Reading about language policing and pathologization made me reflect on how much the education system dictates what is considered “normal” and “acceptable.” I found myself thinking about how harmful it is to treat students’ home languages as problems to be fixed rather than assets to be valued. Growing up, I remember how strongly language was tied to belonging. The way someone spoke could instantly place them inside or outside of the group. What struck me most in the readings was the idea that deficit models don’t just impact children in schools. They spill over into families and communities. Paty’s story was especially painful because it showed how internalized these systems become: a mother begins to see her own language as a liability, and her children, in turn, begin to police her. The very tool that should connect them becomes a source of shame, creating generational cycles of devaluation.
I also kept thinking about the “communicative burden.” The fact that dominant listeners are rarely expected to adjust, while responsibility falls entirely on the speaker with an “undervalued” accent, feels so familiar. I’ve seen this dynamic play out not only in schools but also in everyday conversations, where someone’s intelligence or credibility is unfairly judged by how “smoothly” they speak English. These interactions, subtle as they may seem, accumulate and reinforce hierarchies of power. The readings pushed me to question my own assumptions about language and to recognize how easy it is, even unintentionally, to uphold these hierarchies when we fail to challenge them, or simply to recognize them.
What stayed with me most is how schools often reinforce assimilation under the guise of “helping” students succeed. For instance, when educators ignore students’ histories, push them to adopt “American” names, or dismiss non-Western ways of learning, they implicitly suggest that students’ identities are obstacles to overcome rather than strengths to build upon. This kind of erasure has long-term consequences on how students see themselves and their families.
Ultimately, what I take away is that shifting away from deficit models is not just an educational move. It’s an ethical one. Recognizing students’ home languages as valid and structured is about more than pedagogy; it’s about affirming their identities and humanity. As someone who hopes to work in education, I feel challenged to think critically about the spaces I create.