by Irene So
From the golden era of Cantopop to today’s trilingual pressures, Irene asks whether Cantonese is fading, and what it will take to sustain it.
I spent most of my childhood in the backseat of my mother’s car, watching the world blur past to the velvet-like baritone voice of Leslie Cheung. I couldn’t always understand the lyrics to Jeui and Monica, but they felt special. Whether we were driving to family dinners or to the grocery store, Leslie Cheung’s sentimental ballads and buoyant songs were always playing. I grew up humming along, unaware that the golden era he belonged to would, in fact, have an expiration date.
Later, when I tried to recall those lyrics, the words felt heavier. I realised then that the effortless flow of Cantonese I took for granted in the backseat was now slipping away, and prompted me to ask: Was Cantonese potentially becoming an endangered language?
The Language That Shapes Us
Before answering, I had to understand why Cantonese was so special. In everyday conversations, Cantonese is my default language in which I think, speak, and write. With its complex phonetic system, consisting of nine tones, a single sound has different meanings. It is also flexible, directly translating colloquialisms into English words, like “laugh die me” and “add oil”. Even the Hong Kong English accent, like pronouncing a “th” as “d”, reflects us uniquely.
Cantonese is more than a way to speak; it’s part of our identity. In the 1980s, during Hong Kong’s cultural boom, people wanted songs, movies, and stories told in their own language. Artists like Paula Tsui, Anita Mui, and Sam Hui made music that blended Western pop with Cantonese lyricism, which was the pride of locals.
Cantonese shaped our education too. After World War II, waves of immigrants from the Chinese mainland settled in Hong Kong, and teaching in Cantonese became the norm. Even now, universities research its phonetics and grammar, creating formal, definitive codification systems like “jyutping”, a romanisation system for Cantonese to standardise pronunciation. International conferences are even held just to study Cantonese linguistics.
So why, despite all the attention it receives, am I so concerned that it might fade?
The Space for Cantonese
The first reason is cultural change. Back in the 80s and 90s, Hong Kong culture was everywhere. People across Asia watched our films and listened to our music. Being fluent in Cantonese was almost trendy. But now, global streaming platforms and K-pop have changed what young people listen to and watch. Even local artists sometimes sing in English or Mandarin to reach larger audiences. Hong Kong’s new concert spaces, like Kai Tak Stadium, host stars from around the world, and our local music scene no longer dominates as it once did.
The second reason is the language shift. Between 1997 and 2021, around 1.12 million residents moved from the mainland to Hong Kong, increasing the number of native Mandarin speakers in Hong Kong by 99.4% over 20 years. As the official language of China, it has become necessary for business, economic, and career advancement, especially in the Greater Bay Area. What does this mean for Cantonese in public life?
The third reason is Hong Kong’s identity as an international metropolis. English is often used in prestigious schools as it’s linked to better employment prospects. Many young people also now use English on social media and digital platforms. With the government’s Biliterate and Trilingual Policy, which emphasises written Chinese and English, as well as spoken Cantonese, Mandarin, and English, Cantonese might find itself squeezed between two powerful languages.
Fourth, there are shifts on the home front. Children instinctively switch between Mandarin and English when seeking fluency in speech, while parents and grandparents have a difficult time. I’ve come to realise that the loss of native proficiency is what makes Cantonese more our “grandmother tongue” than our “mother tongue”.
Finally, I think it is how we talk about Cantonese. If we keep labelling Cantonese as a dying language, usage will decrease, and negative psychological impacts will increase. So instead of asking, “Is Cantonese dying?” we should be asking: “What can we do to keep it alive?”
Keeping It Alive
To me, the answer starts with pride and creativity. Cantonese language cafes and Duolingo courses can be encouraged. Writing competitions for stories or melodies could be held. Intergenerational service projects could be organised for youth to practice spoken Cantonese with their elders.
When our parents teach us how to mutter our first words as a baby, they are passing on the strength of their culture and the voices of their ancestors to us. We inherit a language by speaking it, thinking in it and writing it. We inherit a language by practising the values that accompany it. And by passing it on, we preserve the culture that shaped us. Keeping Cantonese alive is something every speaker can do.
As Christine Johnson, a Tohono O’odham elder recognised for her work in indigenous language preservation, once said, “I speak my favourite language because that’s who I am. We teach our children our favourite language because we want them to know who they are.”
Maybe that’s the best way to think about it. Cantonese isn’t just a language; it is Hong Kong’s heartbeat. When we speak it, we don’t just preserve words; we keep alive the rhythm, warmth, and humour that make this city home. ■
Irene So is a secondary four student from Diocesan Girls’ School. She’s passionate about music, doing service, and travelling to culturally diverse destinations. She hopes to inspire, uplift, and empower like-minded people to connect with local communities and contribute in their own ways.