This status appeared the other day in my Facebook feed:
Went shopping. Met someone who asked me if I was deaf and I said yeah. Then she went into full flow in BSL. I said stop! I don’t sign (I really don’t when out and about, only if I meet other deaf people who do). I really HATE it! I wish people would learn to accept what you tell them and if you say you don’t sign to stop embarrassing me in the middle of a supermarket!! Do you feel like that sometimes?
That status attracted nearly 200 comments, and polarised people. Obviously as the perpetuator was posting on her wall, many of the commentators were friends who shared her opinion, but some couldn’t understand why she would be embarrassed. One was so upset – being a deaf mother of four deaf children, all with BSL as their first language – that she felt compelled to check with her friends that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
But these words – from John Walker, who blogs at Deaf Capital – struck the biggest chord with me:
People attach status to language. How English is spoken has been directly linked to class (ie. cockney vs. received pronunciation) so it follows that English has a higher status than BSL in the general public. Every time a statement is made about BSL users, you are also making a statement about your status as an English user – and that status is about class. On the surface, it may be about communication but deeper down, it is about creating a pecking order.
The attitude towards diversity of David Cameron and his cronies in the coalition – most of who are ex-public schoolboys – is one I am all too familiar with. As a banker’s daughter, I have met many people of his ilk in my time. Growing up, my family would take me to pre-Christmas parties in their homes – where I discovered that the Queen’s English didn’t always mean clear speech.
Some guests attached so much pomp to their received pronunciation their lips barely moved. Sometimes, when my family arrived at some large country spread, I’d secretly hope that it would be loud and absolutely heaving, so they’d be forced to enunciate more. (Of course, it didn’t work. They’d try and mumble in my ear instead.)
Was it their cravats? The stiff tweed three-piece suits they’d wear? Much as I wanted to be included, eventually I realised there was no point in even trying, because they weren’t prepared to. When you have been born into a lifetime of privilege and inheritance and ostentation and wealth, I guess it can be hard to see how you could personally benefit from adapting your communication to suit a deaf person.
At the deaf oral boarding school I was attending back then – and the partially hearing unit (PHU) before that – I could already tell that very few of my classmates had that privilege. Clearly, I had been born into one minority, but actually belonged to another, by virtue (if you can call it that) of lack of access.
Thus my deafness gave me my diversity, and subsequently led me to the first Deaf Club I ever visited, when I was in my twenties (Bristol Centre for the Deaf, if you must know).
Of course, to go from pre-Christmas drinks with ex-public schoolboys to deaf oral school to the Deaf Club was a massive culture shock. Bristol Deaf Club was packed every week with proper, salt-of-the-earth Deaf BSL users – but that was fine; most of them welcomed me into the fold. The more I socialised with them, the more I savoured being able to look round the room and understand exactly what everyone was talking about.
That is why I am a sucker for diversity. I believe in BSL because of the insight it gives me, and how much it opens up the world. Once, it enabled me to facilitate communication between two hearing people – one of whom had CP and no speech. My love of BSL reflects the inclusive values I uphold.
English may still be my first language; I was born into a hearing family, and went to bankers’ Christmas parties when I was growing up; I can’t help that.
Now, I respect other deaf people’s decision to live how they want to live. Commitment to diversity means respecting differences in people. But BSL is also my saving grace. For me to be embarrassed about someone signing back to me in a real effort to practise inclusion – a scenario that is sadly far too rare – would signify I was ashamed of my diversity, or at least the diversity of the minority I belonged to.
Effectively, it’d mean sucking up to the coalition – at the expense of my rights as a deaf person.
Related articles
- Deaf voices are natural, so why are they still mocked? | Charlie Swinbourne (guardian.co.uk)
- Do you see what I’m saying? (independent.co.uk)
- Writing, BSL, my Deaf identity and me (themostynthomasjournal.com)
An interesting piece – food for thought indeed. I used to be embarrassed as a teenager mostly because it meant that people must be LOOKING at me!
I don’t care these days! Instead I feel embarrassed about my own inadequacy in using BSL. I am quite happy for people to sign to me, but as I don’t get much practice, my own BSL is pretty poor and I need to keep asking how to sign certain thing which hinders the conversation somewhat.
That said, encouraging inclusivity is definitely the way to go!
My BSL is not that brilliant either! But that’s the nature of deaf oppression.
It is far more important that we embrace the identity within that we know is ours – whether that’s bilingual or monolingual (either spoken English or BSL) – and are not ashamed of being deaf. Everyone goes through a stage in adolescence where it’s easy for us to feel embarrassed, so what you’ve described is perfectly natural.
But what I disagree with is the principle of criticising someone because they’ve made a very real effort to be inclusive. All that does is undo all the hard work put into the BSL cause over the years; certainly, it’s not a good example of deaf advocacy. Don’t you think?
Oh absolutely, it’s one thing to say “thanks, but I don’t sign” and another to annoyed by it. Sometimes I think that people simply lack basic politeness these days – I say thank-you if so done holds a door open for me not “I can do it myself!”
It would be a shame if people are eventually put off signing (or anything else) because people are rude to, or about, them.
Wonderful post, thank you for sharing with me via my Britmums round-up. I always embrace anyone who tries to be incluseive, even if the manner they choose isn’t quite what I would like.
Hi again
Ignore that last comment – I was replying on a day when half my brain was missing!
But I absolutely agree with you, downssideupwns Side Up (great blogging name!) It’s far more important to try and acknowledge the effort than to reject it on the basis it’s not right for you.
Looking forward to more special-needs roundups from you!
As a hearing mum to a profoundly Deaf toddler currently learning bsl level 2 I felt really sad reading the Facebook comment that sparked this post. I know I still have a huge amount to learn about Deaf culture (not to mention bsl). But so shocked someone would feel embarrassed in that way.
I know. It indicates the long, hard journey BSL is yet to undergo in terms of acceptance, not just by hearing people, but also other deaf people.
Beyond the Deaf Community – i.e. those whose first or preferred language is BSL – there’s a much wider deaf and hard-of-hearing population with very different ideas of what it means to be deaf. Some would rather no-one knew about their deafness at all, whereas others accept that they are deaf, but simply don’t see themselves as potential sign language users.
All of which may seem very complex to you, but in my view it all boils down to one thing: social conditioning. Much of mainstream society don’t ‘get’ BSL and that has an influence on deaf people, especially those who are late-deafened.
And of course, the number of deaf people increases with age, meaning that others will be very set in their ways by the time they go deaf. It’s much, much harder for them to go deaf.
But that shouldn’t concern you too much. The fact that you’re already working to build your toddler’s confidence in his/her deafness through learning about BSL and Deaf Culture is far more important. The world could do with more parents like you!
Thanks. It is also very hard for parents to learn BSL too in terms of support with funding and access. Something i have struggled with and stamped my feet about quite a bit over the last few months.
I really hope that there is success at getting BSL into schools in terms of a GCSE option as that would I think maybe break down some of the barriers and seeming stigma. Perhaps I am being naive! Hope not though x
I know the feeling. Now I am myself parenting a child with disabilities, I do exactly the same. I share your hope, too, at the prospect of BSL being taught in schools as a GCSE option. Fingers crossed x
Reblogged this on Melissa Mostyn-Thomas and commented:
Another hugely popular post.
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I don’t even know how I ended up here, but I thought this post was great. I don’t know who you are but certainly you are going to be a famous blogger if you are not already
Cheers!