The main message of the text is that the American Dream is fundamentally flawed because it demands cultural erasure and assimilation to a narrow, white American identity. Jiang argues that as long as racial hierarchies and exclusionary definitions of “American” persist, the American Dream remains inaccessible to many – particularly immigrants and people of colour.

Jiang uses several language features and structural techniques to make her argument both personal and persuasive.

First, she employs personal anecdotes throughout the text. She opens by recalling how her classmates in China admired her family’s move to America, and later describes being labelled “that Chinese immigrant student.” These first-person examples make her argument concrete and relatable, allowing the reader to connect emotionally with her experience.

Second, Jiang makes effective use of contrast. She juxtaposes the idealised image of America – “where prosperity prospers, where opportunity abounds” – with the harsh reality of exclusion and stereotyping. This tricolon (“prosperity prospers”, “opportunity abounds”, “wealth and education command respect”) initially builds up the dream before the text systematically dismantles it.

Third, she uses concession as a rhetorical strategy. By acknowledging that “the essence of the American dream is commendable” and that she appreciates “the successes many have accomplished,” Jiang demonstrates balanced reasoning before delivering her critique. This makes her argument more credible.

Finally, Jiang uses increasingly loaded language as the text progresses. She moves from describing American culture as superficial and toxic, to naming the systemic harms she sees – ignorance, prejudice that pushes people to the margins, social amnesia, and the cultural erasure of immigrant communities. This escalation of weighty, accusatory vocabulary creates an intensifying sense of injustice. The structural movement from personal narrative to political statement culminates in a direct call to action: a collective effort to dismantle the arbitrary racial hierarchy. This shift from “I” to “we” transforms her individual experience into a collective responsibility.

Schools across the world are increasingly banning mobile phones, and the reasons behind this trend are both academic and social.

One of the primary reasons, as highlighted in the New York Times article, is that phones are a major distraction in the classroom. Students are constantly interrupted by text messages and social media notifications, which undermines their ability to concentrate on lessons and group work. Studies have even identified nomophobia – the fear of being without one’s phone – as a factor that impairs learning. When teachers report that phone bans have improved students’ concentration and participation, it becomes clear that the devices compete directly with education for students’ attention.

However, the issue goes beyond academics. The illustration powerfully captures the emotional toll of social media: a girl who appears happy and popular online (with 10,000 likes) is in reality crying. This contrast highlights how phones enable a culture of performance and comparison that damages students’ mental health and self-esteem. When this dynamic plays out in a school setting, it can lead to cyberbullying, social pressure, and anxiety – issues that are difficult for teachers to manage when every student has a phone in their pocket.

I believe that school phone bans make sense as a way to protect both the learning environment and students’ wellbeing. While phones are useful tools, the classroom should be a space where young people can be present, engage with each other face-to-face, and take a break from the constant pressure of online life. The NYT article notes that bans have also been linked to reductions in phone-related bullying and fights, which suggests that removing the devices helps create a safer school culture.

The Global Reach of English: Influence, Access, and Imbalance

English has become the world’s dominant lingua franca, shaping not only how people communicate but also what information they consume, what opinions they form, and which voices are heard. The YouGov survey presented in the exam material offers a striking illustration of this phenomenon, revealing that 50–67% of respondents across nine countries perceive a significant American influence on “language and the way people talk.” But the question of whether this influence is positive or problematic deserves careful consideration.

On one hand, the spread of English has facilitated an unprecedented exchange of information across borders. Scientific research, international diplomacy, business communication, and digital media all rely heavily on English as a common language. This enables people from vastly different linguistic backgrounds to share knowledge, collaborate, and participate in global conversations. For a Norwegian student, for instance, the ability to read English opens the door to academic journals, news sources, and cultural products that would otherwise be inaccessible.

On the other hand, the dominance of English creates significant imbalances. As the YouGov survey shows, American influence extends far beyond language itself – it shapes news media (47–65% see substantial US influence), political culture (31–44%), and consumer brands (52–73%). When English is the primary language of global information exchange, English-speaking perspectives – particularly American ones – are disproportionately amplified. Non-English speakers may find their viewpoints marginalised, and local languages may absorb English words and phrases in ways that dilute cultural identity. Italy’s recent legislation against “Anglomania” in official communications illustrates how seriously some nations take this linguistic encroachment.

Furthermore, the survey reveals an interesting nuance: concern about American linguistic influence is relatively consistent across countries, ranging from 15% in Spain to 29% in Sweden. Even France, which has a centuries-old institution dedicated to preserving the purity of the French language, shows only 20% concern – suggesting that while people notice the influence, most do not view it as excessive. This may indicate that many people have accepted English as a practical tool rather than viewing it as a cultural threat.

From my own perspective, the influence of English on global information exchange is a double-edged sword. It is undeniably useful to have a common language that enables cross-cultural communication, and the alternative – linguistic fragmentation – would make international cooperation far more difficult. However, we must also be critical consumers of information. When most of the content we encounter online is produced in English by American or British media, we risk developing a skewed worldview that underrepresents perspectives from other cultures and languages.

In conclusion, the English language’s influence on global information exchange is extensive and complex. It serves as a bridge that connects people across cultures, but it can also function as a barrier that privileges certain voices over others. The key lies in being aware of this dynamic and actively seeking out diverse perspectives, rather than passively accepting the English-language mainstream as the default lens through which we view the world.

Code-Switching in Advertising: Creativity or Exclusion?

In an increasingly globalised world, advertisements frequently blend languages to reach diverse audiences. This practice, known as code-switching, has become a deliberate marketing strategy. But is it acceptable for advertisements in public spaces to mix languages? Drawing on the provided material, I will argue that code-switching in advertising can be both effective and problematic, depending on its purpose and execution.

Nahla Davies, in her article on code-switching in global advertising, presents a largely positive view. She argues that when brands alternate between languages, they perform a careful balancing act between what feels familiar and what feels new, allowing them to engage different parts of the audience on a personal level. Hearing one’s native language in an advertisement, she suggests, prompts a sense of belonging and identity that makes the message more memorable. From this perspective, code-switching is not only acceptable but desirable – it builds bridges between cultures and creates a more inclusive marketplace.

The Dr Pepper billboard from Mexico illustrates this approach well. By combining English brand language with Spanish words (“23 sabores”, “inconfundible”), the advertisement acknowledges the bilingual reality of its Mexican audience while maintaining the brand’s American identity. For consumers who navigate between English and Spanish daily, this kind of advertising feels natural and relatable.

The McDonalds advertisement from Sweden takes a more playful approach. It addresses parents in English but inserts key Swedish words (“beställas enligt tallriksmodellen”, “affisch”, “bolåneränta”) to create humour. The joke – that parents should tell their children the ad is about mortgage interest rates rather than Happy Meals – relies on the assumption that children are less likely to understand the Swedish terms. This clever use of code-switching creates an in-group experience for bilingual adults, making the ad feel exclusive and witty rather than alienating.

However, there are valid concerns about code-switching in advertising in public spaces. Public advertisements are seen by everyone, regardless of linguistic background. When a billboard assumes that its audience understands two languages, it risks excluding those who speak only one. In a multicultural society, this can reinforce existing linguistic hierarchies – particularly when English is one of the languages used, given its global dominance. Furthermore, the use of code-switching by multinational corporations could be seen as a form of cultural commodification, where languages and cultural identities are reduced to marketing tools designed to increase brand loyalty and profit.

There is also the question of authenticity. When a global corporation like McDonalds or Dr Pepper uses code-switching, it is a calculated business strategy, not a genuine expression of bilingual identity. This is fundamentally different from the everyday code-switching practiced by bilingual individuals in their daily lives. Some might argue that corporate code-switching appropriates a natural linguistic phenomenon for commercial gain.

In conclusion, I believe that code-switching in advertising is generally acceptable, provided that it is done thoughtfully and respectfully. The examples from the material show that it can create engaging, inclusive, and culturally aware advertisements. However, advertisers must be mindful of their audience and avoid assuming universal bilingualism. At its best, code-switching in advertising reflects and celebrates linguistic diversity; at its worst, it can exclude or commodify the very communities it claims to include.

Breaking the Mould: Gender Confinement in Adichie and Ibsen

In her speech “We Should All Be Feminists,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie shares personal experiences of how she has been confined by her gender, and how the very word “feminist” carries heavy, negative baggage. Her account resonates powerfully with the struggles of Nora Helmer in Henrik Ibsen’s play A Doll’s House (1879), as both women confront a society that limits their potential based on gender.

Adichie’s most vivid example of gender confinement comes from her childhood experience in primary school. Despite scoring the highest on a test, she was denied the position of class monitor because the role was assumed to belong to a boy. The teacher had treated this as self-evident – revealing how deeply gendered expectations are embedded in everyday life. Adichie was ambitious and eager for the role, whereas the boy who received it was a mild-natured child with no interest in policing his classmates. The irony highlights how gender roles harm everyone: Adichie is denied opportunity, while the boy is assigned a role that does not suit him.

Similarly, Nora Helmer in A Doll’s House is confined by the gender expectations of 19th-century Norwegian society. Throughout the play, she is treated as a charming but childish figure by her husband Torvald, who calls her his “little skylark” and “squirrel.” Like Adichie’s teacher, Torvald assumes that certain roles and capabilities are “obviously” gendered – women are decorative and domestic, while men handle serious matters like finances and morality. However, Nora has secretly taken out a loan to save her husband’s life, demonstrating intelligence and agency that her gender role does not allow her to claim publicly.

Another striking parallel lies in how both women navigate the negative labelling that comes with challenging gender norms. Adichie describes how being called a feminist was framed as if it were an accusation as serious as supporting terrorism. She was told that feminists were bitter women who could not find husbands and that feminism did not belong to African culture. With characteristic humour, Adichie responds by piling qualifiers onto the label – she is a happy feminist, an African feminist, one who does not hate men and who enjoys her lip gloss. This tongue-in-cheek escalation satirises the impossible standards placed on women who dare to advocate for equality.

Nora faces a similar, though more devastating, form of labelling. When Torvald discovers what she has done, he calls her “a hypocrite, a liar” and tells her she is unfit to raise their children. His reaction reveals that any deviation from the prescribed female role is met not with understanding but with punishment. Nora’s final act – leaving her husband, children, and home – was shocking to 19th-century audiences precisely because it challenged the “obvious” assumption that a woman’s place is in the home.

The key difference between Adichie and Nora lies in their respective contexts and responses. Adichie writes from a position of public empowerment – she has claimed the word “feminist” on her own terms and uses humour and storytelling to disarm its negative connotations. Nora, by contrast, exists in a world where no such public platform is available. Her rebellion is a solitary, dramatic act: the slamming of a door. Yet both women arrive at the same essential insight – that the roles assigned to them by their gender are arbitrary, limiting, and must be questioned.

In conclusion, both Adichie’s speech and Ibsen’s play demonstrate that gender confinement operates through assumptions presented as “obvious” truths. Whether it is a Nigerian primary school or a Norwegian bourgeois home, the mechanism is the same: women are denied agency, ambition, and recognition based on their gender, and those who resist are labelled and punished. Adichie’s modern voice and Nora’s 19th-century rebellion remind us that the struggle for gender equality is both historically deep and urgently contemporary.

Pain, Poverty, and Grace: An Analysis of “Victory” by Sherman Alexie

Sherman Alexie’s poem “Victory” tells the story of a twelve-year-old boy who shoplifts a pair of basketball shoes because his family cannot afford them. Through this seemingly simple narrative, Alexie explores themes of poverty, guilt, moral integrity, and the redemptive power of a father’s love. The poem is deeply rooted in Native American experience, yet its emotional core is universal.

The title itself invites analysis. What “victory” does the poem describe? On the surface, there is no triumph here – the boy steals, suffers, and confesses. Yet the real victory may be moral: the boy chooses physical pain over the guilt of keeping stolen goods, and ultimately chooses honesty over secrecy when he confesses to his father. In a broader sense, the “victory” is the survival of dignity and love in the face of grinding poverty.

The poem’s narrative follows a clear arc. The opening establishes the context with devastating simplicity: the family cannot afford the shoes any other way. This matter-of-fact framing places poverty at the centre of the poem without sentimentality. The stolen Nikes, a symbol of the consumer culture the boy’s family is excluded from, immediately become sources of overwhelming guilt – a feeling Alexie hammers home through triple repetition that conveys the moral weight the boy carries.

Alexie employs mock-heroic apostrophes throughout the poem, addressing the shoes themselves as if they were noble objects, lamenting them as immoral and as instruments of paranoia and regret, and crying out to the boy’s own blistered, bloody feet. These exclamations echo the elevated language of classical poetry, creating a deliberate contrast with the mundane reality of a child playing basketball in cheap shoes. This tonal contrast produces both humour and pathos – the boy’s suffering is real, but Alexie frames it with a wry awareness that transforms pain into art.

Religious imagery pervades the poem and deepens its thematic complexity. The boy throws the shoes into the river and hopes that this gesture will be enough to satisfy God, suggesting a childlike understanding of sin and penance. This imagery culminates in the final stanza, where the father gives his son’s wounds a long, mock-sacred title combining the boy’s Indigenous identity, his poverty, basketball and the Christian stigmata. The reference to the wounds of Christ elevates the boy’s blistered feet into a symbol of sacrificial suffering, while the explicit mention of his racial and class position connects that suffering to systemic inequality. The boy’s pain is not just personal; it is the embodied consequence of conditions imposed on him.

The father-son relationship is perhaps the poem’s most powerful element. When the boy confesses, the father does not respond with anger but with tears of shame – shame directed not at the boy but at the circumstances that forced a child to steal. The father then takes the boy into his arms, rocking him and naming him with a tender, ironic nickname that links basketball to Jesus. This nickname transforms the boy’s ordeal into something sacred. The father recognises that each cry of pain is part of a larger musical pattern – a beautiful metaphor that reframes suffering as music, as something with structure and meaning. The use of a musical term echoes the mock-heroic apostrophes, reinforcing the poem’s strategy of dignifying ordinary pain through elevated language.

In conclusion, “Victory” is a deeply moving poem that uses humour, religious imagery, and tender family relationships to explore poverty and moral growth. The true victory is not athletic but emotional and spiritual: a boy learns that honesty matters more than shoes, and a father responds not with anger but with love. Alexie shows that even in conditions of deprivation, there is grace – in a father’s embrace, in the music of pain, and in the stubborn refusal to let poverty define one’s moral character.