Australia is quietly opting out of Asia by opting out of languages. That’s not just bad for our kids’ curiosity; it’s bad for our economy, our diplomacy and, frankly, our midlife brains.

Where we are at (and how far we’ve slid)

If you want a single, sobering number, take this: in 2023 only 7.6% of Year 12

students were enrolled in a language subject. That’s 18,063 students nationwide,

down from 11.3% in 2010. In percentage terms, that’s a 32% drop in a little over a

decade, with steady falls in major Asian and European languages (Indonesian and Chinese have retreated sharply; French and German have tapered too).

Zoom out and it’s a longer slide. By 2022, roughly 8% of Year 12s graduated with a second language, down from roughly 40% in the 1960s. Yes, four zero. Many high-performing systems overseas expect near-universal language study through senior secondary; Australia does not. We still talk about “Asia literacy,” but the enrolment curve suggests we’re outsourcing it to Google Translate and good intentions.

Does this really feed Australian isolationism in Asia?

Short answer: yes. Culturally and commercially.

Culturally, attitudes toward our region have hardened. The Lowy Institute’s 2024–25 polling shows trust in China remains low and the sense of threat high; the public mood is wary, sometimes jumpy. Views of Indonesia and other Asian neighbours show nuance. Warmth is present but tempered by lingering stereotypes.

During the COVID pandemic, many Asian-Australians became targets of xenophobia, revealing deep-seated biases that emerge under stress. Language learning isn’t a magic wand to these issues, but it is one of the cheapest, most humanising ways to develop empathy and reduce caricatures. It’s hard to dehumanise people whose jokes you get.

Commercially, languages are not garnish; they’re infrastructure. Twelve of Australia’s largest fifteen trading partners are in Asia, and our export profile depends heavily on the region. Yet repeated Asialink analyses of corporate leadership find chronic “Asia capability” gaps, such as thin linguistic skills, weak market knowledge and sparse in-region experience. Translation: we sell to Asia, but we don’t always understand Asia, which is a risky business model.

Australia enjoys substantial trade with Asia (dominated by resources) but lacks the trade openness, breadth and diversification seen in many Asian and OECD peers. Australia lags behind countries that use regional value chains, manufacturing, and services to entrench more durable trade ties.

Diversifying beyond a handful of commodities and a handful of relationships requires deeper trust, and trust is built faster when someone on your side can negotiate terms, read the room and make the small talk in the other party’s language. It’s astonishing how often “We couldn’t quite get the deal over the line” translates to “We didn’t have the right people in the room.”

Why this is bad for Aussie business (and our kids’ careers)

It’s a long list but here is a summary:

Deals and efficiency. Language proficiency reduces friction and misunderstanding. These are two things that quietly kill margins. Boards and executives lacking Asia experience and language skills underperform on “relationship” metrics that matter in the region.

Talent and opportunity. Graduates with credible Indonesian, Mandarin, Japanese or Vietnamese instantly stand out. Even intermediate proficiency signals curiosity, grit and cultural agility, traits that AI doesn’t fake well and employer’s prize. (Austrade has doubled down with Asialink to lift business capability precisely because the talent gap is real.)

Risk management. If your risk register mentions “geopolitics,” you should want more bilinguals on payroll. They read more sources, catch nuance earlier and maintain wider networks.

“But we all speak English” (and other comforting myths)

While English continues to dominate globally, particularly as a second language, its share is being challenged. Chinese (Mandarin) leads in native speakers and continues to grow thanks to demographic and geopolitical factors. Spanish holds steady with remarkable cultural and demographic momentum, especially across the Americas.

English remains unrivalled as the global lingua franca, especially in professional,

digital, and diplomatic domains. Speaking English as a native language is a clear

advantage (even though it might lead to complacency when it comes to learning a

second language). But it doesn’t replace the trust, nuance and access languages

confer. AI sure helps, but translators miss context, humour and tone, which are the exact ingredients that make deals and friendships stick. Multilingual capability is a strategic hedge in a messy world, not a lifestyle accessory.

What this has to do with midlife men (yes, us)

There are two obvious angles: mental health and leadership.

Picking up a second language is evidence-based exercise for the mind. Meta-

analyses and systematic reviews (the sober kind, not wellness-blog confetti) link

bilingualism to cognitive reserve and, in some studies, delayed onset of dementia

symptoms. Results aren’t uniform -science rarely is- but the weight of evidence says it’s a good bet for brain health. Add the social connection dividend (classes,

language exchanges, travel) and you’ve got a low-cost, high-upside habit.

When it comes to leadership, our kids copy what we do, not what we post

(unfortunately). If we want a more confident, connected Australia in Asia, we can’t subcontract that to schools alone. We can model curiosity, humility, and the

willingness to sound ridiculous in another language.

Practical steps for us and our families

Big deep breath. Here are some things we can consider to turn this situation around.

1. Pick one language tied to people, not perfection.

Indonesian, Japanese, Mandarin and Vietnamese all open doors in our

neighbourhood. If you’ve got family heritage in Italian or Greek, that counts too. Identity fuels persistence. (Plus the hard data shows Indonesian and Chinese have taken some of the steepest enrolment hits; reversing that is strategically smart.)

2. Commit to a 90-day “micro-immersion.”

Daily 20 minutes. Use an app for streaks; use a tutor for speaking. Apps are the

treadmill; tutors are the coach. After week two, bias toward conversation (even if

your grammar looks like a dropped lasagne).

3. Join a real community.

Alliance Française, Goethe-Institut, the Japan Foundation, community language

schools, Indonesian conversation groups. Anything with faces, community and

accountability. Social connection isn’t fluff; the World Health Organisation just

called it a global health priority.

4. Make it a family project.

For kids: push for sustained language pathways at school (and ask principals what happens after Year 8). Encourage Year 12 continuation; it’s the drop-off that kills us. Share the national picture, and ask whether your school wants to be average. For teens: dangle real incentives. An overseas trip, a homestay, or (more cunning) exclusive control over ordering at the family’s favourite restaurant in the target language.

5. Put languages in your business plan.

Recruit for them. Pay for them. Measure them. If Asia is a line in your strategy

deck, languages must be a line in your headcount plan. Give rising managers a

budget to reach CEFR A2/B1 within a year in one target market language. Your

procurement and sales teams will thank you when misunderstandings halve and

goodwill doubles.

6. Use your network.

If you mentor younger blokes, ask two questions: “Which Asian market are you

curious about?” and “Which language will you put on your LinkedIn by Christmas?” Then follow up, ruthlessly but kindly.

7. Make it fun … and a bit ridiculous.

Comedy sketches on YouTube in Japanese, Indonesian football commentary,

Mandarin cooking channels, Vietnamese karaoke. The day you laugh in the

language is the day you stick with it.

A note on policy (and why our voices matter)

Australia’s language participation will not fix itself. The ACARA numbers show a decade of erosion, and tertiary cuts follow secondary declines like night follows day. But policy responds to demand and noise. When parents ask schools about senior language options (and when employers reward language skills) provision grows. It’s not mysterious; it’s market signals in a schoolyard.

A challenge respectfully issued

We midlife men are very good at announcing bold plans over flat whites and then

discovering it’s somehow already 2030. So, here’s a modest, testable plan:

By the end of this month:

Choose a language. Book a first lesson. Tell someone, so you can’t quietly opt out.

In 90 days:

Hold a five-minute conversation with a native speaker without English. It will be

messy. That’s the point.

In six months:

Read a short article or watch a news clip and summarise it for your family.

In twelve months:

Sit an online proficiency test (A2/B1). Post the result. Yes, even if it’s ugly.

Bone-dry truth

The bar is on the floor. With only one in thirteen Year 12s studying a language and corporate Australia still undercooked on Asia capability, any bloke who can order lunch, negotiate delivery terms, and crack a dad joke in Bahasa Indonesia will look like a unicorn. And the side effects, including better cognition, broader empathy, stronger social ties, beat most midlife fads that involve lycra. 

Australia doesn’t need every one of us to be interpreters. It does need more of us to signal (at home, at work, in schools) that languages matter. The next decade can be a further slide into comfortable monolingualism, or it can be the moment we relearn the art of meeting our neighbours halfway. Pick a phrasebook and a bit of courage.

Asia’s not that far; it’s just a conversation we’ve been avoiding.

A multilingual bonus pack

When I decided to write this article, I started looking at how the phrase “Don’t let the old man in” translates into different languages. What’s striking is how each language leans toward “old age” (aging) rather than “old man”, because metaphorically, that’s how some cultures frame decline. In English, it’s personal, blunt. In other tongues, it often becomes a broader metaphor about life and age itself. More philosophical, sometimes lyrical.

Try these on for size, and if you have a better or alternative translation, please drop me a note at stephen.keys@thewisdomvault.org. I would be super interested to hear from you:

Não deixe a velhice entrar na sua vida

别让衰老进入你的生活

老いを心に入れるな

Jangan biarkan usia tua masuk ke dalam hidupmu

Ne laisse pas la vieillesse entrer dans ta vie

Lass das Alter nicht in dein Leben hinein

Μην αφήσεις τα γηρατειά να μπουν στη ζωή σου

Не впускай старость в свою жизнь

No dejes que la vejez entre en tu vida

لا تدع الشيخوخة تدخل حياتك

Non lasciare che la vecchiaia entri nella tua vita

बुढ़ापा अपनी ज़िंदगी में मत आने दो