When I first joined an English bridging program as a teacher in Australia, I quickly learnt the unwritten rule: real learning happens in English. Even a stray browser tab showing Chinese text could raise eyebrows. I knew this because a coordinator reminded me that Chinese text should not appear in a classroom computer's browser history. I am Chinese-born and raised, and I felt like an imposter, as if my Chinese-ness was a liability that needed to be carefully managed.

La Alabarda (the halberd symbol of Trieste, Italy) has featured as a sticker on every car I have owned. I expect the symbol, a white lance on a striking red background, would be unfamiliar to most motorists who view it on my back windshield.

A few years ago, a multilingual student shared their experience of school assessment with me during a research project:

As an English language learner, migrant, and long-time TESOL practitioner, I have often found myself navigating the space between what is pedagogically sound and what is socially expected in English language classrooms—particularly in the Chinese context.

I remember the very first time I heard about hedging. It was during my master’s degree in the UK. In one particular class, where around 70% of the students were Chinese, our professor spent nearly 40 minutes trying to teach us how to hedge in our English writing.

The power of multilingualism in education is undeniable. However, while many schools celebrate the rich linguistic diversity that students bring, the reality is that embracing home languages in the classroom is still a challenge.