Rafia Tasafi

Synthesis Essay

When we open Netflix or any streaming platform, the first thing we usually see is English-language content—Hollywood blockbusters, American sitcoms, and British dramas filling the home page. It is difficult to name many artistically valuable works from non-English media without deliberately searching for them. English films and shows dominate popular culture, and Hollywood celebrities are recognized worldwide. This overwhelming visibility raises a larger question: why does English-language entertainment continue to receive the global spotlight while equally rich and creative works in other languages remain in the background? The dominance of English in global media is not accidental; it reflects deep historical, cultural, and economic forces that have shaped how stories are produced, distributed, and valued across the world.

The global dominance of English in media and entertainment has deep historical roots. Scholars such as Robert Phillipson and Alastair Pennycook trace this linguistic power back to colonial expansion, where English spread through political, educational, and economic control rather than cultural neutrality. Phillipson calls this system “linguistic imperialism,” arguing that English continues to sustain global inequality by positioning itself as the language of opportunity and prestige (Phillipson 45). Pennycook adds that this dominance extends beyond communication—it shapes how capitalism and media operate, determining which cultures are seen and heard (Pennycook 22). Over time, English evolved from a colonial tool into the world’s default language for business, diplomacy, and entertainment. As Braj Kachru explains, English became “the language of wider communication” and a marker of social and professional status (Kachru 18).

Although Netflix promotes itself as a space for diverse voices, statistics reveal that English content still dominates global viewership and investment. Between June 2021 and December 2022, non-English television shows accounted for only 38% of the most popular titles by viewing hours across 53 countries (Clares-Gavilán et al.). In the U.S., audience demand for foreign-language content represented just 13.6% as of early 2024 (Parrot Analytics).

Category (2022–2024)	English-Language Content	Non-English Content	Source
Global top titles (by viewing hours, 2021–2022)	62%	38%	Clares-Gavilán et al., 2023
U.S. audience demand (Q1 2024)	86.4%	13.6%	Parrot Analytics, 2024
Netflix Originals (U.S. market, 2022)	89.2%	10.8%	Parrot Analytics, 2022

(Data compiled from Clares-Gavilán et al., 2023; Parrot Analytics, 2022–2024.)

The dominance of English in global entertainment reinforces existing economic hierarchies by concentrating profit and visibility in Anglophone industries. Robert Phillipson argues that English maintains “a global hierarchy of communication” in which those who control English also control access to economic and cultural resources (Phillipson 45). Streaming platforms like Netflix extend this hierarchy into the digital age. As recent data show, more than sixty percent of the most-watched Netflix titles worldwide between 2021 and 2022 were in English, while non-English programs made up only 38 percent of viewing hours (Clares-Gavilán et al.). This imbalance translates directly into market advantage: English-language productions attract more investment, distribution deals, and advertising revenue. Poonam Kumar notes that “English functions as the primary currency of global entertainment, determining which creative industries thrive and which remain regionally confined” (Kumar 49). In this way, language becomes an instrument of economic control, shaping who profits from global storytelling and who remains on the margins.

Beyond profit, English dominance shapes how the world defines creativity and success. When a new show releases on Netflix, its visibility often depends on whether it’s produced or marketed in English. Think about how Squid Game or Money Heist became international hits only after being translated, subtitled, and heavily promoted in English-speaking media. Before that, they were mostly local successes. This shows what Alastair Pennycook describes as the “discursive power of English,” where the language doesn’t just communicate—it legitimizes what counts as global culture (Pennycook 22). Even when non-English stories finally break through, they often do so by adapting to English audiences, either through dubbing, subtitles, or cultural framing. As Judith Clares-Gavilán and her colleagues note, Netflix’s so-called “global” strategy still centers English as the default reference point for international storytelling (Clares-Gavilán et al.). Braj Kachru once wrote that English acts as a “passport to modernity” (Kachru 18), and that idea still fits. To be seen on the world stage, most creators have to pass through English first.

The dominance of English also translates directly into concentrated economic power. Most of the world’s largest media conglomerates—Disney, Warner Bros., Netflix, and Universal—operate in English-speaking countries, and that gives them control over global distribution networks. Amanda Lotz points out that these companies “own the pipelines through which international media flows,” which means even when content originates elsewhere, its circulation depends on English-based infrastructure (Lotz 525). The result is a feedback loop: English-speaking markets attract the most investment because they promise global visibility, and global visibility depends on those same markets. Poonam Kumar explains that English functions like “the currency of cultural trade,” allowing certain nations to dominate not just storytelling but also the economic systems behind it (Kumar 53). This system impacts creative labor, too—producers, writers, and actors often learn English not for art but for survival, knowing that global success and higher pay are more likely if they can perform in English. What appears to be an open marketplace for global creativity is, in reality, a highly stratified economy built on linguistic privilege.

The global spread of English media has created an illusion of cultural diversity while quietly narrowing what audiences consume. When Netflix advertises “international content,” the label itself shows the imbalance—English is the norm, and everything else is “international.” The irony is that these platforms rely on non-English creators to appear inclusive while still filtering their visibility through English-speaking markets. Amanda Lotz points out that “the globalization of entertainment remains guided by the economics of English-language media ownership” (Lotz 520). What looks like cultural exchange often ends up as cultural translation—foreign creativity repackaged for English-speaking viewers. This pattern flattens local nuance, humor, and history into something globally palatable. It is easy to celebrate a hit like Squid Game as a win for representation, yet the subtitling and marketing decisions behind it remind us that even success depends on English framing.

Behind streaming statistics and media profits are individuals navigating identity through translation. For immigrants, multilingual speakers, and international students, English fluency can open opportunities but also blur self-expression. Amy Tan describes how her mother’s “broken English” shaped how others judged her intelligence, even though her ideas were vivid and complete (Tan 64). That story echoes on a global scale: entire cultures are often seen as less sophisticated simply because their stories aren’t told in English. Language becomes not only a tool for communication but also a measurement of value. When the world treats one language as superior, others are forced to bend, adjust, or disappear.

If English has become the default voice of global storytelling, the question now is whether that dominance can shift toward true multilingualism. Some progress is visible. Non-English shows are breaking records, and subtitles no longer scare away younger audiences. Platforms like Netflix and Disney+ are beginning to invest in regional productions with their own languages and stars. Yet the balance remains uneven. As Robert Phillipson warns, without structural change, English will “continue to colonize the mind through its economic power” (Phillipson 102). The solution requires more than translating shows—it means redefining success metrics, funding local storytellers, and encouraging audiences to step outside linguistic comfort zones. The internet has the reach to make this happen; it’s the will of industries and viewers that still lags.

English will likely remain a global language, but its dominance does not have to silence others. True cultural exchange happens when languages meet as equals, not when one speaks for all. The stories that move us most—whether whispered in Bengali, Spanish, or Korean—carry truths that translation can’t always capture. Recognizing that value is the first step toward a fairer global media landscape. As audiences, choosing to explore non-English work is a small but powerful act of resistance. Every view, every click, every conversation that reaches beyond English helps rewrite the global narrative—one where language is not a barrier or a hierarchy but a chorus of voices shaping the world together.