Can you speak in a foreign language in class?

Switching fluently between Spanish and Japanese, the student presents his research project as his peers take meticulous notes. In her impeccable French, the teacher reminds the class to use traditional Chinese characters, instead of English, for note-taking. The class groans. “Why can’t we just write in pinyin?” one student whines.

I imagined this scene over and over again. This was the classroom of my dreams, my own vision of what school could feel and look like. Each time, I cherished the multilingual freedom and the rich, cosmopolitan atmosphere. Then, a few weeks ago, an epiphany dawned upon me: This could happen at Saratoga, too!

The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed that I had chosen, almost subconsciously, to use only English in the classroom. I had never seriously considered any alternative. Was there a rule against speaking in a foreign tongue? I would try to find out.

Armed with Mandarin (and Spanglish as back-up), I set out to realize my dreams of a polyglot student community. I would first test the waters by speaking Chinese during history class.

The U.S. History reformers simulation seemed like the perfect place to start. As the student speeches dragged on, I grew nervous and tried not to imagine how my classmates would react. After the student reincarnation of Dorothea Dix finished her presentation, I cleared my throat and asked her, “Ni dui meiguo youguo na yixie changqi de gongxian?” or “What were your long-term contributions to America?”

The class, heretofore silent and languid from seventh-period stupor, awoke suddenly with exclamations of surprise and confusion. Those who had zoned out now turned to their friends to ask about what they thought they had just heard—something that did not really sound like English. Some students who understood Mandarin tried to translate for others above the commotion.

Others gave me amused looks. For a few moments, even Margarita Morelle, my history teacher, appeared perplexed. She seemed not to know how to proceed, and the class grew more clamorous.

Unfortunately, “Dorothea Dix” never got the opportunity to respond in Chinese. When the class finally recovered from shock, Mrs. Morelle decreed, without any detectable anger, that only English would be spoken in her AP U.S. History class. I found out that teachers could explicitly prohibit certain languages even if the school did not.

Nonetheless, I thought that perhaps I stood a chance in my Spanish class. After all, my instructor Arnaldo Rodriguex only forbids his students from speaking English in class.

In order to avoid inciting another class-wide uproar, I knew I would have to be more discreet this time. I would neither address Sr. Rodriguex nor speak out in front of the class in Chinese; instead, I would try to find out if casual conversation in that language with another student was permitted.

As Spanish class was about to end, I walked over to a classmate and began a conversation in Mandarin. However, to my great disappointment, success again seemed beyond my reach. Just as Sr. Rodriguex was not pleased to hear English spoken in his class, he was not overjoyed to hear another non-Spanish foreign language. He quickly put an end to my experiment.

Indeed, I realized that Saratoga High probably could not convert itself into the perfect polyglot community I had envisioned. I found that speaking a foreign language in class excluded too many students and bore the earmarks of a secret society.

In the end, I came to agree with the decisions of my teachers. Both of them did what they had to do. They understood that the equality of all students needed to come before the equality of all languages.