of interaction.

Fernández Dobao (2012) compared L2 Spanish learners' text produced by groups of four, pairs and individuals. The study found that groups produced more LREs and correctly resolved more LREs than did pairs, as well as producing a more grammatically accurate text than those written individually and in pairs. However, no significant differences in accuracy were found between pairs and individuals.

Fernández Dobao (2016) also examined whether all group members benefited from CD. It was found that being silent does not necessarily mean that students are not learning as they may be languaging via private speech. The researcher thus argued that it is the quality of the LREs rather than the quantity that impacted learning.

Proficiency Differences

Kowal and Swain (1997) documented that, in a highly heterogeneous grouping, the stronger student tended to do most of the work either because the weaker student was too intimidated to say anything, was willing to let the stronger student do the task, or was not allowed to do any of the task whether their opinion was valid or not.

Leeser (2004) found that, as the overall proficiency of a pair increased, the learners produced a greater number of LREs, correctly resolved more LREs, and focused more on form than on lexical items.

Watanabe and Swain (2007) investigated how adult ESL learners each interacted with both more and less proficient peers. The researchers found that when the learners interacted in a collaborative manner, they were more likely to achieve higher posttest scores regardless of their partner's proficiency level. The researchers claimed that proficiency differences did not seem to be the decisive factor in affecting the nature of CD. Rather, the pattern of interaction co‐constructed by both learners had a greater impact (see also, for example, Storch & Aldosari, 2013).

Task Characteristics

García Mayo and Azkarai (2016) examined the impact of task modality on LREs and level of engagement in the interaction of EFL learners while completing four different tasks. The results indicated that the learners initiated significantly more LREs, resolved more LREs and focused more on form in the writing tasks than in the oral tasks, where they focused more on meaning (see also Payant & Kim, 2019). Additionally, more structured tasks seem to prompt more attention to form and meaning than less structured tasks.

Several studies have shown that task repetition encourages learners to engage in CD. For example, Payant and Reagan (2018) examined the effects of task and procedure repetition on L2 Spanish learners. The findings indicated that the task repetition had greater impacts on producing and resolving lexis‐based LREs, while the impact of the occurrence and resolution on form‐based LREs was similar between task and procedure repetition groups.

Kim and McDonough (2011) examined the impact of pre‐task modeling on young Korean EFL students' CD. The researchers found that the students who viewed pre‐task modeling generated more LREs and resolved more linguistic problems than those who did not view it. Moreover, the pre‐task groups were more likely to interact in a collaborative manner than the comparison group.

Dao and McDonough (2016) examined whether task role affects mixed‐proficiency dyads' CD and interactional patterns. The findings indicated that when a more dominant task role was assigned to a lower‐proficiency learner, pairs produced more LREs and engaged in a collaborative interaction.

Mediational Means Used

Computer‐Mediated Communication (CMC)

Over the past decade, CD in the computer‐mediated environment has received substantial attention, particularly in the area of collaborative writing using Web 2.0 tools. Some of these studies focused on the nature of peer corrective feedback while other studies investigated the pattern of interaction in the CMC environment (see Patterns of Interaction section above).

Recent studies have compared the nature of CD in different modes of communication. Roushad and Storch (2016) compared CD of the same pairs of ESL learners while completing a writing task in a face‐to‐face and written CMC mode. The study found that learners were more likely to be collaborative in the face‐to‐face mode than in the CMC mode, where learners tended to “cooperate.” The face‐to‐face interaction elicited substantially more LREs than in CMC, despite the fact that the CMC pairs spent more time on task (see similar findings for Loewen & Wolf, 2016, and contradictory findings for Zeng, 2017).

Use of L1

Research has examined the use of different mediational means during CD. One of the significant tools is the use of L1. Use of the L1 in L2 classrooms is a controversial issue. Sociocultural theorists argue that L1 has a place in the L2 classroom because it is a cognitive tool essential to make sense of the L2 learning process (Swain & Lapkin, 2013).

Swain and Lapkin (2000) examined the use and functions of L1 while French immersion students completed jigsaw and dictogloss tasks. The researchers found that less than 30% of the total turns in their dialogue were in the L1 and only approximately 12% of the L1 turns were off‐task. The rest of their L1 use served valuable cognitive and social functions. Although no statistically significant relationship between L1 use and task type was found, there was less variation in L1 use in the dictogloss task, suggesting that different task types may yield different L1 use. Azkarai and García Mayo (2017) reported that task modality had a clear impact on learners' L1 use and that the functions of L1 were task dependent. They found that task repetition significantly decreased young EFL learners' L1 use during the task.

DiCamilla and Antón (2012) investigated the use of L1 during collaborative writing by beginning and advanced‐level learners of Spanish. Overall, while the beginning‐level students relied greatly on their L1 as a psychological tool, the advanced‐level students used L2 far more frequently. However, the distribution of four functions of L1 was quite similar across the two groups.

Inseparability of Cognition and Emotion

Drawing on SCT, Swain (2013) argued that emotion is inseparable from cognition. Emotions are socially constructed in peer–peer dialogue, and those emotions mediate learning. Despite its importance, the studies focusing on the socioemotional aspects of CD are scarce.

Martin‐Beltrán, Chen, Guzman, and Merrills (2016) documented how adolescent Spanish and English learners of complementary language backgrounds mediate each other's L2 learning using relationship‐building discourse. The researchers found that adolescents use social discourse as a tool to afford opportunities for knowledge co‐construction and caution not to dismiss such behavior as off‐task talk, irrelevant for learning.

While emotions tended not to be a main research theme, several researchers discussed this issue in relation to their findings, highlighting the importance of considering affective aspects of CD. For example, Watanabe (2008) illustrated how ESL learners felt when interacting with peers of different proficiency and found that both pair relationships and knowledge are co‐constructed through the process of peer–peer dialogue. Li and Zhu (2017) analyzed ESL learners' wiki‐based interactions and found that different patterns of interaction can be explained by group members' goals, agency, and socially constructed emotion (see also Storch, 2004).

Conclusion

Over the past few years, research on CD has expanded considerably. Researchers have explored the effects of CD in learning various language skills as well as the use of peer–peer CD in different contexts including testing (e.g., Brooks, 2009) and out‐of‐school (e.g., Cho, 2001).

The studies we have discussed indicate how languaging as CD is a source of L2 learning. Analyses of learners' CDs have shown how L2 learners use language as a cognitive tool to mediate their thinking, and how talking about the language mediates L2 learning and development. Evidence that languaging is a source of L2 learning is based on tracing relationships between CD as process and product.

The importance of languaging to teachers and learners of second/foreign languages is that, by listening to it, insights into the cognitive and affective processes that learners are using in their particular learning/teaching context are inevitable.

SEE ALSO: Collaborative Language Learning; Research Methods and Sociocultural Approaches in Second Language Acquisition; Using the First Language and Code Switching in Second Language Classrooms; Vygotsky and Second Language Acquisition

References

1. Azkarai, A., & García Mayo, M. P. (2017). Task repetition effects on L1 use in EFL child task‐based interaction. Language Teaching Research, 21, 480–95.
2. Borer, L. (2007). Depth of processing in private and social speech: Its role in the retention of word knowledge by adult EAP learners. The Canadian Modern Language Review, 64, 269–95.
3. Brooks, L. (2009). Interacting in pairs in a test of oral proficiency: Co‐constructing a better performance. Language Testing, 26, 341–66.
4. Brooks, L., & Swain, M. (2009). Languaging in collaborative writing: Creation of and response to expertise. In A. Mackey & C. Polio (Eds.), Multiple perspectives on interaction in SLA. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
5. Cho, H. (2017). Synchronous Web‐based collaborative writing: Factors mediating interaction among second‐language writers. Journal of Second Language Writing, 36, 37–51.
6. Dao, P., & McDonough, K. (2016). The effect of task role on Vietnamese EFL learners' collaboration in mixed proficiency dyads. System, 65, 15–24.
7. DiCamilla, F., & Antón, M. (2012). Functions of L1 in the collaborative interaction of beginning and advanced second language learners. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 22, 160–88.
8. Donato, R. (1988). Beyond group: A psycholinguistic rationale for collective activity in second‐language learning (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Delaware.
9. Donato, R. (1994). Collective scaffolding in second language learning. In J. P. Lantolf & G. Appel (Eds.), Vygotskian approaches to second language research (pp. 33–56). Norwood, NJ: Ablex.
10. Fernández Dobao, A. (2012). Collaborative writing tasks in L2 classroom: Comparing group, pair and individual work. Journal of Second Language Writing, 21, 40–58.
11. Fernández Dobao, A. (2016). Peer interaction and learning: A focus on the silent learner. In M. Sato & S. Ballinger (Eds.), Peer interaction and second language learning: Pedagogical potential and research agenda (pp. 33–61). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
12. García Mayo, M. P., & Azkarai, A. (2016). EFL task‐based interaction: Does task modality impact on language‐related episodes? In M. Sato & S. Ballinger (Eds.), Peer interaction and second language learning: Pedagogical potential and research agenda (pp. 241–66). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
13. Kim, Y., & McDonough, K. (2011). Using pretask modelling to encourage collaborative learning opportunities. Language Teaching Research, 15, 183–99.
14. Kowal, M., & Swain, M. (1997). From semantic to syntactic processing: How can we promote it in the immersion classroom? In K. Johnson & M. Swain (Eds.), Immersion education: International perspectives (pp. 284–309). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
15. Leeser, M. J. (2004). Learner proficiency and focus on form during collaborative dialogue. Language Teaching Research, 8, 55–81.
16. Li, M., & Kim, D. (2016). One wiki, two groups: Dynamic interactions across ESL collaborative writing tasks. Journal of Second Language Writing, 31, 25–42.
17. Li, M., & Zhu, W. (2017). Explaining dynamic interactions in wiki‐based collaborative writing. Language Learning & Technology, 21, 96–120.
18. Loewen, S., & Wolff, D. (2016). Peer interaction in F2F and CMC contexts. In M. Sato & S. Ballinger (Eds.), Peer interaction and second language learning: Pedagogical potential and research agenda (pp. 163–84). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
19. Martin‐Beltrán, M., Chen, P., Guzman, N., & Merrills, K. (2016). How adolescents use social discourse to open space for language learning during peer interactions. In M. Sato & S. Ballinger (Eds.), Peer interaction and second language learning: Pedagogical potential and research agenda (pp. 319–48). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
20. Mozaffari, S. H. (2016). Comparing student‐selected and teacher‐assigned pairs on collaborative writing. Language Teaching Research, 21, 496–516.
21. Payant, C., & Kim, Y. (2019). Impact of task modality on collaborative dialogue among plurilingual learners: A classroom‐based study. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 22(5), 614–27.
22. Payant, C., & Reagan, D. (2018). Manipulating task implementation variables with incipient Spanish language learners: A classroom‐based study. Language Teaching Research, 22, 169–88.
23. Roushad, A., & Storch, N. (2016). A focus on mode: Patterns of interaction in face‐to‐face and computer‐mediated contexts. In M. Sato & S. Ballinger (Eds.), Peer interaction and second language learning: Pedagogical potential and research agenda (pp. 267–89). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
24. Storch, N. (2002). Patterns of interaction in ESL pair work. Language Learning, 52, 119–58.
25. Storch, N. (2004). Using activity theory to explain differences in patterns of dyadic interactions in an ESL class. The Canadian Modern Language Review, 60(4), 457–80.
26. Storch, N., & Aldosari, A. (2013). Pairing learners in pair work activity. Language Teaching Research, 17, 31–48.
27. Swain, M. (2000). The output hypothesis and beyond: Mediating acquisition through collaborative dialogue. In J. P. Lantolf (Ed.), Sociocultural theory and second language learning (pp. 97–114). Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
28. Swain, M. (2006). Languaging, agency and collaboration in advanced second language learning. In H. Byrnes (Ed.), Advanced language learning: The contributions of Halliday and Vygotsky (pp. 95–108). London, England: Continuum.
29. Swain, M. (2010). “Talking‐it‐through”: Languaging as a source of learning. In R. Batstone (Ed.), Sociocognitive perspectives on second language learning and use (pp. 112–29). Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
30. Swain, M. (2013). The inseparability of cognition and emotion in second language learning. Language Teaching, 46, 195–207.
31. Swain, M., & Lapkin, S. (1998). Interaction and second language learning: Two adolescent French immersion students working together. The Modern Language Journal, 82, 320–37.
32. Swain, M., & Lapkin, S. (2000). Task‐based second language learning: The uses of the first language. Language Teaching Research, 4, 251–74.
33. Swain, M., & Lapkin, S. (2002). Talking it through: Two French immersion learners' response to reformulation. International Journal of Educational Research, 37, 285–304.
34. Swain, M., & Lapkin, S. (2013). A Vygotskian sociocultural perspective on immersion education: The L1/L2 debate. Journal of Immersion and Content‐Based Language Education, 1, 101–30.
35. Taguchi, N., & Kim, Y. (2016). Collaborative dialogue in learning pragmatics: Pragmatics‐related episodes as an opportunity for learning request‐making. Applied Linguistics, 37, 416–37.
36. Watanabe, Y. (2008). Peer–peer interaction between L2 learners of different proficiency levels: Their interactions and reflections. The Canadian Modern Language Review, 64, 605–35.
37. Watanabe, Y. (2019). The role of languaging in collaborative and independent writing: When pairs outperform individuals. In M. Haneda & H. Nassaji (Eds.), Perspectives on language as action: Essays in honour of Merrill Swain (pp. 63–79). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
38. Watanabe, Y., & Swain, M. (2007). Effects of proficiency differences and patterns of pair interaction on second language learning: Collaborative dialogue between adult ESL learners. Language Teaching Research, 11, 121–42.
39. Zeng, G. (2017). Collaborative dialogue in synchronous computer‐mediated communication and face‐to‐face communication. ReCALL, 29, 257–75.

Suggested Reading

1. Sato, M., & Ballinger, S. (Eds.). (2016). Peer interaction and second language learning: Pedagogical potential and research agenda. Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
2. Storch, N. (2013). Collaborative writing in L2 classrooms. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
3. Swain, M., Kinnear, P., & Steinman, L. (2015). Sociocultural theory in second language education: An introduction through narratives (2nd ed.). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.

Learner Beliefs in Second Language Learning

PAULA KALAJA AND ANA MARIA FERREIRA BARCELOS

The Beginnings

Second and foreign‐language learners of all ages, from young children to teenagers and adults, have beliefs about language learning. This is true whether learning takes place in formal contexts such as regular English as a foreign language (EFL) classrooms and immersion programs or informal contexts such as home and workplace. Teachers also have beliefs about teaching and learning processes. It is important to understand how learners' beliefs relate to (a) their approaches to learning languages, including use of learning strategies; (b) the positive and negative emotions they experience in the language learning process; (c) the approaches, methods, or techniques their teachers use in the classroom; and (d) the possible conflicts arising from the differences in learners' beliefs and those of their teachers.

The interest in learner beliefs about language learning can be traced back to the mid‐1970s, and more specifically to the discussion of the good language learner and his or her characteristics: Why do some learners get on in learning languages, while others do not? What distinguishes good learners from poor learners? In this discussion, beliefs (under various names including mini‐theories and learning philosophies) were put forward as one possible explanation, along with others, such as aptitude, motivation, and learning strategies, for differences in language‐learning outcomes. These are first attempts at recognizing learners' tacit knowledge and its importance in learning languages without, however, yet calling these “beliefs.”

With the consequent launching of communicative language teaching (CLT) in the late 1970s and early 1980s, the focus shifted to viewing language as a means of communication, involving negotiation of meaning and an ability to use communication strategies, and to teaching based on learner needs. Overall learners were assigned a more active role (compared to earlier teaching approaches) and thus their expectations, experiences, and understanding of issues in language learning were highlighted. The seeds were sown for research on learner beliefs about language learning to begin.

The Classics

Serious research into learner beliefs began only in the mid‐1980s with Elaine Horwitz and Anita Wenden reporting on their pioneering studies. Importantly, the term beliefs (also referred to as metacognitive knowledge, adopted from cognitive psychology) appears for the first time in applied linguistics in 1985, along with the introduction of the beliefs about language learning inventory (BALLI), an instrument to measure learner beliefs about language learning. In her study, Horwitz (1987) wanted to find out how common certain popular beliefs were among a specific group of learners. To this end, the BALLI questionnaire was developed. It consists of 34 statements related to language learning, covering

1. foreign‐language aptitude,
2. the difficulty of language learning,
3. the nature of language learning,
4. learning and communication strategies, and
5. motivation.

The questionnaire was administered to 32 intermediate‐level students on an English as a second language (ESL) program at a university in the USA, who were asked to indicate whether or not they agreed with the statements on a scale ranging from I totally agree to I totally disagree. The results showed, among other things, that the majority of the students (75–91%) agreed with the following statements, representing the five areas measured by the questionnaire:

1. It is easier for children than adults to learn a foreign language.
2. Some languages are easier to learn than others.
3. It is best to learn English in an English‐speaking country.
4. It is important to repeat and practice a lot.
5. I would like to have American friends.

Overall, this pioneering study can be characterized as descriptive and fairly simple in its design.

With the advocacy of learner autonomy and a consequent boom in providing learners with learning strategy training, the concept of beliefs was further strengthened by the studies carried out by Wenden (1986, 1987). The purpose of her earlier study was to investigate the beliefs about language learning held by learners. A semi‐structured interview was used with 25 adult ESL students enrolled in advanced level classes at a university in the USA. The data were subjected to content analysis. The learners were indeed found capable of talking about (a) the language they were learning, (b) their proficiency in the language, (c) the outcome of their learning endeavors, (d) their role in the language‐learning process, and (e) the best approach to language learning.

At this point (e.g., Wenden, 1991), beliefs about language learning were viewed as cognitive entities (and different from facts), based on personal experience or the opinions of significant others (e.g., parents or teachers), characterized as something that learners were aware of and could talk about (statable), fairly stable over time, and potentially right or wrong (fallible). Learner beliefs were further said to concern learners as personalities, the tasks carried out or strategies used, and their perceived efficiency or inefficiency. Residing in a learner's mind, beliefs about language learning were considered impossible to observe: They could only be studied by resorting to indirect methods. Typically the two main methods of data collection were either that groups of learners (or teachers) with various backgrounds were asked to fill in a questionnaire, such as the BALLI, in its original or modified format, or they were interviewed.

Continuation of Research Along Two Lines

Research into beliefs about language learning then began to bloom. For the first time, a symposium addressing learner beliefs (Gaies & Sakui, 1999) was organized at AILA 1999, an international conference on applied linguistics; and later on that year an entire issue of System was dedicated to research into beliefs about language learning (Wenden, 1999). Research into beliefs took many forms. First, the nature of beliefs was reconsidered (as were the starting points of doing research): Even though some researchers still claimed beliefs to be cognitive, possessed by the learner, others argued that they were social, and so shared and jointly constructed by the learner and the others involved in the process of language learning. Second, research at this point was characterized by a whole new range of terminology: A host of related terms (with more or less the same meaning) was used in studies of learners, including their perceptions, conceptions, personal theories, everyday knowledge, and folklinguistics. Third, research into learner beliefs diversified: Studies were conducted basically along two lines of research (for a recent review, see Kalaja, Barcelos, & Aro, 2018).

The first line of research, referred to as the normative approach by Barcelos (2003), followed the path laid down by the pioneers, sticking to a traditional etic perspective, borrowed from cognitive psychology (with ideals/principles adopted from the natural sciences) and stressing the objective nature of language learning. However, on occasions more complex research designs were also resorted to. So, instead of simple descriptions of a group of learners (or more than one compared), more sophisticated quantitative analyses were conducted to establish correlations, or cause and effect relationships, between learner beliefs and other learner characteristics, such as learning strategies, anxiety, motivation, or personality, or learner background variables (including gender, age, language proficiency), or combinations of these, by statistical means. The majority of studies on learner beliefs were conducted along these lines, the BALLI continuing to be the most widely used instrument. Yang (1992), for instance, wanted to explore the beliefs about language learning held by second language learners and their use of learning strategies. She used translations of the BALLI and the strategy inventory about language learning (SILL) developed by Oxford (1990) with 504 EFL undergraduates in Taiwan. The data were analyzed quantitatively using basic statistical procedures. The relationship between beliefs and strategy use turned out not to be very simple, and needed to be interpreted with caution. Yang added one open‐ended question to the BALLI. The responses to this question revealed different beliefs from the BALLI. Some of the beliefs were probably culturally related, such as concerns about losing one's face, making a fool of oneself, or being laughed at.

By contrast, the second line of research opted for a less charted path, referred to as the contextual approach by Barcelos (2003), advocating an emic perspective, thus highlighting the subjective nature of language learning: The language to be learned, being a learner, the learning process, and learning contexts are all charged with positive or negative experiences and loaded with personal meanings. These views were put forth in a pioneering collection of studies on learner (and partly teacher) beliefs edited by Kalaja and Barcelos (2003). In this, by now classic, book beliefs were acknowledged to be highly dependent on context and dynamic or variable not only from one occasion to another but even from one moment to another. This, in turn, meant a shift in research methodology. Typically studies were qualitative or interpretative in nature, and a variety of data collection methods were used, possibly in combinations, ranging from questionnaires (now with open‐ended questions) and interviews to completion tasks (of the type “Studying English is like…” ), diaries or journals, observation, and narratives, and the pools of data analyzed, for example, for their content, metaphors, or means of discursive construction. For example, Barcelos (2000) conducted an ethnographic study to investigate the beliefs about language learning and teaching held by students (and teachers), how their beliefs compared to each other and what consequences these had for their learning. Semi‐structured interviews were used with students and teachers, open‐ended questionnaires, audio and video recordings of classes, and field notes. The data were subjected to content analysis. The results indicated a conflict between students' and their teachers' beliefs about teacher and learner roles, the content of classes, and error correction. The mismatch brought frustration and unhappiness to students, made them doubt the credibility of the institution and of their teachers, and made their initial beliefs even stronger. Although the teachers were not aware of the mismatch, they held interpretations about students' beliefs that influenced their practice.

From the mid‐1990s onward, the discussion about the good language learner was placed within an even broader framework. It was argued that four key areas needed to be addressed to account for the complexity of language learning (Ellis, 1994):

1. learner language and its characteristics;
2. learner‐external factors (i.e., contexts of learning);
3. learner‐internal mechanisms (including transfer from the learner's first language); and
4. the language learner him or herself.

Beliefs were one issue among many others (such as age, affective states, aptitude, motivation, and personality) to be considered under the last of these key areas, and were claimed to have an indirect effect on learning outcomes through the learner's choice of learning strategies, or possibly a direct one (for an initial attempt at a comprehensive account of learner contributions or characteristics, including beliefs, viewed in relation to learner actions and contexts of learning, see Breen, 2001).

As productive as the two lines of research have been, they have not, however, done full justice to the importance of learner beliefs, as these are viewed as just one of a host of other factors involved in language learning (or teaching) even as recently as in a review by Dörnyei & Ryan (2015). Thus beliefs have not yet been given the recognition that they deserve, especially in relation to learner action.

Most Recent Research: Further Twists and Turns

An “offshoot” of the second line of research comprises studies that have been informed by Vygotskyan sociocultural theory and Bakhtinian dialogism (Alanen, 2003; Dufva, 2003). Social in origin, and so emerging out of interaction with others, beliefs are eventually internalized and can later change or, as it is now expressed, transform when the learner is faced with new experiences of learning in other contexts. Importantly, a further distinction is made between beliefs as metacognitive knowledge (or content) and as mediational means or tools (or content and control). Metacognitive knowledge has to be transformed into mediational means before it can influence second or foreign‐language learning. This is a way of acknowledging that some beliefs are more important than others: only as mediational means will beliefs influence learner action and thus either enhance or prevent language learning. However, the relationship between learner beliefs and actions is considered to be far from a simple causal relationship (cf. the first line of research): beliefs can, in fact, influence actions in complex ways (Mercer, 2011).

Typically, studies have been case studies, with learners viewed as individuals with their own personalities, learning histories, and agencies (instead of bundles of background variables), longitudinal in design, and making use of a variety of data, such as interviews or narratives, now in a broad sense including both verbal and visual ones. An additional methodological lesson concerns positioning (Coughlan & Duff, 1994). Whatever method or task is used to collect data, learners have a number of verbal and nonverbal recourses to choose from to report on their beliefs, and these may reveal how they position themselves in relation to the task or the topic at hand. Therefore great sensitivity is required in processing and analyzing data and triangulation of data pools is recommended.

For example, in her longitudinal study, Aro (2009) sought to describe the beliefs about EFL and its learning held by 15 schoolchildren in Finland. The children were interviewed three times over the first five years of school, when 7, 10, and 12 years of age, or years 1, 3, and 5 of school. The data were subjected to content analysis. In addition, use was made of the notions of voice and agency. The children's beliefs varied from one occasion to another and developed with experience, and at the same time were repetitive as if they had been generally acknowledged facts of life (e.g., “English is needed abroad”). With time, the voice of a carefree child, even indifferent to English as a language, evolved into that of a language learner and user, with beliefs based on personal experience and an increased use of their own voice (of the type “In my opinion…”) as opposed to the voices of significant others around them. The children's agency also developed from cooperation with their parents and teachers toward independence as learners, or from other‐regulation to a higher degree of self‐regulation. However, some children had fallen back into the role of a passive recipient of teaching by Year 5 of their studies.

Conclusion: Challenges and Directions for Future Research

The field is blossoming with flowers that come in all colors. To put it more professionally, traditional cognitively oriented research now exists side by side with socioculturally oriented research, launched more recently, these two forming extremes on a continuum of orientations. The current state of affairs is further characterized by the recognition by most researchers that learner beliefs about aspects of language learning are much more crucial than was thought before in determining how learners approach their learning of second or foreign languages and as such are complex mediational tools intertwining with learner action in complex ways (Kalaja et al., 2018).

Research on learner beliefs about language learning has come a long way since the first mention of the term beliefs in 1985 in applied linguistics. As this entry has shown, different approaches and theoretical understandings point to the importance of beliefs to several aspects of language learning and the language learner, such as anxiety, strategies, and motivation, to mention just the most common. However, so far there has been very little research into the following aspects:

• Consideration of further diversification in terminology (e.g., language ideologies, perceptions, cognition, depending on the discipline a scholar draws on in his or her study) and in types of data: Recent studies have not only made use of verbal data but also visual data of various kinds, often referred to as visual narratives, to unveil learner beliefs (e.g., Kalaja, 2016; Palmer, 2018).
• Learner beliefs and identity (or second or foreign‐language or L2 selves) and agency: What is the relationship between learner beliefs and identity or L2 selves? What role do beliefs play in constructing and shaping learners' L2 selves? How can teachers help students to identify with certain beliefs to help them construct possible and ideal selves (Dörnyei & Ushioda, 2009)?
• Learner beliefs and emotions. Affective factors have also been a concern of researchers in applied linguistics. How do these relate to beliefs? A pioneering study by Aragão (2007) carried out in Brazil suggests that emotions and beliefs are intrinsically related. Future research should investigate this aspect further.
• Change in learner beliefs: How do learner beliefs change and develop (or transform)? What factors influence this change? How can teachers help in the development of learners' beliefs? In previous studies the time span has tended to be quite short (e.g., over a course or a year); we call for truly longitudinal studies.
• Beliefs and learning: What is the relationship between beliefs and learning? So far, this relationship has not received much attention, and we do not have many insights into exactly how beliefs and learning are related.
• Last but not least we suggest that, instead of looking at these issues in isolation, research should try to approach these holistically, viewing motivation, identity, and emotions as an ecological system in which each one interacts with and affects all the others.

We hope that research into learner beliefs about language learning will continue to flourish and widen in its scope to include these aspects and bring a more complete picture of the language learner and his or her learning. A collection of articles by Kalaja, Barcelos, Aro, & Ruohotie‐Lyhty (2016) is a recent attempt to address quite a number of the points listed above.

SEE ALSO: Agency in Second Language Acquisition; Case Study; Identity and Second Language Acquisition; Motivation in Second Language Acquisition; Quantitative Methods; Vygotsky and Second Language Acquisition

References

1. Alanen, R. (2003). A sociocultural approach to young language learners' beliefs about language learning. In P. Kalaja & A. M. F. Barcelos (Eds.), Beliefs about SLA: New research approaches (pp. 55–86). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer.
2. Aragão, R. C. (2007). São as histórias que nos dizem mais: Emoção, reflexão e ação na sala de aula (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). FALE/UFMG, Belo Horizonte, Brazil.
3. Aro, M. (2009). Speakers and doers: Polyphony and agency in children's beliefs about language learning. Jyväskylä studies in humanities, 116. Jyväskylä, Finland: University of Jyväskylä. Retrieved March 14, 2019 from https://jyx.jyu.fi/dspace/bitstream/handle/123456789/19882/9789513935320.pdf?sequence=1
4. Barcelos, A. M. F. (2000). Understanding teachers' and students' language learning beliefs in experience: A Deweyan approach (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa.
5. Barcelos, A. M. F. (2003). Researching beliefs about SLA: A critical review. In P. Kalaja & A. M. F. Barcelos (Eds.), Beliefs about SLA: New research approaches (pp. 7–33). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer.
6. Breen, M. (Ed.). (2001). Learner contributions to language learning: New directions in research. Harlow, England: Longman.
7. Coughlan, P., & Duff, P. (1994). Same task, different activities: Analysis of a SLA task from an activity theory perspective. In J. P. Lantolf & G. Appel (Eds.), Vygotskian approaches to second language research (pp. 173–94). Norwood, NJ: Ablex.
8. Dörnyei, Z., & Ryan, S. (2015). The psychology of the language learner revisited. New York, NY: Routledge.
9. Dörnyei, Z., & Ushioda, E. (Eds.). (2009). Motivation, language identity and the L2 self. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
10. Dufva, H. (2003). Beliefs in dialogue: A Bakhtinian view. In P. Kalaja & A. M. F. Barcelos (Eds.), Beliefs about SLA: New research approaches (pp. 131–51). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer.
11. Ellis, R. (1994). The study of second language acquisition. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
12. Gaies, S., & Sakui, K. (1999, August). Learners' beliefs about second language learning. Symposium conducted at the 12th World Congress of Applied Linguistics (AILA 1999), Tokyo, Japan.
13. Horwitz, E. (1987). Surveying student beliefs about language learning. In A. Wenden & J. Rubin (Eds.), Learner strategies in language learning (pp. 119–29). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
14. Kalaja, P. (2016). “Dreaming is believing”: The teaching of foreign languages as envisioned by student teachers. In P. Kalaja, A. M. F. Barcelos, M. Aro, & M. Ruohotie‐Lyhty (Eds.), Beliefs, agency and identity in foreign language learning and teaching (pp. 124–46). Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
15. Kalaja, P., & Barcelos, A. M. F. (Eds.). (2003). Beliefs about SLA: New research approaches. Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer.
16. Kalaja, P., Barcelos, A. M. F., & Aro, M. (2018). Revisiting research on L2 learner beliefs: Looking back and looking forward. In P. Garret & J. M. Cots (Eds.), The Routledge handbook of language awareness (pp. 222–37). New York, NY: Routledge.
17. Kalaja, P., Barcelos, A. M. F., Aro, M., & Ruohotie‐Lyhty, M. (2016). Beliefs, agency and identity in foreign language learning and teaching. Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
18. Mercer, S. (2011). Language learner self‐concept: Complexity, continuity and change. System, 39(3), 335–46.
19. Oxford, R. (1990). Language learning strategies: What every teacher should know. Boston, MA: Heinle.
20. Palmer, M. (2018). Beliefs, identities and social class of English language learners: A comparative study between the United States and Brazil (Unpublished master's thesis). Federal University of Viçosa, Brazil.
21. Wenden, A. (1986). Helping language learners think about learning. ELT Journal, 40, 3–12.
22. Wenden, A. (1987). How to be a successful language learner: Insights and prescriptions from L2 learners. In A. Wenden & J. Rubin (Eds.), Learner strategies in language learning (pp. 103–17). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
23. Wenden, A. (1991). Learner strategies for learner autonomy: Planning and implementing learner training for language learners. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
24. Wenden, A. (Ed.). (1999). System, 27(4). (Special issue on beliefs).
25. Yang, N. D. (1992). Second language learners' beliefs about language learning and their use of learning strategies: A study of college students of English in Taiwan (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Texas, Austin.

Suggested Readings

1. Barcelos, A. M. F., & Kalaja, P. (Eds.). (2011). System, 39(3). (Special issue “Beliefs about SLA revisited”).
2. Bernat, E., & Gvozdenko, I. (2005). Beliefs about language learning: Current knowledge, pedagogical implications, and new research directions. TESL‐EJ, 9(1). Retrieved March 14, 2019 from http://www.tesl-ej.org/wordpress/issues/volume9/ej33/ej33a1/
3. Ellis, R. (2008). Learner beliefs and language learning. Asian EFL Journal, 10(4), 1–12.
4. Gabillon, Z. (2005). L2 learner beliefs: An overview. Journal of Language and Learning, 3(2), 233–60.
5. Huhta, A., Kalaja, P., & Pitkänen‐Huhta, A. (2006). Discursive construction of a high‐stakes test: The many faces of a test‐taker. Language Testing, 23, 1–25.
6. Kalaja, P., Alanen, R., & Dufva, H. (2008). Self‐portraits of EFL learners: Finnish students draw and tell. In P. Kalaja, V. Menezes, & A. M. F. Barcelos (Eds.), Narratives of learning and teaching EFL (pp. 186–98). Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
7. Wenden, A. (2001). Metacognitive knowledge in SLA: The neglected variable. In M. Breen (Ed.), Learner contributions to language learning: New directions in research (pp. 44–64). Harlow, England: Pearson.
8. White, C. (2008). Beliefs and good language learners. In C. Griffiths (Ed.), Lessons from good language learners (pp. 121–30). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
9. Woods, D. (2003). The social construction of beliefs in the language classroom. In P. Kalaja & A. M. F. Barcelos (Eds.), Beliefs about SLA: New research approaches (pp. 201–29). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer.

Learner Corpora

SYLVIANE GRANGER

Learner corpora are electronic collections of language data produced by L2 learners, that is, second or foreign language learners. This relatively new resource is of great relevance for both second language acquisition (SLA) research and foreign‐language teaching (FLT). One of the main characteristics of learner corpus research is that it makes full use of corpus linguistic methods and tools to understand the process of language acquisition, describe L2 learner language varieties, and design pedagogical tools that target learners' attested difficulties. The first learner corpus collections, which date back to the 1980s, only targeted English data. Since then the field has expanded considerably and now includes learner data in a large number of languages.

Learner Corpus Design Criteria

Learner corpus data have the following distinguishing characteristics: (a) they are in electronic format; (b) they have been compiled on the basis of strict design criteria pertaining to the learner (age, gender, mother‐tongue background, etc.) and the task (medium, topic, or timing); (c) they contain continuous discourse rather than decontextualized words, phrases or sentences; (d) they include data of the most open‐ended type, which range from fully natural in the case of learners' communications with native speakers or other learners as they “go[ing] about their normal business” (Sinclair, 1996, p. 7) to semi‐natural, that is, resulting from pedagogical tasks that allow learners to choose their own wording rather than being asked to produce a particular word or structure. This fourth characteristic is undoubtedly the fuzziest, as there are many degrees of naturalness. This has led Nesselhauf (2004, p. 128) to distinguish between prototypical learner corpora, which display all the defining characteristics of learner corpora (e.g., argumentative essays or informal interviews), and peripheral learner corpora, which only partially meet these criteria (e.g., summaries or picture descriptions). Although elicitation data such as gap‐fill or grammaticality judgment tests do not qualify as learner corpus data, recent research has shown that corpus and elicitation data are most usefully regarded not as conflicting but as complementary sources, highlighting as they do different facets of language acquisition (see Gilquin, 2007).

Learner language is obviously highly heterogeneous: there are many types of learners and learning situations, and “mixed bag” collections of L2 data present little interest. It is therefore essential to adopt strict design criteria when collecting learner data, a principle that underpinned the compilation of one of the most used learner corpora of English, the International Corpus of Learner English (ICLE), which contains over 6,000 texts written by learners from 16 different mother‐tongue backgrounds and records 21 variables for each of the texts it contains. All the variables have been stored in a database and can be used by researchers as queries to compile their own tailor‐made subcorpora and perform linguistic searches (Granger, Dagneaux, Meunier, & Paquot, 2009).

Learner Corpus Typology

Learner corpora can be categorized along several dimensions, among them the following three: the scope of the data collection, the time(s) of the data collection, and the medium of the language data.

Generic Versus Local

Learner corpora can be generic or local. Generic learner corpora aim to be representative of one or several learner populations and therefore tend to be quite large, that is, counted in millions rather than thousands of words. They are usually collected by academics or publishers rather than teachers. The ICLE for L2 English and the ASK corpus (Tenfjord, Hagen, & Johansen, 2006) for L2 Norwegian are good examples of this type of corpus. Local learner corpora are collected as part of normal teaching activities, often by the teachers themselves, and may therefore be of a much more modest size. The local corpus described by Mukherjee and Rohrbach (2006), for example, has a total size of approximately 30,000 words.

Cross‐Sectional Versus Longitudinal

Learner corpora can sample language data from different learners at a single point in time, in which case we speak of a cross‐sectional corpus, or track the same learners over a particular time period, in which case the term “longitudinal” is used. As truly longitudinal corpora are very difficult to collect, there are still very few of them, and they constitute one of the major desiderata for future learner corpus research. In addition, many learner corpora which claim to be longitudinal in fact sample similar types of learners at different levels of proficiency and should therefore more appropriately be called “quasi‐longitudinal.”

Spoken Versus Written

For a number of years written corpora dominated the learner corpus scene. This is now changing, with oral corpora gaining ground, as evidenced by the release of the Louvain Database of Spoken English Interlanguage (Gilquin, De Cock, & Granger, 2010), which samples learners similar to those represented in the ICLE and therefore gives scope for very useful speech‐writing comparisons. The rapid incorporation of e‐learning tools into language teaching is greatly facilitating data collection and has allowed the collection of language productions that display characteristics of both speech and writing, such as data arising from computer‐mediated communication (Belz & Vyatkina, 2008; Collentine & Collentine, 2013).

Learner Corpus Methodology

Corpus Annotation and Exploration

Learner corpora can be used “as is,” that is, in their raw form, without any additional linguistic information being inserted into the text files. However, for many types of investigation it is useful to annotate the corpus linguistically. Part of speech (POS) tagging, which assigns to each word in a corpus a tag indicating its word‐class membership, can be performed fully automatically and with a high degree of accuracy, although the very nature of learner data calls for a degree of caution as learner errors may lead to tagging errors (Van Rooy & Schäfer, 2003). Another type of annotation that is particularly relevant to learner data is error annotation. Unlike POS tagging, this process is not automatic, but it can be partially automated using specially designed editing software tools that facilitate the insertion of error tags into the text files. Computer‐aided error analysis offers some advantages over traditional error analysis, such as the standardization of the error categories employed. Once the error tags have been inserted, researchers can view the tagged errors in context alongside correct occurrences and draw up comprehensive lists of errors of a particular type. Using this approach, Thewissen (2013) identified, cataloged, and analyzed errors produced by learners of English of different proficiency levels. The study shows that errors display different developmental profiles and that only a minority of them consistently occur less frequently as proficiency increases.

As learner corpora are in electronic format, they can be explored automatically with a wide range of text retrieval software tools, which provide frequency information on words, phrases, and, if the corpus has been POS‐tagged, grammatical categories. SLA and FLT researchers are thus given access to a wealth of quantitative information about learner language that was hitherto unavailable. Using the lexical software tool VocabProfile, Horst and Collins (2006) traced the lexical development of young English as a second language (ESL) learners over time. Contrary to expectation, they did not identify increasing amounts of infrequent vocabulary. Instead, lexical development manifested itself in a greater variation of basic vocabulary and a wider range of inflectional and derived word forms. Other tools, such as WordSmith Tools (Scott, 1996) or AntConc (Anthony, 2005), allow researchers to sort the data and discover the preferred lexical and grammatical company of words used by learners.

In keeping with corpus linguistic practices, researchers usually use aggregate data drawn from many learners and analyze them as wholes. This practice is not without its problems, however, as learner language is characterized by a high degree of variability, and one or two individuals may use language in extremely idiosyncratic ways and thereby skew the overall results. As shown in several recent studies, this problem can be solved by computing both group and individual scores (see, for example, Bestgen & Granger, 2018).

Contrastive Methodology

One of the best ways of uncovering the features that are typical of learner language is to compare samples of learner language among themselves or with control corpora of expert production, or both, an approach that is referred to as “contrastive interlanguage analysis” (Granger, 2015).

Comparisons between learner varieties can help distinguish the features that are proper to learners with a specific mother‐tongue background from those that are found in several learner populations, irrespective of their mother tongue. They are therefore particularly useful when it comes to identifying transfer effects. To strengthen the transfer interpretation, researchers can combine learner corpus data with data from bilingual corpora of the learners' mother tongue and the target language (Gilquin, 2008). For example, Paquot (2010) establishes that French learners' overuse of imperative structures such as let us turn out attention to, let us take the example of, let us be clear that in academic writing is transfer‐related on the basis of (a) the significantly lower use of these forms in the other nine learner populations investigated, and (b) the frequent use of the imperative as an organizational marker in French academic texts. Although comparisons based on learners' mother‐tongue backgrounds have been the most popular so far, interlearner comparisons may involve all the variables that have been stored in the database, such as age, medium, timing, task type, or proficiency level.

Target language comparisons, on the other hand, set learner corpus data against a control corpus of expert production, usually a native speaker corpus. This procedure helps bring to light the words, phrases, grammatical items, and syntactic structures that are over or underused by learners and which therefore contribute to the foreign‐soundingness of perhaps otherwise error‐free advanced interlanguage. It should be noted that the use of a native speaker yardstick has been criticized by a number of SLA specialists on the grounds that it fails to recognize learner language as a variety in its own right and thus falls into the “comparative fallacy” trap. However, the method remains very popular among learner corpus researchers, who argue (a) that it is simply a method, which neither assumes nor precludes any theory of interlanguage; (b) that this method is effective in uncovering interlanguage features; and (c) that corpus‐based target norms are both transparent and diverse, which contrasts favorably with the intuition‐based norms implicit in many SLA studies (see Mukherjee, 2005; Tenfjord et al., 2006).

Learner Corpus Analysis

Unlike previous research which gave priority to the early stages of acquisition, learner corpus research has tended to focus on the later stages and has helped describe advanced interlanguage, a learner variety that had until recently been largely neglected. It has established that, alongside grammar, which remains a problem even at an advanced level, the main problem areas are lexis, discourse, and register. It has also shown that difficulties manifest themselves in patterns of over‐ and underuse, at times more than in actual errors.

One of the areas to which learner corpus research has made a significant contribution is that of phraseology, that is, the study of word combinations. Automated techniques applied to large collections of learner speech and writing have helped uncover a wide range of multiword units—especially collocations and recurrent phrases—and brought to light the key role played by formulaic language in SLA and FLT. For example, De Cock's (2004, p. 243) study of recurrent combinations in native and learner speech shows that “learners are lacking in routinized ways of interacting and building rapport with their interlocutors and of toning down and weaving the right amount of imprecision and vagueness.”

Comparisons between learner and expert data have shown that some differences are shared by learners from different mother‐tongue backgrounds: underuse of marked structures such as the passive, overuse of some words and phrases, in particular those that have direct equivalents in the learner's mother tongue, underuse of academic words and phrases typical of argumentative writing, intrusion of speech‐like features in formal writing, and so forth. Logical connectors are a good illustration of words that display these characteristics (see Granger & Tyson, 1996). Research has also shown that at the more advanced proficiency levels misuse has less to do with morphology than with the appropriate use of words and structures in context. For example, Xiao's (2007) investigation of the passive shows that underuse is a much more frequent feature of Chinese learner writing than misformation errors.

Besides similarities between learner populations, many studies have also highlighted differences due to transfer from the learner's L1. For example, in her study of verb + noun collocations in German learners' English writing, Nesselhauf (2005) found that transfer from the learner's L1 was a likely factor in over half the erroneous collocations. L1 influence is also strongly in evidence in Díez‐Bedmar and Papp's (2008) study of article usage by Chinese and Spanish learners of English and Helland Gujord's (2017) study of the acquisition of temporal morphology by Vietnamese and Somali learners of Norwegian.

A highly promising strand of research comes from the field of psycholinguistics (Ellis, Simpson‐Vlach, & Maynard, 2008). Combining corpus linguistic and psycholinguistic (e.g., eye‐tracking or dictation) techniques has proved a powerful method for highlighting salience and frequency of the input as key determinants of language reception and production.

Learner Corpus‐Based Applications

A wide range of applications can benefit from learner corpus‐based insights: from materials design and classroom methodology to natural language processing (NLP) applications which make use of advanced computational techniques.

Materials Design and Testing

It is essential that the most useful language items be selected for inclusion in course materials and reference books. Learner corpus data are invaluable here as they provide ample evidence of learners' difficulties, not only in terms of what learners get wrong, but also of what they fail to produce at any given proficiency level, and it makes a great deal of pedagogical sense to focus on these difficulties. Some of them are shared by a large number of learner populations and can be integrated into generic tools, while others are specific to one learner group and are ideally suited to informing L1‐specific materials. Once selected, items need to be described, and here too learner corpus data can help, notably by giving adequate weight to the most difficult aspects of language and downplaying those that are already mastered.

Analyzing learner corpus data and incorporating the results into pedagogical materials is an intensive process and it is therefore unsurprising that there should not yet be many up and running applications. However, the few that do exist bear witness to the potential they hold for materials design. For example, Chuang and Nesi (2007) have carried out a corpus‐based error analysis of academic texts written by Chinese students studying in the medium of English and on that basis designed an online remedial self‐study package called GrammarTalk which targets high‐frequency errors such as article errors. Granger & Paquot (2015) have designed a Web‐based dictionary‐cum‐writing‐aid tool which relies on learner corpus data to identify the phraseological difficulties experienced by non‐native speakers of English when they write academic texts in English and provides generic and L1‐specific error notes and exercises.

Testing is another field that stands to gain. Carefully analyzed, learner corpora can help practitioners select and rank testing material at a particular proficiency level. Using a learner corpus made up of candidate scripts from three Cambridge English for speakers of other languages (ESOL) examination levels, Hawkey and Barker (2004) have identified key language features that distinguish performance in writing at four pre‐assessed proficiency levels, and suggest how these features might be incorporated into a common scale for writing.

Classroom Methodology

Learner corpus data are a valuable resource for form‐focused instruction and data‐driven learning (DDL). As illustrated in Granger and Tribble (1998), exercises that make use of native and learner concordances of problematic words and phrases can raise learners' awareness of the gap between their own and target language forms. The usefulness of learner corpus‐based DDL materials is also evidenced by Cotos's (2014) study of linking adverbials, which showed that students' mastery improved more significantly when they were exposed to DDL materials containing both native and learner corpus data as opposed to native data only.

NLP Applications

Combined with NLP techniques, learner corpora—especially those that are annotated for errors—can be used to draw up automatic profiles of learner proficiency (Meurers, 2015). Based on these learner models, automatic error diagnosis and feedback generation modules can be designed and integrated into intelligent computer‐assisted language learning (ICALL) programs. One particularly successful example is the E‐Tutor (Heift, 2010), an ICALL system for L2 learners of German, which makes use of a learner corpus collected from approximately 5,000 students for feedback generation and language exploration. Another field which can benefit from the combined use of learner corpus data and NLP techniques is automated scoring (Higgins, Ramineni, & Zechner, 2015). Research shows, however, that the incorporation of these sophisticated NLP‐based systems into reliable pedagogical tools poses a tremendous challenge: correct words or phrases may be diagnosed as incorrect (overflagging) and incorrect instances may be missed (low recall value). For example, while Tetreault and Chodorow's (2008) preposition error detection module achieves excellent precision, it has very disappointing recall, which restricts its pedagogical integration to highly constrained environments. In spite of these difficulties, concrete achievements to date show that NLP developments are among the promising applications of learner corpus research.

SEE ALSO: Corpus Linguistics in Language Teaching; Crosslinguistic Influence in Second Language Acquisition; Formulaic Language and Collocation

References

1. Anthony, L. (2005). AntConc: A learner and classroom friendly, multi‐platform corpus analysis toolkit. In L. Anthony, S. Fujita, and Y. Harada (Eds.), Proceedings of IWLeL 2004: An interactive workshop on language e‐learning (pp. 7–13). Tokyo, Japan: Waseda University.
2. Belz, J. A., & Vyatkina, N. (2008). The pedagogical mediation of a developmental learner corpus for classroom‐based language instruction. Language Learning and Technology, 12(3), 33–52.
3. Bestgen, Y., & Granger, S. (2018). Tracking L2 writers' phraseological development using collgrams: Evidence from a longitudinal EFL corpus. In S. Hoffmann, A. Sand, S. Arndt‐Lappe, & L. M. Dillmann (Eds.), Corpora and lexis (pp. 277–301). Leiden, Netherlands: Brill.
4. Chuang, F.‐Y., & Nesi, H. (2007). GrammarTalk: International students' responses to an online grammar resource. In M. Edwardes (Ed.), Proceedings of the BAAL Conference 2007 (pp. 19–20). London, England: Scitsiugnil Press.
5. Collentine, J., & Collentine, K. (2013). A corpus approach to studying structural convergence in task‐based Spanish L2 interactions. In K. McDonough & A. Mackey (Eds.), Second language interaction in diverse educational contexts (pp. 167–88). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
6. Cotos, E. (2014). Enhancing writing pedagogy with learner corpus data. ReCALL, 26, 202–224.
7. De Cock, S. (2004). Preferred sequences of words in NS and NNS speech. Belgian Journal of English Language and Literatures (BELL), 2, 225–46. Retrieved March 20, 2019 from https://sites.uclouvain.be/cecl/projects/Downloads/15%20DeCock3.pdf
8. Díez‐Bedmar, M. B., & Papp, S. (2008). The use of the English article system by Chinese and Spanish learners. In G. Gilquin, S. Papp, & M. B. Díez‐Bedmar (Eds.), Linking up contrastive and learner corpus research (pp. 147–75). Amsterdam, Netherlands: Rodopi.
9. Ellis, N., Simpson‐Vlach, R., & Maynard, C. (2008). Formulaic language in native and second language speakers: Psycholinguistics, corpus linguistics, and TESOL. TESOL Quarterly, 42(3), 375–96.
10. Gilquin, G. (2007). To err is not all: What corpus and elicitation can reveal about the use of collocations by learners. Zeitschrift für Anglistik und Amerikanistik, 55(3), 273–91.
11. Gilquin, G. (2008). Combining contrastive and interlanguage analysis to apprehend transfer: Detection, explanation, evaluation. In G. Gilquin, S. Papp, & M. B. Díez‐Bedmar (Eds.), Linking up contrastive and learner corpus research (pp. 3–33). Amsterdam, Netherlands: Rodopi.
12. Gilquin, G., De Cock, S., & Granger, S. (2010). The Louvain database of spoken English interlanguage (CD‐ROM and Handbook). Louvain‐la‐Neuve, Belgium: Presses Universitaires de Louvain.
13. Granger, S. (2015). Contrastive interlanguage analysis: A reappraisal. International Journal of Learner Corpus Research, 1(1), 7–24.
14. Granger, S., Dagneaux, E., Meunier, F., & Paquot, M. (Eds.). (2009). The International Corpus of Learner English: Version 2 (Handbook and CD‐ROM). Louvain‐la‐Neuve, Belgium: Presses Universitaires de Louvain.
15. Granger, S., & Paquot, M. (2015). Electronic lexicography goes local: Design and structures of a needs‐driven online academic writing aid. Lexicographica: International Annual for Lexicography, 31(1), 118–41.
16. Granger, S., & Tribble, C. (1998). Learner corpus data in the foreign language classroom: Form‐focused instruction and data‐driven learning. In S. Granger (Ed.), Learner English on computer (pp. 199–209). London, England: Addison Wesley Longman.
17. Granger, S., & Tyson, S. (1996). Connector usage in the English essay writing of native and non‐native EFL speakers of English. World Englishes, 15, 19–29.
18. Hawkey, R., & Barker, F. (2004). Developing a common scale for the assessment of writing. Assessing Writing, 9, 122–59.
19. Heift, T. (2010). Developing an intelligent language tutor. CALICO Journal, 27(3), 443–59.
20. Helland Gujord, A.‐K. (2017). The “perfect candidate” for transfer: A discussion of L1 influence in L2 acquisition of tense‐aspect morphology. In A. Golden, S. Jarvis, & K. Tenfjord (Eds.), Crosslinguistic influence and distinctive patterns of language learning: Findings and insights from a learner corpus (pp. 29–63). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
21. Higgins, D., Ramineni, C., & Zechner, K. (2015). Learner corpora and automated scoring. In S. Granger, G. Gilquin, & F. Meunier (Eds.), The Cambridge handbook of learner corpus research (pp. 587–604). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
22. Horst, M., & Collins, L. (2006). From “faible” to strong: How does their vocabulary grow? The Canadian Modern Language Review, 63(1), 83–106.
23. Meurers, D. (2015). Learner corpora and natural language processing. In S. Granger, G. Gilquin, & F. Meunier (Eds.), The Cambridge handbook of learner corpus research (pp. 537–66). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
24. Mukherjee, J. (2005). The native speaker is alive and kicking: Linguistic and language‐pedagogical perspectives. Anglistik, 16(2), 7–23.
25. Mukherjee, J., & Rohrbach, J.‐M. (2006). Rethinking applied corpus linguistics from a language‐pedagogical perspective: New departures in learner corpus research. In B. Kettemann & G. Marko (Eds.), Planning, painting and gluing corpora: Inside the applied corpus linguist's workshop (pp. 205–32). Frankfurt am Main, Germany: Peter Lang.
26. Nesselhauf, N. (2004). Learner corpora and their potential in language teaching. In J. Sinclair (Ed.), How to use corpora in language teaching (pp. 125–52). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
27. Nesselhauf, N. (2005). Collocations in a learner corpus. Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
28. Paquot, M. (2010). Academic vocabulary in learner writing. London, England: Continuum.
29. Scott, M. (1996). WordSmith tools. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
30. Sinclair, J. (1996). EAGLES: Preliminary recommendations on corpus typology. Retrieved March 20, 2019 from http://www.ilc.cnr.it/EAGLES96/corpustyp/corpustyp.html
31. Tenfjord, K., Hagen, J. E., & Johansen, H. (2006). The hows and whys of coding categories in a learner corpus (or “How and why an error tagged learner corpus is not IPSO FACTO one big comparative fallacy”). Rivista di Psicolinguistica Applicata (RiPLA), 6(3), 93–108.
32. Tetreault, J. R., & Chodorow, M. (2008). The ups and downs of preposition error detection in ESL writing. In Proceedings of the 22nd International Conference on Computational Linguistics (pp. 865–72). Manchester, England: Association for Computational Linguistics.
33. Thewissen, J. (2013). Capturing L2 accuracy developmental patterns: Insights from an error‐tagged EFL learner corpus. Modern Language Journal, 97(S1), 77–101.
34. Van Rooy, B., & Schäfer, L. (2003). Automatic POS tagging of a learner corpus: The influence of learner error on tagger accuracy. In D. Archer, P. Rayson, A. Wilson, & T. McEnery (Eds.), Proceedings of the Corpus Linguistics 2003 Conference (pp. 835–44). Lancaster, England: UCREL, Lancaster University.
35. Xiao, R. (2007). What can SLA learn from contrastive corpus linguistics: The case of passive constructions in Chinese learner English. Indonesian Journal of English Language Teaching, 3(1), 1–19.

Suggested Readings

1. Cobb, T. (2003). Analyzing late interlanguage with learner corpora: Québec replications of three European studies. The Canadian Modern Language Review, 59(3), 393–423.
2. Golden, A., Jarvis, S., & Tenfjord, K. (Eds.). (2017). Crosslinguistic influence and distinctive patterns of language learning: Findings and insights from a learner corpus. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
3. Granger, S. (2009). The contribution of learner corpora to second language acquisition and foreign language teaching: A critical evaluation. In K. Aijmer (Ed.), Corpora and language teaching (pp. 13–32). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
4. Granger, S., Gilquin, G., & Meunier, F. (Eds.). (2015). The Cambridge handbook of learner corpus research. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
5. Harrison, J., & Barker, F. (2015). English profile in practice. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
6. Jones, C., Byrne, S., & Halenko, N. (2018). Successful spoken English: Findings from learner corpora. London, England: Routledge.
7. Paquot, M., & Granger, S. (2012). Formulaic language in learner corpora. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 32, 130–49.
8. Thewissen, J. (2015). Accuracy across proficiency levels: A learner corpus approach. Louvain‐la‐Neuve, Belgium: Presses Universitaires de Louvain.

Lexical Borrowing

FRANK E. DAULTON

As seen in the Hebrew loanwords of ancient Coptic codices, virtually every language has enriched its vocabulary by borrowing from others. Lexical borrowing is the adoption of individual or sets of words from another language or dialect. It can include roots and affixes, sounds, collocations, and grammatical processes.

Lexical borrowing is one of the first phenomena in language contact (Thomason & Kaufman, 1992)—when two or more languages or varieties interact. Actors include conquerors, immigrants, academics, and traders. Lexical items are introduced by an individual or a group, and can potentially enter common usage. Factors that encourage dissemination include trends and events. For instance, the loanword tero (terrorism) in Japanese bolted to prominence following the intense media coverage of the World Trade Center attack (Daulton, 2008). However, loanwords often face obscurity and eventual extinction.

Most loanwords denote technology (e.g., engine) and new artifacts (e.g., taxi). Sometimes words are borrowed despite native equivalents (e.g., akushon [action] in Japanese), often because foreign neologisms carry fresh nuances. By contrast, basic vocabulary (e.g., think and sun) and function words (e.g., the or and) are seldom borrowed or replaced (see Haspelmath & Tadmor, 2009).

A loanword's route may be indirect. Many English words in Korean (known as Oi‐rae‐eo) have arrived via Japan (where they are known as gairaigo) (e.g., Kang, Kenstowicz, & Ito, 2008); similarly English loanwords in Finland typically come via Sweden (see Ringbom, 2007). There is also reborrowing, where a word is “repaid” in an altered form; for example, French le biftek is borrowed from English beefsteak, with beef originally from Norman le boeuf.

Sometimes a loanword retains its original form and meaning. For instance, in English prestige, the final French [ž] and essential meanings remain. Moreover, the borrowing of collocations can influence grammar, and French “plus beau” has added the “more beautiful” pattern to English's comparative ‐er. More commonly, words are adapted to the borrower's phonology and morphology, as when academy becomes akaiḍamī in Punjabi.

Lexical borrowing can be distinguished from semantic borrowing, where only a meaning is borrowed. Semantic borrowing results in calques (also known as semantic loans and loan translations). For example, the German Lehnwort is translated verbatim to create loanword, and Lehnübersetzung has become loan translation.

Often borrowings are distinguished phonologically, morphologically, or orthographically from native vocabulary; this is known as lexical stratification. In English, Latinate and Germanic morphemes pattern differently (Chomsky & Halle, 1968), and, in German, English borrowings are given different plural suffixes. Meanwhile, English applies italics to foreignisms such as Japanese sakura, while Japanese employs a distinct syllabary when borrowing English rose.

Notable Examples

An exemplar of lexical borrowing is the Roman Empire. Around 270 BCE, the Roman's desire for Greek knowledge led to adopting features of Greek culture, including words such as sumbolum (symbol) and balineum (bath) (Holmes & Schultz, 1938). The Hellenization also led to the addition of Y and Z to the alphabet to represent Greek sounds (Sacks, 2003). Many modern scientific words (e.g., microphyllus) and suffixes (pseudo‐) have arrived via the Roman Empire from Greece (Holmes & Schultz, 1938).

Loanword sources can be diverse, as seen in Malay (Jones, 2007). When the rulers in Sumatra adopted old Malay as their official language in the 7th century, they used Sanskrit to express concepts not found in Malay, such as tata (rules). Around the 14th century, Islamization brought Arabic and Persian words. Then Portuguese traders in the 16th century brought names for previously unknown European articles.

Lexical borrowing can befuddle historical linguists. Armenian borrowed so heavily from Iranian languages that linguists mistook Armenian for a branch of the Indo‐Iranian language family (Waterman, 1976).

Lexical borrowing has fundamentally influenced English. The Norman Conquest of 1066 added a layer of French vocabulary (e.g., veal) to the Old English of the natives (e.g., calf), and, over the next three centuries, the mix spawned Middle English (see McCrum, MacNeil, & Cran, 1986). Even after the decline of Norman, French retained its prestige, and the tendency continues for Latin‐derived words (e.g., reception) to have more formal connotations than Germanic ones (e.g., welcome).

During the Middle Ages and Renaissance, English speakers encountered the intellectual centers of the Arab world, leading to a flow of technology and literature‐related vocabulary. Modern English also displays borrowing from the 1500s and 1600s of Latin, French, and Greek.

Immigration has likewise enriched English. Many English speakers are familiar with schmuck, Yiddish for a foolish person. From Italian immigrants came words such as paparazzi and mafia, and from cowboys and immigrants from Latin America, pronto and sombrero. And peoples forced into slavery brought words such as voodoo, yam, and zombie from West Africa.

Given its global status, English has supplied vocabulary to many languages, particularly Japanese. English following the Norman Conquest, or Polish after the fall of the Soviet Union (see Arabski, 2006), are among the few languages that have absorbed as many loanwords as Japanese. Japanese contact with English began more than 200 years ago, contact with other European languages goes back 500 years, and heavy lexical borrowing from China preceded that. English words have become prominent since World War II, and today some 10% of the Japanese lexicon originates from English, with words such as mama and bai‐bai (bye‐bye) among babies' first (see Daulton, 2008).

Factors That Encourage Lexical Borrowing

Lexical borrowing is very common and perhaps unavoidable. It occurs even in sign language (see Battison & Brentari, 2003), and borrowings can persist despite ambivalence or animosity towards a former invader, as in the case of Turkish loans in Bulgarian (e.g., çorap [sock]). The factors that encourage lexical borrowing are multiple and interwoven.

Lexical gaps, particularly involving emerging technology, often induce lexical borrowing. For instance, the American‐invented word computer is known as Computer in Dutch and German, computadora in Spanish, kompyuta in Swahili, konpyuuta in Japanese, and komputer in Indonesian and Malay.

A major motivation for borrowing is prestige. If a society associates a foreign country with power, chic and prowess, it is likely that words will be borrowed from that prestige language.

And a language may possess a feature that greatly facilitates borrowing, such as the katakana script in Japan. Not only does katakana allow any Western word to be quickly transliterated and universally legible, it distinguishes and isolates Westernisms, thereby reassuring the public of the native lexicon's integrity (see Kay, 1995).

The Adaptations of Borrowing

When words are borrowed, their forms and meanings often change in a process known as nativization. Nativization takes place through several different types of linguistic processes.

Formal changes occur if the donor language phonology conflicts with the borrowing language. The result is that incoming words must be adapted. For instance, when “Merry Christmas” is adapted to Hawaiian, which has few phonemes, the result is “Mele Kalikimaka,” where consonants have been replaced and consonant clusters broken up. Especially popular loanwords may undergo shortening (or truncation) to facilitate use, as when “department store” becomes depaato in Japanese (Daulton, 2008). Differing writing systems necessitate the further step of transliteration—the changing of scripts.

While transliteration is common, loanwords being distinguished by a special script is not. English italics are one example; it largely serves as an aid to literacy. Over time, as a borrowing spreads, italics (along with accent marks) may be less applied or dropped, as with “deja vu” (déjà vu). By contrast, Japan's use of katakana for Western loanwords persists (Daulton, 2008).

Semantic changes occur when words are borrowed or over time. A loanword's meaning often differs from the original. When it clearly varies, it is referred to as semantic change, semantic shift, semantic drift, and so on. Examples are rare but conspicuous (e.g., English demand vs. French demande [corresponding to English request]). Semantic restriction, also known as semantic narrowing or semantic specialization, is when only one meaning/usage is adopted (e.g., Japanese deeto and Korean deiteu [date] signify only a romantic meeting); it is very common as loanwords usually fill specific lexical gaps (Hatch & Brown, 1995). Semantic extension (or semantic broadening, semantic expansion) is when a loanword adds meanings, as when the English verb realize adds “becoming aware” to the original German's “to make happen” (realisieren).

Japanese kanningu, where “cheating on a test” is added to English cunning, displays semantic downgrading (or pejoration), where a negative connotation is applied. Meanwhile, in semantic upgrading, positive connotations are attached, which is common in marketing (see Loveday, 1996). As with native vocabulary, loanwords can lose one connotation and even receive the opposite.

Part of speech can change, and any loanword in Japanese can be verbalized by the use of ‐suru (‘to do’) as in “tenisu suru”—literally “to tennis” (Daulton, 2008).

Conversely, hyperforeignization occurs when the borrowing language adapts itself to the foreign one. For instance, English resume from French résumé is pronounced with the final long E (but not the median one), distinguishing the noun from the verb resume. Indeed, a belief that foreign words must sound foreign can lead to hypercorrect substitutions (see Hock & Joseph, 2009) and hyperforeignisms. Forte is pronounced in English as if it had the accent aigu (e.g., touché), and taco and burrito have led to the English expression “no problemo” despite the authentic Spanish problema.

Reactions to Lexical Borrowing

The public normally welcomes loanwords, especially if they are useful and connote sophistication, stylishness, and so on. The younger and better educated tend to be the most receptive (e.g., Loveday, 1996). In some cultures, ad hoc borrowing is highly tolerated, and a word's ambiguity enhances its mystique. The youth in particular innovatively create pseudo‐loanwords by combining foreign elements (e.g., gorin [goal + in], Korean for a successful basketball shot), or hybrids (or loanblends) of foreign and native elements (e.g., paniku‐ru [English panic plus the verbal inflection –ru], Japanese for “to panic”).

Yet there can be resistance from linguistic nationalism. For instance, Japan replaced words of English origin prior to and during World War II, including many baseball terms still absent (Daulton, 2008). And today, both Japanese and Korean editorials blame English‐based loanwords for the destruction of the native language and culture. Opponents cite that the comprehensibility of loanwords can be particularly low with the elderly (see McCann, 2013). Indeed, radical borrowing and innovation, by the youth and academia, marginalize some social groups.

The Académie Française has famously tried to prevent the Anglicization of French (see van Gelderen, 2006). It has recommended that loanwords such as hotdog and e‐mail be replaced by the French chien chaud and courriel (or courrier électronique). Such top‐down resistance to loanwords typically fails.

The Implications of Lexical Borrowing for Foreign/Second Language Study

Lexical borrowing leads to language (or learning) transfer, where loanwords in the native language can facilitate the learning of their foreign source words. It benefits various aspects of language learning—phonology, syntax, semantics, and pragmatics (Ellis, 1994). Borrowed words are easier to understand, remember and use (see Ringbom, 2007). In the short term, increased production is accompanied by transfer errors (or interference) (e.g., Masson, 2013); given adequate feedback, these developmental missteps will lead learners to communicative competence.

Despite the facilitation of loanwords, pedagogical issues exist. Loanword pronunciations usually deviate from that of their source words, and this is an obstacle in particularly oral production (see Daulton, 2008). Another issue is range of meaning; semantic restriction and semantic extension lead to loanwords having fewer meanings (convergence) or more (divergence) than the original words. Convergent cognates are the more common, as when tsuna in Japanese (tuna) and pork in English (from French le porc) refer to the meat but not the animal.

In historically unrelated languages, loanwords can originate from obscure words (see Ringbom, 2007). However, members from nearly half of the most common (i.e., high‐frequency) word families of English (e.g., ability and nice) are in daily use in Japanese (e.g., abiritii and naisu [na]). This constitutes a valuable cognate resource for learners of English (Daulton, 2008), one unavailable in exclusively calquing languages such as Chinese.

Conclusion

Lexical borrowing is a major influence on the evolution of languages, and shared words link many languages and cultures. Lexical borrowing has profound implications for various aspects of applied linguistics including foreign and second language learning.

SEE ALSO: Crosslinguistic Influence in Second Language Acquisition; Varieties of English in Asia

References

1. Arabski, J. (Ed.). (2006). Cross‐linguistic influences in the second language lexicon. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
2. Battison, R. M., & Brentari, D. (2003). Lexical borrowing in American Sign Language. Burtonsville, MD: Sign Media.
3. Chomsky, N., & Halle, M. (1968). The sound pattern of English. London, England: Harper Row.
4. Daulton, F. E. (2008). Japan's built‐in lexicon of English‐based loanwords. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
5. Ellis, R. (1994). The study of second language acquisition. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
6. Haspelmath, M., and Tadmor, U. (Eds). (2009). Loanwords in the world's languages. Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter.
7. Hatch, E., & Brown, C. (1995). Vocabulary, semantics, and language education. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
8. Hock, H., & Joseph, B. (2009). Language history, language change, and language relationship. Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter.
9. Holmes, U. T., & Schultz, A. H. (1938). A history of the French language. New York, NY: Biblo‐Moser.
10. Jones, R. (Ed.). (2007). Loan‐words in Indonesian and Malay. Leiden, Netherlands: KITLV Press.
11. Kang, Y., Kenstowicz, M., & Ito, C. (2008). Hybrid loans: A study of English loanwords transmitted to Korean via Japanese. Journal of East Asian Linguistics, 17(4), 299–316.
12. Kay, G. (1995). English loanwords in Japanese. World Englishes, 14(1), 67–76.
13. Loveday, L. J. (1996). Language contact in Japan. Oxford, England: Clarendon.
14. Masson, M. (2013). How L1 loanwords can create a false sense of familiarity with L2 vocabulary meaning and usage. Vocabulary Learning and Instruction, 2(1), 8–14.
15. McCann, J. (2013). Japanese man, 71, sues TV station “for using too many English words.” Mail Online. Retrieved May 1, 2019 from http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2349873/Japanese-man-71-sues-TV-station-using-English-words.html
16. McCrum, R., MacNeil, R., & Cran, R. (1986). The story of English. New York, NY: Viking.
17. Ringbom, H. (2007). Cross‐linguistic similarity in foreign language learning. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
18. Sacks, D. (2003). Language visible: Unraveling the mystery of the alphabet from A to Z. London, England: Broadway Books.
19. Thomason, S. G., & Kaufman, T. (1992). Language contact, creolization, and genetic linguistics. Berkeley: University of California Press.
20. Van Gelderen, E. (2006). A history of the English language. Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
21. Waterman, J. (1976). A history of the German language. Seattle: University of Washington Press.

Suggested Reading

1. Lado, R. (1957). Linguistics across cultures. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.
2. Laufer‐Dvorkin, B. (1991). Similar lexical forms in interlanguage. Tubingen, Germany: Narr.
3. Odlin, T. (1989). Language transfer: Cross‐linguistic influence in language learning. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.

Lexical Priming

MICHAEL HOEY AND KATIE PATTERSON

Lexical priming is the name given to a linguistic theory developed by Michael Hoey (in particular in Hoey, 2003, 2004a, 2005), which seeks to relate corpus‐linguistic concepts such as collocation and colligation to the experimental findings of psycholinguists interested in the retardation and acceleration of word association. Linguistic theories since the mid‐1950s have varied in the extent to which they have provided a convincing explanation of fluency or have offered a systematic and comprehensive model of variation. They have varied too in the extent to which they have sought to explain how listeners and readers know what meaning is intended when a word with multiple senses is used; indeed there has been more interest in the syntactic explanations for ambiguity than in the nature of disambiguation. Most importantly, from a corpus‐linguistic perspective, they have usually made no attempt to account for collocation (which can be broadly defined as the partly arbitrary tendency of words to frequently occur in each other's environment, e.g., we often read of growing fears or developing conflict, but not so often of developing fears or growing conflict). The concept is usually attributed to Firth (1951/1957), but it is in the work of corpus linguists and other linguists concerned with authentic data such as Halliday (1966), Sinclair (1966, 1991), Leech (1974), Stubbs (1995, 1996), and Partington (1998) that the concept reaches its full potential.

A satisfactory theory of language should be able to account for collocation, since it has been found by corpus linguists to be not only present in all the languages they have studied but pervasive. Either collocation is a statistically odd phenomenon arising out of the accident that new linguistic utterances repeatedly make use of the same individual building blocks or it is the product of drawing upon a mental store of lexical combinations. Lexical priming assumes the latter. The explanation for collocation, according to this theory, has therefore to be psycholinguistic (because it assumes lexis is connected in the brain), simple in principle (because recovery of collocations is almost instantaneous), and complicated in effect (because the resultant combinations are often novel and creative).

Two well‐studied phenomena in psycholinguistic experimentation are semantic priming and repetition priming (Quillian, 1962, introduced the term priming to psycholinguistics). Experiments with semantic priming center around providing informants with a word or image (referred to as a prime) and then with a target word; the speed with which the target word is recognized is measured. Some primes appear to retard recognition and others appear to accelerate recognition (e.g., the prime wing might inhibit the recognition of pig but facilitate the recognition of swan). Pioneering semantic priming work was conducted by Meyer and Schvaneveldt (1971), who demonstrated that priming was scientifically demonstrable, and their work was followed through by Neely (1976) and Shelton and Martin (1992) (among others), who appear to show that semantic priming only works when the priming word and the target are associated in the informant's mind. According to this work, a relationship of meaning between prime and target is insufficient to produce the priming effect if the related words are not also associated, but McRae and Boisvert (1998) argue that if the words in question have closely related meanings there will be a priming effect even without association.

Repetition priming is rather different from semantic priming, in that the prime and the target are identical. Experiments with repetition priming center around exposing informants to word combinations and then, sometimes after a considerable amount of time and after exposure to other material, measuring how quickly or accurately the informants recognize the combination upon reexposure; the evidence suggests that initial exposure has the effect of speeding up and improving the quality of recognition on reexposure. Key papers on these facets of repetition priming are those of Jacoby and Dallas (1981), who observed greater accuracy in the identification of the target, and Scarborough, Cortese, and Scarborough (1977), who noted the faster response time. Forster and Davis (1984) observed that these effects of repetition priming were more noticeable when the words in question were of low frequency in the language. Repetition priming potentially provides an explanation of both semantic priming and collocation, if we assume that the initial exposure is being stored in the informant's mind in such a way that its original form can be readily accessed. If a listener or reader encounters a and b in combination, and stores them as a combination, then the ability of a to accelerate recognition of b is explained. If the listener or reader then draws upon this combination in his or her own utterance, then the reproduction of collocation is also explained. Pace‐Sigge (2013) documents the links between both semantic and repetition priming and lexical priming theory in detail.

The lexical priming claim makes use of repetition priming, stating that whenever listeners or readers encounter a word (or a syllable or a combination of words), they note subconsciously the linguistic context in which it occurs and, as they repeatedly encounter it, they begin to identify the features of the context that are also being repeated (Hoey, 2003, 2004a, 2004b, 2004c, 2005; Hoey, Mahlberg, Stubbs, & Teubert, 2007, chaps. 1 and 2). As these encounters with the word, syllable, or word combination multiply, listeners or readers come to identify the word or words that characteristically accompany it (its collocations), the grammatical patterns with which it is associated (its colligations), the meanings with which it is associated (its semantic associations), and the pragmatics with which it is associated (its pragmatic associations). Thus, if they read a “serious” newspaper, they will note that according often co‐occurs in the paper with to a (a collocation); this combination in turn often co‐occurs in such newspapers with RESEARCH SOURCE (e.g., according to a study), a semantic association that newspapers manifest to a greater extent than does academic writing; they will note, too, that it is likely to occur in the context of reporting something bad (a pragmatic association not shared with academic writing). If, on the other hand, they are exposed to academic texts, they may subconsciously identify according to as being likely to occur with proper nouns (e.g., according to Smith), a colligation that academic texts manifest more commonly than newspapers.

The notions of collocation and colligation are familiar in current corpus (and Firthian) linguistics (for colligation, see Firth, 1951/1957; Halliday, 1959; Sinclair, 1996, 2004; Hoey, 1997; Hunston, 2001; Stubbs, 2001; Gries, 2003; Partington, 2003) as is semantic association, which is more commonly known as semantic preference (Sinclair, 1999); pragmatic association is closely related to the notion of semantic prosody (Louw, 1993; Sinclair, 1999). However, lexical priming theory does not only make use of well‐established corpus‐based concepts; it also claims about the words, syllables, and word combinations that we use that they have characteristic discourse and text‐linguistic functions that listeners and readers likewise subconsciously identify as they repeatedly hear or see them in context. Specifically, the first of these discourse‐oriented claims is that listeners or readers note subconsciously whether a word, syllable, or word combination is cohesive in its context and their repeated encounters with it will bring them to associate it with particular cohesive strategies (or to associate it with the absence of cohesion); these associations are referred to as its textual collocations (Hoey, 2004b, 2005), making use of the term “collocation” in Halliday and Hasan (1976), though the term “textual collocation” covers all types of cohesion, not only the type usually referred to by Halliday and Hasan as collocation.

A second discourse‐oriented claim is that the listener or reader also notes subconsciously whether a word, syllable, or word combination tends to occur as part of any particular textual relations; these are referred to as its textual semantic associations and include the kinds of textual relations identified in Winter (1977), Hoey (1983), Crombie (1985a, 1985b), Mann and Thompson (1986, 1987), and Longacre (1972, 1976, 1983, 1989), without being confined to these linguists' classifications. The final discourse‐oriented claim is that the listener or reader also notes subconsciously whether a word, syllable, or word combination is regularly associated with certain positions in the discourse or text (e.g., at the end of a turn in conversation, at the beginning of a paragraph, in text‐initial position, in the closing turns of telephone talk).

As examples of each of these claims, readers are likely to note that the combination according to a is directly repeated in newspaper stories relatively rarely but is often indirectly repeated by said or a related verb; this is therefore a textual collocation of according to a. The word combination is also likely to be subconsciously identified by the same newspaper readers as belonging to a claim–evidence relation, this being one of its textual semantic associations. The larger combination according to a RESEARCH SOURCE is furthermore likely to be subconsciously identified by such readers with the first sentence of the news story, more specifically with the second half of the first sentence, and often the end of that sentence (a key textual colligation for news stories). The evidence for these additional claims is largely anecdotal, unlike the earlier claims, which are indirectly supported by twenty years of psycholinguistic experimentation, as noted above. The one that has been most thoroughly investigated is that of textual colligation. In an AHRC‐funded research project, Hoey, Mahlberg, O'Donnell, and Scott have demonstrated the pervasiveness of textual colligation in newspaper writing, identifying hundreds of words and word combinations which are associated with specific textual positions relatively rarely (Hoey & O'Donnell, 2007, 2008a, 2008b, 2009; Mahlberg & O'Donnell, 2008). More recently, Hoey (2017) has explored what is termed “bonding”; demonstrating that texts written on the same subject (the planet Pluto), written over a period of forty years, also show intertextual priming. Pace‐Sigge (2013, 2018) has provided support for textual collocation and textual colligation within the domain of spoken language. Specifically, he has examined salient lexical signals of both turn‐starter and turn‐closer positions in casual conversation.

Despite the natural fascination with ambiguity that linguists have always shown, ambiguous utterances are rare even though most sentences contain polysemous items. Lexical priming theory claims that most speakers are differently primed for each polysemous sense, such that the primings for each sense are characteristically mutually exclusive, with the rare sense avoiding the usages associated with the common sense but the common sense occasionally occurring with the usages associated primarily with the rare sense. Thus we are primed to expect reason meaning “cause” to have the colligation of occurring within nominal groups containing determiners (the reason, this reason, that reason) and reason meaning “rational faculty” to have the opposite colligation of occurring in nominal groups without determiners. As the rarer use of reason, the latter virtually never occurs with a determiner. On the other hand, this sense is for most of its use primed to colligate with a possessive (imprisonment had cost him his reason), whereas reason meaning “cause” occurs with the possessive relatively rarely (though not negligibly, e.g., She gave as her reason . . .). Research on polysemy and lexical priming has also been undertaken by Tsiamita (2009), who found differences in the primings of both the words face and drive in their polysemous senses.

An important feature of lexical priming theory is that, at the same time as the listener or reader comes to recognize through repeated encounters with a word, syllable, or word combination the particular semantic, pragmatic, grammatical, and textual/discoursal contexts associated with it, she or he will also subconsciously identify the genre, style, or social situation it is characteristically used in. Thus according to a RESEARCH SOURCE is typically found in newspaper English. Because we are primed to associate a word or word combination with the social/stylistic context it occurs in (see Berber‐Sardinha, 2017), we are able to hold within ourselves multiple versions of the language, some of which we will not choose to replicate in our own speech production. This brings us to what is arguably the most important claim about priming and certainly the claim most capable of misinterpretation. This is that all the features we subconsciously attend to have the effect of priming us so that, when we come to use the word (or syllable or word combination) ourselves, we are likely (in speech, particularly) to use it in one of its characteristic lexical contexts, in one of the grammatical patterns it favors, in one of its typical semantic contexts, as part of one of the genres/styles with which it is most associated, in the same kind of social and physical context, with a similar pragmatics and in similar textual ways.

Despite appearances, this claim is not behavioristic. It might indeed be argued that it is a virtue of the theory that it accounts well for the mechanisms whereby novel utterances may be created at the same time without implying that every syntactic combination has any likelihood of occurring. Linguistic creativity, according to the theory, arises in several ways (Hoey et al., 2007, chaps. 1 and 2). First, as the wording of the claim indicates, our priming is based on data that are rarely uniform and, in uttering or writing, we have to choose which of the patterns in those data we are going to replicate. The permutations of even the most well‐established primings of a common word, syllable, or word combination are sufficient to ensure a great variety of potential utterances, some of which will certainly be novel to their audience. Second, a language user may make an unexpected choice from an expected semantic paradigm (e.g., three nano‐seconds ago, where the choice from a semantic paradigm of TIME SPAN is as expected but the item selected is not a collocate of ago). Third, a language user may override one or more (but not all) of his or her primings. So, for example, Dylan Thomas starts one of his poems “A grief ago.” In so doing he overrode his (presumed) priming for ago associating it with TIME SPAN but retained the semantic association with NUMBER (a) and the textual colligation of NUMBER + TIME SPAN + ago with text‐initial position when in sentence‐initial position. A growing number of studies have begun to explore these aspects of creativity in relation to the lexical priming claims, supporting the idea that when we adopt creative uses of language, we are not entirely free in our language choices; in fact it is our manipulation of certain lexical primings that can create the intended effect, in metaphor or irony, for example, or longer chunks of creative language that draw on figurative and literal interpretations simultaneously for a particular literary effect (see Patterson, 2018).

Since its creation, lexical priming has gained traction as a linguistic theory in a growing number of fields. In their volume Lexical Priming: Applications and advances (2017), the editors, Pace‐Sigge and Patterson, present some of the most important contributions over the past few years. Here, for instance, Baker, McEnery, and Hardie (2017) examine the extent to which lexical primings can shift over a period of time. Hoey (2005) introduced the term “drift” to accommodate this and the authors have explored driftings in the way the Ottomans have been referred to in 17th‐century British texts. Work has also been undertaken on how lexical primings can be created consciously, by spin doctors for instance, or those wanting to steer a particular type of agenda through discourse (Duguid & Partington, 2017). Hoey's initial work on synonymy and lexical priming has also been supported in Mandarin Chinese by Hoey and Shao (2015) and Shao (2017) and the theory has been documented in other languages too, including Finnish (Jantunen & Brunni, 2013; Jantunen, 2017). In the field of language teaching and learning, numerous advances both practical and theoretical have been made, including Jeaco's (2017) Prime Machine, English language learning software that helps learners to contextualize words and phrases, based on the theory's claims. Similarly, in the areas of computational linguistics, statistical testing has been shown to highlight the validity of certain lexical priming claims, suggesting that collocations and colligations for a set of target words can be predicted (Berber‐Sardinha, 2017; Cantos & Almela, 2017).

This last branch of research has relevant implications for machine learning and automated language. Pace‐Sigge (2018) has made a significant step in this direction in his book Spreading Activation, Lexical Priming and the Semantic Web, which aims to bridge the gap between a number of linguistic fields including lexical priming, natural language processing (NLP) and machine learning (ML). The book documents how current voice‐recognition and language processing shares a common root with the psycholinguistic theory; the pioneering groundwork for both laid out by Quillian (1962). It revisits the concepts that inspired lexical priming, such as the early semantic and repetition priming experiments of Meyer and Schvaneveldt (1971), and Scarborough et al. (1977), and the current advances they are contributing to in other, innovative areas of research such as artificial intelligence. The conclusions drawn from this publication are that, a decade onward, lexical priming theory is as relevant, if not more, in today's language research.

SEE ALSO: Formulaic Language and Collocation; Lexicogrammar; Pattern Grammar

References

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Note

1.      Based in part on M. Hoey (2012). Lexical priming. In C. A. Chapelle (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of Applied Linguistics. John Wiley & Sons Inc., with permission.

Lexicogrammar

TONY BERBER SARDINHA

Introduction

Lexicogrammar (or lexico‐grammar) is a level of linguistic structure where lexis, or vocabulary, and grammar, or syntax, combine into one. At this level, words and grammatical structures are not seen as independent, but rather mutually dependent, with one level interfacing with the other. The idea that lexis and grammar are interrelated has been treated in a number of linguistic theories and approaches, more or less explicitly. This entry will focus on systemic functional linguistics (SFL) and corpus linguistics (CL), because these two theoretical‐methodological frameworks have close ties to applied linguistics, and in both of them lexicogrammar plays a central role.

Systemic Functional Linguistics

Lexicogrammar is one of the formal elements of SFL theory. It is credited with “giving language its creative potential” (Eggins, 1994, p. 121), and it is such a key component that the very term grammar is a shorthand for it in SFL (Halliday, 1995/2005, p. 251). Lexicogrammar is the system of wording, representing the linguistic resources for construing meanings through words and structures. Lexicogrammar realizes (makes concrete) the level of semantics, that is, it expresses meanings in words and grammatical structures, and is in turn realized by phonology (sounds) and graphology (orthography). Together with semantics, lexicogrammar forms part of the content plane of language.

The development of the notion of lexicogrammar in SFL is linked to the pursuit of the so‐called “grammarian's dream,” which entails treating lexis as final selections in grammatical systems: “the grammarian's dream … is to turn the whole of linguistic form into grammar, hoping to show that lexis can be defined as ‘most delicate grammar’” (Halliday, 1961/2002, p. 54). Lexis is seen as “grammar extended to the point of maximum delicacy” (Halliday & Matthiessen, 2004, p. 46) or that point “where further uniqueness cannot be postulated” (Hasan, 1987/1996, p. 76). As Fontaine (2017, p. 8) puts it, “one interpretation of lexis as most delicate grammar is that they are somehow the end point of a bundle of system choices, which leads to a single lexical option.” Representing the whole of the lexicogrammar of a language in this way has remained a dream only; as Halliday and Matthiessen (2004, p. 46) put it, “it would take at least 100 volumes … to extend the description of the grammar up to that point for any substantial portion of the vocabulary of English.”

In SFL, lexicogrammar is seen as continuum, with grammar on one end and lexis on the other (see Figure 1). Hence, actual descriptions of lexicogrammar vary considerably: some tend toward the grammatical end, whereas others move toward the lexical, and still others strike a balance in between. Accounts that favor the grammatical pole highlight lexicogrammar as a closed structural system, whereas those that move toward the direction of lexis see lexicogrammar in terms of meaning‐specific open sets.

Lexicogrammatical analyses vary in terms of two axes: paradigmatic and syntagmatic. Following Saussure, the former refers to “the axis of choice,” or “relations between an element and what could have occurred in place of it (but did not),” and the latter to “the axis of chain,” or “relations between an element and what goes together with it” (Halliday & Webster, 2009, p. 63). By crosstabulating the two ends of the lexicogrammatical cline with these two axes, four basic descriptive options are derived: syntagmatic + lexical, syntagmatic + grammatical, paradigmatic + lexical, and paradigmatic + grammatical. Of immediate relevance to this entry is the syntagmatic + lexical quadrant. This kind of description focuses on collocation, or the tendency for words to attract (and repulse) others in their immediate vicinity. Lexicogrammar is (typically) seen as pairs of words that tend to collocate (frequently occur) together, as attested in a corpus. For instance, in English, “change” collocates with “mood” and “season,” “grass” with “flower” and “green,” and “flower” with “bloom” (Halliday & Matthiessen, 2004, p. 38). The analysis of collocation is not common practice in SFL, and scholars have called for a more direct engagement with collocation. As Martin (2016, p. 46) argues, “it is not clear that [the grammarian's dream] obviates the need for collocation studies such as those pursued in corpus linguistics.” One important element of lexicogrammar is how frequent a particular feature is. According to Halliday (2002, p. xv), “a system is made up not simply of ‘either m or n’ but of ‘either m or n with a certain probability attached’.” In other words, in systemics language is seen as a probabilistic system, and thus, in analyzing lexicogrammar, the frequency of linguistic units should be taken into account. An attention to frequency is one of the cornerstones of corpus linguistics, discussed below.

Corpus Linguistics

CL is naturally concerned with lexicogrammar, as corpus linguists deal with lexis, grammar, and the relationship between the two as a matter of course in their analyses of corpus data. By contrast to SFL, in CL lexicogrammar is normally approached from the lexis, or to use the systemic terminology, it is usually of the lexical syntagmatic kind. There are many different terms in CL to characterize lexicogrammar, including collocation, colligation, phraseology, lexical pattern, chunk, lexical bundle, formulaic language, lexical frame, and multiword units among others.

John Sinclair, considered by many the founder of modern‐day CL, is the main proponent of a lexical approach to lexicogrammar. He does not use the term itself, and is actually very critical of the systemic‐functional view of it, because according to him “lexis was assigned the role of picking up the scraps from the tables of syntax” (Sinclair, Jones, & Daley, 1970/2004, p. 15). He prefers the term “lexical grammar” to describe his lexis‐driven approach, since lexicogrammar “does not integrate the two types of pattern as its name might suggest—it is fundamentally grammar with a certain amount of attention to lexical patterns within the grammatical frameworks” (Sinclair, 1990/2004, p. 164). He concludes that “it is not in any sense an attempt to build together a grammar and lexis on an equal basis” (p. 164).

Hunston and Francis (2000, p. 251) also argue against the lexicogrammatical cline proposed by systemicists. According to them, even though it is technically possible to start from lexis in such a view, in practice this is not the case, because the very idea of an underlying system network where lexis is the end point implies directionality, from grammar to lexis. That is, the systemic lexicogrammatical cline always implies the primacy of grammatical systems and the subsequent downgrading of lexis to a secondary role.

John Sinclair wrote extensively on the way that corpus evidence blurs the distinction between lexis and grammar and on the need to start linguistic analysis afresh from the word. In his chapter entitled “The Meeting of Lexis and Grammar” (Sinclair, 1991), where he offers an account of the word “of,” he challenged the view that this word should be treated as a regular preposition. He noted that it is frequently used in noun groups rather than prepositional phrases and, by looking at evidence from a corpus, he found that most cases of “of” involved noun phrases where, contrary to grammar, the head noun was the second one. He then classified nouns in categories such as focus (e.g., “the middle of a sheet,” where the first noun specifies some part of the second) and support (e.g., “the notion of machine intelligence,” where N1 offers some kind of support to the meaning of N2). He found it troubling that “the word which is by far the commonest member of its class … is not normally used in the structure which is by far the commonest structure for the class” (p. 83), that is, prepositional phrase or adjunct. He proposed that very frequent words such as “of” “are so unlike the others that they should be considered as unique, one‐member word classes” (p. 83), and advocated that “the one‐member class is the place where grammar and lexis join” (p. 83). That is, the distinction between lexis and grammar would have become so blurred that it was no longer possible to consider these two levels as independent.

Susan Hunston and Gill Francis (2000) present a corpus‐driven approach to grammar whose outcome is a lexical grammar containing a large inventory of lexicogrammatical patterns. A pattern was defined as “a phraseology frequently associated with (a sense of) a word, particularly in terms of the prepositions, groups, and clauses that follow the word” (p. 3). They saw patterns and lexis as “mutually dependent, in that each pattern occurs with a restricted set of lexical items, and each lexical item occurs with a restricted set of patterns” (p. 3). To illustrate, the sentence “she scattered her clothes all over the place” realizes the pattern “V n over n” (Francis & Hunston, 1996, p. 417).

Douglas Biber has looked at a wide array of lexicogrammatical units. In Biber, Conrad, and Reppen (1998, p. 84) lexicogrammar is defined as “associations between words and grammatical structures,” and it is argued that such patterns can be used to differentiate between apparently synonymous words or grammatical structures. For instance, the authors showed that “begin” and “start” could be differentiated in terms of their valency patterns: the former is typically used in the transitive pattern “begin + to‐clause” in fiction and in intransitive patterns in academic genres, whereas the latter is usually found in intransitive patterns.

Biber's research has consistently shown that lexicogrammar is sensitive to register distinctions. By looking at lexical bundles—namely, “combinations of words that in fact recur most commonly in a given register” (Biber, Johansson, Leech, Conrad, & Finegan, 1999, p. 992), such as “on the basis of” and “if you look at”—Biber, Conrad, and Cortes (2004) notice that bundles are more frequent in classroom teaching than in conversation, textbooks, or academic prose. Berber Sardinha, Teixeira, and São Bento Ferreira (2014) find that, in Brazilian Portuguese, bundles are most common in church services, followed by radio broadcasts, business conference calls, and recipes. Similarly, lexical frames, or “recurrent discontinuous sequences” (Biber & Gray, 2013), also vary with respect to the register in which they occur: Verb‐based frames like “must be * to” (where the asterisk represents a variable slot) are most common in conversation, whereas content (e.g., “on the * hand”) and function word‐based (“the * of this”) frames are most common in academic prose.

In addition to multiword sequences, Biber also shows that lexis and grammar come together in “dimensions of register variation”—that is, sets of correlated lexicogrammatical features that frequently recur in texts (e.g., Biber, 1988). This approach has been called “multidimensional” (MD) because each text in a language is marked by different dimensions simultaneously. An important dimension common to different languages and discourse domains distinguishes between oral registers (e.g., conversations, interviews) and literate registers (e.g., academic prose, press reportage) (cf. Berber Sardinha, Kauffmann, & Acunzo, 2014; Biber & Egbert, 2016). The lexicogrammatical features realizing orality in English comprise, among other items, private verbs and discourse particles, whereas the features associated with literacy include, for instance, nouns and prepositions. Berber Sardinha (2017) uses the construct of dimension of register variation to study the relationship between collocation and register in English. He identifies nine dimensions, including a “literate discourse” dimension, expressed through such collocations as “issue + relate” and “identify + problem,” typically in academic texts, and an “oral discourse” dimension, which incorporates collocations like “want + know” and “kind + thing,” typically in spoken language and fiction.

Michael Hoey has investigated the relationship between lexis and grammar from several angles, proposing the concept of lexical priming to explain why certain words prefer or avoid particular lexical, grammatical, textual, and pragmatic associations (Hoey, 2005). According to him, individual language users build mental profiles of words as they encounter them, consisting of the patterns in which these words were more frequently met. As a result, some patterns become “primed” (ready to be used) by particular individual users in particular situations: “a person's repeated exposure to contextualised instances of highly similar phonetic sequences or identical letter sequences results in their being primed to associate those sequences … with the recurrent features of those contexts” (Hoey, 2017, p. ix). Colligation is one of the manifestations of lexical priming, and is redefined as “the grammatical company a word or word sequence keeps (or avoids keeping) …, the grammatical functions preferred or avoided by the group in which [it] participates, [or] the place in a sequence that [it] prefers (or avoids)” (Hoey, 2005, p. 43). He analyzes the colligation of each of a group of related nouns. In terms of their predilections, “consequence” and “use” are typically part of adjunct; “preference” and “aversion” part of object; and “question” is attracted to both subjects and objects equally. With respect to their aversion, “consequence” shuns objects; “preference” and “aversion” complement position; and “question” shows no particular avoidance among these categories. He observes that such patterns cannot be deduced from their prior semantics or grammar.

To conclude, the separation between lexis and grammar has been one of the cornerstones of linguistic scholarship, being incarnated in the dictionary and grammar, the two main reference points for language study. However, systemic functional linguistics and corpus linguistics, each in its own way, reunite these two levels, and despite some divergence, advocate the uninterrupted continuity between and/or fusion of lexis and grammar.

SEE ALSO: Lexical Priming; Systemic Functional Linguistics

References

1. Berber Sardinha, T. (2017). Lexical priming and register variation. In M. Pace‐Sigge & K. Patterson (Eds.), Lexical priming: Applications and advances (pp. 190–230). Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
2. Berber Sardinha, T., Kauffmann, C., & Acunzo, C. M. (2014). Dimensions of register variation in Brazilian Portuguese. In T. Berber Sardinha & M. Veirano Pinto (Eds.), Multi‐dimensional analysis, 25 years on: A Tribute to Douglas Biber (pp. 35–80). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
3. Berber Sardinha, T., Teixeira, R., & São Bento Ferreira, T. (2014). Lexical bundles in Brazilian Portuguese. In T. Berber Sardinha & T. São Bento Ferreira (Eds.), Working with Portuguese corpora (pp. 33–68). London, England: Bloomsbury/Continuum.
4. Biber, D. (1988). Variation across speech and writing. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
5. Biber, D., Conrad, S., & Cortes, V. (2004). If you look at . . . : Lexical bundles in University teaching and textbooks. Applied Linguistics, 25(3), 371–405.
6. Biber, D., Conrad, S., & Reppen, R. (1998). Corpus linguistics: Investigating language structure and use. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
7. Biber, D., & Egbert, J. (2016). Register variation on the searchable web: A multi‐dimensional analysis. Journal of English Linguistics, 44(2), 95–137.
8. Biber, D., & Gray, B. (2013). Lexical frames in academic prose and conversation. International Journal of Corpus Linguistics, 18(1), 109–35.
9. Biber, D., Johansson, S., Leech, G., Conrad, S., & Finegan, E. (1999). The Longman grammar of spoken and written English. London, England: Longman.
10. Eggins, S. (1994). An introduction to systemic functional linguistics. London, England: Pinter.
11. Fontaine, L. (2017). Lexis as most local context: Towards an SFL approach to lexicology. Functional Linguistics, 4(1), 1–17.
12. Francis, G., & Hunston, S. (1996). Grammar patterns 1: Verbs. London, England: Collins COBUILD.
13. Halliday, M. A. K. (1961/2002). Categories of the theory of grammar. In J. J. Webster (Ed.), On grammar (pp. 37–94). New York, NY: Continuum.
14. Halliday, M. A. K. (1995/2005). Computing meanings: Some reflections. In J. J. Webster (Ed.), Computational and quantitative studies (pp. 239–67). New York, NY: Continuum.
15. Halliday, M. A. K. (2002). Introduction: How big is a language? The power of language. In J. J. Webster (Ed.), The language of science (pp. xi–xxiv). New York, NY: Continuum.
16. Halliday, M. A. K., & Matthiessen, C. M. I. M. (2004). An introduction to functional grammar (3rd ed.). London, England: Edward Arnold.
17. Halliday, M. A. K., & Webster, J. (2009). Methods—techniques—problems. In M. A. K. Halliday & J. Webster (Eds.), Continuum companion to systemic functional linguistics (pp. 59–86). London, England: Continuum.
18. Hasan, R. (1987/1996). The grammarian's dream: Lexis as most delicate grammar. In C. Cloran (Ed.), Ways of saying, ways of meaning: Selected papers of Ruqaiya Hasan (pp. 73–103). London, England: Cassell.
19. Hoey, M. (2005). Lexical priming: A new theory of words and language. London, England: Routledge.
20. Hoey, M. (2017). Foreword. In M. Pace‐Sigge & K. Patterson (Eds.), Lexical priming: Applications and advances (pp. ix–x). Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
21. Hunston, S., & Francis, G. (2000). Pattern grammar: A corpus‐driven approach to the lexical grammar of English. Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
22. Martin, J. R. (2016). Meaning matters: A short history of systemic functional linguistics. Word, 62(1), 35–58.
23. Sinclair, J. M. (1990/2004). Lexical grammar. In R. Carter (Ed.), Trust the text: Language, corpus and discourse (pp. 164–76). London, England: Routledge.
24. Sinclair, J. M. (1991). Corpus, concordance, collocation. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
25. Sinclair, J. M., Jones, S., & Daley, R. (1970/2004). English lexical studies: Report to OSTI on project C/LP/08. In R. Krishnamurthy (Ed.), English collocation studies: The OSTI report (pp. 2–138). London, England: Continuum.

Suggested Reading

1. Biber, D., & Gray, B. (2013). Discourse characteristics of writing and speaking task types on the TOEFL iBT test: A lexico‐grammatical analysis. Retrieved March 21, 2019 from https://www.ets.org/Media/Research/pdf/RR-13-04.pdf

Linguaculture

KAREN RISAGER

Linguaculture (or languaculture) is a term that focuses on culture in language or the cultural dimensions of language. The term was introduced by the US linguistic anthropologist Paul Friedrich in an article from 1989 on the relationship between political economy, ideology and language (Friedrich, 1989), but he had also used the term in a manuscript in 1988. In the article he wrote that “the many sounds and meanings of what we conventionally call ‘language’ and ‘culture’ constitute a single universe of its own kind” (1989, p. 306), and he described the concept of linguaculture with these words:

a domain of experience that fuses and intermingles the vocabulary, many semantic aspects of grammar, and the verbal aspects of culture; both grammar and culture have underlying structure while they are constantly being used and constructed by actual people on the ground. I will refer to this unitary but, at other levels, internally differentiated domain or whole as linguaculture, or, concretely, Greek linguaculture, rural southern Vermont linguaculture, and so on. (1989, pp. 306–7; italics original)

Thus the concept of linguaculture does not encompass all of culture, but only “the verbal aspects of culture.” Friedrich adds that this terminological innovation can “help to get rid of the decades‐long balancing act between ‘language and culture’ (‘how much of each?’), ‘language in culture’ (‘culture in language?’)” (1989, p. 307; italics original).

The US linguistic anthropologist Michael Agar borrows the concept from Friedrich, but changes it to “languaculture.” He justifies his alteration of the term as follows: “I modified it to ‘langua’ to bring it in line with the more commonly used ‘language’” (Agar, 1994, p. 265). In his book Language Shock: Understanding the Culture of Conversation (1994), Agar presents the linguistic and anthropological basis for ideas about the interrelation between language and culture, especially in connection with the discussion of linguistic relativity, that is, the discussion of the extent to which language determines, or influences, thought (also called the Sapir/Whorf hypothesis). He deals with the misunderstandings and cultural awareness that can arise in connection with conversations, both when it is a question of “the same language” and when it is a question of “different languages.”

Agar introduces the concept of languaculture in order to be able to sum up culture and language in one word:

Language, in all its varieties, in all the ways it appears in everyday life, builds a world of meanings. When you run into different meanings, when you become aware of your own and work to build a bridge to the others, “culture” is what you're up to. Language fills the spaces between us with sound; culture forges the human connection through them. Culture is in language, and language is loaded with culture. (Agar, 1994, p. 28)

The term languaculture, then, stresses two relations: “The langua in languaculture is about discourse, not just about words and sentences. And the culture in languaculture is about meanings that include, but go well beyond, what the dictionary and the grammar offer.” (Agar, 1994, p. 96; italics original). Agar proposes that what Whorf was really talking about was languaculture.

Agar also introduces the concept of “rich points,” meaning the places in conversation where people misunderstand one another. It is there that there is the opportunity to glimpse “culture,” to become conscious of cultural differences. He writes about “the Whorfian Alps” in linguistic communication in the sense that between people who have different languacultures (which ultimately everyone has) a number of cultural differences rise up, and that it is a question of bringing these out into the open and trying to go beyond them.

Agar develops the concept in several publications, among others an article in 2008. Agar (2008) argues that one should think of ethnography as second languaculture learning and translation. He suggests that the usual abbreviation L2 be replaced by LC2 (second languaculture), and similarly that translation should be seen as a relation between LC1 and LC2. He argues that ethnographic work is both a process where the ethnographer learns a second languaculture, including experiences with significant rich points, and a product where the ethnographer struggles with communicating his or her interpretation of LC2 in a translation to a LC1 public.

Whereas Agar focuses on ethnographic studies of languaculture in local settings, Danish sociolinguist and cultural educationalist Karen Risager introduces a transnational perspective (Risager, 2003, 2006, 2007). Risager has used the term “languaculture,” but in her recent writings she prefers “linguaculture” as a perhaps more straightforward term for linguists. The transnational perspective refers to and extends the theory of the Swedish social anthropologist Ulf Hannerz on transnational cultural flow and cultural complexity (Hannerz, 1992). In Hannerz's theory, the world is characterized by diverse cultural flows, flows of meaningful forms like images, music, food, clothing, architecture, and so on, and Risager (2003, 2006) argues that these flows include linguistic flows: flows of English, Danish, Chinese, and so on, including varieties and mixtures of these. Language is thus seen primarily as language practices flowing (spreading) in social networks across national structures and communities in the world. The linguistic flows are embodied in people moving, and, when people move or migrate, they carry their (personal) languacultures with them to new places. In this view, the concept of languaculture is used as a term that on the one hand emphasizes that language always has cultural dimensions, and on the other hand shows that a language and its languaculture can be dissociated from one cultural context and integrated into a new one:

Language [and its languaculture] and culture [i.e., the rest of culture] are thus both inseparable and separable at one and the same time. Language has considerable elasticity as a tool in all types of context and in connection with all kinds of content. So I have sometimes called language a Velcho fastener: language can easily change context and thematic content, but once it has been introduced into a new place and/or used for a new content, it quickly integrates and “latches on.” (Risager, 2006, p. 196)

Risager widens the scope of the languaculture concept by analysing it in three interconnected dimensions concerning both oral and written language (2003, 2006): the semantic–pragmatic dimension, the poetic dimension, and the identity dimension—each representing well‐established, but separate, academic fields. The semantic–pragmatic dimension is the one that is primarily associated with the languaculture/linguaculture concept, and it links to linguistic anthropology, including the Whorfian and the German Humboldtian traditions, as well as to cross‐cultural semantics, intercultural pragmatics, and cultural lingustics. The poetic dimension has to do with the aesthetic uses of language in play, ritual, and art, and it links to studies of literature. The identity dimension of language has to do with the social and cultural significance of the choice of language or variety of language, and it links to sociolinguistics, especially to studies of social meaning and relations between language and identity.

The word linguaculture (or languaculture) is a lexicalization of the idea that there is culture in language or that language practice is cultural practice in itself. In some research contexts other expressions are used, such as “language‐as‐culture” or “culture‐in‐language” (see Crozet & Liddicoat, 2000), as opposed to “language‐in‐culture,” which focuses on the role of language in the wider cultural context (Risager, 2018). The expression “language‐and‐culture” (“language‐and‐cultural” in the adjectival form) typically emphasizes the general inseparability of language and culture, irrespective of the specific part–whole relationship. This term has for example been used by the British cultural educationalist Michael Byram (Byram & Morgan, 1994). Another expression is the French “langue‐culture” (Galisson, 1991).

Many other linguists are working with cultural aspects of language without using these expressions, not least in the field of cultural linguistics (focusing on cultural conceptualizations), compare the International Journal of Language and Culture, and Sharifian (2011, 2015). Others that could be mentioned are Wierzbicka (1997) on cross‐cultural semantics, and Kramsch (2009) on the development of a multilingual subjectivity linked with memory, emotion, and imagination.

Risager (2007) discusses the use of the languaculture concept as integrated in a transnational paradigm of language and culture pedagogy, and Díaz (2013) discusses how language teachers in higher education can contribute to the development of critical languaculture pedagogies. Indeed, the concept of linguaculture seems to be used primarily in fields where there is a special emphasis on both language and culture, for example in language teaching and learning. But it should be noted that, in principle, the concept is relevant for the whole field of language and culture studies:

It [the concept of linguaculture] can be used for highlighting that some forms of culture are related to language, while others are not. Thus it can prevent us from jumping into the narrow, language‐bound view of culture. It can also be used to stress that languages and linguacultures (i.e. their users) may spread all over the world across diverse cultural contexts. (Risager, 2015, p. 97)

The English term linguaculture is used in many different ways, and apparent translation equivalents in other languages may also have different meanings according to context. They may actually have a different history altogether, as, for example, the German term “Sprachkultur,” which traditionally means cultivation of the language.

SEE ALSO: Cross‐Cultural Pragmatics; Identities and Language Teaching in Classrooms; Language and Globalization; Language and Identity; Language, Culture, and Context; Pragmatics of Lingua Franca Interaction; Teaching Culture and Intercultural Competence

References

1. Agar, M. (1994). Language shock: Understanding the culture of conversation. New York, NY: William Morrow.
2. Agar, M. (2008). A linguistics for ethnography: Why not second languaculture learning and translation? Journal of Intercultural Communication, 16. Retrieved May 2, 2019 from https://www.immi.se/intercultural/nr16/agar.htm
3. Byram, M., Morgan, C., & colleagues. (1994). Teaching‐and‐learning language‐and‐culture. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
4. Crozet, C., & Liddicoat, A. J. (2000). Teaching culture as an integrated part of language. In A. J. Liddicoat & C. Crozet (Eds.), Teaching languages, teaching cultures (pp. 1–18). Melbourne, Australia: Language Australia.
5. Díaz, A. R. (2013). Developing critical languacultural pedagogies in higher education: Theory and practice. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
6. Friedrich, P. (1989). Language, ideology, and political economy. American Anthropologist, 91, 295–312.
7. Galisson, R. (1991). De la langue à la culture par les mots. Paris, France: CLE International.
8. Hannerz, U. (1992). Cultural complexity: Studies in the social organization of meaning. New York, NY: Columbia University Press.
9. Kramsch, C. (2009). The multilingual subject: What foreign language learners say about their experience and why it matters. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
10. Risager, K. (2003). Det nationale dilemma i sprog‐ og kulturpædagogikken: Et studie i forholdet mellem sprog og kultur. Copenhagen, Denmark: Akademisk Forlag.
11. Risager, K. (2006). Language and culture: Global flows and local complexity. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
12. Risager, K. (2007). Language and culture pedagogy: From a national to a transnational paradigm. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
13. Risager, K. (2015). Linguaculture: The language‐culture nexus in transnational perspective. In Sharifian, F. (Ed.), The Routledge handbook of language and culture (pp. 87–99). London, England: Routledge.
14. Risager, K. (2018). Representations of the world in language textbooks. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
15. Sharifian, F. (2011). Cultural conceptualisations and language: Theoretical framework and applications. Amsterdam, Netherlands: John Benjamins.
16. Sharifian, F. (Ed.). (2015). The Routledge handbook of language and culture. London, England: Routledge.
17. Wierzbicka, A. (1997). Understanding cultures through their key words. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Suggested Readings

1. Kramsch, C. (1998). Language and culture. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

Lingua Franca and Language of Wider Communication

MARGIE BERNS AND AYA MATSUDA

The potential uses of any language are manifold. Common uses have been variously described in such broad terms as creative, administrative, instrumental, or interpersonal; as political or ideological; as rhetorical or symbolic. Among other labels for the functions a language can serve are “lingua franca” and “language of wider communication.” Although they are two distinct terms, they are often used synonymously. Lingua franca, coined in the High Middle Ages and the older of the two, has been defined as “any language used for communication between groups who have no other language in common” (Matthews, 1997, p. 209) and as “a language used habitually by people whose mother tongues are different in order to facilitate communication between them” (Meierkord, 2006, p. 163). Language of wider communication, of more recent coinage, has been glossed as a “language that affords a means of communication beyond the local group to the national and international arenas” (Barotchi, 1994, p. 2211) and as “a language that provides a mutually intelligible medium for speakers in multilingual societies” (Brutt‐Griffler, 2006, p. 690). The current synonymous nature of the terms is explained rather neutrally as language of wider communication having become a contemporary replacement term for lingua franca (Clayton, 1998, p. 155). A somewhat sharper comment is that in modern English the term “has become a hackneyed, irrelevantly colorful word to mean a language of wider communication, used to bridge language barriers” (Ostler, 2010, p. 4; see also Ostler, 2010, for different types or degrees of lingua franca). Adding to the terminological mix is the relationship of lingua franca to other concepts called upon to explain or identify the role of a language in the international context or in global interaction. These include “international language,” “global language,” and “world language,” all which McArthur (2001, p. 1) has attempted to distinguish from one another in a discussion of “the current condition of the English language worldwide.”

Rather than attempt the slippery task of disentangling the meanings, referents, and preferences for either lingua franca or language of wider communication, or other related concepts, the following will be restricted to a discussion of lingua franca. This choice is supported by its wider currency among applied linguists due perhaps in part to its prominence in ongoing discussions and studies of the global spread of English and the role of this language and its varieties in national, regional, and international contexts.

The modern term lingua franca has its basis in the means of communication that developed between Europeans from various language backgrounds and Arabic speakers engaging in commercial and military activity in parts of the eastern Mediterranean basin. Accounts of its substance vary, but it seems generally agreed upon that it was a mixture of lexical items from Arabic, French, Greek, Italian, Spanish, and Turkish. Italian (in the Levant) and Spanish (in northwest Africa) have been identified respectively as the initial and later base languages. Of relevance in understanding current interest in and adoption of the term is its etymology, which scholars do not agree upon. One commonly held view is that the term was originally used to name the Romance‐based pidgin that developed in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (ca. 500 to 1600). It was apparently a retranslation of some eastern Mediterranean term (into which language is not certain—Latin and Italian are frequent candidates; Ostler, 2010); Schuchardt (1909, cited in Kahane & Kahane, 1976) and other etymologists have suggested that the term itself has a Byzantine base with an Arabic model. The Byzantine Greeks knew it as phrángika; the Arabs of the Levant called it lisān al‐faranğ. In either case, it was translated as “language of the Franks,” by which were meant Europeans in general, but the French and Venetians in particular because of their primacy in maritime commerce (see Kahane & Kahane, 1976, for a detailed analysis of the history of the term). A Western view of the etymology of lingua franca is Trudgill's (2001), who claims that lingua franca meant “French language,” and that it was a form of Provençal used by the French in the period of the crusades. Competing views also determine how the plural is formed. The two more commonly used forms are the Latinate, which dictates “linguae francae,” while the English language variant is “lingua francas.” A third, and rare, formulation is the Italian “lingue franche.”

Whereas lingua franca originated as a contact vernacular with a set of formal features defining a pidgin in the Mediterranean, its meaning has become generalized. Today the term is more generically defined as any language used for communication between two or more groups of people who have no other language in common and have not grown up with the language. That is, lingua franca identifies the use or function a language fulfills rather than formal features of a specific grammar or linguistic description. Lingua franca as a separate, distinct language is no more.

Languages have been spread and become lingua francas by various means. Three quite common contexts over the centuries have been empire building, as was the case with Arabic (which also served in the 13th century as a language of diplomacy and science), English, French, Hindi, Persian, Russian, and Urdu; trade, as with English, Greek, Persian, Portuguese (in coastal Africa, parts of India), Sabir, or Swahili; and religious missions, the case for English and Spanish, which kept their secular status unlike Latin and Pali, which were sacred languages for Roman Catholicism and Buddhism, respectively.

Numerous other languages have served as common means of communication for these purposes as well. And not all have continued as lingua francas; their fortunes would have depended upon a variety of factors including their continued usefulness, adoption as a second or as an official language in a community, or the withdrawal of occupying powers. Latin is an example of a lingua franca par excellence, having functioned in empire building during the Roman Empire, in the religious missions of the Roman Catholic Church, and as a European language of science and diplomacy. At its peak (96–180 CE), the Roman Empire's territory in Europe and around the Mediterranean covered approximately 4 million square miles. As the official language in Rome, Latin was by default used to govern widely distributed and linguistically rich populations. At first restricted to the administrative function, it was eventually learned and used by all levels of society for instrumental and interpersonal purposes. Regional and local variation resulting from language contact and linguistic nativization led to the development of dialects that eventually became recognized as the languages known today as Catalan, French, Italian, Occitan, Portuguese, Rhaeto‐Romanic, Romanian, and Spanish. The end of the Western Roman Empire in 476 CE initiated Latin's decline as a lingua franca of empire, but its adoption by the Roman Catholic Church in the 2nd century made it the lingua franca of religious control and communication into the 14th century. Latin survived to various degrees in secular use as a language of law, education, and diplomacy into the 18th and 19th centuries. Still used for official purposes by the Roman Catholic Church, its liturgical role in the present century has diminished.

There has long been concern that global communication and cooperation are hampered by the world's multilingualism. The thinking is that a universal language, that is, an international lingua franca, would foster exchange of ideas and quite possibly end international conflicts and have the potential to bring about world peace. One response to this desideratum has been the construction of artificial languages. Esperanto is the best known of these and enjoys the greatest success and visibility. First formulated in the 19th century by linguist L. L. Zamenhof, this European‐based language was believed to be a good choice as a common working language for such international groups as the European Union because it is not associated with any one country or culture and thus would disadvantage no one. It has been noted, however, that it is less viable in other international bodies where languages without a European base are also used. Interlingua, a mid‐20th‐century creation, is a product of the International Auxiliary Language Association. Derived from English and Romance languages in both grammar and vocabulary, it therefore suffers the same limitations as Esperanto. A different approach to meeting the need for a language of international communication was C. K. Ogden's (1930) Basic English. Rather than attempt to construct a new language, Ogden designed a simplified form of English to function as an international auxiliary language and to help in the teaching of English as a second language. Consonant with a desire for world peace after World War II, Basic English gained attention as a linguistic instrument toward this end but has yet to fulfill this role.

A variety of contemporary languages are widely used as regional, intranational, and international lingua francas. Of relevant interest are the five languages whose lingua franca users outnumber the mother‐tongue users. These, and their percentages of lingua franca users in descending order, are: Swahili (98%), Malay (73%), English (71%), Persian (67%), and Urdu (60%) (Ostler, 2010). Among them, only English has become a language of wider communication on a global scale, but not in the simplified and controlled form that Ogden envisioned. Rather, British English and American English have been spread through the mechanisms of colonialism and globalization to become the means of communication in trade, commerce, and diplomacy, most notably after World War II. No longer restricted to these domains alone, English is now identified with such fields as science, technology, international travel and tourism, international law, media, and entertainment. Thus, an increasing number of academic and scientific journals publish exclusively in English, the primary language for presentations at international professional conferences is English, universities attracting multilingual students offer courses with English as a medium of instruction, and even contestants in international singing competitions perform in English or a mixture of English and other languages. In addition, English is widely used as a working language of international organizations and commissions, for example, by the United Nations and—the hopes of the Esperantists notwithstanding—by the European Union.

English is, of course, more than the first or primary language of Americans, the British, and other Inner Circle users of an international lingua franca. Although commonly compared with Latin as a lingua franca, English is quite different in large part due to its worldwide reach and its initial status as the colonizers' language in the Outer Circle and the language of “foreigners” for Expanding Circles users, that is, as a language of colonization and of globalization. This distinction is evident in the multiple functions English has come to serve, functions that are differentiated across contexts of use. To relegate English to the role of lingua franca in such contexts as India or Turkmenistan, for example, it is argued, is to ignore their unique histories with English and the sociolinguistic realities of English with which they live (see Kachru, 1996). In India, for example, English, a language with a colonial legacy used throughout the country primarily by the educated elite, was chosen as a national language alongside the indigenous Hindi which had already long served as a lingua franca in northern India. Today, English is used for administrative, instrumental, and interpersonal functions and is learned as a second language by elites and nonelites alike. Literature written in English by Indians has become widely celebrated, which has led to recognition of educated Indian English as a standardized variety (for more on Indian English, see Kachru, 1983). In contrast, English in Turkmenistan, for example, plays a minor role throughout the country due to government resistance to the language and to the involvement of Western agencies in English language education. Thus, rather than encourage the learning and use of English, language policy in this part of Central Asia discourages its learning and use for fear of Westernizing influences on the culture (Sartor, 2010). These two illustrations suggest that English as an international lingua franca is an abstraction that is difficult to concretize because of the realities of its uses, use, and learning across widely diverse cultural, social, and linguistic environments. Given this, the notion of English as a lingua franca has lost contemporary significance.

While Ogden may have envisioned an English that could transcend communal and cultural boundaries through simplification and control, the dream of a stable, international form (or variety) of English is unlikely to ever be realized so long as multiple local identities are expressed through the one medium of English (Pakir, 2009). Localized Englishes serve as markers of social and cultural identity and are dynamic systems of language use. Such dynamism and sociocultural value, it is claimed (Smith & Nelson, 2006), demand of those who use different varieties of English in international contexts to negotiate their own common forms and norms of use (grammatical, semantic, and pragmatic). In other words, constant renewal and creation of meanings and forms among users from the world's numerous and diverse language and cultural backgrounds militate against development of a stable variety comparable to the circumstances of the “language of the Franks.”

A range of circumstances—for example, new trade markets, expansion of political and military power, spread of religion, or some combination thereof—can bring languages into prominence and generate interest in and need for learning the language and subsequently its use by a significant number of people. But circumstances are known to change. New rulers with their languages come along, ties between once strong trading partners break, and secularism threatens religious bonds. Latin, which enjoyed a run of two millennia before it was relegated to the status of “dead” language, was replaced by the vernacular languages that spun off, by the other languages of Europe that benefited from the development of Gutenberg's printing press, and any number of changed circumstances, including the growth of Christianity and of Islam, financial mismanagement, imperial incompetence, and military unrest. But a lingua franca need not die out. Russian, which has had its role as regional lingua franca reduced in the former Soviet satellites, is in no danger of dying out. Its future for the moment is being secured in its replacement of older, smaller indigenous languages across Russia. German, once the language of the international scientific community, began to lose its status in the 1930s with the rise of National Socialism and its policies and programs. When the balance of political power shifted to the USA after 1945, German's circumstances changed dramatically. English was eventually given the role of lingua franca for the dissemination of developments in science and technology, but German continues as a key language in the European Union.

The dominance of English as worldwide lingua franca in a range of domains has led to demand in instruction of it, particularly that which develops the communicative competence learners need for international communication across cultures. For this purpose, the term “English as an international language” is often used (see Smith, 1983; Matsuda & Friedrich, 2011; Matsuda, 2012) to emphasize that attention is on intelligibility, comprehensibility, and interpretability in cross‐cultural encounters (Smith & Nelson, 2006; Nelson, 2011) and not adherence to native speaker models. Consideration of the use of English in international settings and the pedagogical implications have also been part of the English as a lingua franca movement which initially focused on formal features; at present, it is associated with the framework of multilingualism (Seidlhofer, 2011; Jenkins, 2015).

To date, English has been a lingua franca for around 200 years. Presently, it is no longer restricted to the domains of trade, research, and colonial control, and the number of its users is growing, and, as already shown, lingua franca users outnumber mother‐tongue users. Instruction in English is being offered to children at ever younger ages, thus increasing the potential for an even larger percentage of nonnative speakers. The history of its spread and its uptake by users are well documented (see Bolton & Kachru, 2006), its present circumstances are likewise being more comprehensively recorded, and the future of English as a medium of communication among those who do not share a common language is the subject of speculation. Chinese has been named as a possible replacement, given China's rapid development as a major player in the world's economic arena and the sheer size of its population, many of whom represent ethnic and linguistic minorities who learn Putonghua to participate in life at the national level (Xu, 2009). It has even been suggested that the future will not see another language serving as the single dominant medium of communication around the world, but that English will be the last global lingua franca; rather, the need for a language to bridge linguistic gaps will be met by technological developments that will perform any translation and interpretation required (Ostler, 2010). A prediction of another sort sees English increasing in status: it will become such an essential tool that schoolchildren will be required to learn it along with basic computer literacy and mathematics (Graddol, 2006). And if the fate of a lingua franca is linked with the fate of those who introduced it on the scene, by whatever means, then it also needs to be kept in mind that the future of English is connected to the status of the USA as a dominant world power. However, as English has taken on new identities, new forms, and new uses in contexts outside of the USA and UK (regardless of the futures of these nations) its past as a lingua franca has left a legacy of Englishes around the world.

SEE ALSO: Intelligibility in World Englishes; Intercultural Interaction; Language and Identity; World Englishes and Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages

References

1. Barotchi, M. (1994). Lingua franca. In R. E. Asher (Ed.), The encyclopedia of language and linguistics (Vol. 4, p. 2211). Oxford, England: Pergamon Press.
2. Bolton, K., & Kachru, B. B. (Eds.). (2006). World Englishes: Critical concepts in linguistics. London, England: Routledge.
3. Brutt‐Griffler, J. (2006). Languages of wider communication. In K. Brown (Ed.), The encyclopedia of language and linguistics (2nd ed., Vol. 6, pp. 690–7). Oxford, England: Elsevier.
4. Clayton, T. (1998). Explanations for the use of languages of wider communication in education in developing countries. International Journal of Educational Development, 18(2), 145–57.
5. Graddol, D. (2006). English next: Why global English may mean the end of “English as a foreign language.” London, England: British Council.
6. Jenkins, J. (2015). Repositioning English and multilingualism in English as a lingua franca. Englishes in Practice, 2(3), 49–85.
7. Kachru, B. B. (1983). The Indianization of English: The English language in India. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
8. Kachru, B. B. (1996). English as lingua franca. In H. Goebl, P. Nelde, Z. Stary, & W. Wolck (Eds.), Contact linguistics: An international handbook of contemporary research (pp. 906–13). Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter.
9. Kahane, H., & Kahane, R. (1976). Lingua franca: The story of a term. Romance Philology, 30(1), 25–41.
10. Matsuda, A. (Ed.). (2012). Principles and practices of teaching English as an international language. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
11. Matsuda, A., & Friedrich, P. (2011). English as an international language: A curriculum blueprint. World Englishes, 30(3), 332–44.
12. Matthews, P. (1997). (Ed.). The concise Oxford dictionary of linguistics. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
13. McArthur, T. (2001). World English and World Englishes: Trends, tensions, varieties, and standards. Language Teaching, 34, 1–20.
14. Meierkord, C. (2006). Lingua francas as second languages. In K. Brown (Ed.), The encyclopedia of language and linguistics (2nd ed., Vol. 7, pp. 163–71). Boston, MA: Elsevier.
15. Nelson, C. L. (2011). Intelligibility in World Englishes: Theory and application. London, England: Routledge.
16. Ogden, C. K. (1930). Basic English: A general introduction with rules and grammar. London, England: Kegan Paul.
17. Ostler, N. (2010). The last lingua franca: English until the return of Babel. New York, NY: Walker.
18. Pakir, A. (2009). English as a lingua franca: Analyzing research frameworks in international English, World Englishes, and ELF. World Englishes, 28(2), 224–35.
19. Sartor, V. (2010). Teaching English in Turkmenistan. English Today, 26(4), 29–36.
20. Schuchardt, H. (1909). Die Lingua franca. Zeitschrift fur Romanische Philologie, 33, 441–61.
21. Seidlhofer, B. (2011). Understanding English as a lingua franca. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
22. Smith, L. E. (Ed.). (1983). Readings in English as an international language. Oxford, England: Pergamon Press.
23. Smith, L. E., & Nelson, C. L. (2006). World Englishes and issues of intelligibility. In B. B. Kachru, Y. Kachru, & C. L. Nelson (Eds.), The handbook of World Englishes (pp. 428–45). Malden, MA: Blackwell.
24. Trudgill, P. (2001). Sociolinguistics: An introduction to language and society (4th ed.). London, England: Penguin Books.
25. Xu, H. (2009). Ethnic minorities, bilingual education and glocalization. In J. Lo Bianco, J. Orton, & Y. Gao (Eds.), China and English: Globalisation and the dilemmas of identity (pp. 181–91). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.

Suggested Readings

1. Kachru, B. (2012). World Englishes: Overview. In C. A. Chapelle (Ed.), The encyclopedia of applied linguistics. New York, NY: Wiley‐Blackwell.
2. Kachru, B., Kachru, Y., & Nelson, C. L. (Eds.). (2006). The handbook of World Englishes. Oxford, England: Blackwell.
3. Matsuda, A. (2002). “International understanding” through teaching World Englishes. World Englishes, 21(3), 436–40.
4. Matsuda, A. (Ed.). (2017). Preparing teachers to teach English as an international language. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
5. Seidlhofer, B. (2001). Closing a conceptual gap: The case for a description of English as a lingua franca. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 11(2), 133–58.

Note

1.      Reproduced with minor modifications from M. Berns (2012). Lingua franca and language of wider communication. In C. A. Chapelle (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of Applied Linguistics. John Wiley & Sons Inc., with permission.

Linguistic Imperialism

ROBERT PHILLIPSON

The study of linguistic imperialism focuses on how and why certain languages dominate internationally, and attempts to account for such dominance in a theoretically informed way. There are many issues to be clarified: the role of language policy in former empires (British, French, Japanese, etc.); how languages from Europe were established on other continents, generally at the expense of local languages; whether the languages that colonialism took to Africa and Asia now form a useful bond with the international community and are necessary for national unity internally, or whether they are a bridgehead for Western interests, permitting the continuation of marginalization and exploitation. In a globalizing world, has English shifted from serving Anglo‐American interests into being a more equitable instrument of communication for diverse users? Or do US corporate and military dominance worldwide and the neoliberal economy constitute a new form of empire that consolidates a single imperial language? Can the active suppression of languages such as Kurdish in Turkey or Tibetan and Uyghur in China be seen as linguistic imperialism? With the increasing importance of China globally, will the vigorous promotion of Chinese internationally convert into a novel form of linguistic imperialism?

The evidence for or against linguistic imperialism can be investigated empirically in a given context. Linguistic imperialism entails the following (Phillipson, 1992, 2009):

• Linguistic imperialism interlocks with a structure of imperialism in culture, education, the media, communication, the economy, politics, and military activities.
• In essence it is about exploitation, injustice, inequality, and hierarchy that privileges those able to use the dominant language.
• It is structural, because more material resources and infrastructure are accorded to the dominant language than to others.
• It is ideological, as beliefs, attitudes, and imagery glorify the dominant language, stigmatize others, and rationalize the linguistic hierarchy.
• The dominance is hegemonic, since it is internalized and naturalized as being “normal.”
• This entails unequal rights for speakers of different languages.
• Language use is often subtractive, proficiency in the imperial language and in learning it in education involving its consolidation at the expense of other languages.
• It is a form of linguicism, a favoring of one language over others in ways that parallel societal structuring through racism, sexism, and class; linguicism serves to privilege users of the standard forms of the dominant language, which represent convertible linguistic capital.
• Linguistic imperialism is invariably contested and resisted.

The term “imperialism” derives from the Latin imperium, covering military and political control by a dominant power over subordinated peoples and territories. A panoramic history of language empires reveals great variety in the role of languages (Ostler, 2005). In the period of global European dominance, a combination of military, commercial, and Christian missionary activities facilitated the transplantation of Western cultural and educational norms and languages (Fanon, 1952; Mühlhäusler, 1996; Rassool, 2007). Using terms like “imperialism” is contentious, because “Defining something as imperial or colonial today almost always implies hostility to it, viewing it as inherently immoral or illegitimate” (Howe, 2002, p. 9), although the dominant tend to have no illusions about the workings of empire. In the Roman Empire that covered much of Europe and North Africa, the strategy for co‐opting a conquered people was insightfully analyzed by Tacitus 2,000 years ago:

in place of distaste for the Latin language came a passion to command it. In the same way, our national dress came into favour and the toga was everywhere to be seen. And so the Britons were gradually led on to the amenities that make vice agreeable—arcades, baths and sumptuous banquets. They spoke of such novelties as “civilization” when really they were only a feature of enslavement. (Tacitus, trans. 1948, p. 72)

The significance of language for the colonial adventure was appreciated from its inception. In 1492, Queen Isabella of Spain was presented with a plan for establishing Castilian “as a tool for conquest abroad and a weapon to suppress untutored speech at home”: for its author, Antonio de Nebrija, “Language has always been the consort of empire, and forever shall remain its mate” (Illich, 1981, pp. 34–5). The language was to be fashioned as a standard in the domestic education system, as a means of social control, and harnessed to the colonial mission elsewhere.

When French became a lingua franca for secular purposes in Europe, there was widespread belief in the intrinsic superiority of the language. The Academy of Berlin held a competition in 1782 on the theme of why French was a “universal language.” A winning essay argued that languages which do not follow the syntax of French are illogical and inadequate. Maintenance of a linguistic hierarchy typically involves a pattern of stigmatization of dominated languages (mere “dialects,” “vernaculars”), glorification of the dominant language (its superior clarity, richer vocabulary), and rationalization of the relationship between the languages, always to the benefit of the dominant one (access to the superior culture and “progress”). The ancient Greeks stigmatized non‐Greek speakers as barbarian, meaning speakers of a nonlanguage. The term Welsh was used by speakers of English to refer to people who call themselves Cymry. “Welsh” in Old English means foreigners or strangers, a stigmatizing categorization from the perspective of the dominant group and in their language. A dominant language is projected as the language of God (Sanskrit, Arabic in the Islamic world, Dutch in South Africa); the language of reason, logic, and human rights (French both before and after the French Revolution); the language of the superior ethnonational group (German in Nazi ideology); the language of progress, modernity, and national unity (English in much postcolonial discourse). Other languages are explicitly or implicitly deprived of such functions and qualities.

Colonial governments implemented linguicist policies that discriminated in favor of European languages. Linguistic hierarchization figured prominently, alongside racism, in the legitimation of the colonial venture (Pennycook, 1998), and continues in arguments that celebrate the current dominance of English in a wide range of countries (Bunce, Phillipson, Rapatahana, & Tupas, 2016). An analysis of the links between linguistics and the furtherance of the French colonial cause documents how French “consumed” other languages by processes of linguistic cannibalism, glottophagie (Calvet, 1974). Linguistic genocide, as defined in work on the United Nations genocide convention, is in fact still practiced widely in the modern world when groups are forcibly assimilated to the dominant culture and its language (Skutnabb‐Kangas, 2000); such policies can also be seen as a crime against humanity (Skutnabb‐Kangas & Dunbar, 2010).

Expansion Through Linguistic Imperialism

The expansion of English from its territorial base in England began with its imposition throughout the British Isles. The 1536 Act of Union with Wales entailed subordination to the “rights, laws, customs and speech of England” (cited in Jenkins, 2007, p. 132). Throughout the British Isles a monolingual ideology was propagated, with devastating effects, even if some Celtic languages have survived and are currently being revitalized. The continued marginalization of Irish Sign Language exemplifies linguistic imperialism (Rose & Conama, 2018). A monolingual ideology was exported to settler colonies in North America and Australasia. President Theodore Roosevelt wrote in 1919: “We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language.” More differentiated policies were needed in exploitation colonies (where the climate precluded settlement by Europeans) such as the Indian subcontinent and most African colonies (Rassool, 2007).

The present‐day strength of English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese in the Americas, in Africa, in Asia, Australasia, and the Pacific is a direct consequence of successive waves of colonization and of the outcome of military conflict between rival European powers. Between 1815 and 1914 over 21 million British and Irish people emigrated, the greatest number to the USA, and increasing numbers to Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and to a lesser extent South Africa. This demographic movement, also undertaken by the Dutch, French, Portuguese, and Spanish, assumed a right to occupy territory as though it was unoccupied: the myth of terra nullius which assumed that aboriginals had no right of ownership of the land. The aim was to establish replicas of the “home country” in New Amsterdam (later New York), New England, New Zealand, Nova Scotia, Hispania, and so forth. English is now fraudulently marketed as a lingua nullius, as if it serves all equally well (Phillipson, 2017).

Native American languages were initially used in missionary work and education, but when competition for territory and resources intensified, conflict between the settlers and indigenous peoples increased. Education was then established on the principle “that the only prospect of success was in taking the children in boarding schools, and making them ‘English in language, civilized in manners, Christian in religion’” (Spring, 1996, p. 152). As a direct result of such policies, very few of the languages originally present in the USA, Canada, and Australia have survived. This exemplifies linguistic imperialism vis‐à‐vis minority languages within a polity. It is comparable to the way the languages of the peoples of the Soviet Union were treated by Stalin: “bilingual education” meant transition to monolingualism in Russian. “Under the pressure of the imperial ideology they were forced to sacrifice linguistic rights for an ideal that was clearly an attempt at linguistic genocide” (Rannut, 1994, p. 179).

Education in US colonies functioned along similar lines. In the Philippines, there was an insistence on an exclusive use of English in education from 1898 to 1940:

public education, specifically language and literature education during the American colonial period, was designed to directly support American colonialism. The combined power of the canon, curriculum, and pedagogy constituted the ideological strategies resulting in rationalizing, naturalizing, and legitimizing myths about colonial relationships and realities. (Martin, 2002, p. 210)

Despite differences in the articulation of policies in the French and British empires, what they had in common was the low status accorded to dominated languages, whether these were ignored or used in the early years of education; a very small proportion of the population in formal education, especially after the lower grades; local traditions and educational practice being ignored; unsuitable education being provided; an explicit policy of “civilizing the natives,” and the master language being attributed civilizing properties (Phillipson, 1992, pp. 127–8). These generalizations are valid, even if policies were in fact worked out ad hoc in a wide variety of situations. In French colonies, the goal of producing a black elite entailed using the educational content and methods of metropolitan France. In the British Empire, “English was the official vehicle and the magic formula to colonial élitedom” (Ngũgĩ, 1985, p. 115).

The World Bank has played a decisive role in funding education in “developing” countries. Its policies have continued the linguistic imperialism of the colonial and early postcolonial periods:

The World Bank's real position . . . encourages the consolidation of the imperial languages in Africa. . . . the World Bank does not seem to regard the linguistic Africanisation of the whole of primary education as an effort that is worth its consideration. Its publication on strategies for stabilising and revitalising universities, for example, makes absolutely no mention of the place of language at this tertiary level of African education. (Mazrui, 1997, p. 39)

Fishman, Conrad, and Rubal‐Lopez's Post‐Imperial English (1996) has a wealth of empirical description of the functions of English in many contexts. The 29 contributors to the volume were specifically asked to assess whether linguistic imperialism was in force in the country studies they were responsible for. They all address the issue, but without assessing whether there might be more valid ways of coming to grips with theorizing the dominance of English.

Scholars who are skeptical about linguistic imperialism as an explanatory model for the way English has been consolidated worldwide tend to analyze matters as though there is a strict choice between (a) active US–UK promotion of English, supported by linguicist policies that favor it over other languages, and (b) colonized people actively wishing to learn English because of the economic, social, political, and cultural doors that it opens. Matters are summed up as though (a) involves imposition, whereas (b) is a “free” choice (e.g., Kirkpatrick, 2007, pp. 35–7). This is a false dichotomy: Neither imposition nor freedom is context free. Push and pull factors both contribute to linguistic imperialism. Neoliberalism and Western‐dominated globalization have strengthened English (Piller & Cho, 2013), as has the expansion of NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) (Templer, 2016), with the US military intervening whenever “vital interests” are at risk. Financial and economic crises since 2008 have exposed instability and the increased influence of China, but hitherto English has served to consolidate the interests of the powerful globally and locally and to maintain an exploitative world order that can disenfranchise speakers of other languages.

The strong position of English in former colonies represents a continuation of the policies of colonial times. It has strengthened an elite class, with the effect that, in India, “Over the post‐Independence years, English has become the single most important predictor of socio‐economic mobility. . . . With the globalized economy, English education widens the discrepancy between the social classes” (Mohanty, 2006, pp. 268–9).

The USA and the UK coordinated efforts to promote English as a “global” language from the 1950s. English language education as propagated by the British and Americans builds on five tenets, each of which is false: the monolingual fallacy, the native speaker fallacy, the early start fallacy, the maximum exposure fallacy, and the subtractive fallacy (Phillipson, 1992, pp. 183–218). These underpin the profitable global English teaching business. This persists in dispatching unqualified native speakers to teach in Asia (Phillipson, 2016a).

Ongoing Tensions Between Linguistic Imperialism and Resistance

The conceptual framework elaborated above can serve to explore the questions raised initially in this entry in more depth. Analysis can be supplemented by documentation of educational experience in devising ways of counteracting linguistic imperialism (Canagarajah, 1999; Bunce et al., 2016). Some critiques of a linguistic imperialist approach actually misrepresent it (e.g., Blommaert, see Phillipson, 2012). Accusations that it ignores agency, is excessively structuralist, and implies that education systems should not produce competent users of English (Pennycook, 2001) are invalid (Phillipson, 2009, pp. 15–18). The study of linguistic imperialism does not argue for or against particular languages. It analyzes how linguistic imperialism functions in specific contexts in order to identify injustice or discrimination so as to provide a basis for remedying them.

It is logical that people in many countries wish to develop competence in English, but in many postcolonial countries this entails subtractive learning. For instance, a consequence of education in Singapore being exclusively through the medium of English is that more than half the population now use English as the home language. English‐medium schooling that neglects mother tongues can have this effect.

One development that strengthens global elite formation is the rapid increase in the number of English‐medium international schools around the world (8,000, including 550 in the United Arab Emirates and China, Wechsler 2017). Most graduates go on to study at universities in “English‐speaking” countries. It is likely that their linguistic roots in their cultures of origin will be weaker than their identification with the global economy and international mobility.

By contrast, the governments of the Nordic countries are determined that increased proficiency in English should in no way reduce the role of national languages. This principle is enshrined in a declaration on a Nordic Language Policy, available in eight Nordic languages and English (www.norden.org). Many universities in Finland and Sweden have thus formulated language policies that aim at ensuring that their graduates and staff are in effect bilingual: Universities have a responsibility as publicly funded institutions to promote national languages, and as participants in an international community of practice they also need to function in English and other international languages. This exemplifies governments being aware of the risk of the negative impact of linguistic imperialism and taking measures to counteract it.

The management of multilingualism in European Union institutions is exceptionally complicated. Market forces are strengthening the position of English in member states as well as in the EU system. There is therefore a risk of other languages being dispossessed of their linguistic capital. The EU is seen by some political scientists as an empire, with its language policies constituting linguistic imperialism (Phillipson 2016b).

The immense volume of scientific publication in English also serves to consolidate a hierarchy of languages. Scholars from the Spanish‐speaking world increasingly need to publish in English (Mar‐Molinero, 2010).

Linguistic imperialism is a reality in many contexts worldwide. Among the extreme cases are the oppression of Kurds in Turkey and of linguistic minorities in China, especially in Tibet and in the Xinjiang Uyghur region. For an authoritative survey of language rights worldwide, see the four volumes compiled by Skutnabb‐Kangas and Phillipson in 2017.

SEE ALSO: Critical Pedagogy in Language Teaching; Language and Globalization; Non‐Native‐Speaker English Teachers; Role of Linguistic Human Rights in Language Policy and Planning

References

1. Bunce, P., Phillipson, R. Rapatahana, V., & Tupas, R. F. (Eds.). (2016). Why English? Confronting the hydra. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
2. Calvet, L.‐J. (1974). Linguistique et colonialisme: Petit traité de glottophagie. Paris, France: Payot.
3. Canagarajah, S. A. (1999). Resisting linguistic imperialism in English teaching. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
4. Fanon, F. (1952). Peau noire masques blancs. Paris, France: Éditions du Seuil.
5. Fishman, J. A., Conrad, A. W., & Rubal‐Lopez, A. (Eds.). (1996). Post‐imperial English: Status change in former British and American colonies, 1940–1990. Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter.
6. Howe, S. (2002). Empire: A very short introduction. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
7. Illich, I. (1981). Shadow work. Boston, MA: Marion Boyars.
8. Jenkins, G. H. (2007). A concise history of Wales. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
9. Kirkpatrick, A. (2007). World Englishes: Implications for international communication and English language teaching. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
10. Mar‐Molinero, C. (2010). The spread of global Spanish: From Cervantes to reggaetón. In N. Coupland (Ed.), The handbook of language and globalization (pp. 162–81). Malden, MA: Wiley‐Blackwell.
11. Martin, I. P. (2002). Canon and pedagogy: The role of American colonial education in defining standards for Philippine literature. In A. Kirkpatrick (Ed.), Englishes in Asia: Communication, identity, power and education (pp. 201–11). Melbourne, Australia: Language Australia.
12. Mazrui, A. A. (1997). The World Bank, the language question and the future of African education. Race and Class, 38(3), 35–48.
13. Mohanty, A. (2006). Multilingualism and predicaments of education in India. In O. García, T. Skutnabb‐Kangas, & M. E. Torres‐Guzmán (Eds.), Imagining multilingual schools: Languages in education and glocalization (pp. 262–83). Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
14. Mühlhäusler, P. (1996). Linguistic ecology: Language change and linguistic imperialism in the Pacific region. London, England: Routledge.
15. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o (1985, April/June). The language of African literature. New Left Review, pp. 109–27.
16. Ostler, N. (2005). Empires of the word: A language history of the world. London, England: HarperCollins.
17. Pennycook, A. (1998). English and the discourses of colonialism. New York, NY: Routledge.
18. Pennycook, A. (2001). Critical applied linguistics: A critical introduction. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
19. Phillipson, R. (1992). Linguistic imperialism. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
20. Phillipson, R. (2009). Linguistic imperialism continued. New York, NY: Routledge.
21. 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), 407–14.
22. Phillipson, R. (2016a). Native speakers in linguistic imperialism. Journal of Critical Education Policy Studies, 14(3), 80–96.
23. Phillipson, R. (2016b). Linguistic imperialism of and in the European Union. In H. Behr & J. Stivachtis (Eds.), Revisiting the European Union as an empire (pp. 134–63), London, England: Routledge.
24. Phillipson, R. (2017). Myths and realities of “global” English. Language Policy, 16(3), 313–31.
25. Piller, I., & Cho, J. H. (2013). Neoliberalism as language policy. Language in Society, 42, 23–44.
26. Rannut, M. (1994). Beyond linguistic policy: The Soviet Union versus Estonia. In T. Skutnabb‐Kangas & R. Phillipson (Eds.), Linguistic human rights: Overcoming linguistic discrimination (pp. 179–208). Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter.
27. Rassool, N. (2007). Global issues in language, education and development: Perspectives from postcolonial countries. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
28. Roosevelt, T. (1919). Letter to R. K. Hurd, January 3. Retrieved August 10, 2011 from http://urbanlegends.about.com/library/bl_roosevelt_on_immigrants.htm
29. Rose, H., & Conama, J. B. (2018). Linguistic imperialism: Still a valid construct in relation to language policy for Irish Sign Language. Language Policy, 17(3), 385–404.
30. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T. (2000). Linguistic genocide in education—or worldwide diversity and human rights? Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
31. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Dunbar, R. (2010). Indigenous children's education as linguistic genocide and a crime against humanity? A global view. Guovdageaidnu/Kautokeino, Norway: Galdu, Resource Centre for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.
32. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Phillipson, R. (Eds.). (2017). Language rights. London, England: Routledge.
33. Spring, J. (1996). The cultural transformation of a Native American family and its tribe 1763–1995. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
34. Tacitus (1948). Tacitus on Britain and Germany: A new translation of the Agricola and the Germania (H. Mattingly, Trans.). West Drayton, England: Penguin.
35. Templer, B. (2016). The English hydra as invader on the post‐communist “new periphery” in Bulgaria. In P. Bunce, R. Phillipson, V. Rapatahana, & R. F. Tupas (Eds.), Why English? Confronting the hydra (pp. 129–41). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
36. Wechsler, A. (2017, June 5). The international‐school surge. The Atlantic. Retrieved August 31, 2018 from https://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2017/06/the-international-school-surge/528792/

Suggested Readings

1. Dimova, S., Hultgren, A. K., & Jensen, C. (Eds.). (2015). English‐medium instruction in higher education in Europe. Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter.
2. Edge, J. (Ed.). (2006). (Re‐)locating TESOL in an age of empire. Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
3. Harvey, D. (2005). The new imperialism. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
4. Macedo, D., Dendrinos, B., & Gounari, P. (2003). The hegemony of English. Boulder, CO: Paradigm.
5. Mazrui, A. A. (2004). English in Africa after the cold war. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
6. Phillipson, R. (2003). English‐only Europe? Challenging language policy. London, England: Routledge.
7. Skutnabb‐Kangas, T., & Phillipson, R. (2010). The global politics of language: Markets, maintenance, marginalization or murder? In N. Coupland (Ed.), The handbook of language and globalization (pp. 77–100). Oxford, England: Wiley‐Blackwell.

Linguistic Landscape Studies

DURK GORTER

Introduction

Linguistic landscape research is an emerging field of applied linguistics. In recent years increasing numbers of researchers have analyzed the texts on signs in public spaces in different sociolinguistic contexts around the world. These contexts are predominantly urban and multilingual. Although there were a number of forerunners in the 1970s and 1980s, the study of the linguistic landscape was inspired by the study of Landry and Bourhis (1997) who also provided a definition that has been widely quoted: “The language of public road signs, advertising billboards, street names, place names, commercial shop signs, and public signs on government buildings combines to form the linguistic landscape of a given territory, region, or urban agglomeration” (p. 25).

Most studies of the linguistic landscape have taken place in contexts that are unmistakably bilingual or multilingual. Other studies took place in a context, such as Tokyo, that at first sight seems to be predominantly monolingual. However, Backhaus (2007, p. 71) came across no fewer than 14 languages in the linguistic landscape of Tokyo. Japanese was clearly the dominant language but he found other languages such as English, Chinese, Korean, or Latin. Backhaus (2007, pp. 12–63) also provided a detailed overview of 26 linguistic landscape studies until 2006. Half of those were carried out after 2000. More recent summaries of the field are in Gorter (2013) and Van Mensel, Vandenbroucke, and Blackwood (2016), and the online specialized bibliography (Troyer, 2019) contains 750 publications, which shows the sharp increase in publications over the last decade. Only a brief overview of linguistic landscape studies can be given here.

Earlier Studies

Coulmas (2009, p. 13) observes that “linguistic landscaping is as old as writing.” The public display of texts is one of the earliest functions of writing, coinciding with the beginnings of urban settlements. Some important examples have been handed down through history, such as the Old Babylonian language in cuneiform script, or the Egyptian hieroglyphs which were deciphered in modern times through the trilingual Rosetta stone (Coulmas, 2009).

Early studies took place in cities such as Brussels, Québec, and Dakar. Another example is the city of Jerusalem where Rosenbaum, Nadel, Cooper, and Fishman (1977) studied the use of English. In Keren Kayemet Street they analyzed the signs and also collected data on spoken language. They focused on the use of Roman script (almost all in English) versus Hebrew script. The signs reflected some differences between official language policy supporting the use of Hebrew‐only signs and the more common commercial use of English in signs. A second study in Jerusalem in the 1980s concerned language choice on the signs. A “conditions model” of three rules was proposed: (a) write a sign in a language you know (“sign‐writer's skill”); (b) write a sign in the language which can be read by the public (“presumed reader”); (c) write in your own language or the language you want to be identified with (“symbolic value”) (Spolsky, 2009, pp. 32–4 has an update). More recently other studies in Israel have contributed to reinforce the field (see Shohamy & Waksman, 2009; Waksman & Shohamy, 2016).

Emerging Themes

Linguistic landscapes are studied from a variety of perspectives. Different approaches lead to theorization about multilingualism and analyze the dynamics of multilingual cityscapes. Current research covers a series of innovative empirical and theoretical studies that deal with important themes such as language policy, the spread of English, minority languages, multimodality, and other issues such as language ecology, tourism, graffiti, or economic analysis.

Language Policy

Official language policies may comprise regulations about the languages used in the public space. Leclerc (1989) analyzed the laws of 181 national and regional states and found no uniform pattern in the legislation. Sometimes there are no rules at all and in other cases the public display of language is regulated in detail. Usually the authorities want to maintain some degree of control over the language(s) visible in the public domain. Language Act 101 in Québec became notorious for its aim to prefer French over any other language (i.e., English). Regulations of the linguistic landscape can have important consequences for language use, but also for moral or legal aspects or even the physical dimensions (size, color, illumination, etc.). The aim can be to stop the spread of English or it can be to encourage the use of minority languages (Gorter, Marten, & Van Mensel, 2019). As Shohamy (2006, p. 129) argues “Language in the public space . . . can also serve as mechanism for resisting, protesting against and negotiating de facto language policies.”

Spread of English

Processes of globalization influence the use of English as a language used worldwide. English has an increasing presence in the visual scenery of the streets of most urban centers across the globe, in particular for commercial messages and information for tourists. The spread of English, among others, has been one of the motivators for the study of linguistic landscape, for example in the journal English Today. In many studies the dissemination of English in the linguistic landscape has been taken into consideration. Law 101 in Québec (see above) tried to ban the use of English from public signage by proscribing a French‐only policy. Some shop owners developed strategies with French–English “bilingual winks” to circumvent the regulation (Lamarre, 2014). The provisions were later relaxed to permit other languages as long as French is “markedly predominant.” English on signage may also influence the local language system. Huebner (2006) demonstrates the influence of English on the Thai language in a study of the linguistic landscape of Bangkok. Changes in Thai concern lexical borrowing as well as orthography, pronunciation, and syntax.

Minority Languages

Not all language groups have equal access to the linguistic landscape. Dominant national languages are often taken for granted, but minority languages may struggle for recognition and visibility. Specific groups can use the written signs in the public space to make their presence known in a territory. The degree of presence of minority languages in different locations can be established by systematic research. Multiple interpretations could be given, for instance, by relating it to supportive or discriminatory policies, the degree of literacy, or the vitality of a minority language. Defacing of signs is often a token of language conflict (Puzey, 2012). The presence or absence of certain languages, and thus their speakers, can be meaningful (Shohamy, 2006, p. 110). Linguistic landscape research enriches the study of minority language groups, particularly because issues of power and resistance are central.

Cenoz and Gorter (2006) compared the use of the minority language in two cities in the Basque Country, Spain, and in Friesland, the Netherlands. They found an effect of a stronger and a weaker language policy reflected in the linguistic landscape, because the regions differed significantly. Blommaert and Maly (2016) used an ethnographic linguistic landscape analysis for a case study of the Rabot neighborhood of Ghent, Belgium. They found a dynamic kaleidoscope of languages for a layered and stratified population which indicates broader social changes in a superdiverse urban linguistic landscape.

Multimodality

The analysis of signs in the public space includes more than just the written language. Signs are multimodal messages that use more than one mode to communicate meaning. There are complicated connections between different parts of meaning making: language, color, symbols, placement, relative size, and use of space. These parts interact and affect each other.

In the analysis of multimodal texts Kress and van Leeuwen (2006, p. 177) point out how principles of composition bring about the meanings of an image by three interrelated systems. First, the information value is in the placement of elements. Second, salience attracts the viewer's attention through size, foregrounding, or contrast. And, third, framing of elements comes through dividing lines. Scollon and Scollon (2003) argue that we can only interpret the meaning of public texts like road signs, notices, and brand logos by considering the social and physical world that surrounds them. They call their approach “geosemiotics,” the study of the meaning of placing signs in the material world, which concerns the interaction of spatial, individual, social, and cultural contexts. Linguistic landscape studies not only aim to identify systematic patterns of languages, but they go beyond written texts on signs in public spaces to include also images, objects, sound, and motion “in line with current theories about multimodality” (Shohamy & Ben‐Rafael, 2015, p. 1).

Other Themes

Work on linguistic landscapes also covers a wide range of other themes than those outlined above. Studies have been carried out by researchers with different disciplinary backgrounds, such as a historical perspective, the application of sociological theories, or economic models. Other researchers have chosen a sociolinguistic or an ecology of language approach. The study of the linguistic landscape in an institutional context, such as education, seems a promising direction (Brown, 2018; Gorter, 2018) and could be extended to other institutional contexts such as libraries, prisons, or hospitals. Others have looked at phenomena such as graffiti as transgressive hybrid forms of text and picture, at the visibility of languages for tourism, or at mixtures of language forms. The linguistic landscape can influence language attitudes and speakers have preferences about the way languages are represented. Edited collections such as Shohamy and Gorter (2009), Jaworski and Thurlow (2010), Shohamy, Ben‐Rafael, and Barni (2010), Rubdy and Ben Said (2015), Blackwood, Lanza, and Woldemariam (2016), and Pütz and Mundt (2019) contain chapters from a wide range of perspectives.

Methodology

Collecting data about the linguistic landscape has become a significant research tool, as well as an important data source for studies of multilingualism. First inexpensive digital cameras and later mobile phones have enormously facilitated the data collection of texts on signs in the linguistic landscape. Not all methodological issues have been solved and there are, for instance, problems in establishing criteria for the unit of analysis or improving comparability of sampling.

Some researchers have applied well‐known methods and techniques such as interviews, standard questionnaires, or focus group discussion to collect data about signage in public space. As an effective research tool, the systematic analysis of written language in the public space can be related to other data sources such as spoken language practices or language legislation (Malinowski, 2018; Gorter, 2019).

The linguistic landscape has obtained popularity as an attractive topic among masters and doctoral students of applied linguistics because of its easy accessibility. It also has great potential for use in a class on applied linguistics, on multilingualism, or on language policy. It can be used to raise language awareness and provide insight in many language related issues.

Outlook and Further Expansion

Linguistic landscape studies is a rapidly emerging specialized field, which is used as a research tool and as a source of data to document, to describe, and to theorize about multilingualism and other applied linguistics themes. Analytical frameworks are developed to examine and explain the dynamics of multilingual cityscapes, the limitations in managing the development of a linguistic landscape, and related phenomena of identity, policy, and language use in urban areas.

Overall, the various emerging perspectives in linguistic landscape studies are an additional source of information about multilingual and multimodal processes and can deepen our understanding of multilingualism, urban spaces, and language users.

Though the field of linguistic landscape studies is not without problems, the sort of work done thus far demonstrates its productivity. The journal Linguistic Landscape was established in 2015 and Troyer (2019) maintains a growing online bibliography focused on publications in the field.

Linguistic landscape studies will certainly get more attention in the coming years as the results become available of several ongoing projects. Many questions are still open and there is a need for further data, refinement of methodologies, foundation of theories, and useful applications.

SEE ALSO: Heritage Languages and Language Policy; Identities and Language Teaching in Classrooms; Language and Globalization; Language Ideology and Public Discourse; Multilingualism and Metalinguistic Awareness

References

1. Backhaus, P. (2007). Linguistic landscapes: A comparative study of urban multilingualism in Tokyo. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
2. Blackwood, R., Lanza, E., & Woldemariam, H. (Eds.). (2016). Negotiating and contesting identities in linguistic landscapes. London, England: Bloomsbury.
3. Blommaert, J., & Maly, I. (2016). Ethnographic linguistic landscape analysis and social change: A case study. In K. Arnaut, J. Blommaert, B. Rampton, & M. Spotti (Eds.), Language and superdiversity (pp. 197–217). New York, NY: Routledge.
4. Brown, K. D. (2018). Shifts and stability in schoolscapes: Diachronic considerations of southeastern Estonian schools. Linguistics and Education, 44, 12–19.
5. Cenoz, J., & Gorter, D. (2006). The linguistic landscape and minority languages. International Journal of Multilingualism, 3(1), 67–80.
6. Coulmas, F. (2009). Linguistic landscaping and the seed of the public sphere. In E. Shohamy & D. Gorter (Eds.), Linguistic landscape: Expanding the scenery, (pp. 13–24). New York, NY: Routledge.
7. Gorter, D. (2013). Linguistic landscapes in a multilingual world. ARAL: Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 33, 190–212. doi: 10.1017/S0267190513000020
8. Gorter, D. (2018). Linguistic landscapes and trends in the study of schoolscapes. Linguistics and Education, 44, 80–5.
9. Gorter, D. (2019). Methods and techniques for linguistic landscape research: About definitions, core issues and technological innovations. In M. Putz & N. Mundt (Eds.), Expanding the linguistic landscape: Multilingualism, language policy and the use of space as a semiotic resource (pp. 38–57). Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
10. Gorter, D., Marten, H. F., & Van Mensel, L. (2019). Linguistic landscapes and minority languages. In G. Hogan‐Brun & B. O'Rourke (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of minority languages and communities (pp. 481–506). London, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
11. Huebner, T. (2006). Bangkok's linguistic landscapes: Environmental print, codemixing, and language change. International Journal of Multilingualism, 3(1), 31–51.
12. Jaworski, A., & Thurlow, C. (Eds.). (2010). Semiotic landscapes: Language, image, space. London, England: Continuum.
13. Kress, G., & van Leeuwen, T. (2006). Reading images: The grammar of visual design (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge.
14. Lamarre, P. (2014). Bilingual winks and bilingual wordplay in Montreal's linguistic landscape. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 228, 131–51.
15. Landry, R., & Bourhis, R. Y. (1997). Linguistic landscape and ethnolinguistic vitality: An empirical study. Journal of Language and Social Psychology, 16(1), 23–49.
16. Leclerc, J. (1989). La guerre des langues dans l'affichage. Montreal, Canada: VLB Editeur.
17. Malinowski, D. (2018). Linguistic landscape. In A. Phakiti, P. De Costa, L. Plonsky, & S. Starfield (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of applied linguistics research methodology (pp. 869–85). London, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
18. Pütz, M., & Mundt, N. (Eds.). (2019). Expanding the linguistic landscape: Multilingualism, language policy and the use of space as a semiotic resource. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
19. Puzey, G. (2012). Two‐way traffic: How linguistic landscapes reflect and influence the politics of language. In D. Gorter, H. F. Marten, & L. Van Mensel (Eds.), Minority languages in the linguistic landscape (pp. 127–47). London, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
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21. Rubdy, R., & Ben Said, S. (Eds.). (2015). Conflict, exclusion and dissent in the linguistic landscape. London, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
22. Scollon, R., & Scollon, S. (2003). Discourses in place. New York, NY: Routledge.
23. Shohamy, E. (2006). Language policy: Hidden agendas and new approaches. New York, NY: Routledge.
24. Shohamy, E., & Ben‐Rafael, E. (2015). Introduction: Linguistic Landscape, a new journal. Linguistic Landscape, 1(1), 1–5.
25. Shohamy, E., Ben‐Rafael, E., & Barni, M. (2010). Linguistic landscape in the city. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.
26. Shohamy, E., & Gorter, D. (Eds.). (2009). Linguistic landscape: Expanding the scenery. New York, NY: Routledge.
27. Shohamy, E., & Waksman, S. (2009). Linguistic landscape as an ecological arena: Modalities, meanings, negotiations, education. In E. Shohamy & D. Gorter (Eds.), Linguistic landscape: Expanding the scenery (pp. 313–31). New York, NY: Routledge.
28. Spolsky, B. (2009). Language management. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.
29. Troyer, R. (2019). Linguistic landscape bibliography. Zotero. Retrieved May 2, 2019 from https://www.zotero.org/groups/216092/linguistic_landscape_bibliography
30. Van Mensel, L., Vandenbroucke, M., & Blackwood, R. (2016). Linguistic landscapes. In O. García, N. Flores, & M. Spotti (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of language and society (pp. 423–50). Oxford: England: Oxford University Press.
31. Waksman, S., & Shohamy, E. (2016). Linguistic landscape of social protests: Moving from “open” to “institutional” spaces. In R. Blackwood, E. Lanza, & H. Woldemariam (Eds.), Negotiating and contesting identities in linguistic landscapes (pp. 85–98). London, England: Bloomsbury.

Suggested Readings

1. Ben‐Rafael, E., & Ben‐Rafael, M. (2018). Multiple globalizations: Linguistic landscapes in world‐cities. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill.
2. Gorter, D. (Ed.). (2006). Linguistic landscape: A new approach to multilingualism. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
3. Gorter, D., Marten, H., & Van Mensel, L. (2012). Minority languages in the linguistic landscape. London, England: Palgrave Macmillan.
4. Lou, J. J. (2016). The linguistic landscape of Chinatown: A sociolinguistic ethnography. Bristol, England: Multilingual Matters.