p. 485). They therefore discuss the persistence of the perspective of “language problems”
faced by “developing” nations, particularly in Africa and Asia, including within
international organizations established to protect cultures and languages, such as
UNESCO. This “monoglot ideology of one language–one nation … contributed to shape a
school literacy perspective about Africa, and vice versa, turning Africa and illiteracy into
synonyms,” with the consequence that “multilingual experiences are reduced to ideas of
weakness and lackness” (p. 486). For this reason, Makoni, Severo, and Abdelhay
conclude that “postcolonial approaches to LPP should consider the problems connected
to the management of multilingualism by postcolonial elites or the ways in which former
colonial powers have used cultural aspects of language to legitimize continued influence
(p. 487).”
It is precisely for this reason that Freire's voice is particularly significant for studies on
the decolonization of education, since as early as the 1970s he advocated the use of
national languages within formal education as a necessary condition for the completion
of the struggle for independence. Likewise, he argued for the immediate valorization of
indigenous languages from a perspective of linguistic equality, rejecting the continued
hierarchical ordering of languages established under colonial rule. What is particularly
intriguing in this article, however, is that Amílcar Cabral's own discourse of national
liberation was subsequently invoked by his political successors to justify the maintenance
of the colonial language as the only legitimate language of education.
Timorese students in Portugal during the 1970s had access to the revolutionary ideas of
Amílcar Cabral. However, since the discussion proposed here concerns the language used
in decolonial education, this article takes Paulo Freire’s theory and method as its primary
framework. His influence likewise extends to Timor-Leste (Urban & Santiago, 2022). One
of the major contributions that Freire’s writings can offer to the Timorese context lies in
his self-assessments of the literacy experiences he conducted and the theories he put
into practice in African countries that were former Portuguese colonies.
According to Fernandes (1998) and Saul (1998) these experiences were largely limited
to adult literacy and non-formal education: cultural action, cultural animation, popular
education, adult education, and informal education. The guiding principle of these
programs was that “educational work began within popular culture and sought to
innovate pathways of access to scientific and technical knowledge that did not originate
from popular culture” (Fernandes, 1998, p. 127), much as Cabral had previously
envisioned. Popular culture occupies a central place in Paulo Freire’s method, and “the
school should also be a centre for the dissemination of popular culture, not in order to
consume it, but to recreate it,” as Saul (1998, p. 157) explains. In Freire (2011) adult
literacy is understood as “the critical and creative participation of the people in the
process of reinventing their society,” once freed from prolonged colonial domination.
Political education, therefore, is the means through which responsibility for the future is
placed in the hands of the people themselves. As Freire argues, it is necessary that:
“adult literacy and post-literacy programs, at the service of national reconstruction,
contribute to enabling the people, increasingly taking their history into their own hands,
to remake themselves in the making of History” (Freire, 2011, p. 53). Thus, every literacy
program implemented in newly independent countries was conceived not merely as a
method for reading words but also for reading the world and the people’s history. Adult