The politics of supporting children's minority language development

I grew up in Canada speaking English as my mother tongue, even though my mother was actually from Denmark. And it turns out that this kind of story is ubiquitous. For various reasons, children with immigrant background don't always end up learning the language of their parents — their heritage language.

In my own experience, this was a huge pity. As a child, I couldn't communicate with my cousins in Denmark when we visited. Later, as my sense of identity developed, I felt deeply disconnected from my Danish background. I was a Danish citizen who didn't speak Danish. Eventually, I moved to Denmark for my studies and learned the language the way many do — through language school and immersion. It was only then that I truly understood what I had been missing.

I wasn't only lacking communicative skills. I was lacking a basic feel for Danish culture and way of thinking — the kind of thing that is transmitted almost entirely through language. It's like trying to explain what something tastes like to someone who has no sense of taste. And on a more personal level, I discovered that I didn't really know my own mother as well as I thought. She is really funny in Danish. In English, she was okay-funny. In Danish, she is quick-witted and sharp and herself.

That realization is what drew me to this field. I now study how many children in Denmark actually end up learning their parents' language, and what factors shape that process. It is easy to say "the parent didn't try hard enough" — but I am certain that many forces are at play, and that research can help us understand them. One factor I consider decisive, drawing on both research and my own life, is politics.

The politics of heritage language development

There is enormous political focus in Denmark on getting children with immigrant background to learn Danish. I agree completely that all children in Denmark need to learn Danish to succeed in school, integrate into society, and build a good life. But I don't think you need to speak perfect Danish to thrive here. I speak Danish with a Canadian accent and I teach people about how children acquire Danish for a living. You can be successful in this country without the majority language being your first or strongest one.

When you work in the area of child language acquisition in Denmark, the political weight of the subject is immediately apparent. At the national level, there is an enormous focus on Danish acquisition, and a corresponding near-total silence on supporting children's heritage language development — and the contrast is striking.

Policy documents such as the Dagtilbudsloven (the statute governing early childhood care) go into considerable detail about how and when children must acquire Danish, and what interventions are required if they don't reach certain milestones by certain ages. Yet the same documents contain not a single word about the value of those very same children maintaining and developing their heritage language — despite extensive research demonstrating that heritage language development plays an important role in the psychological wellbeing of children from immigrant and first-generation families, and that children with a strong first language tend to acquire the majority language more effectively, not less.

The asymmetry is worth sitting with: detailed, legally enshrined concern for Danish acquisition on the one hand; complete institutional silence on heritage language development on the other.

Here is a thought experiment. What would happen if Mette Frederiksen declared that it was a problem that too many children with Arabic background were growing up only speaking Danish? It would probably make front page news. She would be attacked from all angles for undermining integration, supporting parallel societies, and so on. Very few politicians would make the connection between children's healthy psychological development and their heritage language. Now imagine instead that she declared it a problem that too many Danish children born abroad weren't learning to speak Danish. If it made the news at all, the debate would be about whether the state should fund it. No one would be saying: "It's good they don't speak Danish — they're supposed to be integrating where they live."

The point is that there is an all-encompassing continuum of language prestige in Denmark. Danish sits at the top, and other languages are ranked accordingly. When I speak English to my children in Føtex, people smile and often address my kids in English. I have noticed that when a parent speaks Somali in the same aisle, other shoppers look away — and occasionally someone might mumble they should be speaking Danish.

This is the environment parents navigate when deciding what language to use with their children. Do I speak my own language and risk the social consequences? Or do I go all in with Danish to avoid the hassle?

Early childhood educators lead the way

In my current research, I am examining how pædagoger (early childhood educators) advise parents with a different language background. The general finding is a hopeful one: they are often a beacon of light in the political minefield. Most educators actively recommend that parents use their heritage language at home, citing the many benefits for the child's development. This approach aligns with bicultural socialization research, which finds that children with minority backgrounds grow into happier and psychologically healthier adults when they can navigate fluently between their heritage and majority cultures.

What this tells me is that change is possible — and that it may come from the ground up, from the daily conversations between educators and families, rather than waiting for political frameworks to catch up. In the meantime, perhaps the simplest thing any of us can do is resist the pull of language prestige in our own interactions. The child speaking Somali in the supermarket is not failing to integrate. They may, in fact, be building exactly the kind of dual fluency that research shows is best for them.