The Last Generation

This post was originally published on October 31, 2017 under a different site.

During a gathering of deaf academics last week, I had a conversation with a Danish scholar about deaf education in Denmark, which had previously been on the vanguard of the bilingual bicultural education for deaf children movement from roughly the late 1980s to the early 2000s. This movement proposed the still-radical, still-heretical idea that deaf children can be taught in a (national) signed language and learn the written (and sometimes spoken) language(s) of their country. Now, the scholar told me, bilingual bicultural education in Denmark was all but extinct as cochlear implants have become mandatory for all deaf children (under threat of removal from their parents’ care if they decline), and sign language in education is repudiated. She told me about a respected elder Danish deaf leader who had led the bilingual bicultural education movement in his country but has since come to renounce his views. This leader had recently published his memoirs with a final chapter proclaiming that the last generation of bilingual Danish deaf children had come and gone.

Like George Veditz, I believe that as long as we have deaf people on earth, we will have signs. However, in the post-anthropocentric age that is now upon us, I recognize that who and what it means to be a deaf person has changed (and has been changing before our eyes all along). Audism is seemingly a manifestation of the Enlightenment ideal of humanism, which defines the human as “a perfectly functional physical body, modeled upon ideals of white masculinity, normativity, youth, and health … All other modes of embodiment are cast out of the subject position.” But being deaf (or Deaf) in the West as it has been understood in more recent history (i.e., as a “nationalistic category”) may also be a manifestation of humanism. It is this latter twentieth-century humanistic understanding of deaf (or Deaf) people that may be declining before our eyes, even as it gathers momentum to transform itself.

In 1989, Paddy Ladd asked, “Could it be that in 50 years time, Deaf people will look back on us and say, ‘They merely copied the hearing. They were not true Deaf culture-based people?’” In so doing, he may have predicted the posthumanist turn where the “categorical boundary-keepers of the subject of Humanism have evolved into fully fledged autonomous models of the human subject.” This model of Deafhood is “a situated and accountable perspective. It embraces a new political and ethical project, … reviving tolerance as a tool for social justice.”

As we come to realize that our language practices were translanguaging all along, that our social identities have always been multiple and intersectional, and that the diversities in deaf communities today (however these are understood) are “productive events,” it may be that the struggles in deaf education can lead to “alternate visions and projects.” If we are forced to reconfigure our understandings of ourselves as limited by previously held conceptions of the deaf (or Deaf) subject, then maybe we can glimpse “untapped possibilities for bonding, community building, and empowerment” by undertaking “a leap forward into the complexities and paradoxes of our times.”

Being in the Room

The first time I attended and presented at the Multidisciplinary Approaches to Language Policy and Planning Conference was in 2015 in Calgary with Jennifer Paul, where we presented what became our paper “Framing Deaf Children’s Right to Sign Language in the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.” That year, I experienced some conflicts with the conference chair vis-à-vis the University of Calgary’s inadequate provisions for conference access for deaf participants. Mentorship and support from more well-established Canadian deaf academic colleagues is what helped me negotiate this process. As a result, Jennifer and I had the experience of attending the conference in those halcyon pre-COVID days. Here we are with the interpreting team:

The second time I attended the same conference was in 2018 at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, University of Toronto, where I was an invited keynote speaker (this presentation became my paper “Sign Language Planning and Policy in Ontario Teacher Education”). The third time was the following year at the same venue, where I organized a colloquium presentation with two deaf Ph.D. students from different Ontario universities about critical approaches to the future of American Sign Language policy and planning in Canada. Both students presented their Ph.D. research (one has since graduated). Both years the conference organizers provided a team of interpreters, and this enabled me to offer some semblance of mentorship to other deaf scholars from my comparatively more well-established position without simultaneously needing to struggle for access to the conference itself.

I find myself constantly returning to Olúfémi O. Táíwò’s article, “Being-in-the-room privilege: Elite capture and epistemic deference” wherein Dr. Táíwò defines “elite capture” as “the control over political agendas and resources by a group’s most advantaged people.” He also critiques “standpoint epistemology” that seeks to center the most marginalized voices. As he argues:

Some rooms have outsize power and influence: the Situation Room, the newsroom, the bargaining table, the conference room. Being in these rooms means being in a position to affect institutions and broader social dynamics by way of deciding what one is to say and do. Access to these rooms is itself a kind of social advantage, and one often gained through some prior social advantage. From a societal standpoint, the “most affected” by the social injustices we associate with politically important identities like gender, class, race, and nationality are disproportionately likely to be incarcerated, underemployed, or part of the 44 percent of the world’s population without internet access – and thus both left out of the rooms of power and largely ignored by the people in the rooms of power. Individuals who make it past the various social selection pressures that filter out those social identities associated with these negative outcomes are most likely to be in the room. That is, they are most likely to be in the room precisely because of ways in which they are systematically different from (and thus potentially unrepresentative of) the very people they are then asked to represent in the room.

While I may have managed to get into this particular conference room these few times, based on aspects of my social position that render me different from those deaf and nondeaf people who were not in the room, the welcome did not last.

The last time I attended the Multidisciplinary Approaches in Language Policy and Planning conference as an elite room in the Canadian applied linguistics academy was in August 2021 via Zoom. I was supposed to co-present with a deaf research colleague, Krishna Madaparthi, who turned out to be unable to attend. Unfortunately, this year there was not only no interpreter provision by the conference itself—a hurdle I am able to clear relatively easily from my privileged position of having access to a staff interpreter—but also there was a more or less outright refusal to support access by helping the interpreter obtain preparatory materials from presenters. Below is representative of the communication we received from the conference chair:

I gave a presentation at this conference regarding our research on piloting an online American Sign Language teaching model to parents of deaf children during the COVID-19 pandemic. However, to do so I needed to push past the epistemic injury inflicted by this exchange and others (I am not a legitimate participant but an interloper).

What this experience, and the silence that followed, made clear to me is that my place in the room of the Canadian applied linguistics academy remains tenuous. It is also a room where I, like other deaf people in the academy, have had few mentors to guide me. The academy, or at least the one I saw last summer, is largely silent on matters that it doesn’t see as relevant to its own interests or falling under the purview of “mainstream” (i.e., spoken-language) language policy and planning. Yet this deprives the hearing-speaking academy, as Dr. Táíwò puts it,

from engaging empathetically and authentically with the struggles of other people – prerequisites of coalitional politics.

In the room of the Canadian academy, signing deaf people are underrepresented as faculty and students, as mentors, and as creators and agents of epistemological inquiry. If instead, as Dr. Táíwò writes, the academy were to refocus its collective project:

It would focus on building and rebuilding rooms, not regulating traffic within and between them – it would be a world-making project: aimed at building and rebuilding actual structures of social connection and movement, rather than mere critique of the ones we already have.

Plurilingualism and (In)competence in Deaf Education

This is a re-post of a blog post originally written for Channel View Publications and Multilingual Matters.

This month, Multilingual Matters published Critical Perspectives on Plurilingualism in Deaf Education edited by Kristin Snoddon and Joanne C. Weber. In this post, the editors explain the inspiration behind the book.

This book was inspired by what we see as an unbalanced revitalization of sign languages. Around the world, national sign languages are increasingly popular as second language courses in schools and postsecondary contexts. At the same time, their learning and use by deaf children is in decline in countries that previously afforded the congregation of deaf children in some form, whether in special education settings or (more rarely) bilingual education classrooms and schools where a national sign language and written/spoken language are languages of instruction.

In many global North countries, this decline in deaf children’s learning of sign language is due to their medicalization in a framework of hearing screening and early intervention and policies that restrict families’ learning of sign language when a child receives a cochlear implant. In both the North and South, however, the way that governments and policy-makers have interpreted the tenets of inclusive education has meant the dismantling of deaf schools and other settings where deaf children can gather. Deaf people’s gathering inside and outside the classroom is critical to the transmission and maintenance of sign languages, even when teachers in these settings do not use a national sign language. Without sign languages, deaf children are at risk of language deprivation, which leads to poor educational and health outcomes.

However, there are new directions in plurilingual education for deaf children and youth in terms of classroom pedagogy, programming, and curricula. This research is driven by deaf ontologies, or what deaf people do with language. There is a need to further explore what concepts such as plurilingualism and translanguaging mean in the context of deaf people’s self-determination and empowerment.

Hannah Arendt (1961) wrote that in spite of efforts to build a new world through the education of children, children are introduced to a pre-existing world that has been constructed by those who came before us. Our book chronicles the history of education for deaf children and the suppression of sign languages in several contexts, including the United Kingdom, France, Sweden, and Canada.

As this book went to press, both of us learned that the Canadian provinces of Ontario and Saskatchewan, where we respectively live, are rolling out American Sign Language (ASL) curricula and classes for hearing high school students. At the same time, deaf children and youth across Canada are unlikely to receive broad support for learning in ASL via early intervention systems or schools. It is in these contexts and others that new directions in plurilingual sign language-medium education are needed, driven by the agency of signing deaf people.

For more information about this book please see the Multilingual Matters website.

Addressing Anti-Black Racism: Reflections on Classroom Experiences & Interventions

These remarks were delivered as part of a X University Faculty of Community Services Learning & Teaching panel discussion on May 27, 2021.

In some ways, I feel unqualified to participate in this panel discussion about how conversations about anti-Black racism have been taken up during the past year of online teaching, which has also been the year following George Floyd’s killing by police officers in Minneapolis. When I was approached by Nadya Burton about participating in this panel, I reminded her that I am not an expert.

I am a white person who may be viewed as a diversity hire. I came to the School of Early Childhood Studies in 2019, which means I have now been teaching online for longer than I have taught in-person classes. Early Childhood Studies students often do care work, and they are often women of colour.

My first semester of in-person teaching included teaching Families in a Canadian Context II, a course which focuses on diversity in race, ethnicity and culture and includes the experiences of refugee and immigrant families. I chose to teach this course because it seemed interesting, but I soon realized that my students knew much more than I did about the experience of being a refugee or immigrant, and how racism impacts children and families in Canada. So in effect, I may have learned more from my students in this course than they did from me.

My current courses focus on language and literacy. Last fall, I taught my graduate Minority-Language Children course for the first time online. The course discusses Canadian language policies, including the Official Languages Act that legally recognizes only English and French and the Multiculturalism Act that pays lip service to Indigenous and allophone languages without granting them equivalent status and protection to English and French. Instead, Indigenous and allophone languages, including languages spoken by Black Canadians, have token representation and status in Canada.

The discipline of language policy and planning emerged in the twentieth century following independence for African nations after colonial rule. Language planning was conceived as a solution to the problem of artificial borders between countries and divisions between languages, and the problem of having too many African languages. Retaining colonial languages as the languages of education and the government were seen as a solution to these problems. So we can see how colonialism continues in Africa today through language policy.

Similarly, Canadian language policy continues to “loiter on colonial premises,” to quote Errol Barrow, Barbados’ first prime minister after independence. For example, Quebec’s new Bill 96 to make French the only official language of the nation of Quebec continues to erase the languages of Indigenous peoples and of Black Canadians and people of colour, in a province that has effectively made it illegal to be Muslim. This issue is not separate from anti-Black racism but evidence of it. This issue reminds us that Canadian institutions and governments, including universities, are not always peaceful or rational, or innocent, as Teju Cole wrote.

Language and literacy teaching and assessment are often founded on white and normative language practices, and often involve policing the language practices of Black people. For example, young Black Canadian children may be placed in English as a Second Language classes even when they are English speakers from countries where English is an official language. Students who are not white and who speak other languages also do not always view their multilingual proficiencies as part of the early literacy curriculum. This reflects a dominant deficiency perspective on Black young children in early childhood education and care that our teaching and learning should work to address and overcome.

Conversations about anti-Black racism make my teaching more relevant for students and better in quality because they relate to current events and the reality of early childhood education and care for Ryerson students and the young children and families that students work with. My commitment is to continue and extend these conversations as much as possible.

Notes Toward an Ethics of Non-Normative Communication (or, Why Can’t a Writing System be “(a) Language”?)

Deaf and autistic people actually draw upon a wide range of semiotic and communicative repertoires and communication modalities. This is an area of productive overlap as both deaf and autistic people confront normative language ideologies about what language is and how it should be produced as well as the role of other people, machines, and technology in mediating communication.

michele friedner & pamela block

We would do well to abandon the pretense that it’s possible to reproduce base things in realms other than those that gave birth to them. Instead, we can leave those things well enough alone where they belong, or, moved by possibilities, we can transgress, translate, and transform them.

john lee clark

Access and affordances

These notes are in part inspired by a disastrous Twitter exchange where I was unsuccessful in attempting to argue for a view of writing systems as (a) language. As Twitter may not lend itself well to scholarly dialogue or extrapolation, I will here attempt a longer essay.

First, part of what I was attempting to address was what I saw as the underlying perception of language as a formal linguistic system that is a priori to what takes place when someone writes (in other words, the modality of writing is an expression of the named language as a complete linguistic system, which a priori resides elsewhere than in the act of writing and is just being borrowed or channelled in one modality when writing takes place). This argument also requires some dexterity since many scholars see the hegemony of written language as what needs to be challenged rather than what needs to be defended.

Most of us are born into a world where language is already there. We hear sounds and voices in utero and are born to parents and caregivers whose sensory ecologies are reciprocal with ours. Other uses of language, including writing, that we acquire are subsequent to and follow from this initiation to the world. However, if we are born deaf or deafblind, we may encounter language not immediately but elsewhere. Such language and our mastery of it may not (ever) be viewed as complete in normative terms. If we become, instead of being born, deaf or deafblind, we may need to give up the mastery of language and begin anew. Other uses of language, including writing, may not be adjacent or subsequent, but primarily how we interact with and interpret the world. Thus, a writing system may be (a) language for some people. In writing, we can become a writer, which is a way of being in the world and not simply representing it.

This is the idea: The world contains instruments, which we grasp in terms of their affordances for action. In performing actions habitually, we take on roles, and in routinely taking on roles, we have an identity. Represented schematically:
affordance > instrument > action > role > identity
This process yields a way of residing in the world and is distinct from, but related to ways of representing the world.

terra edwards (interpreting kockelman, 2006)

The process of  “going tactile” and figuring out a language that deafblind people can use directly with one another and that represents the tactile world is a way to confront the problem of existence. It means figuring out a way that the world can work for us. This process means reinterpreting the affordances of the tactile world and of language. Language is not there a priori but is created in the act of use.

By bumping into, sniffing, tapping, brushing past, we are gathering intelligence of our own. 

john lee clark

Applied linguistics and new materialist views of language may better account for the complexity of what language means for different people with differing access and different affordances. We can look at how languages are understood from the perspective of the local, situated, and emergent, and think of language in terms of practices and distributed semiotic resources. Language is relational and entangled. In these terms, we might embrace the fumbling that takes place when people try to interact, communicate and understand.

Orientation and sociality, and power

This is the awful function of access: to make others happy at our expense. 

john lee clark

Autistic studies can contribute new understandings of the creative (and communicative) potential of refusal to engage in normative communication; refusal … can be an agentive act.

michele friedner & pamela block

Where should we disclose our discomfort with normative communication and sociality? Whose problem is it? 

Earlier this month, my department had a large meeting via Zoom. For background, I am the only deaf and ASL-using person in my department. There were two sign language interpreters booked because we anticipated a longish meeting, but I did not turn on my video camera when I logged onto Zoom. Over the past year of virtual meetings, I have learned to ask that participants turn off their cameras in order not to have a large gallery of faces taking up screen space, although this mostly means that the person everyone looks at is the interpreter. 

At the beginning of the meeting, attendees were asked to individually type our names in Zoom chat for the benefit of the minutes-taker. I was relieved because I thought this would take care of the introductions that hearing-speaking people seem to insist on at the beginning of every large meeting. However, after this, the faculty member chairing the meeting started to ask individual attendees to one by one turn on their video cameras and introduce themselves—name  rank, title. I couldn’t bring myself to turn on my camera to “introduce” myself (i.e., move my hands to have the interpreter speak while everyone else watched) and instead typed in the chat that I had already done so. I knew, however, that I had violated a fundamental convention of department meetings and made myself appear rude and uncooperative. I felt shaken and worried. I couldn’t sleep that night.

Others who may resist or stumble during this performed approximation of the norms of hearing-speaking-seeing-in-person communication include not only deaf and neurodiverse people but also racialized people who may not seamlessly pass in terms of normative white sociality. For most or all of our lives, we may strive to approximate normative communication because we want to be loved (by our families) or liked by peers or colleagues or at least not seen as disruptive. An ethics of non-normative communication considers what kinds of engagements are taken for granted and whose perspectives and identities are excluded, lost or overlooked.


My thanks to colleagues who shared their writing and experiences, and commiserated with me in writing these notes: Terra Edwards, Michele Friedner, Jason Nolan, and Jo Weber in addition to the contributors to the Twitter exchange on 22.4.2021.


Clark, J.L. (fothcoming fall 2021). Against access. McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, 64.

Edwards, T. (2021). The Protactile Movement. In Going tactile: Life at the limits of language. Manuscript in preparation.

Friedner, M. & Block, P. (2017). Deaf studies meets autistic studies. The Senses and Society, 12(3), 282-300.

Kockelman, P. (2006). Residence in the world: Affordances, instruments, actions, roles, and identities. Semiotica, 162, 19-71.

Why Should Deaf People Teach ASL?

This post was originally published on February 26, 2018 under a different site.

Discourses of native speakerism have been pervasive in the teaching of English as a second, additional, or foreign language. As Bonny Norton[1] has noted, these issues are tied to power and identity, and the perception that white speakers from what Kachru called “inner circle” countries possess a superior variety of English, which renders native speakers uniquely qualified to teach English. This perception of language ownership devalues the identities and teaching abilities of nonwhite English speakers, particularly those who have firsthand experience of learning English as a second or additional language. As Flores and Rosa argue, people of colour who are classified as English learners “can be understood to inhabit a shared racial posi­tioning that frames their linguistic practices as deficient.”[2] In other words, native speakerism in English language teaching is a proxy for racism.

In the field of ASL teaching in Canada and the USA, arguments against native speakerism in teaching ESL/EAL/EFL have been appropriated by white, hearing, able-bodied, native English-speaking people who defend their right to teach ASL and accuse of “discrimination” any deaf people or deaf advocacy organizations that may protest. In the way of white people, they smell a profit. Universities employ hearing instructors of ASL because deaf bodies are fewer in number; deaf people face barriers to language and communication from the cradle and are thus seen as inherently less qualified and intelligent than hearing people; deaf bodies are unruly and difficult to accommodate and communicate with. The latter is a main reason why quality ASL teaching by deaf instructors is important if you take the position, as I do, that learning ASL may imply a goal of eventually learning how to communicate with deaf people in some fashion.

One may also point out that hearing able-bodiedness is not a protected class in any human rights or anti-discrimination legislation, and it is ludicrous for individuals in positions of hegemonic power to accuse of discrimination an oppressed minority that daily faces social and epistemological violence. This is akin to accusations of “reverse racism” made by the alt-right against advocates for persons of colour. Indeed, hearing ASL teachers and their advocates seem disturbingly unaware of the historical and present-day social positioning of deaf people.

Teaching ASL is not the same thing as teaching English. For one thing, acquiring proficiency in a minority language is always more difficult than acquiring proficiency in a majority language. What it means to be a “native ASL speaker” is diametrically different from what it means to be a native English speaker. One wonders if the same individuals who accuse deaf people and advocacy organizations of “discrimination” would do the same to Indigenous language activists, if the former somehow figured out a way to make money from the teaching of Indigenous languages and if Indigenous speakers protested this cultural exploitation.

As a linguist colleague of mine has noted, ASL classes at postsecondary institutions in Canada and the USA are a big draw for students needing a modern language credit to graduate. Learning ASL is perceived as easier than learning other modern (spoken) languages, especially if there is no curriculum or rigorous assessment in place, and if deaf instructors do not have formal academic credentials. The devaluing of ASL means universities do not care about the quality of the classes they provide, the ASL proficiency of instructors they employ, or the ultimate impact this has on the deaf community, which has the most to lose and least to gain from the wholesale appropriation of ASL.

[1] Norton, B. (1997). Language, identity, and the ownership of English. TESOL Quarterly, 31(3), 409-429.

[2] Flores, N. & Rosa, J. (2015). Undoing appropriateness: Raciolinguistic ideologies and language diversity in education. Harvard Educational Review, 85(2), 149-171.

Statement on Ministries of Education offering ASL/LSQ as a second language in high schools

As Canadian deaf scholars and academics, we applaud and appreciate the work towards a greater acceptance of ASL and LSQ among the general population of hearing people.  The growing emphasis on sign language rights and human rights is an important step forward.

However, we are concerned about the current rollout in Ontario and Saskatchewan of ASL and LSQ curricula for hearing high school students. We are continuously faced with the problem of ASL and LSQ not being presented as a viable option for families with deaf children. Many Canadian deaf schools are shrinking. There is a documented lack of support for ASL and LSQ- related services to young deaf children and a lack of support for education in ASL and/or LSQ as a human right for deaf learners. For instance, in Portugal Cove-St. Philip’s, Newfoundland, the case of Carter Churchill continues to languish. Carter is a deaf elementary student who receives one hour to 90 minutes of instruction in ASL every seven school days. Across Canada, many other deaf students receive no access to ASL or LSQ in early intervention or education. 

Deaf communities in Canada continue to be highly marginalized cultures at the federal, provincial, and local levels. Due to a chronic lack of support by provincial governments, including Ministries of Health, Education, Social Services, and Justice, the resources needed to sustain bilingual bicultural education for deaf children and vibrant deaf communities are dwindling. The desire to have a curriculum for second language learners that teaches ASL/LSQ and deaf culture to mainly hearing secondary students is fraught with difficulties. Therefore, we ask several questions:

  1. Who do these curricula benefit? Will the accrual of high school credits in ASL/LSQ have any impact on deaf children and youth who are graduating with a median reading level of grade 4?  Who benefits from earning these credits?  Will a smattering of some ASL or LSQ skills and some knowledge of deaf culture enable hearing students to become the “de facto experts” in deaf education in local and provincial jurisdictions? Deaf education is extremely complex. Meanwhile, in the USA ASL is a foreign language credit and highly popular among hearing learners.  Due to the widespread popularity of ASL classes in the USA, hearing instructors outnumber deaf ASL instructors. At Carleton University in Ottawa, two out of three full-time, permanent ASL instructor and ASL program administrator positions are filled by hearing people. Our research and lived experience indicates that this surge in popularity has little to no impact on the lives of deaf children and youth who need this language.  
  1. Perhaps a deeper question needs to be asked instead. Are deaf children provided access to a language that can make a huge difference in their education and life trajectories? In the context of deaf communities which have often been neglected by provincial governments, we ask: Why study languages that are struggling to maintain their vitality and are at this time at their lowest point in 200 years? How can sign language be learned without access to a critical mass of deaf people? Teaching ASL or LSQ to hearing people does not ensure the vitality of ASL/LSQ or Deaf Culture. Keeping ASL and LSQ away from deaf children and youth and obliterating deaf culture does, however, ensure linguicide.
  1. Finally, who will teach these curricula within school boards and divisions? Already, most school divisions are autonomous in providing deaf education services and can also “appoint” people to teach ASL or LSQ.  What will be the qualifications of ASL/LSQ “teachers”?  How will they be recruited? How will they be accountable to the school divisions? How will they be accountable to the Ministry of Education? In Ontario, where the Ontario College of Teachers has recently published second-language ASL and LSQ curricula, there is a very small number of ASL- and LSQ-fluent deaf high school teachers with OCT licensure. Should these teachers and the resources they carry be diverted from deaf schools and classrooms with deaf students in the interest of providing an ASL or LSQ class for hearing learners? Or will hearing teachers with OCT licensure begin teaching ASL and LSQ classes?

Perhaps the provincial Ministries of Education, Health and Social Services and local school boards could reflect further about creating curricula for hearing learners while neglecting a highly marginalized population and without considering the Ministries’ historical and current roles in bringing about linguicide and the cultural devastation of Canadian deaf communities in various locales. Providing ASL and LSQ curricula for hearing students may result in further language and cultural appropriation and further harm deaf communities. Instead, we advocate for hiring deaf teachers, removing barriers to teacher licensure for deaf people, and providing bursaries to train deaf people who are already working with deaf learners in Canadian classrooms but who are not formally qualified or trained. Indeed, the provincial Ministries of Education should develop a framework for bilingual and bicultural education that is centered around a first-language K-12 ASL and LSQ curriculum for deaf students. Such a curriculum for ASL has been under development in Ontario since 1991 but has never been published or released. The provincial Ministries of Education should work more closely with school divisions to establish standards for deaf education services and the maintenance of ASL, LSQ, and deaf culture. 

Let’s not put the cart before the horse. We Deaf people have valuable capital and have choices as to where we indicate support for initiatives from provincial governments. Provincial governments are seeking validation from us as to their projects. An ASL or LSQ curriculum for hearing learners is only ONE of the initiatives we can support. However, support for deaf education and the transmission of ASL/LSQ and deaf culture to deaf children and youth has become a neglected issue. It is time to dust off our mission to influence deaf education and put our energy into protecting ASL, LSQ, and deaf culture for the sake of cultural and linguistic vitality and the educational rights of deaf children. 

We urge deaf organizations and community representatives to respectfully decline to support these provincial curricular initiatives until a thoughtful framework is in place for the provision of a bilingual bicultural education for deaf children and youth who desperately need it. 

Kristin Snoddon, Ph.D., Associate Professor, School of Early Childhood Studies, Ryerson University

Joanne (Jo) Weber, Ph.D., Canada Research Chair (Tier II) and Assistant Professor, Faculty of Education, University of Alberta

The Chickens are Coming Home to Roost

Last Friday, my daughter came home from the school for the deaf she attends to tell me about a supply teacher her class had that day who, according to my daughter, couldn’t sign and who pulled down her mask in order to compel another student to lipread her. When the other student told the teacher in ASL that she needed to keep her mask up, she didn’t understand him. When my daughter followed up by voicing the other student’s utterance, the teacher pretended to drink from a water bottle.

In addition to the several layers of violence inflicted by a nondeaf adult on deaf children, what this episode underscores is the grave shortage of signing teachers at schools for the deaf (as the one place where these kinds of teachers are supposed to be available). The COVID-19 pandemic and the Ontario government’s construction of virtual schooling that is separate from in-person learning has also made this shortage more visible. This is because the Provincial and Demonstration Schools Branch is unable to provide signing teachers for at least some virtual school classrooms (as well as for some in-person classrooms, as my daughter’s experience shows). In order to staff teaching positions in virtual school, the PDSB has deployed home visiting teachers who are used to promoting and working only in spoken English and who are unprepared to teach signing deaf students online. As a consequence, the PDSB’s roster of sign language interpreters has also been deployed for virtual school and is thus unavailable to interpret for deaf students in classrooms such as the one where my daughter and other signing deaf students were present last Friday.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that there are not enough signing teachers of the deaf and not enough services to support signing deaf children in the classroom. This should have been apparent in 2002, when Dr. David Mason, the first and only deaf full-time faculty member in York University’s deaf education program, retired. This early retirement, soon after Dr. Mason’s successful appeal of a bid by deaf education program faculty to deny him tenure, followed years of tormenting and bullying by the same program faculty who are currently employed in ensuring signing deaf people don’t become teachers, and ensuring nondeaf teachers of the deaf don’t gain enough ASL proficiency to teach in it. All of this is chronicled in my paper Sign Language Planning and Policy in Ontario Teacher Education. During the eleven years of Dr. Mason’s tenure, three to eight deaf teacher candidates were accepted each year at York, and these graduates went on to fill teaching and administrative positions at schools for the deaf and in some school boards across Ontario. When he left, these numbers declined precipitously so that today, barely any new ASL-proficient deaf or nondeaf teacher candidates graduate from York.

It is ironic that the decline in qualified teachers of the deaf is accompanied by a steep rise in ASL education for nondeaf learners. Instead of focusing on an ASL language arts curriculum for deaf children as first-language learners, work that began in 1991, deaf teachers from the provincial schools are currently employed in developing an ASL curriculum for second-language learners for the Ministry of Education. Doubtless this curriculum, unlike the one for deaf children, will be published and shared widely across the province. Whenever I remark on this irony in the presence of a deaf teacher, the first thing I am told is that the L2 curriculum is “also for deaf children who learn ASL as a second language!” This statement, made repeatedly to me by licensed deaf teachers of the deaf with decades of classroom experience, leaves me incredulous. As if it has been empirically established by the same group of teachers that a majority of deaf learners in school board programs today have the same first-language development as nondeaf learners in English and/or French or another spoken language. As if there is no such thing as language deprivation, including among immigrant, refugee, and minoritized deaf children and youth who make up a significant proportion of deaf students today in both provincial schools and school board programs. As I remarked in my Introduction with Maartje De Meulder to our special issue about ideologies in sign language vitality and revitalization, what seems most prevalent among many deaf children and youth today is often not language shift from a sign language to a dominant spoken language but language shift to partial or no language.

It has become a popular discourse, shared by Gallaudet University president Dr. Roberta Cordano and others, that “everyone” should learn sign language and that this massive effort to teach ASL to nondeaf learners will achieve equity in education and life chances for deaf children and adults. I do not think this will ever be the case. For instance, in my previous university’s modern languages department, there are more ASL students enrolled than students in any other language course, but this does not result in or contribute to an environment where deaf children have access to ASL. I know this because I was unsuccessful in my appeal to the city’s public school board to provide a signing EA or interpreter for my daughter; hence, our departure to a town where a signing deaf school was located. But the same school board established an outside-of-school ASL heritage language class for nondeaf learners overnight. Incidentally, there are also not enough deaf ASL instructors in the region where my former university is located to provide ASL courses for over a thousand university students, resulting in the hiring of nondeaf instructors for most full-time teaching positions. This has a consequential impact on program quality, since acquiring proficiency in a second, minority language in a different modality requires more investment than may be apparent at first glance.

In terms of sign language maintenance and revitalization efforts, it is counterproductive to deploy the relatively few signing deaf adults with teaching licensure in the service of developing curricula and teaching ASL to nondeaf children. While Gerald Roche rightly observes that language endangerment is a result of oppression of speakers and signers, I also think that in the case of deaf communities, minority-language users bear some complicity in their own oppression. In their efforts to achieve legal recognition of sign languages, deaf advocacy organizations can erase diverse sign language varieties. In the excitement of having Ontario government support for teaching ASL, deaf teachers can overlook that their efforts have been diverted to serving the interests of the nondeaf majority. Perhaps it is not having deaf children of their own that leaves some deaf teachers feeling as if they have no skin in the game. Soon, there may be almost no signing teachers of deaf children left. What will we do then?

Reflections on the Indigenous Hands and Voices of African Identity Conference

Among my favourite writings by Jan Blommaert, who died last Thursday, involve his debate with Tove Skutnabb-Kangas and Robert Phillipson about linguistic human rights. Two notable articles in this debate appeared in 2001 in the Journal of Sociolinguistics and referred especially to language rights in Africa. I was reminded of this last week when I attended the Indigenous Hands and Voices of African Identity: Discourse on Language Rights conference, a 2-day international virtual conference on indigenous African signed and spoken languages. I thought of Dr. Blommaert not only related to his position on issues of Indigenous language rights and language revitalization but also because of what he had to say about being a white European scholar working with African peoples.

For me, the most salient matter in every academic conference that is not led or organized by and for deaf scholars is how to gain access to it. I am a privileged person in that it was possible for me to arrange for American Sign Language interpreters for the conference (other scholars and colleagues facilitated the arrangement of British Sign Language interpreters through UK Access to Work provisions). And so, when the conference met virtually for the general sessions and sign language strand of presentations, the Zoom gallery featured ASL and BSL interpreters alongside Nigerian Sign Language interpreters and the presenters. With few notable exceptions, the majority of the presenters were African, non-deaf, and presented in spoken English. In other words, deaf academics and community members occupied a comparatively liminal role at this conference. The names of a number of mostly white deaf academics (who mostly had video turned off to save bandwidth) from Canada, the USA, the UK and Europe were visible in the gallery. Several of these deaf academics have conducted fieldwork in African countries and published research about sign languages in Africa. Participants also utilized the chat feature in Zoom to relay comments and questions in English text. On the first day of the conference, some time was taken up by discussion of the role of nondeaf scholars vis-à-vis deaf communities and the absence of deaf African scholars, such as Nyeleti Nkwinika, Sam Lutalo-Kiingi, Bonnie Busingye, and Noah Ahereza, from the conference. On the second day, Marco Nyarco, a deaf African scholar, appeared as a co-presenter, and several African and African-American scholars appeared as commentators.

Blommaert and Skutnabb-Kangas and Phillipson debated the matters of indigenous African language rights and the development of African languages. While Blommaert states that he is “in principle sympathetic” toward linguistic rights, he notes problems with the linguistic human rights approach. As he argues, a linguistic human rights paradigm can neglect other issues of inequity, such as the distribution of social and economic resources, and ignore data regarding speakers’ and signers’ language attitudes and practices. In particular, there are issues with named languages and diversity among these languages; languages are not “pure species.” Skutnabb-Kangas and Phillipson issue a solid rejoinder that I will not detail here but encourage you to read. Together, these writings bear relevance to the main substance of the sign language strand of the conference regarding the presence of ASL in (west) African sign languages and the need to revitalize and develop indigenous sign languages that are free of ASL influence. In the meantime, there are issues with the lack of early intervention and education services provided to young deaf children, and deaf children and young people’s lack of access to education. One presenter, Chikondi Mwale, who is also a sign language interpreter, delivered his presentation in sign language (and answered audience questions in sign language!) Mr. Mwale addressed the current state of sign language interpreting services in Malawi, including the situation of deaf people who became very ill and suffered the death of an infant due to lack of access to communication in health care. So, on the one hand it is important to revitalize and further develop indigenous sign languages as a matter of principle. On the other, in practice it is vitally important for deaf people to have access to a language. And then there is the matter of the sign language varieties that deaf people in Africa know and use, and how they regard their language varieties. Mr. Nyarco’s co-presenter Victoria Nyst also pointed out the benefits for deaf people of multilingualism in multiple sign languages.

In discussing what was important to his academic life, Dr. Blommaert talked about being both democratic and available to colleagues who lacked equal access to resources. He calls for “knowledge activism … in which knowledge is activated as a key instrument for the liberation of people, and as a central tool underpinning any effort to arrive at a more just and equitable society.” In my role and status as a white deaf academic from the global North, with access to interpreters and the unlimited resources of my university’s library, I hope I can also make my academic life more valuable to others.

Doing Deaf Studies in Theory and Everyday Life

This post was originally published on May 1, 2018 under a different site.

The title of this blog is borrowed from Tanya Titchkosky’s disability studies course (which, regretfully, I have never taken). I was inspired by my winter 2018 Introduction to Deaf Studies course, which I attempted to revamp to a greater degree than in the six previous years when I have taught the course. I still included my usual readings and lectures about Deaf Gain, ASL and early intervention, and inclusive deaf education. What was different was how I tried to seize what felt like harder issues, with classes focused directly on sign language vitality and cochlear implant discourses. But I also availed myself of new people and sources that offered themselves to me: Robert Sirvage talking about deaf epistemology, Teresa Blankmeyer Burke’s online resources about bioethics, Annelies Kusters’ generous production of Ishaare: Gestures and Signs in Mumbai and related documents. In having the privilege of including these resources, I felt that was in part able to further theorize Deaf Studies and bring it into everyday life in a way that felt new.

I say “in part” because the success of my class also depended on having its largest ever cohort (35 students!) In a class of this size, there was new diversity and new perspectives to draw on as my mostly hearing (but also deaf) students addressed and engaged with Deaf Studies in their own way. As one student put it in their annotated bibliography, the class began to view Deaf Studies not (just) as a fringe anomaly or a tired series of tropes about an imaginary, romanticized, self-contained “Deaf culture,” but “as a manner of life.”

I am still taken by one student’s final paper about intersectionality. My student wrote about the experiences of African-American students at Gallaudet that were “made invisible” by white students’ agendas: “when discussing inclusion programs it is unproductive to view the issue with a binary standard. In other words, analyzing an inclusion program should not be merely based on either including minorities-with-intersecting-identities or white deaf students; it is not one or the other.” This student’s paper helped me to see how Deaf Studies can relate to everyday life: “social injustice is a concern due to the fact that it drastically impacts those in society’s margins but also because it is the basis of many of society’s institutions and systems. Thus, concerns of inclusivity go beyond the institutions in which a student is enrolled in, rather, it is a major part of the real world and its outside affairs, thus it is important knowledge that should be disseminated in education.”

Reading this paper made me feel that Deaf Studies can offer something, despite the extreme low incidence of signing deaf people that leaves us, in Tove Skutnabb-Kangas’ words, “more or less outside the rights system in most or all countries.”[1] Teaching Deaf Studies as a standalone course completely outside of sign language interpreter or teacher of the deaf training programs (which don’t exist at my university) or even ASL classes (which do exist at my university), it is my challenge to make my issues relevant to my students as others who often have no vested interest to draw on aside from an opening in their schedules and a credit to fill. We (not I) do so in relationship with each other.

[1] Skutnabb-Kangas, T. (2002). Marvelous human rights rhetoric and grim realities: Language rights in education. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 1(3), 179-205. http://https//