“Ang hindi marunong magmahal sa sariling wika ay higit sa hayop at malansang isda.”
—José P. Rizal
One who does not love one’s own language is worse than an animal and a rotten fish. Dr. José P. Rizal, a polymath, polydoctor, and author, sought to instill in Filipinos a sense of national identity on the eve of the Philippine Revolution through two of his famous books, Noli Me Tangere and its sequel, El Filibusterismo. These piercing words from Rizal encapsulate two integral factors in the modern nation-building process: language and national identity.
Notable international relations scholar Francis Fukuyama explains in Political Order and Political Decay that the creation of a unifying language and identity is critical in nation building, especially for former colonial nations. Governments are more stable when they invest early in nation-building, and as a result, can achieve better social and economic results. In promoting a national identity, the state is able to bolster its legitimacy by winning the loyalty of citizens and fostering patriotic sentiment. However, many postcolonial nations, largely due to being colonial constructs themselves, are culturally and linguistically diverse, making it difficult to impose a unifying national language and identity without the use of violence and cultural erasure. Examining this strong connection between language and identity and its relationship with multilingual realities is crucial to understanding why certain modern states have succeeded in nation-building, while others have failed. Moreover, understanding this link could provide lessons for struggling postcolonial governments moving forward as they formulate legal and educational policies.
While both India and the Philippines inherited English linguistic imperialism through colonial rule, their divergent constitutional approaches to language policy have led to starkly different outcomes in nation-building and linguistic diversity. India’s constitution embeds explicit, enforceable protections for multilingualism, allowing regional languages to coexist with English and Hindi within governance and education. In contrast, the Philippine constitution’s lack of concrete safeguards have perpetuated English dominance and marginalized native languages, limiting the development of a cohesive national identity. Constitutional clarity and institutional commitment are critical to mitigating colonial legacies and promoting linguistic equity in postcolonial multilingual states.
Legacies of English Linguistic Imperialism
India and the Philippines’ experiences with language and national identity cannot be discussed without first understanding their histories of English linguistic imperialism (ELI). In his book Linguistic Imperialism, prominent linguist Robert Phillipson defines this concept as “the dominance of English… asserted and maintained by the establishment and continuous reconstitution of structural and cultural inequalities between English and other languages.” Literature surrounding this topic suggest that while both the Philippines and India experienced ELI through Western imperial projects, there were key differences. Preexisting sociopolitical structures, motivations and the policies of their respective colonizers, and native responses and debates.
The Caste System, Economic Incentives, and the East India Company
The Indian subcontinent’s sociopolitical landscape at the time of the East India Company’s (EIC) arrival in Bengal was complex, with various kingdoms vying for control and an intricate caste system that determined access to education and power. Persian, Arabic, and most importantly, Sanskrit, were the languages of the Brahmin elite, who were at the top of this existing hierarchy. Given the long history of literature, poetry, religious texts, and scholarship written in these languages, there was a prestige associated with them. Although it was neither widespread nor attainable by the masses, the presence of a formal educational tradition helped to legitimize these languages to the colonizers. With the tendency of Western discourses to Orientalize non-European cultures, the British admired the existing native knowledge and languages. While there were initial debates in the British Parliament for imparting “useful knowledge” to the native people, these lost out to those who thought that the Hindus “had a good system of faith and morals as most people.” This rationale was informed by Britain’s experiences with the United States, where the establishment of universities led to revolution led by an educated elite. Therefore, Britain avoided establishing schools in India to curtail the chances of educated rebellion. Nonetheless, attitudes began to change as the British tightened their control.
In the 1830s, British politicians such as William Babington Macaulay began to assert the superiority of the English language and civilization. He infamously said that English education should be promoted in India so as to form “a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect.” Lord Betninck, the Governor General of India at the time, agreed, saying:
“The great object of the British Government in India was henceforth to be the promotion of European literature and science among the natives of India; and that all the funds appropriated for the purpose of education would be best employed on English education alone.”
Despite this civilizational rhetoric, Lord Betninck’s motives were mostly economic. In 1833, when the Charter Act was passed, the EIC was facing a financial crisis. In order to reduce expenditures, which were largely made up of the expensive salaries of English officers, the Governor General wished to add more Indians to administrative positions at lesser pay. Thus, English language education was implemented for mostly administrative efficiency reasons, rather than a genuine desire or belief that Indians must become ‘civilized.’
According to scholars like Chowdhury, the preexisting caste system served as a powerful vehicle for English to take root as a prestigious language. The wealthy Brahmins, who wielded the most political power through their competence in Sanskrit, welcomed English language education as a means of taking new economic opportunities. As a result, English became associated with administrative power, education, and upward mobility, reinforcing existing social hierarchies rather than dismantling them. Thus, a new linguistic hierarchy emerged; English became the new “Brahminical thread,” marking a person’s access to modern education, economic opportunities, and social prestige. This was not a mere linguistic shift but a continuation of caste and class stratification under a new guise.
Throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries, English education in India expanded, but unevenly. While cities like Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras became hubs for English-educated elites, rural India remained untouched by this new system of learning. The establishment of institutions like Hindu College in Calcutta, with support from Indian elites eager to access Western knowledge and power, further entrenched the association of English proficiency with social and economic advancement.
By the time of India’s independence in 1947, English had become firmly embedded in the structures of higher education, governance, and business. Though some national leaders, like Gandhi, critiqued English education for alienating Indians from their cultural roots and promoting elitism, others, including Nehru and many of the English-educated middle class, saw it as a vital tool for national unity and global engagement. Post-independence language policy reflected this tension: while Hindi was promoted as the federal language, English retained its privileged position in higher education and administration, justified as a “link language” that could bridge India’s vast linguistic diversity.
Chowdhury argues that the continued dominance of English in India after independence has perpetuated structural inequalities. English functions as both a gatekeeper and a status symbol, often determining access to quality higher education, employment, and social mobility. This has created what Chowdhury terms a “Brahminical power of English,” where fluency in the language effectively marks one’s entry into India’s elite, much like caste status did in earlier times. The state’s failure to significantly empower Indian languages in higher education has reinforced this dynamic, limiting the intellectual and developmental potential of vast sections of the population.
In contrast to Gandhi’s vision of education in vernacular languages fostering inclusive and holistic development, postcolonial India has largely followed Macaulay’s blueprint, producing a small Anglophone elite that dominates the country’s political, economic, and intellectual life. Chowdhury contends that without a radical rethinking of language policy in education, particularly higher education, India risks remaining caught in this cycle of exclusion and inequality.
Elitist Education, Benevolent Assimilation, and a Consciousness of Forgetting
The Philippines, meanwhile, differed in its sociopolitical landscape given its fragmented history and Spanish colonization. Prior to Magellan’s arrival in Mactan, the Philippines was divided into numerous rajahnates, sultanates, and kingdoms, none of which achieved dominance over the whole archipelago. This is unlike India, where kingdoms had established control over most of the subcontinent several times throughout history. Although the Philippines had preexisting writing systems such as baybayin, a long history of trade and currency exchange with neighbors like China, and education through oral tradition and vocational apprenticeship, there was no formal education system established throughout the archipelago prior to the Spanish arrival.
With Spanish colonization, education in the Philippines was largely controlled by Spanish religious orders, which primarily focused on religious indoctrination rather than broad intellectual development. The Spanish colonial government established a dual system of education: catechism schools for indigenous Filipinos, which prioritized Christian doctrine and basic literacy, and higher academic institutions that primarily served Spanish elites and mestizos. This led to only a very small elite receiving broader secular education. Even though religious schools taught basic literacy, it was far from being comprehensive, being restricted to memorizing prayers and understanding religious doctrine. Consequently, only a mere 2-5% of the population became fluent in Spanish, indicating how few Filipinos had access to higher secular education.
Despite this, this is not to diminish the role of limited Spanish colonial education on the awakening of Filipino nationalist sentiments—in fact, Spanish education directly fueled it. According to Karl Schwartz, Filipino educational behavior during this period evolved in response to these colonial structures. While Spanish policies aimed to maintain social hierarchies by limiting access to advanced education, Filipinos increasingly sought alternative educational avenues, such as private Latin schools, to challenge colonial intellectual dominance and assert their own agency. This divergence from the Spanish-imposed system laid the groundwork for later nationalist movements, as education became a tool for resisting colonial control and fostering a distinct Filipino identity.
Despite the structures left behind by Spanish education, the United States perceived Filipinos as uncivilized and sought to reshape the archipelago in its own image, equipped with the white man’s burden and benevolent assimilation policies as ideological justifications for their influence.
Throughout the colonial period, English linguistic imperialism was implemented primarily through a public education system with English as the sole medium of instruction, which the Americans tried to disguise under a façade of ‘benevolent friendship’ with the Filipinos. However, this ‘friendship’ was a façade; American officials wanted to use English to indoctrinate and ‘civilize’ the Filipinos, forcing them to abandon their native languages. In 1915, American Director of Education Frank L. Crone proclaimed his dream for the colony: “[make] the Philippines a great storehouse of Western learning and civilization, upon which the Orient may freely draw.” Many like Crone believed English inherently carried Western values and traditions, and could serve as a vessel for American ways of life to be imparted upon Filipinos. There were practical considerations: teaching in English was cheaper since American educators could use existing U.S. textbooks and pedagogy, English acted as an impartial language among ethnolinguistic groups, and Americans expected English to become the international lingua franca, believing it would benefit Filipinos to learn it. This emphasis on English was a large part of the education system’s goals: to brainwash future generations into submitting to American colonial rule and, especially after the brutal Philippine-American War, into forgetting why they desired independence in the first place. The system succeeded in making Filipinos think they were inferior and believe that American education would bring ‘civilization’ to ‘uncivilized people’ like them. An essay by a Filipino student during the colonial period writes:
“The natives were fighting for independence at this time, so we fought against the Americans very hardly, but we could not succeed. The reasons why we could not succeed is this: we are not well united and we do not know how to rule; we are not a powerful nation and we speak different languages; we have no weapons and we have no rail-road. But the Americans were wise, united, powerful, speak one language, and they had the advantage in every way.”
The exclusive use of American and European literature in the education system that taught Western values ingrained in the Filipino consciousness the idea of American cultural superiority. Being the language of this ‘superior culture,’ English became heavily associated with refinement, education, and civilization in Filipino society. Furthermore, those proficient in English advanced to high positions in society and government. The civil service, legislation, administration, and leadership all required English, associating the language with progressivism, democracy, and ‘enlightenment.’ As a result, Filipinos believed that without English, they would never access endless economic and social opportunities.
Two important sociolinguistic consequences emerged. First, by creating a façade of opportunity through English, American colonizers erased the violence of colonization and instilled in Philippine society a sense of indebtedness. This was exacerbated by American liberation during World War II, creating a “problem of consciousness” where Filipinos idealized colonial history and ignored the colonial implications of English. Second, English became an indicator of and gatekeeper to an educated, privileged class. Former oligarchic families, or ‘caciques,’ sided with the Americans during the Philippine-American War, using English to gain favor with colonizers and distance themselves from the ‘uncivilized’ and ‘uneducated’ Filipinos. English thus became a marker of education, wealth, and prestige.
Comparing Effects of English Linguistic Imperialism on the Constitutions’ Language Policies
After analyzing the historical colonial context behind ELI, it is crucial to understand how it has manifested itself in the two nations’ constitutions and laws post-independence. Furthermore, it is important to observe how these constitutions have approached the ethnolinguistic diversity of their respective territories. In this section, I will be conducting an comparative analysis of India’s 1950 Constitution with the Philippines’ 1935, 1973, and 1987 Constitutions. There is a lack of literature comparing the two constitutions, let alone the language sections of both constitutions. Therefore, I will be doing an original analysis of both.
Part XVII of The 1950 Constitution of India
Part XVII of the Indian constitution has a meticulously detailed section about how language would look like in the newly independent state, giving little room for misinterpretation. This granular detail arguably serves to protect the languages of India, despite the legacy of ELI.
Chapter I outlines the language of the Union. Section 343, Clause 1 clearly states that the official language of the Union “shall be Hindi in Devanagari script.” As the first clause of the chapter, this undoubtedly declares Hindi as a chosen language—among the many languages of India—that shall have prominence in this new Union. Notwithstanding, given the entrenched history of English in the country per British colonization, it acknowledges its relevance and potential permanence in Clause 2, stating, “for a period of fifteen years… the English language shall continue to be used for all the official purposes of the Union…” This potential permanence is furthered by Clause 3, in which it states, “Parliament may by law provide for the use, after said period of fifteen years of… the English language.” Thus, this section allows for flexibility and ultimately leaves it up to parliament whether English shall be an official language or not. Nonetheless, the Constitution is clear in that Hindi shall be the official language.
Section 344 details the formation of a Commission and Committee of Parliament on official language, whose duty it is to make recommendations to the President as to, “(a) the progressive use of the Hindi language for the official purposes of the Union; (b) restrictions on the use of the English language for all or any of the official purposes of the union;… [and] (e)… the language for communication between the Union and a State or between one State and another and their use.” The establishment of a committee dedicated to the issue of language shows intentionality on the part of the state; language must be planned and observed.
Chapter II, meanwhile, defines the role of regional languages in the Union. It gives these languages and the people who speak them constitutional recognition and institutionalization, which serves as a strong protection against language degradation or oppression. The States that make up India were drawn along ethnolinguistic lines, and the Indian Constitution explicitly names 22 officially recognized native languages in the Eighth Schedule, offering further constitutional protection. These languages include Assamese, Bengali, Bodo, Dogri, Gujarati, Hindi, Kannada, Kashmiri, Konkani, Maithili, Malayalam, Manipuri, Marathi, Nepali, Odia, Punjabi, Sanskrit, Santhali, Sindhi, Tamil, Telugu, and Urdu. Given this, Section 345 gives States the power to choose their own language(s), stating, “the Legislature of a State may by law adopt any or more of the languages in use in the State or Hindi as the language or languages to be used for all or any of the official purposes of that State.” However, once again, ELI is still present, with the section providing that “the English language shall continue to be used for those official purposes… for which it was being used immediately before the commencement of this Constitution.” Nevertheless, Section 345 has an important consequence, namely, that it nominally recognizes the right of the States to language sovereignty. Thus, the Indian Union implicitly acknowledges the ethnolinguistic diversity of its territory and the possible difficulties that may arise with managing it, making an active effort to give these States a say in language policy.
This implicit acknowledgement of diversity and State-level language sovereignty continues throughout the rest of Chapter II, which painstakingly addresses every possible scenario with regard to the use of language in the country. Section 346 deals with what the official language shall be between one State and another or between a State and the Union. It is ultimately predicated on State consent, stating, “if two or more States agree that the Hindi language should be the official language for communication for such States, that language may be used…” Section 347 even includes a special provision for languages that are spoken by a section of the State’s population. If the President believes that a substantial number of people within a State wish to have their desired language be recognized by the State, the President can direct that that language shall also be officially recognized.
Perhaps the most overt manifestation of ELI in the Indian Constitution is Chapter III, which declares that English as the language to be used in the Supreme Court and in the High Courts and for acts, bills, etc. Although Clauses 2 and 3 provide for some leeway for the use of other languages such as Hindi or other regional languages, these are exceptions rather than guarantees. Although Chapter III is the only section that explicitly places English above any other language, it can be contended that this component of official language is the most critical, as it relates to the law that all citizens of the Union must abide by. Most likely a British colonial parliamentarian legacy, to have the laws be proclaimed in a foreign language elucidates a persistent hold of ELI on the country.
Finally, the last chapter of Part XVII, Chapter IV, lists special directives, which, like Chapter II, places State language sovereignty at its center. Section 350 gives the right for any person to submit a representation for the redress of any grievance in any of the languages used in the Union. Significantly, 350A provides for the establishment of facilities for instruction in mother-tongue languages at the primary stage. This is critical, as it explicitly creates a place for regional languages in the education system, which will play a vital role in education policy later on. 350B, meanwhile provides for a special officer for linguistic minorities, whose duty is to “investigate all matters relating to safeguards provided for linguistic minorities under this Constitution and report to the President upon those matters… and the President shall cause all such reports to be laid before each House of Parliament, and sent to the Governments of the States concerned.” This is an indispensable part of the Constitution with regard to linguistic minority protection, since it delineates a means for constitutional and legal review over the status of linguistic minorities. Through this special officer, linguistic minorities can voice their concerns to the Union government. Lastly, 351 declares that it is the duty of the Union “to promote the spread of the Hindi language and develop it so that it may serve as a medium of expression for all the elements of the composite culture of India…” The part about language thus ends on a strong note, declaring the hope and desire that Hindi shall eventually become the main medium of expression for the ethnolinguistically diverse Union. Whether it was meant to dethrone English completely remains an unanswered question to this day.
In sum, Part XVII of the Indian Constitution is an excellent example of language policy planning on the constitutional level, with its attention to detail and anticipating linguistic issues, particularly as a result of India’s diversity. Furthermore, the explicit nature of this constitution effectively prevents any misinterpretation of or means of undermining its linguistic diversity protection goals. With Hindi as the official language and English as an auxiliary language, it lays out the specific conditions and provisions for the use of regional languages and explicitly mentions the right of states to determine what languages they wish to use. Ultimately, despite ELI’s influence through the predominance of English with regard to the courts and laws, Part XVII serves as a constitutional protection that guarantees the linguistic diversity and sovereignty of the States and aspires for Hindi to become the unifying language of India.
The 1935, 1973, and 1987 Constitutions of the Philippines
Compared to the Indian Constitution’s exceptionally high level of detail, the three constitutions of the Philippines pale in comparison. With their sections on language being only a few sentences to a paragraph, there is a lack of protections for regional language sovereignty and relative indifference to the idea of a national language, and thus, the Philippine Constitutions fail to successfully plan out an effective native language policy. It could be argued that this lack of constitutional and institutional protection is the reason for the continued predominance of ELI and the deterioration of not only Wikang Filipino, but of all Filipino languages.
The 1935 Constitution was created prior to Philippine independence from the United States, meant as a guiding hand towards full independence and effective governance. However, this constitution merely provides two sentences on the subject of language, stating, “The National Assembly shall take steps toward the development and adoption of a common national language based on one of the existing native languages. Until otherwise provided by law, English and Spanish shall continue as official languages.” Acknowledging the constitution does express the intent of finding a common national language, the fact that the language is neither explicitly named or when the development of said common language would be due, this constitution does not provide any protection for neither a common national language or regional languages. English and Spanish could effectively continue being the official languages indefinitely. Although this ambiguity is understandable due to the Philippines’ status as an American commonwealth at the time, this relative apathy sets the stage for the weak language planning that is exhibited in the latter two constitutions.
The 1973 Constitution offers only a marginal improvement, expanding the language section to four sentences. It officially establishes English and “Pilipino” as the country’s official languages and provides for the ”development and formal adoption of a common national language to be known as Filipino.” However, it does not specify the mechanisms for this development or provide meaningful protections for regional languages, aside from the promise of translation of the Constitution into each ‘dialect’ spoken by over fifty thousand people. The usage of the word ‘dialect’ rather than ‘language’ assumes an inferior position, belittling other Filipino languages. Lastly, similar to India, the English text of the constitution shall prevail over the other translations. This demonstrates a bias towards and preference for the English language, even post-independence and despite the existence of a national official language. The Constitution thus acknowledges the national language in principle but fails to implement concrete measures to ensure its institutionalization or promotion.
The 1987 Constitution, while being the most explicit among the constitutions and provides more leeway for regional languages, still suffers from the same ambiguity of the previous two. Nonetheless, it finally proclaims Filipino as the national language, and provides a more enthusiastic push for the propagation of the national language, with a drive to “initiate and sustain the use of Filipino as a medium of official communication and as language of instruction in the educational system.” It also states that a national language commission shall be established which shall “undertake, coordinate, and promote researches for the development, propagation, and preservation of Filipino and other languages.” This displays a marked increase in the enthusiasm for native language policy planning and a wish to be inclusive of all Philippine languages. This constitution also has a more ambivalence towards the use of English, stating, ”the official languages of the Philippines are Filipino and, until otherwise provided by law, English.” The phrasing “until otherwise provided by law” gives a temporality to the official status of English since it could be changed. Whereas, Filipino is implied to eternally be the nation’s official language. Lastly, this constitution grants regional languages auxiliary official status: “The regional languages are the auxiliary official languages in the regions and shall serve as auxiliary media of instruction therein.” That being said, they neither explicitly give the right to establish an official language to the regions nor do they go into more detail of how that would be implemented. While this provision formally recognizes regional languages, it does not grant them substantive constitutional protections or outline a framework for their preservation and development. Thus, Filipino, while designated as the national language, remains underdeveloped and struggles against the continued dominance of English in education, government, and business.
In conclusion, this comparative analysis of the language provisions in the Indian and Philippine constitutions reveals stark differences in their approach to ethnolinguistic diversity and language policy. India’s 1950 Constitution offers a detailed and robust framework for managing its linguistic diversity, providing constitutional protections for regional languages and granting states a significant role in language policy decisions. Despite the legacy of English, the Indian Constitution aspires to unify the nation under Hindi while safeguarding linguistic rights at the state level. In contrast, the Philippine constitutions, though progressively more explicit, lack the same level of institutional detail and protections for regional languages. The Philippine approach has been characterized by a reliance on vague language provisions, particularly in the 1935 and 1973 Constitutions, which have contributed to the continued dominance of English and the neglect of regional languages. While the 1987 Constitution shows a more concerted effort to promote Filipino and recognize regional languages, its lack of concrete measures leaves much to be desired in terms of actual language preservation and development. Ultimately, India’s comprehensive language planning stands in sharp contrast to the Philippines’ more inconsistent and underdeveloped approach, reflecting differing legacies of colonialism and their respective constitutional commitments to linguistic diversity.
Constitutional Effects on Language Policy
This section analyzes how these constitutions have influenced the evolution of language policies over time. I argue that India’s constitution has embedded language policy into the fabric of its political framework, giving the language debate sociopolitical significance and enforcing checks and balances between Hindi, English, and regional languages. This has laid the groundwork for effective language policies such as the Three Language Formula (TLF), which attempt to balance national integration with linguistic diversity. Meanwhile, the Philippine constitution’s vagueness has led to a weaker institutional framework for language policy, essentially relegating it to education policy, where English is dominant as a language of socioeconomic competitiveness and prestige. Although strides have been made in education, such as the Bilingual Education Policy (BEP) and the Mother-Tongue Based Multilingual Education (MTB-MLE), there is constant resistance in defense of the advantages of English proficiency.
An important thing to note is the asymmetry in how language policies are framed in India and the Philippines. India’s language policy is largely shaped by constitutional provisions and national language planning, whereas due to the vagueness of its constitutions, the Philippines’ language policy has been implemented primarily through the education system rather than a comprehensive national framework. This difference may create an imbalance in comparison, as India’s approach encompasses both governance and education, while the Philippines’ policies have focused more on language instruction and medium of education. This may bring up flaws in this comparative analysis, but this comparison nevertheless is valuable, as it displays the paramount significance of language planning at the onset of post-colonial nation-building.
India
Under the administration of the first Indian prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru (1950-1964), non-Hindi speaking states were personally assured by Nehru that Hindi would never be imposed on them without their consent. As mandated by the constitution, English was still to be used in official proceedings, since it was within the period of fifteen years at this point. In order to give Nehru’s assurance legal status, the Official Language Act of 1963 was passed, which stipulated that English may continue to be used alongside Hindi even after 1965, but it was vague in regard to whether English would be permanent.
With Nehru’s death, there was a significant anti-English and pro-Hindi push from northern states. Advocates argued that since January 26, 1965 was the expiry date for the constitutional protection of English, being 15 years after the promulgation of the constitution, Hindi should become the sole official language of India. Many in south India, especially in Tamil Nadu, saw this as the beginning of Hindi imposition over non-Hindi speaking states. Many feared that Hindi would become the sole medium of instruction and governance, erasing the educational and economic opportunities that were afforded to those who spoke English. This resulted in massive protests, largely led by students, who chanted “Hindi never, English ever!” and burned Hindi books. This caused a call for a constitutional amendment to make English the sole official language of the Union.
Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri backtracked on his pro-Hindi stance through the Official Language Amendment Act of 1967, which stipulated that Hindi will not be imposed on non-Hindi states and that English use in official proceedings would not end as long as at least one non-Hindi state desired to keep it. This effectively secured English for its use in parliament and provided veto power to non-Hindi states. Furthermore, a growing demand to add languages to the Eighth schedule emerged, since the Indian government has the responsibility to develop any languages that were added to it. Lastly, from this point, the Three Language Formula (TLF) was to be strictly enforced and competitive examinations must be held in all regional languages. The TLF was proposed by the Central Advisory Board of Education in 1956 and simplified and accepted by the Conference of Chief Ministers in 1961. The Education Commission recommended a modified TLF which stipulates the learning of:
(1) the mother-tongue or the regional language;
(2) the official language of the Union (Hindi) or the associate official language (English) so long as it exists;
(3) a modern Indian or foreign language not covered under (1) and (2) and other than that used as medium of instruction
The TLF was then approved by the Indian Parliament, incorporating it into the National Policy on Education (NEP) in 1968. Even so, issues persist with a renewed pro-Hindi movement emerging from the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), reigniting tensions between north and south as well as criticisms of the setbacks in the implementation of the TLF. The current pro-Hindi movement emerged due to the BJP’s espousal of Hindu nationalism. Furthermore, the number of Hindi speakers had increased dramatically over time, growing at a rate of 25% and adding 100 million new speakers back in 2011. Due to the fact that Hindi-speaking constituents overwhelmingly support the BJP, the ruling government has promoted Hindi-centered policies in order to consolidate its share of votes. In 2014, Prime Minister Narendra Modi indicated that the promotion of Hindi was a government priority, ordering that Hindi be made compulsory in all Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) affiliated schools until the secondary level in order to expand the geographical scope of Hindi to traditionally non-Hindi speaking areas. As a result, anti-Hindi agitation has reignited in southern India, with political parties warning that any move by the CBSE to impose Hindi will revive pushback and discontent from non-Hindi speaking states. Student organizations have started demanding the withdrawal of the move to impose Hindi, arguing that southern states have their own languages and have the right to choose their language per the Right to Education Act of 2009.
Furthermore, criticisms regarding the TLF have emerged over the years, putting into question the effectiveness of its implementation. The latest iteration of the TLF as dictated by the NEP in 2020 provides even more freedom of language choice, permitting students themselves to choose the three languages that they wish to learn in their education. The medium of instruction would be the mother tongue until the fifth grade, though preferably until the eighth grade. Yet, as highlighted by Ray et al., significant challenges persist, especially in multilingual and tribal-dominated regions such as Odisha. The lack of trained teachers proficient in tribal languages, inadequate learning materials, and the complexity of distinguishing between mother tongue and regional languages have hindered effective implementation. Although NEP 2020 emphasizes flexibility and autonomy, allowing states and students to choose languages, this has introduced fresh challenges, such as logistical issues in offering diverse languages, teacher shortages, and unequal resource distribution. Parents and teachers continue to prioritize English due to its perceived socioeconomic value, with a majority favoring it as a compulsory subject, potentially undermining efforts to promote regional and indigenous languages. These issues suggest that while the TLF aspires to promote multilingualism and national integration, its execution remains fraught with practical difficulties, particularly in balancing linguistic diversity with equitable access to quality education.
Thus, India’s political dynamics have forced its policymakers to adopt a multilingual approach toward language policy; any effort to disrupt this multilingual order is likely to meet with strong resistance. Yet, even in the midst of a robust language policy, it seems that the effects of ELI in India continue to cause difficulties in promoting both Hindi and regional languages. As observed above, the complications of English continuing to be a language of prestige, opportunity, and globalism have driven a wedge between the Hindi-speaking and non-Hindi-speaking populations. Just as the British had used divide-and-conquer tactics to weaken Indian resistance, the English language continues to be seen as a ‘neutral’ option that favors neither Hindi nor any other Indian language, barring any native language from claiming dominance in the country. Nonetheless, because of the strong constitutional protections and educational policies, the diversity of Indian languages are still maintained at an institutional level. Although, it is important to acknowledge the languages that are not mentioned in the Eighth Schedule of the constitution continue to lack protection and institutional support in development and preservation. Ultimately, however, the role and status of Indian languages in society continues to be a politically charged dialogue at the forefront of public discourse, and India, due to its extensive efforts in early language policy planning, possesses the legal frameworks to improve upon this policy to ensure that its linguistic diversity continues to be protected and celebrated.
The Philippines
Meanwhile, the Philippines presents a much different story post-independence. Unlike India, the Philippines’ weak constitutional commitment to language planning has relegated its language policy primarily to education, leaving it vulnerable to the enduring dominance of English and Tagalog at the expense of regional languages.
Although Tagalog was not established as the national language constitutionally in 1935, it was declared as such after the Second World War through the Commonwealth Act No. 570 in 1946. This coincided with a decline in English use and the rise of nationalists who sought to create a new identity through the national language. Still, it is important to acknowledge that, similar to the tension between Hindi and non-Hindi speakers in India, Tagalog is seen as an imposition upon non-Tagalog groups. Tagalog was chosen as the national language due to it being the language of political elites, who were the majority in the government in the 1930s. Non-Tagalogs, especially Cebuano-speaking politicians strongly objected to this move. Unlike in India, where Nehru promised no Hindi imposition, Tagalog, largely without the consent of most of the public, was unilaterally imposed onto all Filipinos, becoming another layer of linguistic imperialism after English.
However, it was only in 1974 that Tagalog—rebranded with the de-ethnicized name “Filipino” to assuage the non-Tagalogs—was officially institutionalized through a new education policy known as the Bilingual Education Policy (BEP). This policy is defined as the separate use of Filipino and English as the medium of instruction (MOI). In all grades except 1 and 2, Filipino and English were used in all subjects, and regional languages were relegated to auxiliary status. English was the MOI for science, mathematics, and English, while Filipino was used for all other subjects. To achieve bilingual fluency, Filipino and English were not only MOIs but also language subjects of their own at all grade levels. The ultimate goal of the BEP was to encourage bilingual education, with Filipino as a language of literacy and academic discourse and English as an official language. This policy was ultimately a political compromise, especially at a time when anti-colonial sentiments to nationalize education were being pushed. This presented an opportunity to promote Filipino as a unifying language and national symbol, without losing the competitiveness and prestige of English fluency in a globalizing world.
Although the BEP represented a significant move away from the Philippines’ colonial past, loopholes have caused its implementation to be less effective. Academic performance disparities between Tagalog and non-Tagalog speakers have led to criticisms that non-Tagalog speakers were being institutionally marginalized. Based on a report by the Congressional Commission on Education in 1993, the BEP was perceived as a factor in dropouts, and students who experienced significant linguistic barriers were likely to withdraw from school. Lastly, the exclusive use of the official languages implies the perceived inferiority and irrelevance of minority languages to academic discourse. The name “Filipino” was seen as a mere derivative of Tagalog, and thus the BEP was seen as elevating the language of ‘Imperial Manila,’ pejoratively referring to the capital-centered nature of national decisions. As for English, it maintained its superiority as an official and prestigious language, especially as a medium of instruction. Thus, the lack of connection with, if not outright resentment towards, these two languages may cause students to find little value in classes they cannot fully understand. Thus, in several ways, the BEP worsened linguistic inequality in the classroom.
After years of research studies on the benefits of multilingual instruction, including higher achievement scores in reading comprehension across three languages (mother tongue, Tagalog, & English), the Mother-Tongue Based Multilingual Education (MTB-MLE) program was implemented in 2012. Broadly speaking, it is a framework that maintains the mother tongue as the primary MOI and recognizes the importance of the use of mother tongue education, not too dissimilar from India’s TLF. The Department of Education designated 19 major Philippine languages to be used as mother tongues from kindergarten to Grade 3. Filipino and English, meanwhile, are taught as subjects from the second and third quarters of Grade 1 to Grade 6. From then, both languages are used as MOI, with English generally for STEM subjects and Filipino for humanities subjects. English begins to be used for music, arts, physical education, and health after Grade 6.
The MTB-MLE represents a significant step in not just education, but in the dialogue surrounding the diversity of language and legacies of linguistic imperialism in the Philippines. Tupas notes that the MTB-MLE:
(1) Recognizes the idea that education in the mother tongue is a linguistic right; (2) Validates the viability of minority languages as potential academic languages; (3) Is an ideological response to nation-building.
By putting mother tongues at the forefront of education, the MTB-MLE addresses the double-layered structure of linguistic imperialism in the Philippines and declares these languages as integral parts of Philippine identity and culture. In 2018, UNESCO reported academic successes that have resulted from this program, including increased confidence, lower dropout rates, and learning other languages. Naturally, the program is imperfect and has faced challenges in implementation due to funding issues, stakeholders’ favorable perceptions of English, and their negative perceptions of native languages. Cruz and Mahboob note that due to the lack of ‘vertical discursiveness’ in Tagalog and other Filipino languages, they are not preferred as languages of education, despite their availability. Nevertheless, despite these setbacks, the MTB-MLE is a breakthrough in the Philippines’ attempts in dismantling linguistic imperialism, especially given the lack of constitutional support.
Currently, there has been a revival in the debate about which education policy is more effective: the MTB-MLE or the BEP, especially in the midst of reports of academic decline in Filipino students. Reports from the Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) and Trends in International Mathematics and Science Study (TIMSS) show an apparent decline in mathematics and reading comprehension among students. The blame for these low results in international tests have been pinned on the MTB-MLE and decline in English language use. English continues to be perceived as an economic competitive advantage for Filipinos in a globalizing world, and the Marcos Jr. administration has highlighted the importance of English in the Philippine economy:
“Foreign employers have always favored Filipino employees because of our command of the English language. This is an advantage that we must continue to enjoy. The internet has now become the global marketplace. Not only for goods services but also for ideas, even extending to our own personal interactions. The language of the internet—for better or for worse—is English. Therefore, the question of our medium of instruction must be continuously re-examined to maintain that advantage that we have established as an English-speaking people.”
With the backing of the Marcos Jr. administration for the BEP, lawmakers have introduced bills to suspend the MTB-MLE, namely House Bills 2188 and 3925. BEP supporters have argued that because Filipino students have been introduced to the mother tongue at an early age, it would be redundant to use it as an MOI. Furthermore, the BEP is seen as a means of educational material-related cost efficiency, fast tracking students’ learning progress and rebound from declining academic performance. While coming from a place of concern, these arguments have belittled the significant amount of research put into the development of the MTB-MLE, purely based on the false notion that early exposure to English and only English means language fluency. According to Kirkpatrick, the imposition of English and Filipino in education can transform multilinguals into bilinguals, causing them to lose their linguistic assets and resources.
Ultimately, the promotion of English based on the assumption that economic growth will follow is a band-aid solution for the economic woes of the Philippines. Institutions have not addressed the systemic issues that deter the promotion of equitable and reasonably paying domestic employment, forcing individuals to move abroad for better opportunities. Rather than fixing the root of these issues, namely poor economic planning and corruption, the promotion of English education simply pushes Filipinos to leave the Philippines, sending back remittances to their families to encourage the cycle of an exodus from the homeland.
In evaluating the language policies of the Philippines, it is easy to attribute all of the blame to Filipinos themselves. However, what this analysis highlights is the enduring legacy of English linguistic imperialism and 400 years of colonial rule on the societal consciousness of the Philippines. As a result, without the strong support of constitutional provisions for language policy, language diversity protection policies such as the MTB-MLE are highly susceptible to being overturned by any presidential administration that wishes to uphold English dominance. Whereas any Indian government, bound by the constitution, has no choice but to maintain its multilingual approach, the Philippines can easily deinstitutionalize its regional languages depending on the attitudes of the government towards English.
Even in the face of compelling and comprehensive scientific and sociolinguistic research displaying the tangible benefits of multilingual education, the attitudes of a majority of the Filipino population stubbornly hold up the prestige of the English language. Furthermore, unlike India, where any indication of disrupting the multilingual status quo would be met with strong political uproar, the Filipino public’s attitude towards integrating Filipino languages through the MTB-MLE has been muted at best, reflecting their satisfaction with the dominance of English in the education system at the cost of the maintenance of their native languages. Unfortunately, some Filipino parents are no longer teaching their children their native tongues, in hopes that through English-only exposure, their children would achieve for themselves and their families a brighter future.
Thus, the perceived prestige, globalism, and opportunity associated with English incentivize the neglect of Filipino native languages. Without a major overhaul of the current language policy through constitutional amendments—which seems unlikely due to deeply entrenched attitudes—all Filipino languages will continue to deteriorate.
Conclusion: Lessons in Language Policy
The comparative analysis of India and the Philippines demonstrates the profound and lasting impact of constitutional language policy on postcolonial nation-building. Both nations inherited the legacies of English linguistic imperialism, yet their divergent approaches in addressing this inheritance have led to markedly different outcomes. India’s detailed and proactive constitutional provisions have institutionalized a multilingual framework that, while not without its challenges, continues to safeguard linguistic diversity and accommodate regional identities within the broader national narrative. Its early and comprehensive language policy planning—embodied in the Constitution and implemented through measures such as the Three Language Formula—has ensured that debates over language remain central to India’s political discourse, providing mechanisms for adaptation and resistance to linguistic homogenization.
In contrast, the Philippines’ constitutions have historically lacked the clarity, depth, and enforceable protections necessary to cultivate and preserve a truly multilingual society. The vagueness of its constitutional provisions has allowed English to retain its colonial prominence, while the imposition of Tagalog—later rebranded as Filipino—has marginalized other Philippine languages. Despite the introduction of promising initiatives such as the Mother-Tongue Based Multilingual Education (MTB-MLE) policy, the lack of constitutional guarantees renders these efforts vulnerable to shiing political agendas and societal biases that continue to favor English as the language of economic opportunity and prestige.
This comparison underscores the critical role of constitutional clarity and political will in creating language policies that promote equity, preserve cultural heritage, and foster national unity. India’s experience illustrates how embedding multilingualism into the legal and institutional framework can mediate colonial legacies and support a more inclusive national identity. Conversely, the Philippine case serves as a cautionary tale of how constitutional ambiguity can perpetuate linguistic inequalities and hinder genuine nation-building.
To move forward, both India and the Philippines can benefit from strategic policy recalibrations rooted in constitutional commitment and inclusive language planning. For the Philippines, amending the constitution to explicitly affirm the rights of regional languages and to institutionalize multilingual education would provide stronger legal grounding for policies like MTB-MLE. Strengthening and increasing funding for the Komisyon sa Wikang Filipino (Commission on the Filipino Language) could ensure sustained evaluation, development, and protection of all Philippine languages. Meanwhile, India should consider expanding its Eighth Schedule to include all unlisted languages and provide equitable state funding for their development, particularly in tribal and rural regions. Both nations must prioritize teacher training, curriculum development in native languages, and public campaigns that challenge the stigma around non-English languages. Ultimately, constitutional clarity must be matched by cultural revalorization, where multilingualism is reframed not as a burden but as a vital asset to the nation.
Ultimately, the lessons from these two postcolonial states highlight that sustainable language policy requires not only legal recognition but also active commitment to linguistic justice. For nations grappling with the legacies of colonialism and the pressures of globalization, constitutional safeguards and inclusive policy frameworks are indispensable in ensuring that linguistic diversity is not only protected but celebrated as a cornerstone of national identity. Languages are integral to the cultural identities of both India and the Philippines, and these lessons must remind us of the importance of cherishing our native tongues, whatever they may be.
Sapagka’t kung hindi ta’yo ang magmamahal sa sariling wika, sino?
For if we don’t love our own native language, who will?
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Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Krishna Pushkarani – Hampi Ruins, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made
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