Reframing the language question

The Hindu

3 days ago

Political scientist Samuel Huntington warned that when societies undergo rapid sequences of change without the parallel strengthening of institutions, they invite disorder rather than development. In post-colonial states, efforts to emulate models of modernity often take the form of sudden thrusts and dramatic reconstructions. But without institutional maturity, these transformations can fracture rather than unify.
In this context, India's New Education Policy (NEP), 2020 is a bold step towards much-needed modernisation in the education sector. Yet, in its implementation, especially of the three-language formula, it reveals signs of the very breakdown Huntington warned of. The policy promises that no language will be imposed, but in practice, this assurance falters amid infrastructure gaps, uneven capacity, and socio-political fault lines. For many, the multilingualism offered feels less like inclusion and more like pressure.
Much of the national conversation has centred on the idea of language 'imposition'. But this framing reflects only one side of the debate: the question. To move forward, we must reframe the question itself, from 'What language should be imposed?' to 'How can language be used to empower?' That shift, from political to governance, opens space for solutions that affirm identity, foster equity, and strengthen learning.
Choice without capacity?
The real test of any policy lies not in its prose but in its practice. Across States, reports continue to highlight teacher shortages for third-language instruction. A news report found that 'underfunding and a lack of qualified teachers plague the system', forcing schools to hire part-time or retired instructors to teach languages such as Sanskrit and Hindi. In Maharashtra, some schools reportedly assigned untrained teachers, or none at all.
But the issue cannot be reduced to an administrative hiccup. In tribal and rural hinterlands, it increasingly feels like a policy devoid of participation. For instance, in Odisha and West Bengal, Santhali-speaking students are expected to study in Bengali or Hindi without any transition support. In the absence of trained teachers, schools fall back on patchwork solutions, hiring retirees, rotating unqualified staff, or offering no support at all. Add English and their native tongue to the mix, and students face what educationist calls a 'four-language burden'.
The NEP's written assurance of 'choice' often breaks down in practice, particularly in under-resourced schools. If there is no Santhali teacher available, can Santhali truly be considered a choice?
The consequences of this are as political as they are pedagogical. When a new language is introduced alongside two others, the space for a child's own language inevitably shrinks. And when that language is absent, or barely acknowledged, in the classroom, education begins to feel like erasure. This is reflected in tribal student learning outcomes and dropout rates.
Voice before vocabulary
Much of the policy defence of the NEP, 2020 rests on the cognitive benefits of multilingualism. But language is not just a pedagogical tool; it is the first marker of identity, the anchor of one's emotional and cultural world. When education unfolds in a language alien to a child's lived experience, the classroom becomes not a place of discovery, but a site of anxiety.
Global research reinforces this reality. UNESCO notes that children taught in their first language perform better academically, stay in school longer, and are more likely to engage actively in class. But beyond its measurable outcomes, mother-tongue instruction carries an essential normative weight. It affirms the learner's sense of self. It tells a tribal or rural child: your voice matters; it belongs here. In Odisha's tribal districts, a Multilingual Education (MLE) programme introduced instruction in Santhali, Kui, and other local languages before transitioning students to Odia and English. The results were both empirical and emotional, where attendance improved, confidence surged, and parents became more actively involved. A subsequent NCERT evaluation found that the programme had a significant impact on student's achievement in both language and mathematics. Children in MLE schools outperformed their peers in non-MLE schools across oral, written, and overall assessments.
India is not alone in grappling with the challenge of multilingual education. Other democracies, too, have experimented with different models. Indonesia, one of Asia's most linguistically diverse nations, mandates 'Bahasa Indonesia' as the language of instruction, though it is the mother tongue of less than 10% of its population. This top-down approach has meant that most children begin schooling in a language they barely understand, resulting in persistently low learning outcomes. In response, a joint initiative by the Indonesian and Australian governments piloted a transitional bilingual education model that integrated students' first languages into early instruction. The results were telling — students became more engaged, classroom participation improved, and teachers observed a visible boost in confidence. Early findings from the pilot affirm a larger truth that language-based empowerment cannot be imposed from above; it must be built from below, through systems that listen, adapt, and co-create with communities themselves.
Participation, not prescription
Much of the resistance to the three-language policy, particularly in States such as Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, does not reflect opposition to any language, but unease with centralised, top-down mandates. As the Supreme Court rightly affirmed, even mother-tongue instruction must respect the individual's right to choose. The fault line, then, is not language, but the fear of control. Here are four interlocking strategies that shift us from a framework of 'imposition' to one of 'empowerment' through participation.
First, States and districts should form language committees composed of teachers, parents, linguists, and local leaders. These bodies can tailor the three-language mix to their region's context. A tribal-majority school, for instance, might adopt a tribal language, the regional State language, and Hindi or English, not by fiat, but by choice.
Second, NEP rightly recommends beginning education in a child's home language, especially in foundational years. Pilot programmes such as Odisha's MLE demonstrate that early literacy in a familiar language builds stronger bridges to regional and global tongues. These programmes should be scaled with care, guided by local success stories.
Third, multilingual education cannot succeed without multilingual educators. Governments must invest in recruiting and training instructors for both widely spoken Indian languages and vulnerable tribal tongues. Local graduates should be incentivised to teach their own languages.
Last, prioritise depth over number. Introducing a third language prematurely risks shallow learning in all. Schools must be empowered to delay or pace third-language introduction based on readiness, as NEP itself allows. Optional advanced studies can offer motivated students further enrichment without overwhelming others.
Each of these steps reframes multilingual education as a negotiated project, not a bureaucratic edict. Contemporary modernisation often cuts short the process in the rush for outcomes. But language policy demands time and deliberation. As Huntington argued, institutional legitimacy must match societal changes. A multilingual India is not a paradox; it is a democratic path forward. When language policy listens before it instructs, it ceases to divide and begins to unite.
Abhishek Sharma is a researcher and candidate at the Department of Political Science, University of Delhi; views are personal