To launch the new NU Diversity Calendar this September, the PHSI EDI committee is marking International Day of Sign Languages on the 23rd of the month. This special date commemorates the establishment of the World Federation of the Deaf in 1951 and aims to promote the celebration of linguistic equality, diversity, and cultural understanding.
Worldwide, there are more than 70 million Deaf people who collectively use more than 300 different sign languages (a language which conveys meaning visually with hands, facial expressions, and body language). Historically, sign languages have faced limited recognition and acknowledgement as official languages. The International Day of Sign Languages provides an opportunity to address these concerns through celebrating and raising awareness of the importance of sign languages in the human rights of those who are Deaf.
The theme for this year’s International Day of Sign Languages is: a world where Deaf people everywhere can sign anywhere. To mark the day, two colleagues (Niamh Foy and Sally Lamond) from the School of Education, Communication, and Language Sciences (Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, HAAS) share their thoughts on sign language inclusivity.
Sally Lamond,
MSc Language Pathology Student
A Culture of Compassion
What is the International Day of Sign Languages?
Established in 2017, the International Day of Sign Languages is celebrated annually on the 23rd September. It’s a day for celebrating the wonderful diversity of language needs, raising awareness of the rights and struggles of individuals who use sign languages to communicate.
In an era where a quick google search can reveal important dates such as “Talk like a pirate day” (19th September, for the curious) or “International Beer and Pizza Day” (9th October, if you are so inclined to save the date), it seems clearer than ever that amidst the backdrop of innumerable “International” days, this is one that is deserving of some more attention.
What is sign language?
Whilst most individuals outside of the signing community are likely aware that sign language uses visuals (hand shapes, facial expression, and body language), many may be unaware of the high variation and nuance of signing. Far from being internationally mutually intelligible, “sign language” comes in many “shapes and sizes”; wherever humans exist, language exists, and wherever deaf, Deaf, Hard of Hearing (HoH) (DHH) or otherwise non-verbal individuals exist, sign language will inevitably evolve to fulfil the human drive for connection and communication. Whilst here in Britain we use British Sign Language (BSL), our friends across the pond use American Sign Language (ASL), those in New Zealand use, perhaps unsurprisingly, New Zealand Sign Language (NZSL)…and so on. Despite these varieties often being unique to a country or region, sign languages are not, as some might speculate, verbatim “translations” of spoken language either— they consist of distinct vocabulary, connotations, and complex grammar unique to them.
Signing as an Alternative and Augmentative Communication (AAC) method
Whilst many signing systems are fully fledged languages in their own right, as a Speech and Language Therapy student, it would be remiss of me not to mention the versatility of sign as an AAC technique, however briefly. Makaton, a simplified signing system based on BSL and developed in the 1970s by a team of Speech Therapists, is a prime example. The signing system was created by selecting and altering core BSL concepts for use with children and individuals with learning disabilities; these signs are used in conjunction with speech to support communication. These individuals, who may be unable to express themselves verbally or who may struggle to understand spoken language, can be supported by learning meaningful, consistent gestures.
In the decades since, the system has become increasingly popular in early years and additional needs settings, and becoming certified has become exponentially more feasible for many as courses have spread across the country. Though true Makaton proficiency is measured in levels 1-4, the internet is a fantastic resource for exploring some of these simple signs— and as a matter of fact, the Newcastle University Speech and Language Therapy Society engages in “Makaton Mondays”, where a weekly Makaton sign is shared.
Why is sign language awareness important?
In brainstorming this blog post, I was prompted to consider my own awareness of sign language. I vividly remember the first time I— 17 years old at the time, and in the first of many customer service roles I have occupied in the decade since— served a signing customer. Despite being born in the UK and using a language with “British” in the title, I was faced with the reality that this individual likely experienced daily frustration and accessibility issues I would never have to, largely due to others’ lack of knowledge and (to some extent) lack of effort. Put simply, it felt unfair, and I was embarrassed not only by my own lack of signing ability, but by my lack of awareness of the lack. The realisation was disconcerting, suggesting a key question: what exactly is our level of responsibility to each other in this domain?
Years (and several encounters with signing customers) later, I finally embarked upon an introductory sign language course in an effort to bridge the gap I had become aware of (which, of course, served to humble me further— I’ll reiterate here that sign languages have their own grammatical rules). I was very fortunate to do so through a local university society; though the course itself was self-funded, the university subsidisation made it feasible and affordable in a way many BSL courses simply are not.
As Language Pathology/Speech and Language Therapy Students, we are taught repeatedly that everyone has a right to a voice, and that every voice matters. The right and ability to share one’s hopes, dreams, opinions, and experiences is intrinsically tied to the autonomy every person innately deserves. To this day, I think admiringly of the patience and grace signing individuals must cultivate simply to exist in a linguistic environment which, at best, frequently overlooks them and at worst, is actively discriminatory and unwelcoming.
Cultural impact
As cultural awareness of sign languages has grown in recent years, they have begun to be seen not only as a communicative tool for those who are unable to produce or understand spoken language, or for those may be non-verbal for other reasons, but as living, breathing languages which can be equally— if not more— expressive than spoken languages. We do not have to look very far to see examples of incredible DHH signing individuals who are turning the tide of public perception, showing the rich diversity and creativity within the signing community. ASL interpreter Justina Miles, for example, who took the world by storm with her sign performance at Rihanna’s Superbowl halftime show earlier this year, ultimately going viral across multiple social media platforms as she brought the music alive for Deaf and hearing viewers alike.
The concept of sign performing, as opposed to traditional interpretation, allows sign language users greater access not just to the verbal content being expressed but opens up the door to the attitude, the atmosphere, and to being included in the collective enjoyment of fellow fans. This is relevant to all ages, as is evidenced by the recent creation of SignUp captions (www.signupcaptions.com), a chrome extension which provides access to Disney movies for younger viewers through sign performance—current supported titles include hits such as Frozen, Moana, and Encanto.
With the rise of social media which centres around videos (such as Instagram and TikTok), members of the signing community are also joining in the creation of content which details the huge spectrum of DHH experience; ranging from joy and pride to struggles with accessibility and discrimination. Content creators such as Estefani Arevalo (@thatdeaffamily), Janet Moreno (@deafmotherhood), Felicia Aquilo (@feliciaaquilio), Beth Leipholtz (@beth_and_coop), Brittney Nolte (@brittneynoltee) are sharing the realities of raising children in the Deaf community, both as hearing and Deaf parents themselves, with discussions relating to Cochlear Implants (CI), views on “passing” the newborn hearing test, and tips on making sign learning fun for toddlers. Younger creators are being empowered to share their experiences through sign— for example, Savannah Dahan (@savvyasl) a 13-year-old who has recently become the first Deaf KidzBop performer and speaks about wearing hearing aids, or Kylee (@tjandkylee), a young girl who raises awareness of hearing loss through making informative and entertaining videos with her dad, TJ. Deaf teen TikToker Elizabeth Harris (@lizzytharris) and Child of Deaf Adults (CODA) Jon (@drunkcrier) are also well-known influencers in the space.
A ways to go…
Though public awareness of sign language is growing and perspective shifting, there is still much room for improvement. Consider this challenge: as you go through your daily activities, think about whether they would be quite as accessible to you, were you a sign language user. Getting a ticket for the bus, ordering your morning coffee, metro announcements; there are work arounds, of course, humans are nothing if not adaptable. But my question is this— why should the DHH community have to accommodate hearing individuals quite so extensively? What compromises can we collectively make to ensure that accessibility is not an afterthought, but at the core of design?
Is it reasonable to expect that every UK citizen will become fluent or bilingual in BSL? Well, no, of course not. Is it unreasonable, however, to suggest that some core signs be taught in schools alongside the standard Spanish and French? My answer would have to be the same— of course not. Compassion and access to participation should not be a luxury.
BSc (Hons) Human Communication Graduate
The Quiet Stigma Around Silence
As a society, we have a problem with silence. Namely, the fact that we can’t decide whether we like it or not. In English, we only have to look at the rich tradition of idioms related to silence to grasp the outline of our complicated relationship with it. Silence can be eloquent, stony, or heavy; for some it is golden, and for others, it is paradoxically ‘deafening’. We can listen to radio silence, or be part of the silent majority. Silence can be physical – irreparably damaged when we ‘break our silence’, or crashed into, like a ‘wall of silence’ after an awful work presentation. We can give birth to silence with a pregnant pause, or, ominously, be as silent as the grave. Some people even choose to administer silence like a medication, by giving loved ones or friends ‘the silent treatment’. And if that’s not enough, we may find ourselves facing a ‘silent killer’ when we carry a disease with no obvious symptoms. It’s enough to make anyone want to stay quiet.
I think there’s a reason for our fascination with silence, and it relates to two key desires of human beings; we are natural born communicators, and we are also helplessly self-interested. We naturally want to forge bonds with others through shared stories, confessions, and conversations – and even better if these dialogues concern our own hobbies, interests, and welfare needs. Silence, which by its nature is nonverbal and is indifferent to all parties, flies in the face of both of these desires – and that can be a shock to the system for many. There’s something wonderfully human about the fact we have a word for when we’re not talking.
In the speech and language therapy community, we face the same confusion regarding silence as the wider culture, but in ways which are technical rather than literate and much more pressing given the impact that our work has on real life human beings. Speech is the raw material of a speech and language therapist – like a carpenter’s timber, a blacksmith’s iron or a farmer’s wheat. And yet, there is growing dissent against the notion of ‘oralism’ within the speech and language therapy community; the belief held by some members of the profession (perhaps subconsciously) that speech is the be-all-and-end-all, and that other methods of communication such as sign languages, writing, and gesture are comparably inferior.
Pushback against oralism is felt acutely in the Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) community. AAC refers to any type of artificially added (augmentative) communication method used instead of (alternative) speech. AAC can be high-tech, with iPad-like Voice Output Communication Aids, or low-tech, with clients using specially-made picture books and cards to help get the message across. Famous AAC users who have pioneered AAC in mainstream media include the late physicist Stephen Hawking, ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ comedian Lee Ridley, rugby league hero Rob Burrow, and cerebral palsy activist and blogger Beth Moulam. Whilst these four individuals are much-appreciated trailblazers, a great deal of further work and investment is needed to promote the views and welfare of AAC users in daily life. Anyone who has worked alongside a speech and language therapist in their practice, or anyone with a loved one who uses AAC, will be all too familiar with ‘horror stories’ around maltreatment of AAC devices by carers, teachers, and healthcare workers – communication books being left out of reach of a client in a hospital bed; children’s Voice Output iPads being smashed, left to drain their battery, or even locked away in cupboards while at school; confused clients being handed AAC without proper guidance or modelling of how to use it. All of these experiences are rooted in a pervading and unwelcome societal preoccupation with oralism. Since the AAC device is seen as inferior, it is given less respect and decency than a person’s spoken voice. But an AAC device may well be a person’s only way to communicate – would you tear out a person’s larynx and leave it in a cupboard, or lock someone’s mouth shut and leave the key painfully out of reach?
I write with feverish discontent about this issue because I myself have some experience of having my voice locked away without my consent. As a child I experienced what is now called ‘situational mutism’ but was then called ‘selective mutism’ – a medical speech disorder caused by uncontrollable anxiety, where the speech functions shut down in seemingly innocuous but underlyingly stressful situations. This meant that I barely spoke outside of my house for the first ten years of my life, mainly relying on a faint knowledge of British Sign Language (BSL) and a lot of gesture to get my message across. Whilst I did have a few friends in school, I was bullied, and retreated into a world of creative writing and drawing to express my feelings. One of my most bittersweet childhood memories is telling my favourite teaching assistant that I had a new little brother by drawing a pencil sketch of a baby on some green paper she had salvaged from a cupboard. That little baby is now a strapping lad of sixteen and is probably taller than me and the teaching assistant combined, but that memory is as warm as my love for him. To the ardent oralist, this memory is indicative of failure, since I wasn’t able to use my voice to tell this teaching assistant my thrilling news. But to me, this moment remains as a touching example of tenacity and creative ingenuity from two different people in the face of a communicative challenge.
There are some individuals who place a special amount of virtue on silence and mutism, to the point of viewing silent contemplation as a necessity for spiritual discernment. As a Catholic, I find myself drawn to the example of St Benedict of Nursia, the Patron Saint of Europe known for his demon-fighting medals and for sharing his name with sixteen Popes. St Benedict was born into a noble family, but after witnessing the vices his fellow rich students indulged in and the political situation in Rome, decided to run away and live in a cave (increasingly tempting in today’s world … ). To this day, the Trappist monks inspired by St Benedict spend most of their daily lives in silence in order to better receive the will of God, and have even developed their own ‘monastic sign languages’ to communicate in the monastery. Whilst these monks took silence to the next level, even lay people have a natural understanding that quiet contemplation can unlock secrets which idle chatter cannot. How many of us meditate, pray, or need perfect silence to sleep or study?
In this blog post, I’ve touched upon two communication needs discussed in the speech and language therapy community – AAC and selective / situational mutism. However, there are plenty of examples of other areas of speech and language therapy where negative attitudes and stigma about alternate communication methods act as a barrier for clients and clinicians; speech and language therapist (SLTs) working in care homes and in the community with adults living with dementia, SLTs working with adolescents and adults with learning disabilities, and SLTs working with young offenders in the criminal justice system spring immediately to mind.
If you enjoyed this blog post, I’d highly recommend delving into the writings and work of some speech and language therapists and academics who have addressed this issue before me: Dr Helen Robinson, who specialises in AAC and is the Royal College of Speech and Language Therapists’ representative for the North of England; Warda Farah, an entrepreneur and lecturer at the University of Greenwich; and Professor Pam Enderby OBE, who has worked for over 40 years with adults living with conditions such as dysarthria and dysphagia, and is lovingly referred to by some as the ‘rockstar’ of speech and language therapy. I’d also like to thank the Selective Mutism Clinical Excellence Network (CEN) who made me feel really welcome when I was reflecting on how best to approach this blog.
This International Day of Sign Languages, I’d invite you, the reader, to reflect on your own experiences of alternate communication methods – have you observed attitudes of oralism out in the world, or unwittingly pushed them yourself? What is your favourite method of communication besides spoken language? Do you know anyone with a speech, language, and / or communication need? What will you take forward from today? And, if you’ll pardon the pun, what communication inequalities are you willing to speak out about?
Finally, if you are still keen to learn more, why not…
- Keep an eye out for public places and landmarks being lit up in blue this September 23rd.
- Follow the campaign: https://www.un.org/en/observances/sign-languages-day
- Read more to educate yourself further: https://wfdeaf.org/iwdeaf2023/
- Learn a sign language: https://makaton.org/TMC/TMC/LearnMakaton.aspx
- Or get involved with a sign language charity.
