A Collective Journey

That response stunned me. I had expected nuance—maybe a role for memorization in supporting acquisition. But Dr. Stephen Krashen, one of the most influential figures in Second Language Acquisition (SLA), was firm.

Just days before, we had arranged to meet in Malibu, after months of connecting via email and Zoom. I had reached out to him about the challenges facing Hawaiian language education—a context he admitted he knew little about. I suspected, too, that our community was largely unaware of the decades of SLA research he and others had conducted. The way Hawaiian is still taught, at nearly every level, often runs counter to what that research shows about how people actually acquire language.

Our lunch, joined by his wife Eula and my daughter Kamalu, covered everything from family to pedagogy. But that one moment, that one answer, has stayed with me. It didn’t close the door on my thinking. It opened it. I left that table more curious than ever, determined to keep exploring the research, and to keep asking hard questions about how and why we teach the way we do.

The Hawaiian language revitalization movement has produced extraordinary outcomes, the most powerful of which can be seen in Hawaiian immersion schools. At the heart of this movement, Hawaiian immersion schools are by far the most effective pathway to fluency. Their success lies in the consistent use of the language as a medium of school life, not as an academic subject. Through immersion, children acquire Hawaiian in meaningful, communicative contexts that reflect how language is truly acquired. This is something to be celebrated. Yet as we continue to expand our efforts beyond immersion classrooms, in broader educational spaces, we must also take a critical look at how Hawaiian is being taught elsewhere, and whether those methods are most effectively serving our lāhui.

At the same time, we must acknowledge that many Hawaiian language classrooms—outside of immersion settings—continue to rely on methods that are ineffective for acquisition. Too often, our teaching focuses on breaking the language apart: over-explaining grammar rules, drilling vocabulary lists, and emphasizing accuracy at every turn. While well-intentioned, these practices can unintentionally replay the very traumas we are trying to heal, prioritizing correctness over connection. This grammar-heavy approach is not unique to Hawaiian; it reflects a global pattern in ineffective language instruction. But in our case, it is especially persistent because many of us, teachers and learners alike, come from a particular genealogy of instruction. We were trained in systems rooted in grammar-translation methods, where Hawaiian was reduced to textbooks, chapters, and grammatical categories. Although storytelling and cultural content are often woven in, the foundation remains focused on the memorization and reproduction of grammatical structures. This is not a critique of our kumu, it is a reflection of the system we inherited. Now, we have the opportunity to reassess and reshape it.

I share this not to cast blame, but to take responsibility, and to acknowledge my own journey as both learner and teacher. I’ve apologized to former students for the times I prioritized form over meaning, for the moments when my teaching may have felt more like “torture” than learning, as Dr. Krashen once put it. My message now is not one of regret, but of growth. It is for all of us—those teaching today, those still learning, and those who may have once tried and walked away. Many have struggled to reach fluency in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi, not because of a lack of effort or aloha, but because of how the language was presented to them.

We can do better. And we will—by returning to the core question: How does the brain acquire language? When teachers and learners understand this, we can shift our approach to support true acquisition. We can create classrooms that empower learners, where even if they find themselves in a grammar-heavy environment, they’ll have the tools and awareness to guide themselves toward fluency. This is not just a shift in pedagogy; it’s a shift in belief. And it starts with re-engaging with both the research and the lived experiences of our own community.

I invite you to join me in a new path forward. Once learners understand how the brain truly acquires language, they can redirect themselves toward meaningful input, even in settings still bound by explicit grammar explanations.

Setting the Scene: Shifting Paradigms

My purpose for teaching language has been about uplifting our people. There’s been a bunch of successes, seeing people become fluent and become professionals using the language, or maybe even become teachers themselves. Many people have dedicated themselves to strengthening our lāhui, and for them, language has been a large part of that work. It fills me with joy to see the fruits of that labor.

Yet I cannot escape the memory of those who struggled, and in many cases did not realize fluency, under my own ineffective teaching methods. As I immersed myself in SLA research and began conducting my own inquiry, a profound sense of kuleana arose, I felt responsible for repairing what had, perhaps unintentionally, been broken.

I hesitate to voice any criticism—I hold deep aloha for the kumu who taught me, and I know they gave their best. Still, these challenges are not unique to Hawaiian language instruction; they run through language teaching everywhere.

Through my study of second-language acquisition, I’ve come to understand that my primary role isn’t to dispense knowledge, but to facilitate each student’s own subconscious acquisition of language. While it’s common for teachers to call themselves facilitators of learning, my work now goes beyond a label—it reflects my conviction that acquisition “just happens” when the right conditions and high-quality input are provided.

I remember discussing with a fellow scholar on Maui the importance of choosing a Hawaiian term for “acquisition” that carries no sense of agency—because true acquisition is not something we make happen; it happens naturally (subconsciously) and continuously. It is an involuntary biological process much like breathing and digestion. The word I landed on is ili. In the World Language Acquisition course that I teach, where I don’t speak the target languages myself, this philosophy becomes even more evident: I coach and guide students to do what is effective for acquisition, but they must seek out and process input on their own. In my Hawaiian classes, I can model and interact more directly. I am their principal interlocutor*, offering stories and context rather than drilling rules.

*Pull-out Information. In a language classroom, the interlocutor is simply the person from whom learners receive the bulk of their input. As their teacher, I naturally occupy this role—I’m the primary source of accurate, nuanced ʻōlelo that students hear. Although peer interaction has its place, classmates’ proficiency is still developing; fluent speakers including the kumu offer richer, more reliable models. By serving as the main interlocutor, I ensure learners are immersed in comprehensible, high-quality input, which provides the essential fuel for subconscious acquisition.

The Affective Filter and Joyful Learning

A lot of things we do in a traditional language class causes anxiety in students. When we correct learners in front of their peers, we raise the affective filter—injecting anxiety that blocks acquisition. Many learners recall shutting down, too afraid to speak for fear of shame. This culture of hyper-correction has kept too many of our lāhui from the joy of communication and has turned mistakes into scars rather than just being a normal part of the acquisition process.

In place of fear and correction, we must celebrate every attempt. Drawing on Bill Van Patten’s insight that there are no true “mistakes” in language learning—only gaps where a particular structure hasn’t yet been fully acquired—I’ve come to see every non-native-sounding utterance as evidence of ongoing acquisition rather than failure. When a student reverts to their first language or stumbles on a form we’ve encountered, I resist assigning blame; instead, I take it as my responsibility to enrich and diversify the input they receive. If a learner can’t yet perform a target-language task, I ask myself: Am I asking them to say a particular language chunk too early? Have I provided enough meaningful exposure? Have I created the right context for that structure to emerge? In this way, I truly serve as a gateway to their own language development. 

Forcing accuracy too soon only raises the affective filter. I’ve even had to “unschool” my own students—they come into my class believing that mistakes are bad and must be avoided. I work diligently to re-acculturate them to a culture that expects mistakes to happen in the language acquisition process, especially at the intermediate level of proficiency. Of course, even the best-designed lessons require active participation, and I acknowledge that some challenges lie beyond my control. Still, by viewing errors as natural waypoints on the path to fluency, I remain committed to tailoring experiences that guide each student toward genuine acquisition.

Transitioning from a grammar‐driven approach to one that “floods” students with rich, meaningful input has transformed how I view their progress. During a recent end‐of‐year proficiency assessment, one student effortlessly produced the phrase “ʻAʻohe mea e kuke ai”—a structure many learners typically struggle to “master.” I knew I had never taught that form explicitly. Curious, I later pointed out what she had said and asked if she could explain why it was constructed that way. She smiled and said, “No.” I then asked how she knew to say it so precisely. She paused, then replied, “I don’t know—I guess because you use it a lot in class.”

Her tentative answer confirmed a core insight of second‐language acquisition: when learners receive abundant, comprehensible input, the language builds up in the mind naturally, without conscious rule‐memorization. Every story I tell, every text they read, every recording they listen to, and every conversation we share becomes part of that input. While explicit grammar instruction can support an understanding of input, it cannot substitute for the deep, subconscious acquisition that occurs through the exposure to high-quality and high-quantity input. That student’s achievement reminds me that my role is to curate and deliver high‐quality input—then step back and let their brain’s language acquisition device do its thing. That was a celebration moment for me. We’re on the right track.

Sidebar: Affective-Filter Hypothesis

Stephen Krashens Affective Filter Hypothesis suggests that emotional variables—such as motivation, self-confidence, and anxiety—can influence the success of language acquisition. When learners are motivated, confident, and relaxed, their affective filter is low, allowing more comprehensible input to reach the language acquisition device in the brain. Conversely, when learners are anxious, unmotivated, or have low self-esteem, their affective filter is high, blocking input and hindering acquisition. [see Krashen, S. D. (1982). Principles and Practice in Second Language Acquisition. Pergamon Press.]

Sidebar: Comprehensible Input

Stephen Krashen’s Comprehensible Input Hypothesis holds that learners acquire language by understanding messages just beyond their current level. Grammar drills and corrections, by contrast, feel like “torture” and raise the affective filter—blocking acquisition. Input refers to language that learners hear or read within a communicative context. It is language that learners respond to for meaning, not for its form or structure (Krashen, 1982). 

Bill VanPatten reminds us that the core mechanisms underlying first language acquisition are the same as those involved in second language (VanPatten, 2017). Yet when we observe adult or late-childhood learners, we see additional hurdles, such as emotional self-consciousness, performance anxiety, even past educational trauma, that can slow or derail acquisition. If the underlying processes are the same, shouldn’t our teaching mirror how children naturally pick up their mother tongue?

One clear implication is that corrective drills, what Krashen calls “overt correction,” simply don’t work. Imagine a child saying, “He go-ed to school,” and an adult instantly replying, “No, he went to school.” That quick fix may patch a single utterance, but it doesn’t prompt the learner’s subconscious system to reorganize or internalize past-tense forms. Instead, what truly reshapes acquisition is rich, comprehensible input and subtle conversational recasts, which model the target form without stopping the flow of meaning. In this way, we honor both the shared foundations of language learning and the unique affective needs of second language (L2) learners, creating an environment where acquisition can flourish as naturally and joyfully as it does in childhood.

I’ve come to see that a correction is merely another piece of input—no different in essence from casually saying, “Oh, by the way, your mom went to the store.” Yet the learner’s reaction turns that moment into something very different. With young children, a gentle recast may register as neutral feedback. With older learners, however, it often sparks self-consciousness—“I made a mistake”—and allows anxiety to take hold.

This dynamic speaks directly to Krashen’s affective-filter hypothesis: any negative emotion or stress raises an internal barrier that slows or even blocks acquisition. In other words, overt corrections not only fail to “fix” errors on the spot, but can also impede the subconscious process we’re trying to nurture. As teachers, our goal should be to flood the class with rich, comprehensible input while keeping anxiety low—offering subtle recasts and modeling rather than halting meaning with direct corrections. In that way, we lower the affective filter and preserve the flow of effective acquisition.

One of the most persistent myths of language acquisition is that we acquire language by having it explained or demonstrated, then practicing repetitively until it ‘sinks in.’ It equates language learning with sports drills: just as you might break down a baseball swing into a series of mechanical steps—“elbow up, plant your foot, turn your hip,” then repeat hundreds of times—many assume grammar and vocabulary must be taught, memorized, and drilled until they “automatically” convert into fluent speech. But Dr. Bill VanPatten makes it clear that conscious, declarative knowledge (the “what” of rules) and subconscious, procedural acquisition (the “how” of real-time use) operate on parallel tracks—and one does not morph into the other through sheer repetition of rules. He states, “After four decades of L2 research, what has become crystal clear is that language in the mind brain is not built up from practice but from…consistent and constant exposure to input” (VanPatten, 2020).

Sidebar: VanPatten’s perspective on mistakes

Because Dr. VanPatten understands that language in the mind/brain is built through consistent, ongoing exposure to comprehensible input, and that language features are acquired in a predictable order, he believes that there are no such things as “mistakes” made by language learners. Rather, if a learner makes an utterance that is not native-like, then it is a symptom of not having enough robust input involving that feature. In this situation, the learner often reaches to their first language (L1) to construct something in the L2, which results in the non-native-like utterance. We see this in the Hawaiian immersion school community where students have been heard saying, “He aha kēlā no?” to mean, “What is that for?” rather than the native-like utterance, “I mea aha kēlā?” Most people simply attribute this to L1 interference and hence label it a ‘mistake.’ However, Dr VanPatten would attribute it to a lack of input in which “I mea aha kēlā?” is used in communicative contexts—not a mistake.

True acquisition emerges not from repetitive rule practice but from a constant flood of rich, comprehensible input: stories, conversations, readings, and meaningful exchanges that allow the brain’s acquisition device to build language internally. No matter how many drills you run, without that input “in communicative context,” fluency won’t follow. Instead of drilling forms, our task is to curate and deliver input so compelling that acquisition happens almost invisibly, much like learning your first language, only now applied with the insight of SLA research. 

Many believe that conscious grammar practice eventually becomes subconscious mastery, like memorizing batting mechanics until you can swing automatically. SLA research shatters this myth: declarative knowledge and procedural knowledge do not convert one to the other. Decades of data show drilling rules never creates fluency; only massive, meaningful input does. Teaching a beginner swimmer to recite physics before entering the pool does not lead to good swimming. We end up with a poor swimmer who can prove they “know” swimming on paper. Instead, we need to plunge learners into rich, communicative ʻōlelo—so acquisition can happen.

Outside of the tiny Niʻihau community, we have lost nearly all the native speakers of Hawaiian; only a handful remain, and even their voices persist mainly in archival recordings or formal interviews. Our learners inherit a version of ʻōlelo that’s been broken down into isolated grammar drills and diluted into vocabulary lists. Bill VanPatten reminds us that language’s complexity cannot be distilled into textbooks or explicit rules. Had we embraced comprehensible-input, proficiency-based teaching over the last four decades, it is reasonable to believe that our language would have a significantly higher number of fluent speakers than we have today. 

A growing sense of desperation has set in: we now speak a watered-down Hawaiian—a version shaped by successive generations of second-language learners who have prioritized grammatical accuracy over genuine communication, form over meaning. We strive for a more robust ʻōlelo, yet the reality is that much of its richness has been lost, in part because of the very methods meant to revive it. To preserve and recover the depth that remains, we must urgently transform the way we teach our language. We must change the culture of fear to speak that we have created with the hyper focus on accuracy. As I share this message throughout Hawaiʻi, countless people have expressed to me the paralyzing fear they have of saying something ungrammatical—a fear that was developed in the language classroom, and one that has nullified the sense of joy that is supposed to accompany a newfound ability to communicate in a new language, especially the language of one’s native land.

Glimpses of Joy and Liberation

There’s a profound sense of liberation when learners shed the weight of unrealistic expectations—those pressures born from archaic, academic‐style drills that assume mastery before it’s possible. Many of our ʻohana come to Hawaiian language study deeply motivated and eager to reclaim their ancestral connection, to speak words passed down through generations. Yet too often we greet that enthusiasm with the hardest possible path: dense grammar explanations, assessments of grammar mastery, and some of the least effective language pedagogy.

This approach inadvertently tells learners they’ve fallen short and lack the “academic gene” needed to succeed, reviving the very feelings of inadequacy our kūpuna once resisted under foreign schooling (Makekau-Whittaker, 2013). It transforms a gift from kūpuna into a nearly insurmountable hurdle, squashing the joy that should spring from connection, culture, and community. True liberation, I’ve learned, comes when we honor that motivation with environments rich in input and low on judgement, where real acquisition is facilitated rather than crushed under the glare of so-called academic perfection. When we understand language acquisition research, we make better choices as kumu to truly facilitate acquisition—and recognize that “mistakes” are a necessary part of the process. 

Sidebar: The Acquisition of Language – a subconscious process

• When it is happening, we do not know it.

• The brain is VERY good at acquiring language.

• Once we are done acquiring something we do not even know it is there.

• We have a language acquisition device (LAD)* and it is ALWAYS acquiring.

*Note: The concept of the LAD was first proposed by Noam Chomsky (1965).

I understand the impulse to guard ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi—against it becoming overly Anglicized in form and meaning, and against it being spoken by more foreigners than Kanaka. Again, I would argue that our pedagogy implemented to guard against these things has contributed to it more than it has guarded it. Our old, grammar-heavy approach has contributed to the mechanical, rule-focused use of Hawaiian rather than the complex, nuance-rich language that would be acquired in classrooms focused on broad and copious amounts of native-like input. The old method has also been less jarring for non-Hawaiian students but more traumatic for the very people whose kūpuna are the native speakers of the language. Unless we embrace research-based, acquisition-focused methods—ones that lower the affective filter and promote true acquisition—we risk doing a disservice to those who most need support. By creating equitable, stress-free classrooms grounded in how we actually acquire language, we can grow fluent speakers within our native community and ensure ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi thrives for generations.

Closing Message of Hope and Commitment

As we consider the path forward, let’s revisit our Hawaiian immersion schools for a model of what effective language acquisition can look like. These programs embody the very principles supported by decades of SLA research. Hawaiian is used as the medium of instruction across all subjects, creating constant opportunities for comprehensible input—language that is understandable and meaningful to the learner. Students acquire the language by using it in real communicative contexts, not by analyzing its parts. The focus remains squarely on meaning rather than structure, allowing fluency to emerge naturally through interaction and exposure. In fact, there is a purposeful avoidance of grammar instruction, especially in the early years, because the goal is for students to develop an internalized, intuitive sense of the language—just as children do with their first language. This approach affirms what research and real-life outcomes both show: that language is acquired through understanding messages, not through explanation and correction.

“Our brains are wired for language acquisition—given the right context and abundant, quality input, every learner can experience the joy and freedom of ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi.” As our entire K-12 campus here at Kamehameha Schools Hawaiʻi has committed to transition to proficiency-based language teaching, we have seen the exponential growth in the number of speakers of Hawaiian within the student body. We have seen the growth of joy in using Hawaiian (and, conversely, the decline of fear). The more I come to understand how humans acquire language based on SLA research, the more I am compelled to share with our Hawaiian language teaching and learning community throughout our islands. I am hopeful that by using the foundational research by Dr. Krashen, Dr. VanPatten, and others, our small Hawaiian community can make the paradigm shift necessary to propel our language revitalization efforts to greater success.

These are some of the resources I found valuable in my ongoing journey:

Tea with BVP (Bill VanPatten) podcast:

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/tea-with-bvp/id1053470460

Dr. Krashen’s webpage with free books and articles:

https://sdkrashen.com/

Video of a comprehensive presentation by Dr. Bill VanPatten: 

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7AsHYMEToB7gSRuN1WBRF4hL6QOSLagr&si=bI5nHBwH8RDdf0vJ 

Video presentation by Dr. Krashen to KSH language faculty: https://youtu.be/dFaF3A4sAyo?si=O83Z_vyX144Ea4_v

Book for classroom teachers by Dr. VanPatten:

VanPatten, B. (2017). While we’re on the topic: BVP on language, acquisition, and classroom practice. American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages.

Works Cited

Chomsky, N. (1965). Aspects of the theory of syntax (50th ed.). The MIT Press.

Krashen, S. D. (1982). Principles and practice in second language acquisition. Oxford: Pergamon Press.

Makekau-Whittaker, K. (2013). Lāhui naʻauao: Contemporary implications of Kanaka Maoli agency and educational advocacy during the kingdom period [Doctoral dissertation, University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa]. ScholarSpace. https://scholarspace.manoa.hawaii.edu/items/7edcdc62-100c-44f1-980f-f7e7e7db4e8f. 

VanPatten, B. (2017). While we’re on the topic: BVP on language, acquisition, and classroom practice. American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages.

VanPatten, B. [@LangueRenaissance]. (2020, October 28). Language acquisition and input - Dr. Bill VanPatten [Video]. YouTube. https://youtu.be/X1LRoKQzb9U