This first-person article is the experience of Alvin Ma, a second-generation Chinese Canadian. For more information on CBC’s first-person stories, please see the FAQ.
I tried to avoid eye contact and slumped back in my chair, but it didn’t work. It was the start of my 4th grade school year and for the fourth year in a row my name was called to receive “supplementary English instruction”.
It didn’t matter that I could fully understand the Guinness Book of World Records I bought at the Textbook Fair, or that I read the Vancouver Sun sports section every morning. I was going back to ESL.
I was born in Canada and grew up speaking English with my parents. My Chinese-born mother immigrated to Canada as a high school student, and my father, also an immigrant from Hong Kong in the 1970s, taught cooking classes in English. However, my grandparents and other elderly family members did not speak English and mostly spoke Cantonese at home.
That’s why my parents listed Cantonese as the language most spoken at home when they filled out their public school registration form.
This is also the reason we believe that I was placed in English Language Learner (ESL) classes, despite the fact that I was born in Canada and spoke English fluently.
Alvin Ma’s Grade 3 report card shows that he received ESL support while participating in enrichment activities. (Submitted by Alvin Ma)
I have no negative memories of these ESL classes or the teachers themselves.
But as a kid, it made me feel less than fully Canadian when I was placed in those classes.
I just wanted to be treated like the “CBC” (Canadian born Chinese) classmates who didn’t require those ESL classes. Some of these students occasionally flaunted their English skills and mocked those who were considered “just off the boat”. I don’t remember making fun of people, but I do remember wanting to prove that I was better than others at English – thinking that my superior command of the language would somehow make me more “Canadian”.
Even if I secretly found 90’s Cantonese pop songs like 天天愛你多下载 and Sugar in the Marmalade catchy, I was listening to Shanaya Twain. I watched every show of Hockey Night in Canada without a problem. Twenty-two years ago Simu Liu’s performance at the Juno Awards I was able to effortlessly recite “I AM CANADIAN” I utter in full.
I distanced myself from my Chinese heritage and purposely failed my grades in Chinese school to prove that I was more Canadian than Chinese. My mother knew that I would only speak to her in English, and she had an unspoken understanding that she should only speak English to me when she came to my school to pick me up.
Alvin Ma’s Cantonese course report shows his poor grades. (Submitted by Alvin Ma)
When I asked my mom if she thought it was weird that I had been placed in ESL for so many years, she shrugged.
Given that my grandparents supervised me during the weekdays, my parents felt that “additional English instruction” would help my education in the long run.
Then one day and without any explanation I was included in the regular stream of 5th graders. My student record simply noted that my ESL status had been removed. I felt relieved, but I remained conscious of my pronunciation and tried to avoid the stutter that would have defined me as anything but a Canadian born in Canada.
Years after I graduated my primary school faced allegations that it falsely inflated the number of English language learners to get more government funding.
Alvin Ma, third from right, poses with his family to mark his graduation from the University of British Columbia. (Submitted by Alvin Ma)
As an adult, I now know that neither my command of Cantonese nor my sense of accent make me any less Canadian. Years of academic research and presentations have made me a confident speaker on issues related to multiculturalism.
But I hadn’t really considered the impact of those ESL classes until I met a 10-year-old student through my tutoring job. When his mother left the room, she said these parting words: “可以力力，進步你的英文分” (you must work hard to improve your English grade).
He angrily replied in English, “Stop bothering me in Chinese if you want me to improve!”
This student was a mirror of my younger self: a second-generation Canadian desperately trying to prove his command of English while avoiding Chinese.
Although I wanted to avoid confrontation, I mustered up the courage. I told him—and by extension my younger self—that knowing another language was a strength; no shame to hide. My student nodded, but if my journey was any indicator, it might take him many years to understand my message. I just hope the message gets across eventually.
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