Finnish is the key to inclusion. Or is it?

Welcome to our fourth guest blog post, in which we explore themes related to language, belonging, and inclusion in Finland through the perspectives of our contributors. This time, we are pleased to introduce Fon Krairiksh, who reflects on their experiences navigating Finnish language use in professional and social contexts.

In this blog, Fon examines the idea of Finnish as a transactional skill, challenges the notion of the native speaker and explores how language ideologies can shape inclusion and exclusion in everyday life. Drawing on both personal experiences and research, they offer a critical perspective on what it means to belong and asks whether language proficiency should really be the gateway to inclusion.

Thank you, Fon, for contributing to the LAIF project!

When climbing, you never leave anyone behind, and make sure that everyone feels safe & supported, even when faced with challenging conditions. Communication is key.

Introduction - “Do you speak Finnish?”  Those who’ve asked me the question above will be familiar with my response: “I speak it very well when I am paid to do so.” In the first part of this blog, I will share a part of my Finnish journey, which tells you why I’ve come to regard Finnish as a transactional skill. 

In the second part of the blog, I explore and challenge the notion of a “native speaker,” which is often the standard against which language skills are judged. I argue that the concept is, at best, undefinable, and at worst, an active barrier to inclusion. 

In the final part of this text, I share three stories of inclusion that challenge the notion that learning Finnish is the key to inclusion and present a counter-narrative.  What is “sufficient” Finnish, and can I scale that mountain? 

“The way you write really reveals that Finnish is not your native language and that the way you think is different to ours.”  

As always, in these kinds of situations, a witty response came to me hours later: ‘Thanks for the rapid psychoanalysis. I’ll be sure to inform my therapist – now can we please focus on the task at hand?’ But at the time, receiving the response above – in Finnish, to an email in Finnish – sent me reeling. I was the project leader, and I had sent an email with an action plan to my team. In a sentence, my colleague declared me ‘other,’ stonewalled all the proposed actions, and delegitimized my leadership. The message was clear: I didn’t belong in my position. In an instant, my Finnish was rendered ‘not good enough,’ with the poorly veiled implication that neither was my leadership. 

I’ve always advocated for the view that as long language is understandable, it serves its communicative purpose. I’ve worked in several Finnish workplaces, and when I’ve asked for general feedback on presentations and other texts, they were regularly corrected by well-meaning coworkers who’d say, “your text isn’t understandable,” but who nonetheless “went ahead and fixed my errors” without checking with me what I meant to say. These errors would be described as minor errors in conjugation, or “not technically wrong, but sounds like you were thinking in English.” The fact that they didn’t need to check with me tells me that my texts were, in fact, understandable. What really seems to have happened was that they wished to point out deficiencies in how “native” I sound or to hide my foreignness. What this really says to me is that “non-native” or “foreign” is not a desirable trait at many organizations in Finland. 

You may have inferred that my Finnish language proficiency is quite high. And language proficiency is often positioned as the primary gateway to belonging in Finland. So, where is this “belonging” that I hear so much about? 

Research tells a more complex story about belonging in Finnish. For example, Katharina Ruuska (2020) found that proficient speakers of Finnish as a second language felt the need to “disclose” their non-nativeness early on in a conversation, lest their Finnish colleagues felt betrayed by them ‘hiding’ their foreignness. Her findings resonate strongly with me – it’s very often the first thing I mention in a conversation, if I happen to be using Finnish. Why? Because, if people learn later that I am not a “native speaker,” then we’ll almost certainly have a conversation about how I ‘almost fooled them.’ 

I feel like I reached the top of the Finnish proficiency mountain, only to be told that there is a hidden peak I'm not even allowed to climb – one that others were simply born on. My response? Fine. I will speak Finnish only when my job requires me to do so, and I’m paid for the effort.  

Fon has found belonging with groups of friends united by shared interests, such as music.

Who is a “native speaker”? 

How would you define the concept of a “native speaker?” I like to ask this question to see what people say. What’s interesting is how differently people define it. Let’s try to define it now! 

Can you define “native language” by nationality? If so, all nationals of a country using English as an official language are “native speakers” of English, right? Does that mean that everyone who has a citizenship of, say, Australia necessarily speaks English as their “native” language? Most people say no. 

So, can you define a “native language” as the home language? Many people will say being a “native speaker” requires that your parents used English at home, and that English was your first language. Well, how about if both your parents spoke only a little English, but it was their only common language, and so they spoke only English to you? Are you a native speaker then? Again, many people say no. 

Someone might qualify the above by saying that being a “native speaker” means that your parents, (and perhaps their parents, and their parents before them) were also “native speakers” of English. The conclusion we reach from that is that even though you live in Australia, speak only English, went to school entirely in English, and speak Australian English the same way your classmates do, you are still not a “native speaker” because your parents are not. This is also not a satisfactory conclusion, right? 

We could keep going – there are so many questions that we can ask. How many generations do we have to go back to prove that we belong to a group of “native speakers?” What does it mean, for the “native speaker,” that language changes over time? If you and your great-great-great grandparents met today, would you understand each other in a conversation? Are you a “native speaker” if you speak a dialect (or as linguists prefer to say, a ‘regional variant’) of your country’s language? The list of questions is endless. 

Thus, the consensus in the linguistics community is that the term “native speaker” is not a useful term, scientifically speaking. It is a wonderful term to ask people questions about (especially if you prefer not to be invited to parties anymore), because it spurs many heated debates. The uncomfortable truth this debate lands on is that categorizing people according to whether they are “native speakers” or not is a way to maintain a power structure that keeps “natives” and “others” separate. And it is always the language variant spoken by those with the most power within any given context that is considered standard (cf. Fairclough 1989).  

Now, going back to my earlier critique of well-meaning co-workers correcting grammar and word-order when asked for general feedback. I don’t suggest that the identification of “non-native” versus “native” writing is conscious or malicious. I am sure people simply repeat what they’ve learned at school about “correct” language with the intention of being helpful. However, the reality is that “correctness” in language changes over time – what your grandparents learned at school about what was “correct” is certainly different to what kids are learning today. 

Though it can even be fun to have a little debate on what is the “right way” to say or write something, the more important question for me is this: Who is allowed to have an opinion in that debate? The answer, unfortunately, is that the person is probably a “native speaker.” Yet, as we saw above, we are unable to concretely define who a “native speaker” is. In other words, the concept of a “native speaker” is a way to sort speakers into those who belong and those who do not.  

You'll find Fon at the climbing gym many evenings. There, they've found belonging in a community of people united by their interest in climbing. 

So, when does one “belong?”  ‘Sufficient Finnish’ is a moving goalpost (cf. Masoud 2023, pp. 86 & 92, Intke-Hernandez 2022), informed more by perceptions of who is Finnish or integrated enough and who is not, rather than language skills. At times, basic communication is enough. At others, a small quirk in word order may reveal your ‘otherness.’ 

So, is Finnish really the key to inclusion? If so, who decides how much Finnish is sufficient? 

Prior research shows that fostering social connections are fundamental to successful language learning and social integration (Kinossalo & al. 2022, Mustonen & al. 2023, Intke-Hernandez & al. 2025). Mor Barak (2015) defines inclusion as being recognized and appreciated for one’s unique identity and being able to fully participate in and contribute to one’s community. 

Building on the work of the authors above, I examine three cases of inclusion that are not dependent on prior knowledge of the local language. Through these stories, I propose a counter-narrative: inclusion is the key to learning a language, and language proficiency should not be a prerequisite for belonging. These stories are drawn from my data of students at Aalto University and have modified them so that participants cannot be recognized. Some of these findings have previously been published in a journal (Krairiksh 2024). 

Case 1: Inclusion first, then Finnish Kaspars signed up for a student association focusing on outdoor activities such hiking, climbing, and kayaking. The association uses English to include everyone, and Kaspars has made many local friends there. After a year as a general member, he has taken a leadership position on the board.  

His friends are happy to speak English with him, but they’ve also learned that he is now learning Finnish, and they are excited to accommodate him on his learning journey. This is because they’ve become friends on their outdoor adventures. He feels comfortable and well-liked. He has told all his friends about his plans to learn Finnish and how he’d like to be supported.  

During association meetings, Kaspar feels like he might not understand enough to make decisions in Finnish. However, in his free time, he is happy to take a slightly more passive role in conversations. So, they’ve agreed that during association activities, they speak Finnish with him. His friends slow down and speak Finnish more clearly and slowly. He says this works especially well while climbing, where clear communication is crucial.  

"My free lessons in Finnish are high up on the cliffs," he laughs.  

Case 2: Inclusion without Finnish   Hani, an Indonesian student pursuing a master’s degree, felt very left out during the orientation week of her program. She simply didn’t understand what was going on, and there was nobody around to explain anything to her.  

"There was an event for all the new students in my school. But I think they really didn't care so much about the master's students, and nobody spoke to me at all. There were a few words of English in the beginning, and the person talking said 'I think most of you speak Finnish' then continued in Finnish. It was awful."  

Later, things turned around.  

"During one event, people were singing a song in Finnish. I didn't understand the words, but the person sitting next to me, who I’d been chatting with, pointed at the words we were singing. I felt included in that moment, and I made my first friend.” 

Hani made more Finnish friends who all spoke English with her. During our interview, she reflected that she may well have dropped out had it not been for that. They became a close-knit group of friends. English was used without question. 

“One of my friends posted a picture of our group to her Instagram, and I was surprised to see that I was only one in the photo who looked Asian. I completely forgot that I’m a foreigner.”  

Hani has already accepted a job in Denmark following her graduation, but she dreams of coming back to Finland, and next time around, learning Finnish in the process.  

Case 3: Food for thought – Inclusion in Swedish-speaking spaces My data tells me that when student associations cater to large groups – for example, a subject association for an entire school at University – they are most reluctant to integrate international students using English or other strategies, such as translations of text, interpretation, explanation, and using slower and clearer language. They are most likely to see inclusion of international students as a “burden” (Krairiksh 2024).  

In cases one and two, international students were included in English, at least to begin with. However, the point of this blog isn’t to suggest that inclusion must happen only through the use of a common language. Thus, I’ll introduce the final case in this blog: inclusion in Swedish. 

Adam, a Finno-Swedish student active in a Swedish-language association, describes the association’s practice of welcoming international students regardless of Swedish-language level. The official language of the association is Swedish, and all activities are in Swedish, yet they happily include international students from the beginning. 

“From day one, we encourage them to participate with whatever Swedish they are able to speak and help them learn more Swedish through the words they speak in other languages, such as English.” 

What he describes is what is known as ‘language scaffolding’ (cf. Wood, Bruner & Ross 1976; Vygotsky 1978), which is the practice of using a person’s existing language skills to build further understanding.  

“Over time, they start using more and more Swedish.” 

It’s worth mentioning that one purpose of this association, and many other similar Swedish-speaking associations in Finland, is to maintain the vitality of the Finnish-Swedish language and culture. Growing the community of Swedish-speakers is explicitly in their interests. However, despite the centrality of language – or perhaps because of it? – this association prioritizes inclusion above language learning. 

Conclusions – Let's climb that mountain together.  In the first two cases presented above, the power of the “native speakers” to act as gatekeepers was not exercised. In the first case, it was only because Kaspars wanted to learn Finnish that the question of language arose – and even then, in a way that respectfully prioritized his inclusion. In the second case, the group of supportive Finnish friends served as a motivator for Hani perhaps learning Finnish in the future, without it being set as a priority in the present. And in the third case, even where language learning was central – the “native speakers” included first and worried about language skills later. In all these cases, though, inclusion occurs because of friendship and shared interests – and not because an individual learned a language. 

Perhaps what motivates these groups to include international students is the realization that inclusion helps a group survive and thrive. Perhaps it’s the joy of realizing that they have a lot in common. Perhaps some never really thought about it. Whatever the reasons, in none of these cases were language skills considered a barrier to inclusion. 

Given that it is nearly impossible to define terms like “sufficient proficiency” and “native speaker,” I suggest that we don’t ask anyone to climb that mountain on their own before they are included. Instead – cheesy as this may sound – it is a mountain we can scale together, and, in the process, learn from each other. Instead of “native speakers” pointing “others” to the mountain and expecting them to climb it, how about we climb up together? And when we reach the top of the mountain, we’ll see that we have all learned to communicate with each other. 

About the author

Fon V. Krairiksh is a doctoral researcher at the University of Helsinki. Their PhD project examines linguistic practices for diversity and inclusion within the Aalto University student body, with a particular focus on power asymmetry, and multilingual communication in internationalized institutional contexts. 

Before embarking on their doctorate, Fon spent a decade working in migrant integration in Finland and continues to work in roles advancing university DEI alongside their doctoral studies. Currently, they are employed as the Social Sustainability Coordinator at Hanken School of Economics. Their work bridges academic research and grassroots practice, bringing a grounded, community-oriented perspective to questions of belonging, epistemic justice, and linguistic inclusion. 

At work, Fon facilitates dialogue, holding space for different points of view. Photo credit: Sonja Sharma 2025

References 

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Intke-Hernandez, M. (2022). Mikä on riittävän hyvää suomea? Kielikello, (1). https://kielikello.fi/mik%c3%a4-on-riitt%c3%a4v%c3%a4n-hyv%c3%a4%c3%a4-suomea/ 

Intke-Hernandez, M., & Peltola, K. (2025). Students’ perceptions of a sense of belonging in Language Centre courses – What role do teachers play? CercleS, 15(2), 339–357. https://doi.org/10.1515/cercles-2024-0122 

Kinossalo, M., Jousmäki, H., & Intke-Hernandez, M. (2022). Life-story pedagogy for identity: Through linguistic and cultural recognition to participation and equity. Apples – Journal of Applied Language Studies, 16(2), 99–119. https://doi.org/10.47862/apples.111953 

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