Behind the Stats: The Human Cost of New Zealand’s Second Language Learning Deficit

That decision shaped her life. Sixteen years later, Kristen is a conferencing and events manager in Wellington who moves easily between worlds. She speaks Filipino with her parents, carries it into friendships, and sometimes even into client conversations. When she hears her language on the street, she feels an instant kinship.

“I’ve never come across a New Zealand-born speaker of Filipino, but that would be amazing,” she tells me. “I can understand why people want to learn Mandarin, but there are also 100 million speakers of Filipino in the world! Knowing another language gives you empathy and perspective.”

Her story is a reminder that behind every statistic are real choices and real consequences. A language can be discouraged in a classroom—and yet sustained at the dinner table. It can make the difference between living only in English and living with a deeper sense of belonging.

More Than Numbers

A report released in August at the National Forum on Language Learning for New Zealand’s Future paints a stark picture: “fewer students are learning languages now than at any time in the past 80 years." Humanities departments at universities are being cut, and a proposed bill to support language learning in schools has stalled. Experts warn that language learning in New Zealand is in crisis.

So why does it matter? If we take a minute to look behind the dire numbers, why is it important that we keep learning languages? What is the human experience behind it all? If language is the key to understanding then what are we not understanding by focusing primarily on English and deprioritising second languages?

A Life Shaped by Languages

I know this because languages have shaped my life. At 17, I left for a two-month exchange to Germany. Those weeks changed me. Suddenly, I had friends who knew me not through English but through German. I stumbled, I laughed, I learned. The confidence that grew from those conversations carried me further than I could have imagined.

That exchange set me on a path to an MA and PhD in languages. It gave me lifelong friendships, professional opportunities, and roles in academia, business, and diplomacy. One of my proudest moments is when someone mistakes me for a native German speaker.

And yet, I often feel the imbalance of coming from New Zealand. My German gave me a head start with Spanish and Japanese, but I was still outpaced by peers abroad. My exchange partner in Germany already spoke five languages fluently, with other skills layered on top.

Me with my Japanese friend Aiko in Japan.

In Japan, when I say something basic like “私はニュージーランドから来ました (I am from New Zealand),” people sometimes respond with “ペラペラ (fluent!)”—a generous exaggeration. It reflects not my skill, but the low bar expected of New Zealanders abroad.

This leaves me with a quiet sense of embarrassment. Why is it taken for granted that a Japanese visitor to New Zealand will speak English, but a New Zealander in Japan is excused from knowing Japanese? It feels like arriving at an intercultural potluck empty-handed, expecting everyone else to host and feed us.

Language as Respect

I am not alone in this view. Suzannah Jessep, Asia New Zealand Foundation Chief Executive and a speaker of Vanuatu Bislama, stresses the role of language in diplomacy.

“Language and cultural acumen help us to build bridges across countries and regions,” she explains. “They are very often seen as a mark of respect; that we have taken the time to understand not only the mechanics of a language but also the people who use it," she said.

Respect is not an optional courtesy; it is a form of currency—valued equally at the diplomatic table and in the everyday workplace.

What Teachers See

Teachers also know the stakes. I spoke with Juliet Kennedy, President of the National Executive Committee of the New Zealand Association of Language Teachers. She speaks French, German, Spanish and Mandarin, and is learning Te Reo Māori and Gagana Tokelau. I asked her what she would do if she could wave a magic wand.

“All students would learn Te Reo Māori and NZ Sign Language from Year 1 until Year 10, and an additional second language from Years 5 to 10,” she said. “They would then finish formal education competent in at least two languages. This way, we would be giving our students the same opportunities as their peers in Europe, Asia, North America and Africa already enjoy.”

Her vision is simple, but powerful. Yet it cannot be realised without investment: enough trained teachers, robust distance education, and thriving university departments to keep the pipeline alive.

The Next Generation

The next generation is already showing what is possible. My teenage nephew James, a high school student in Dunedin, has been teaching himself Japanese on the language app Duolingo for over a year. His school does offer Japanese, though without an in-person teacher. Still, he hasn’t let that stop him from learning.

At 16, James has already mapped out a trip to Japan, down to how to pay respects at temples and shrines. His interest is not just academic—it is cultural, relational, personal.

“My motivation for studying Japanese is learning about different types of culture and food,” he told me. “It’s a new learning experience and it’s about getting along with people from different cultures.”

James, my nephew and me on his holiday to Wellington last year.

James is proof that the desire exists. What is missing are the structures to support it. He shows us that with motivation, learning happens anyway—but imagine what more could be possible with stronger foundations.

As I plan activities for his next visit to Wellington, including a stop at Daiso and a sushi train restaurant, I can picture the adventures ahead of him. Adventures that will be broader, deeper, and more connected because he has opened himself to another language.

Beyond the Statistics

The statistics tell us that New Zealand’s language learning is in decline. But behind those numbers are real people: Kristen, whose parents’ insistence gave her identity and empathy; Juliet, who dreams of every child leaving school multilingual; Suzannah, who sees language as a bridge of respect; James, whose curiosity drives him to learn without waiting for permission; and me, whose life was transformed by an exchange at 17.

To treat language learning as expendable is to misunderstand its value. It is not just about employability or school credits. It is about empathy, belonging, respect, and the ability to walk in another’s shoes. It is about whether New Zealand shows up to the global table empty-handed—or with something meaningful to share.

Imagine a New Zealand where every child grows up confident in te reo Māori and NZ Sign Language, where picking up another world language is the norm, not the exception. A country where empathy is instinctive, respect is expected, and connection is woven into everyday life.

-Asia Media Centre

*The opinions expressed are those of the author