As a language learner, I often find myself grateful for the “standard” version of a language. Whether it is Hyojungo in Japan, Guoyu in Taiwan, or Hochdeutsch in Germany, these standards provide a clear path for us to follow. Yet, this uniformity is often made possible by politics, frequently at the expense of slowly erasing minority languages.

I witnessed this firsthand in Taiwan, where children were once taught to use only Mandarin. At the time, Taiwanese (Taigi) was stigmatized as “low-class” or “crass” compared to the refined Mandarin of the state. As a result, a once-vibrant language has become endangered. This theme of linguistic erosion was explored extensively at the 2025 Polyglot Conference in Taipei. One speaker notably questioned the Taiwanese government’s emphasis on English-Mandarin bilingual education, arguing that it further marginalizes Taiwan’s own indigenous languages and Taigi.

While I appreciate the accessibility of a “Ministry of Education” version of a language, I have come to realize that this uniformity erodes the individual differences that exist within man-made borders. Historically and biologically, linguistic diversity is the norm. Different groups of people naturally speak differently over time. This was highlighted in a talk by Cheyenne Maechtle regarding the linguistic diversity of Orchid Island. Even on an island so small, there are discernible differences in how language is used in communities separated by only a few kilometers.

I remember school teachers in Taiwan urging children to adopt “proper” Mandarin pronunciations to help them lose their Taiwanese accents and sound more “refined.” Yet, somehow that refined Mandarin feels less personal to me. It lacks the texture of a specific place.

I felt this recently during an encounter with a German speaker who had a thick regional accent. My immediate, internal thought was, “You don’t sound like the Tagesschau.” It was a harmless observation, but it served as a stark reminder that linguistic uniformity is a constructed reality. Perhaps Hochdeutsch sounds just as alienating to a native speaker who uses it for school or work, but finds their true comfort in the dialect of their own community.

I found the closing remarks of an ARTE episode, “Haben wir früher alle dieselbe Sprache gesprochen?” particularly resonant:

Die Wirklichkeit zeigt, Vielfalt ist unser Normalzustand. Häufig stehen hinter dem Erfolg großer Sprachen Geschichten von Gewalt und Unterdrückung. Die Tendenz geht zu wenigen einheitlichen Sprachen. Wir können einander verstehen wie nie zuvor und riskieren zugleich, dass die feinen Unterschiede verschwinden, die unseren Blick auf die Welt prägen. Vielleicht ist deshalb die eigentliche Frage: Wie können wir einander nahe kommen, ohne gleich zu werden, und wie bleiben wir verschieden, ohne einander fremd zu sein?