When the System Doesn’t See You: On Publishing, Power, and Pedagogy in EFL

Every once in a while, I have a moment that brings long-simmering tensions to the surface.

Recently, in a professional meeting, I listened as someone dismissed the quality of work submitted to a long-running publication in our field. Their comments weren’t meant as cruel; they were delivered in the polished cadence of policy discussion, but they cut deep. The message was clear: "The kind of writing we want isn't coming from within our ranks."

I’ve heard this before, in different words and in different rooms. The subtle discrediting of reflective voices. The quiet sidelining of social justice frameworks. The implicit elevation of a narrow idea of “expertise.”

Years ago, I submitted a piece to an organization’s publication. It was a modest article on culturally responsive teaching as an attempt to nudge the conversation in a more inclusive, expansive direction. What I received back wasn’t critique; it was contrast. My piece was published, but next to another that dismissed the very foundation of my argument using dictionary definitions and opinion. It felt like being invited to speak and then asked to sit down mid-sentence.

That experience shook my confidence. I questioned whether I belonged in these conversations. Whether my blend of theory and classroom experience was “too much” or “not enough.”


But with time, I’ve come to see that the issue isn’t me, or any of us who write from the margins of EFL. The problem is a professional culture that too often prizes detachment over reflection, standardization over situated knowing, and certain forms of academic legitimacy over lived expertise.

What happens to teacher voices when the spaces meant to elevate them are built on old hierarchies?

What happens to pedagogy when we police the boundaries of “valid” research?

What happens to us—those of us who teach at the intersections of language, justice, and embodiment—when our work is always too soft, too different, too “other”?


I’ve decided I won’t beg to be seen. Instead, I’m shifting my gaze toward community, toward the people who get it, who are building parallel spaces, who believe in shared reflection, radical care, and pedagogies rooted in context.

In the past, I’ve hosted local workshops where theory met practice over cups of tea. I’ve mentored newer teachers through messy, soulful conversations. I’ve written publicly about breath, borderlands, and the language of silence. These spaces weren’t always shiny, but they were mine. And more importantly, they were ours.

I'm starting to feel the pull toward those kinds of spaces again.


If you’ve ever submitted a piece of your heart and had it misread...

If you’ve ever tried to speak theory in a classroom voice and been told it’s not academic enough...

If you’ve ever felt unseen in the very systems meant to support your growth...

You are not alone.

Let’s keep writing. Let’s keep gathering. Let’s keep building what we need, together.

🫖 If you’re interested in low-key gatherings around pedagogy, theory, and care—online or in Gwangju—reach out. Something gentle might be steeping again.




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