Fifteen Eighty Four

Have you ever felt like an imposter in your own profession? As a non-native English-speaking teacher and researcher, I’ve spent years grappling with this feeling. It wasn’t until very recently that I realized how far I’d come. And more importantly, how much our field needs to change.

This personal journey drove me to write my new book on native-speakerism in English language teaching. Growing up in rural Japan, I never imagined I’d become a university professor publishing research in English. Yet here I am, and my path has shown me both the crushing weight of linguistic discrimination and the transformative power of perseverance.

What keeps me awake at night is how many talented non-native English-speaking teachers and researchers are still being held back by outdated beliefs about who can teach and research English. When I worked as a high school teacher, I watched as untrained native English speakers were given automatic authority while experienced Japanese teachers struggled for recognition. As a graduate student, I spent countless extra hours translating my data and writing up my research in English, wrestling with the added burden as a non-native speaker of English.

These experiences led me to develop the concept of trans-speakerism—a new way of thinking that values teachers based on their skills and dedication rather than their mother tongue. Through my research with teachers, students, and professors in Japan, I’ve seen how this approach can transform both individual careers and entire institutions.

But transformation isn’t easy. It requires us to reckon with thorny issues in our field. For instance, why do we still accept that untrained native speakers can automatically qualify for teaching positions while highly qualified non-native speakers face constant scrutiny? Why do we expect non-native researchers to produce the same volume of publications as their native-speaking counterparts when they’re shouldering the additional burden of translation and cross-cultural navigation?

My research reveals how these inequities play out across three crucial groups in Japanese English as a foreign language contexts: secondary school teachers, graduate students, and university professors. Their stories paint a vivid picture of both struggle and resilience.

One high school teacher shared how she spent years doubting her abilities despite her excellent teaching outcomes, simply because she wasn’t a native speaker. A graduate student described the exhausting process of translating research data while watching native-speaking classmates progress more quickly through their programs.

Yet these stories also point toward hope. When institutions cherish trans-speakerism, remarkable things happen. I’ve witnessed this firsthand as American PhD students chose me as their supervisor—not despite my non-native status, but because of the unique perspective it brings to their research. I’ve seen Japanese teachers flourish when freed from the shadow of native-speakerism, bringing their full linguistic and cultural repertoires into their classrooms.

The scholars who inspire me most—like Professors Suresh Canagarajah and Peter De Costa—have shown how research can drive meaningful change in our field. Their work encouraged me to share not just data and theory, but the human stories behind linguistic discrimination. Because ultimately, this isn’t just about academic discourse—it’s about creating a more equitable future for all language speakers, educators, and researchers.

Currently, I’m inquiring into ways to reform hiring practices and professional development programs to better support all qualified speakers, teachers, and researchers, regardless of their first language.

The path forward is clear, though arduous. We need concrete actions: reforming hiring practices, diversifying editorial boards, supporting multilingual scholarship, and rethinking language education and teacher education. Most pertinently, we need to create spaces where all qualified professionals can thrive, irrespective of their linguistic background.

I realize now that feeling like an imposter back in the day wasn’t about personal inadequacy—it was about a system designed to make some of us feel less worthy. It’s time to course-correct that system. Join me in this conversation. Share your stories. Because together, we can build a future where no professional feels like an imposter in their own profession.