Deaf Identities: Exploring New Frontiers 0190887591, 9780190887599

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Deaf Identities

Perspectives on Deafness Series Editors Marc Marschark Harry Knoors Educating Deaf Learners: Creating a Global Evidence Base Edited by Harry Knoors and Marc Marschark Evidence-​Based Practices in Deaf Education Edited by Harry Knoors and Marc Marschark Teaching Deaf Learners: Psychological and Developmental Foundations Harry Knoors and Marc Marschark The People of the Eye: Deaf Ethnicity and Ancestry Harlan Lane, Richard C. Pillard, and Ulf Hedberg Deaf Cognition: Foundations and Outcomes Edited by Marc Marschark and Peter C. Hauser How Deaf Children Learn: What Parents and Teachers Need to Know Marc Marschark and Peter C. Hauser Diversity in Deaf Education Edited by Marc Marschark, Venetta Lampropoulou, and Emmanouil K. Skordilis Bilingualism and Bilingual Deaf Education Edited by Marc Marschark, Gladys Tang, and Harry Knoors Early Literacy Development in Deaf Children Connie Mayer and Beverly J. Trezek The World of Deaf Infants: A Longitudinal Study Kathryn P. Meadow-​Orlans, Patricia Elizabeth Spencer, and Lynn Sanford Koester Approaches to Social Research: The Case of Deaf Studies Alys Young and Bogusia Temple Deaf Education Beyond the Western World Harry Knoors, Maria Brons, and Marc Marschark Co-​Enrollment in Deaf Education Marc Marschark, Shirin Antia, and Harry Knoors

Deaf Identities Exploring New Frontiers

Edited by Irene W. Leigh Catherine A. O’Brien

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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Control Number: 2019949808 ISBN 978–​0–​19–​088759–​9 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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Preface and Acknowledgments

The ongoing journey into a deeper understanding of deaf identities began in Athens, Greece, the cradle of a civilization that gave rise to philosophers exploring the fundamental concept of identity. The idea for Deaf Identities:  Exploring New Frontiers was sparked by a chance meeting between Irene W.  Leigh and Catherine A.  O’Brien at the July 2015 International Conference on Education of the Deaf, held in Athens. As we talked, it became clear that we both were passionate about identity work and its relevance in the lives of deaf people. Our passion has been fueled by our unique histories that have propelled us to explore how our lives and our experiences as deaf individuals have influenced our perceptions of ourselves, most particularly our deaf identities. Our journeys have been marked by messages that we were different, not part of the so-​called norm, and by struggles to define who we were in the face of a society that did not always acknowledge our abilities because “deaf” too often carried with it the implication of inadequacy, inequality, and insufficiency in a very competitive world. Yet we persisted in holding to a positive core of self that was affirmative and resilient. How were we able to get to this point in our lives, able to proudly proclaim our identities as deaf persons? Yes, each of us has multiple identities, but for the purposes of this book the focus is on the deaf identity part of our selves. Irene W.  Leigh was born in London, England, to hearing refugee parents from Nazi Germany who barely escaped to England just before World War II started and who survived the London Blitz. She grew up with stories of survival, of making it through difficult times, and persisting in the face of adversity with full confidence. She was identified as deaf at age 2. Her parents worked to instill in her a love for learning, communication, and confidence in becoming independent. At age 4, she and her parents emigrated to the United States, but they ended up at Ellis Island because the immigration official screening arriving passengers on the ship determined she as a deaf child would be a burden to the government of the United States. The next day, she demonstrated to the immigration official on duty that she was more capable of understanding and drawing pictures based on instructions than his own similarly aged grandson was. This was sufficient to allow her family to enter the United States.

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viii   Preface and Acknowledgments

Irene spent her formative years at a public elementary school in Chicago, Illinois, where half the building was assigned to deaf students while the other half consisted of hearing students from the neighborhood where the school was located. Her exposure to a solid core of deaf peers as well as her ability to transcend hearing-​deaf barriers marked the development of a core deaf identity, supported by her parents who embraced her as a deaf child, that allowed for flexibility in connecting with hearing peers as well, an identity that now would be defined as bicultural. On the first day at her new public high school at the age of 13, when she entered the homeroom assigned to deaf students, the teacher of the deaf bluntly told her she had been scheduled to participate in honors classes as recommended by her elementary school principal but should withdraw because these classes were impossible for deaf students. Only hard-​of-​hearing students could handle these classes. This was her first direct experience with a system that discounted the ability of deaf students to be competitive in the academic environment. Thanks to the intervention of her mother, who insisted to the adamant teacher of the deaf that no changes should be made in Irene’s class placements, Irene remained in honors classes throughout high school. During those years, while classes were with hearing peers, she maintained an active social life not only with hearing students but also with deaf peers at community events organized for deaf adolescents. While she knew that she was different from her hearing peers because of her hearing status and immigration history, her academic abilities and social skills ensured the development of a strong sense of self as a deaf person comfortable in both deaf and hearing environments. This continued through her college years at Northwestern University and beyond. As a parent of two children, one hearing and one deaf, Irene saw how they both continually confronted identity issues. As the only hearing member in a deaf family, her hearing daughter saw herself as the minority in her nuclear family while simultaneously seeing herself as part of the majority outside the family. Her deaf son, the only deaf student in his school, confronted issues of difference and ostracization daily (despite his stellar communication skills) that did not cease until he was halfway through high school. As Irene proceeded through graduate training in rehabilitation counseling and then her doctorate in clinical psychology, she noted how her clients were actively trying to determine who they were as deaf individuals exploring their place in a world that did not consistently accommodate them, whether in their families of origin, at school, or at work. Issues of belonging, struggles with group identification, and peer relationships made the issue of identity determination even more salient for Irene and led her to a lifelong interest in exploring the role of identity within the domain of psychology. This interest culminated in her recognition that there is no one way to be deaf.

Preface and Acknowledgments   ix

To demonstrate this, she decided to write A Lens on Deaf Identities as a means of conveying to readers the importance of a solid sense of self as individuals embracing the ways in which they chose to be deaf. While Deaf Identities: Exploring New Frontiers was conceptualized as a sequel to the preceding book, it takes the readers into new territory in exploring the diverse ways with which deaf identities can be/​are framed. Catherine was born in St. Louis, Missouri, to poor Irish Catholic parents, neither of whom completed high school. Her mother attended school until age 13, when her father died. Catherine’s father attended school until the 10th grade; he later joined the Navy and served in the Korean War. Catherine was the third child of seven. She lost her hearing at age 8 due to a head injury and contracting the mumps. When Catherine began school, she attended a private Catholic school; her great-​grandmother paid the tuition. After her great-​grandmother’s death, the family became homeless due to the loss of the financial support from the great-​grandmother, her father’s alcoholism, and his inability to keep a steady job. The family was homeless for almost 3 years, from the time Catherine was age 9 until age 12. She quickly learned to care for herself and her siblings. After her father began working again, he rented an apartment in the inner city of St. Louis, and Catherine attended public school. There she was isolated most of the time as the only deaf person in the school. She felt inferior to her peers and teachers and often wondered if there were any adults like her. During her PreK–​12 school years, she never met a deaf adult. The library became her best friend, and through books, she could travel all over the world. Because her home often lacked the resources she needed, many times lacking even the basic necessities, the public and school libraries became her refuge. Mr. Haas, her fifth-​grade teacher in the inner-​city elementary school she attended, is the primary reason Catherine became an educator. He was not deaf, but he was animated and excited about teaching her. He taught geography by telling his students how to travel through books, maps, and funny stories. He encouraged them to read and learn without ever embarrassing anyone when they missed a step. It was safe to make a mistake, for that is how he taught. If a student was good at a particular subject, Mr. Haas wanted the whole class to know, and he celebrated that. He loved to teach, and he loved his students. Mr. Haas recognized the efforts of his students and he rewarded them, with compliments, with very visual excitement, and with laughter that made her laugh just watching him. At the beginning of her junior year of high school, Catherine told her parents she was going to college. Her father became infuriated and accused her of being too smart for her own good. He kicked her out of the house, and she became homeless until she graduated from high school. Subsequently, she attended a hearing undergraduate university

x   Preface and Acknowledgments

on an athletic and academic scholarship; however, she again experienced the same isolation that she felt during most of her previous educational experience. At this university, she was the first deaf student admitted. Many of the professors had little understanding of what it was like to be deaf or how to allow her to learn in their classes. Most of the instructors lectured; this made it difficult for her to follow class presentations. Some professors asked her to drop their classes, and others gave oral quizzes that she ultimately failed. Once, she was accused of cheating when she asked a hearing peer to restate the question the professor posed for an oral quiz. Subsequently, she failed all of the oral quizzes. She did not have an interpreter at any time during her schooling until after the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), when she returned to school to complete two master’s degrees, an education specialist degree, and a doctorate in the fields of special education, PreK–​12 school leadership, and educational leadership and policy analysis, respectively. In each of these university degree programs, Catherine was the only deaf student admitted into the program, where she competed with hearing students, often becoming silent to the oppression from her peers and instructors. During the first year of her doctoral program, Catherine was required to take an advanced statistics course with a professor who found having an interpreter in his classroom very irritating. The professor actually placed the interpreter at the far side of the room near the door; she could not watch both the professor and the interpreter at the same time. She devised a plan involving three other students to obtain all of the information in the class. Two of them took notes from what he said to the class, one wrote down everything he wrote on the board, and she focused on the interpreter and tried to absorb everything that was visually available. She then took all of their notes to her office after each class, compiled them into a complete set of notes which she emailed to the participants, and wrote questions to ask the professor at the next class. One of the other students asked the questions each day, and they recorded the professor’s answers. She received the second-​ highest grade on the first test; after that, the professor was willing to somewhat acknowledge her. She had demonstrated her ability to learn in the class without being confrontational, even though she had “rights” in the classroom and could have brought a grievance against the professor (and run the risk of being given a failing grade). Further, she was the first deaf teacher and assistant school principal hired in general education programs in the school district and state. She has taught in rural and urban schools and was a school leader in a large urban school district. She also received Teacher of the Year awards from the St. Louis Rams foundation. In total, she worked in K–​12 public schools for approximately 14 years.

Preface and Acknowledgments   xi

She met her first Deaf adult and role model at the age of 27. It was then that she began to learn of Deaf people and their community. When she was invited to visit a school for the deaf during their homecoming, she experienced a feeling beyond belief: connection. Words could not describe the elated, confused, euphoric, and conflicting feelings that have stayed with her to this day. In some ways she felt that she had “found her people” and found a purpose, meaning, and desire to embrace this new meaning of being deaf and these new people and never let go. These educational experiences have brought her to Gallaudet University. It is her desire to continually learn about and improve the educational experiences of deaf children. She has striven to understand the educational system, the meaning of least restrictive environment (LRE), and the implications of laws designed to “improve” the education of deaf children. Today the controversy of where a deaf child is best educated, a public mainstreamed school or a school for the deaf or separate program, and so on continues to be debated. Through her research on culturally responsive pedagogy and leadership lens, she found that the perceived identity of the students, teachers, parents, staff, and school leaders is critical to the deaf students’ identity development and academic achievement. We owe a debt of gratitude to all those who have supported us in our journeys through life. For Irene, it started with her late parents, Paul and Hilde Wolff, who were unstinting in their faith that she could forge ahead as a deaf individual, and with her elementary school principal, Elberta Pruitt, who fought to ensure that a deserving deaf student be allowed the opportunity to demonstrate her competency. Her friends, both hearing and deaf, warmly accepted her bicultural identity, and her children taught her the importance of affirming who they are. Her students in the doctoral program in clinical psychology at Gallaudet University, where she taught for over 20 years, as well as the Deaf culture faculty and members of the different disciplines at the University that were developing different paradigms of deaf identities, challenged her to think more about the different facets of these identities and create the pathway to developing the research work that preceded this book. She thanks them all. For Catherine, discovering her self-​identity began in fifth grade with Mr. Haas, who encouraged her to participate in class even when she did not understand. She continued to develop a self-​identity through sports. When she entered Truman State University, where she met Dr. Don Kangas, a professor who believed in her, taught her individually, including statistics, which she thought she would never need, and supervised her first published research paper as an undergraduate student, she began to develop a scholarly identity. Dr. Kangas and his wife, Jeanne, have kept in contact with her throughout her life journey,

xii   Preface and Acknowledgments

offering encouragement to continue even when she wanted to stop. They edited her work and helped her improve her research skills. It was also at this time that Catherine began to learn more about herself and became curious about her place in the world as a deaf person. During this same time, Catherine also met a wonderful family who took her in, loved her, and taught her how a family should live. The encouraged her to have cochlear implant surgery and introduced her to Dr. Larry McIntire. Dr. McIntire became not only her physician but also her lifelong friend. She would like to thank Dr. McIntire and the McIntire family for their love and express a great appreciation for their continued encouragement and support. Catherine would also like to thank her professors who were at the University of Missouri while she was working on her advanced degrees. A special thank-​you goes to the students, parents, teachers, staff, school leaders, and Deaf community members who worked with her on the research and trusted that her work would one day encourage improving education for deaf children. They gave of their time and shared their stories and experiences in education at the same time they encouraged her to continue her work. Without the support of the participants in the various studies, the work could not have been accomplished. She also acknowledges her current and former students at Gallaudet University for they also have informed this work. Finally, Catherine would like to acknowledge the support of a long-​time friend, Associate Provost Thomas Horejes (then assistant professor) who invited her to Gallaudet University, Provost Carol Erting (then dean), and the committee members of the I.  King Jordan Fellowship for inviting her to Gallaudet University to expand her research. As the reader will note, multiple contributors to this book are currently situated at Gallaudet University or were formerly affiliated with Gallaudet University. As a bicultural institution focusing on the use of American Sign Language and English, Gallaudet University provides a fertile ground for the discussion of what it means to be deaf, thereby creating a wellspring of literature on deaf identities. We have capitalized on this development in the production of this book. For this reason, we owe a debt of gratitude to Gallaudet University. We would like to also extend special thanks to Oxford University Press, the anonymous reviewers whose comments helped move us past the original proposal, Abby Gross (Senior Editor), Katharina Pratt (Editorial Assistant), and Leslie Anglin (Copyeditor) for their diligent work and support in facilitating the development of our book. We also extend thanks to Sujitha Logaganesan (Production Editor) of Newgen for supervising this book during the production phase. Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien

Contributors

Glenn B. Anderson School of Counseling, Human Performance, & Rehabilitation University of Arkansas at Little Rock Little Rock, AR, USA

Lindsay Moeletsi Dunn Department of American Sign Language and Deaf Studies Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA Debbie Golos Department of Educational Psychology University of Minnesota Minneapolis, MN, USA

Sangeeta Bagga-​Gupta School of Education and Communication Jönköping University Jönköping, Sweden Brenda Jo Brueggemann Department of English University of Connecticut Storrs, CT, USA

Patrick J. Graham Division of Deaf Studies and Professional Studies Western Oregon University Monmouth, OR, USA

Noah Buchholz Princeton Theological Seminary Princeton University Princeton, NJ, USA

Nancy C. Grant Department of Counseling Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA

Teresa Blankmeyer Burke Departments of History, Philosophy, Religion, and Sociology Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA

Denise Thew Hackett Rehabilitation and Mental Health Counseling Division of Deaf Studies and Professional Studies Western Oregon University Monmouth, OR, USA

Kyle Amber Clark Department of Counseling Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA

Leala Holcomb Department of Theory and Practice in Teacher Education The University of Tennessee Knoxville, TN, USA

Goedele A. M. De Clerck Social Research with Deaf People The University of Manchester Manchester, UK xiii

xiv  Contributors

Thomas P. Horejes Acdemic Affairs: Office of Student Success and Academic Quality Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA Darby Jared Leigh Kerem Shalom Synagogue Concord, MA, USA Irene W. Leigh Department of Psychology Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA Laura Mauldin Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Human Development & Family Studies University of Connecticut Storrs, CT, USA Cara A. Miller Department of Psychology Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA Catherine A. O’Brien Department of Government and Public Affairs Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA

Oscar Ocuto Department of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education Lamar University Beaumont, TX, USA Joseph Santini Department of Education Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA Joseph J. Tobin Department of Educational Theory and Practice University of Georgia Athens, GA, USA Joseph Michael Valente Curriculum and Instruction Department College of Education Penn State University University Park, PA, USA Cheryl L. Wu Department of Counseling Gallaudet University Washington, DC, USA

1    Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework Irene W. Leigh

INTRODUCTION

Identity has been scrutinized, dissected, analyzed, and defined since the beginning of philosophical discourse. This enduring fascination with identity is based on its relevance to the human condition, reflecting as it does the essence of “Who am I?” and “Why am I  the way I  am?” Identity is not merely a biological construct based on gender or race but also a social conglomerate emanating from cognitive perceptions of sameness and difference gleaned from environmental messages that convey labels. These labels reflect an array of characteristics that connect the individual to social groups through the concept of sameness with certain groups and differences with other groups. In exploring the meanings of human experience and how humans relate to their worlds, philosophers and other writers have expounded on what constitutes individual identities since the time of Plato and Aristotle, both of whom examined and debated the meanings of sameness and difference in their quest to understand the nature of the self (e.g., Cohen, 1978; Gerson, 2004). Debates on what constitutes identity have continued throughout the ages, as amply reflected in the literature (Burkitt, 2011). The focus of these debates has centered on two basic perspectives on how to conceptualize identity, specifically essentialism or primordialism and nonessentialism or constructivism (Croucher, 2004; Woodward, 1997, 2002). The former perspective is rooted in the belief that identity is “conceived of as essential, relatively fixed, predetermined, or ‘natural,’ based on specific ‘authentic’ characteristics that clearly define an overarching identity construct and create a related sense of belongingness, shared historical truth, and stability” (Leigh, 2009, p. 4). For example, if you were born in China to Chinese parents, you therefore are Chinese. In contrast, nonessentialism is rooted in a social constructivist framework that suggests how “identities are not inherently in the self or created by the individual’s surroundings. Rather, the self as an ongoing

Irene W. Leigh, Deaf Identities In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0001

2   Deaf Identities

process constructs itself and is constructed by the social environment” (Leigh, 2009, p. 4). For example, is the person born in China to Chinese parents who then emigrated to the United States still Chinese? Or is that individual therefore assimilating to the new environment as a Chinese American or as an American? People tend to gravitate toward the essentialist perspective in determining one’s identity: You either are or you are not, whatever the label. However, it is indisputable that the self and identity are social products rooted within social contexts impinging on the individual, whether it be the family, the educational setting, the work setting, the religious setting, other social settings, or all these at one time or other (Oyserman, Elmore, & Smith, 2012). In today’s increasingly complex and pluralistic cultural milieus, the individual will more likely construct malleable and multiple identities that reflect his or her varied relevant social environments. In contrast, monocultural environments will serve to reinforce identities that are basically essentialist. HOW IDENTITY EVOLVES

While originating in philosophy, the literature indicates that studies of identity development have been predominantly grounded in the discipline of psychology, together with some seminal contributions from the discipline of sociology (e.g., Leary & Tangney, 2012; McLean & Syed, 2015). Authors have typically used the lens of psychology, with particular focus on social psychology, to scrutinize the influence of social factors on the evolving self as it is shaping and reshaping, while at the same time self-​regulating which identities to incorporate into the self. How we become aware of who and what we are is determined by multiple factors, which include multidimensional and reflective processes that are dynamic and ongoing throughout the life span (Grotevant, 1992; Harter, 1999). Theories of how these processes occur can be conceptualized within three different perspectives: evolutionary psychology, symbolic interactionism, and ecology (Forgas & Williams, 2003). Evolutionary psychology relies on a Darwinian-​based perspective that explains how the sense of self evolves as a programmed response to the ongoing need to manage interactions with others in ways that facilitate the development of skills in accumulating the social information needed to define one’s self and ensuring relations with others (Buss, 2016). The symbolic interactionist perspective, which got its start with theorists William James and George Herbert Mead in the late 1800s, is rooted in the discipline of social psychology (e.g., Forgas & Williams, 2003; Harter, 1999; Serpe & Stryker, 2011) (Note that although Mead is often described as a sociologist, in his academic work he taught and worked mainly within the disciplines of psychology and philosophy

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   3

[Cronk,  2016].) Symbolic interactionism posits that interactions between a person’s cognitive, symbolic, interpersonal, and collective systems facilitate the development of that person’s core self or identity and hence represents a social construct. Different experiences will feed into symbolic representations through, for example, visual representations, language, and emotional reactions. In turn, different manifestations of the core self will arise depending on the specific environment and social interactions. In the ecological perspective, the focus is on the different ecological domains within which the individual lives and how these impinge on intergroup, collective, and cultural aspects of the self (e.g., Biernat, Eidelman, & Fuegen, 2003; Brewer & Pickett, 2003; Thomashow, 1996). In other words, contextual clues provided through social feedback in relevant environments may influence how individuals identify with or distance from specific social groups. However, this does not necessarily eliminate the role of internal motivation in the individual’s decision regarding which identities to internalize. The notion of identity development throughout the life cycle was popularized by the work of Erik Erikson (1980), a developmental psychologist and psychoanalyst who was most prominent in focusing scholarly attention on the critical issues that influence identity awareness as it evolves during the individual’s life cycle. His theories of identity evolution, presented in his treatise on the eight stages of psychosocial development within the life cycle, were noteworthy at the time for their seminal focus on the interconnections between the personal and social worlds (Coté & Levine, 2002; Schultz & Schultz, 2017). Currently, however, Erikson’s eight stages are no longer viewed as absolute. For example, in his description of the fifth stage, Identity Versus Role Confusion, adolescents go through an intense exploration of personal values, beliefs, and goals in attempting to define their identities. But there are adults throughout life who are intensely exploring the same aspects, particularly those who are going through midlife crises and are trying to redefine who they are. Additionally, Erikson’s work can be viewed as Eurocentric or Westernized, considering that in non-​ Eurocentric or monocultures, opportunities to explore alternate values, beliefs, goals, multiple identities, and self-​perceptions are significantly constrained or based on different paradigms. This leads us to two questions that we need to consider:  Do individuals have a choice regarding which identities to assume? And if they do, how do they select which identities to internalize, considering their personal and social worlds? The degree to which flexibility in selecting identities to internalize is clearly subject to the availability of choices in relevant macro-​social contexts as well as in terms of how the individual responds to these social contexts. To clarify, if one is born in Saudi Arabia, religious identity choices in that country are

4   Deaf Identities

significantly limited compared to the religious identity choices available for the same individual in the United States, even if these choices are limited by the religion of the family of origin or the family’s religious preference. Individuals are typically programmed to want to belong; this encourages identifying with social groups to avoid the sense of exclusion or not belonging (Baumeister, Twenge, & Ciarocco, 2003; Moss, 2016). DEAF IDENTITIES: A RICH AREA OF STUDY Going Back in Time

To answer why deaf identities is a rich area of study, we need to go back in time to the sources provided by writers in ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as well as the Old and New Testament periods (Abrams, 1998; Bauman, 2008a; Eriksson, 1993; Miles, 2000; Moores, 2001; Rée, 1999; Van Cleve & Crouch, 1989). Keep in mind that the original writers of these ancient sources were hearing individuals who were observing deaf people. These sources describe deaf people confronting various levels of acceptance and ostracization. During the Middle Ages, people who were deaf were perceived as having no language, and therefore they were considered to be uneducable and doomed as outcasts of society and objects of charity (Branson & Miller, 2002). One has to wonder how these deaf individuals felt, how they viewed themselves, and what life meant for them. Interestingly, however, there are also contradictory records indicating the presence of deaf people who used sign language and were productive participants in society, including for example farmers and craftspeople as well as deaf members of the Ottoman court (Branson & Miller, 2002; Miles, 2000). How they conceptualized their identities in comparison to the observation of hearing peers is lost to history. Beginning in the 1500s, when it was recognized that deaf people were in fact capable of mastering languages, efforts to provide educational opportunities for this group of individuals were initiated, first in Spain, and subsequently in other European countries (see Branson & Miller, 2002; Moores, 2001; Rée, 1999; Van Cleve & Crouch, 1989 for historical details). Initial efforts focused on the use of visually based communication. As these efforts became institutionalized with the founding of schools for the deaf in the 1700s and 1800s, deaf people began to assert themselves as proud deaf individuals. Witness, for example, the Paris Banquets that flourished in postrevolutionary France. At these get-​ togethers, deaf people asserted themselves as independent and intellectual thinkers who could project a strong sense of self that illustrated what it meant to be proud deaf people (Mottez, 1993; Quartararo, 2008). Encouraged by schools for the deaf that spread across the United States

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   5

as well as in various European countries, these qualities have persisted to the present day. Social forces in the guise of not only the schools for the deaf but also religious and social institutions that flourished during the 1800s and 1900s conspired to reinforce positive notions of what it meant to be deaf. Over time, deaf people continued to coalesce into various groups that reflected affirmative group cohesiveness as deaf people who felt “at home” with each other (Leigh, 2009). It is easy to fall into the trap of assuming that this group cohesiveness created a singular Deaf identity incorporating signing Deaf people. What we cannot overlook is that there was also an educational movement to have deaf children learn to speak in deference to the dominant hearing society and hearing perceptions that spoken language was a higher evolutionary form of language compared to sign language (Baynton, 1993, 1996; Burch, 2002). This gave rise to the so-​called oral-​manual controversy, which encapsulated conflicts between those advocating for the use of sign language or sign systems to educate deaf children and those who advocated for training deaf children to use spoken language (Branson & Miller, 2002; Moores, 2001). While this oral-​manual or spoken languages–​signed languages controversy persists to this day, the point to be made here is the difficulty in formulating an essentialist framework for deaf identity. Not all deaf people are signing individuals or part of a signing Deaf community. Beginning in the late 1700s and continuing up to the present time, there have been ongoing cohorts of individuals who identify as deaf spoken language users and who may or may not identify with like-​minded deaf individuals, or even with signing peers (Leigh, 2009). How they conceptualize their deaf identity diverges from those who are part of the signing culturally Deaf community, thereby giving rise to the notion that there are many ways to be deaf. This diversity in deaf identities happens despite the commonality of being deaf per se, which in and of itself serves as a connecting catalyst. The Complexity of Deaf Identities

To recognize fully the richness of this area of study, one needs to recognize the heterogeneity of the deaf population and the implications of this heterogeneity for deaf identity evolution or development. As Eldredge (2017) acknowledges, the complexity and incredible diversity of the Deaf community make identity particularly interesting. Historically, analyses of deaf people encompassed only the homogenous White face of the deaf community (e.g., Baynton, 1996; Burch, 2002; Padden & Humphries, 1988; Van Cleve & Crouch, 1989). In their seminal book, Deaf in America:  Voices From a Culture, Carol Padden and Tom Humphries (1988) provided a rich introduction to what they termed “Deaf culture,” a term that is now ensconced in the literature. While they acknowledged the presence of many cultures of Deaf

6   Deaf Identities

people, they specified that their book was “about the Deaf culture we know best, our own” (p. 4). Their sources were their own experiences and the lore of Deaf people who were White. Since then, it has become imperative not only to acknowledge the heterogeneity of deaf people but also to incorporate an awareness of this heterogeneity and sensitivity to cultural differences in developing studies of deaf identities. Currently, there is increasing recognition that, in the general population, the intersectionality of multiple identities with their interlocking systems of oppression reinforced by social and attitudinal barriers related to specific identities is a fact of life (Rosenthal, 2016). We discuss this briefly in the next section on “Identity Conundrums.” In the case of deaf people, their multiple identities include not only the typical identity constellations related to, for example, ethnicity, gender, religion, school, employment, immigration status, and athletics but also other possible identities related to sexual orientation and disabilities. The intersectionalities of these identities encompass variable degrees of stigmatizing or optimizing influences that can determine the valences attributed to each identity constellation. We recognize that not all identities evolve in tandem. Looking at ethnic identity, do we know how deaf people juxtapose their ethnic identity with their deaf identity? What seems apparent is that ethnic identities are core identities that generally precede other identities (Corker, 1996; Helms, 1994). For example, deaf children born to hearing families will identify with their family’s ethnic heritage, with the recognition and internalization of a deaf identity taking place only when the child recognizes how different his or her reactions are compared with hearing family members who are responding to sounds in their environment, or when the child is exposed to deaf peers in early intervention or school settings. In the case of children born to parents who are deaf, whether culturally Deaf or not, theoretically both the ethnic identity and the deaf identity may be internalized more simultaneously than might have happened otherwise. At this point, it is critical to emphasize the danger of oversimplification. Deaf identities are impacted by multiple factors going beyond, for example, hearing status or ethnic status, some of which may be more salient than others depending on the extent to which they are relevant for the deaf individual. This was demonstrated by a Danish national study involving 742 participants (Chapman & Dammeyer, 2016). The researchers noted the presence of a relationship between different deaf identity categories and psychological well-​being. Educational level, having an additional disability, and feeling discriminated against significantly and independently explained the degree of psychological well-​being, particularly for the marginal identity category; this category represents participants who lacked a sense of belonging to either deaf or hearing communities. The researchers advocate for more

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   7

scholarly exploration into the processes and content of identity work, with particular attention to experiences of discrimination and marginalization and how these may impact identity development. Identity Conundrums

One critical facet of identity that increasingly demands attention is the extent to which specific identities are deemed acceptable by the societies in which individuals find themselves. Various social environments incorporate value systems that enhance or demean certain identities. For example, to be a star athlete heightens the chance of winning adulation from admirers. But professing one’s identity as a gay or transgender person may result in that person being ostracized. To cite an extreme example, to be gay in Uganda was to risk being sentenced to prison for life based on The Anti-​Homosexuality Act of 2014 (The Human Dignity Trust, 2014). Despite the fact this act was nullified shortly after it was passed, likely due to international pressure, the LGBT community in Uganda still faces ongoing harassment and danger (Thapa, 2015). These examples demonstrate the power of society perceptions related to identity labels. Society perceptions are very relevant for deaf identities. Yes, deaf people have come a long way, having achieved significant professional recognition in numerous fields, more so in recent years (e.g., Gannon, 1981; Leigh, 2009; Leigh & Andrews, 2017). Additionally, studies focusing on deaf people and deaf issues have increased exponentially in the past few decades, including linguistic studies of American Sign Language as well as studies of the cultures of deaf people. One only has to google these topics to see the extent of this literature. However, the mainstream public and media continue to perceive deaf people as “different.” As Leigh (2009) stated, “To be different in ways that do not fit society’s expectations of acceptability, to be part of a minority group, to communicate in a unique way, often generates negative reactions” (p.  105). Narratives of deaf lives continue to portray episodes of stigmatization, rejection, loneliness, tension, struggle, discrimination, and frustration in dealing with hearing society (e.g., Leigh, 2009; C. O’Brien, [see Preface]; Oliva, 2004; Oliva & Lytle, 2014). When mainstream society incorporates attitudes of implicit hearing superiority in the guise of ability to hear and competency in spoken language, now defined as audism (Bauman, 2004), the disadvantage for deaf individuals who do not adhere to standards of spoken language becomes apparent, particularly with respect to marginalization, a concept explored by Sumner, Burrow, and Hill (2018) in terms of its impact on one’s purpose in life. The experiences of these marginalized individuals can intensify negative valences related to internalizing a deaf identity, thereby relegating them to a liminal type of status. Psychological research has documented how stigma disadvantages

8   Deaf Identities

those who are affected by it (Hatzenbuehler, 2016). Hatzenbuehler introduces us to the concept of structural stigma, which is defined as “societal level conditions, cultural norms, and institutional policies that constrain the opportunities, resources, and well-​ being of the stigmatized” (p. 742). Structural stigma is alive and real, as exemplified by deaf individuals who, because of their being identified as deaf, encounter discrimination in the job application or promotion process, or who are not accorded appropriate communication access on the job (Kelly, Quagliata, DeMartino, & Perotti, 2016; Szymanski, 2010; Task Force on Health Care Careers for the Deaf and Hard-​of-​Hearing Community, 2012)  or who are not accorded appropriate support services or access in the classroom (Oliva & Lytle, 2014), basically because they do not hear or speak. Szymanski (2010), a highly qualified applicant for psychology internships, provides compelling evidence of bias and prejudice in her narrative of her application process. Specifically, 100% of her applications that omitted mention of her being deaf resulted in invitations for interviews, while 100% of her applications that mentioned her being deaf resulted in zero invitations to interview. There are many stories of individuals who cover their hearing aids or cochlear implants in order to minimize detection and “pass” for hearing in the eyes of their hearing societies. The consequences of such experiences can include not only threats to personal and social identity (Major & L. T. O’Brien, 2005) but also threats to physical health (Hatzenbuehler, 2016). Identity threat results when such stressors affect one’s social identity (deaf identity) and attempts to cope, including efforts to conceal the hearing issue, is ineffective. It has been documented that deaf and hard-​of-​hearing people are subject to significant health care disparities (Pick, 2013). While we acknowledge multiple possible reasons for these disparities, including, for example, inequitable access to medical and behavioral care (Barnett et al., 2011; Pick, 2013), increased exposure to high-​stress situations due to communication issues and experiences of stigmatization can potentially exacerbate physical symptoms. To support this possibility, one study found a higher than anticipated prevalence of high blood pressure for deaf participants (Sinai Health System and Advocate Health Care, 2012). This is an area that warrants further study and research. Resilience

According to Young, Rogers, Green, and Daniels (2011), resilience is an enticing concept when looking at deaf people who struggle against odds. Resilience is about the ability of people to bounce back despite multiple setbacks. But we may ask what relevance resilience has for identity. As these authors indicate in their exploration of the interactions between being deaf and the concept of resilience, it is common knowledge that, from a developmental perspective, being deaf has consistently been

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   9

linked with a greater propensity for less than ideal outcomes in a broad range of areas, including literacy, mental health, vulnerability to abuse, social and cognitive functioning, educational achievement, employment, and socioeconomic opportunity. This is not due to the inability to hear, but rather to environmental contexts that do not allow individuals to maximize potential. To be able to overcome these disadvantages, one needs to focus on individual strengths and the ability to withstand negative experiences and setbacks. Based on Martha Sheridan’s (2011) reports of her interviews with seven deaf participants at two separate stages of their development, first in their childhood and then again during their adolescence, what she found was a testament to their resilience. Despite their stories about alienating experiences, they shifted attention to “their many positive, joyful experiences and loving relationships, their multiple strengths, their hopes and dreams and the optimistic expectations they have for themselves and their futures, their adaptability and the effective ways in which they tackle whatever challenges that life does present” (p. 232). These children could not have responded in this way without having internalized a positive sense of self or identity. They were accorded protective factors, including, for example, caring relationships, high expectations focusing on strengths, and opportunities for meaningful participation. So how do we explain the process by which deaf identities are internalized in the face of such experiences, both positive and negative, and how these are juxtaposed with other identities that the deaf individual may internalize as well? We discuss this in the next section. EMERGENCE OF DEAF IDENTITY THEORIES

Deaf identity theories have emerged in the literature only within the last 50 years. This is a relatively short time considering the extent to which identity in general has been studied since the early Greek and Roman times. This recent development is understandable when we consider the fact that the education of deaf children gained momentum only in the 1800s with the expansion of schools for the deaf. The psychological study of deaf children got its start in the late 1800s to early 1900s and the psychological study of deaf adults began even later (see Leigh & Pollard, 2011; Pollard, 1993 for a review). Considering that much of the early work on identity per se has been done within the realm of psychology, it is not surprising that the initial corpus of work on deaf identities resulted from efforts by psychologists to develop research projects with the goal of creating theories on deaf identity development. Based on his experiences counseling deaf adolescents struggling with deaf identity issues, Neil Glickman (1996) created his deaf identity development theory by utilizing premises derived from racial identity development theories that outlined processes involving White, Black,

10   Deaf Identities

and integrated identities (e.g., Cross, 1971; Cross & Cross, 2008; Helms, 1994). His theory originally outlined stages proceeding from a hearing identity category (identifying with hearing ways of being) to the marginal identity category (not feeling connected to either hearing or deaf people), and then proceeding to the deaf identity category (identifying strongly as deaf, particularly being aligned with members of Deaf culture), before culminating in the bicultural category, which reflects a coming to terms with both hearing and deaf identities and being able to connect with both identities. Glickman (1996) recognized that his thoughts about his earlier stage theory were not that tenable because identity trajectories are not necessarily linear. Deaf people do not always start off as culturally hearing, as exemplified by the case of deaf children of culturally Deaf parents who would never start off programming their deaf children to identify as culturally hearing. However, the use of his categories has persisted to this day in research projects (e.g., Chapman & Dammeyer, 2016). Other psychologists have relied on social identity theory to explore how deaf individuals formulate their identities. This theory posits that the relationship between individual and group membership has implications for identity formation, with much depending on the specific social context that provides meanings to the groups involved, whether valued, stigmatized, or somewhere in between (Tajfel, 1981; Turner, 1996). If deaf individuals see deaf groups as stigmatizing, they will gravitate toward hearing identities. Those who identify as deaf will see positive valence in relating to deaf groups and in advocating for themselves, whether or not these deaf groups are stigmatized in the public eye. Utilizing this premise as a foundation, Yael Bat-​Chava’s (2000) study analyzed cluster items based on the perceived importance of signing, perceived importance of speech, group identity, and attitudes toward deaf people that her study sample responded to. Her analysis produced three deaf-​related identities: culturally Deaf, bicultural, and culturally hearing, with a few participants falling into a negative identity category that closely approximates Glickman’s (1996) marginal category. In terms of social identity theory, the impetus that led participants to internalize one of these specific deaf identities was the salience of language and communication, socialization, and social perspectives about what it means to hear or not hear, not on the hearing disability per se. In the Chapman and Dammeyer (2016) study mentioned earlier, the authors took a social identity approach in their attempt to extract factors that relate to psychological well-​being with a focus on deaf identity categories. Their findings emphasize the importance of social experiences on identity formation and serve as a critical take-​away message. To repeat, they found not only that study participants with a deaf, hearing, or bicultural identity had significantly higher levels

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   11

of psychological well-​being than those who fell into the marginal category, but also that additional disability, education level, and feeling discriminated against significantly and independently explained the degree of psychological well-​being. This finding was most salient for those in the marginalized group. The authors also consider how social identity theory’s perspective of identity, most particularly threatened identity (specifically identity that is subject to stigma and oppression, depending on environment), has the potential to facilitate the elucidation of complex associations between different deaf identities and well-​being. Chapman (2016) and Greenwood (2012) recommend that the social identity framework be further developed to incorporate the concepts of intersectionality as well as the impact of different social identifications and contextual factors. In their studies of deaf high school adolescents, Kluwin, Stinson, and colleagues (e.g., Kluwin & Stinson, 1993; Stinson & Foster, 2000; Stinson & Kluwin, 1996; Stinson & Whitmire, 1992) utilized the concept of social orientation, which can be viewed as an aspect of social identity as it incorporates cognitive, motivational, and social processes related to group behaviors (Hogg, 2003). Their findings indicated clusters reflecting orientation toward deaf peers, toward hearing peers, toward both, or orientation to neither group. These clusters can be easily classified using Glickman’s (1996) four deaf identity categories as mentioned earlier. In addition to numerous studies cited by Stinson and his colleagues as well as multiple studies that were run in later years, their findings have emphasized the importance of social connections with specific groups, buttressed by shared and effective ways of communicating with peers within these groups. One possible way to understand how social orientation develops is to look at the concept of acculturation. Due to migration and the increased intermixing of cultures, acculturation has become more prominent as an area of study that focuses on ecocultural frameworks incorporating multidimensional processes as individuals transition between cultures (Schwartz, Unger, Zamboanga, & Szapocznik, 2010). These processes can act as a catalyst for possible changes in values, practices, and identification, depending on the nature of the transition from one culture to another and whether it is unidirectional or bidirectional. Acculturation patterns will vary according to the level of psychological identification with the culture of origin and the new culture, as well as the degree of behavioral involvement and cultural competence in each culture. Based on this paradigm, Maxwell-​McCaw (2001; see also Maxwell-​McCaw & Zea, 2011)  theorized that the acculturation patterns for deaf persons can vary in terms of the level of psychological identification with Deaf culture and with the culture of their hearing society and the extent to which they are behaviorally involved and culturally competent in each culture. Individuals can be hearing acculturated, deaf acculturated,

12   Deaf Identities

bicultural, or marginal, paralleling Glickman’s (1996) deaf identity categories. Evidence to support this was provided in a large-​scale study involving 3,070 deaf and hard-​of-​hearing participants in the United States as well as a follow-​up study with 618 participants in Germany (Hintermair, 2008). In developing the deaf identity paradigms described in the earlier sections, these psychologists and social scientists canvassed multiple studies that covered contextual factors, including the realms of family and school influences, technology with particular attention to hearing aids and cochlear implants (with the potential to increase positive valence for hearing identities as a contributor to psychological well-​being [Chapman & Dammeyer,  2016]), and the impact of intersectionalities that encompass ethnic/​racial identities, sexual orientation, and additional disabilities, with attendant potential for discriminatory experiences (see Leigh, 2009 and Hintermair, 2014 for reviews). Each of these components can interact within any one person, making the determination of which specific deaf identity will be internalized an extremely complex process. For example, consider an African American culturally Deaf gay individual with a cochlear implant who works in a hearing environment. How would one describe the process by which this person constructs a coherent internalized identity, taking the deaf part of himself into account as well as societal perceptions of himself as non-​White, deaf, and gay? Does this person have to deal with structural stigma? How much do possible experiences of discrimination enter into the process by which he is internalizing his multiple identities and dealing with society perceptions? In what ways may he feel marginalized? This example illustrates the point that the standard picture of a Deaf culture identity based on White Deaf cultural mores is no longer tenable. Researchers investigating the paradigms of Deaf culture are now confronting the imperative to broaden their focus to not only include the different identity constellations that deaf people may internalize but also to explore the implications of intersectionality, considering the increased awareness of diverse cultural memberships within the global deaf community. EXPANDING MULTIDISCIPLINARY FOCUS ON DEAF IDENTITY ISSUES

I have briefly outlined how the study of identity has its roots in philosophy, with overtures of psychology, most notably social psychology. Allied with the field of social psychology is the discipline of sociology, with prominent names associated with both disciplines having been involved in the development of the symbolic interactionist theory, which has had significant impact on the evolution of additional theories that have tried to define how identity develops.

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   13

The salience and relevance of identity is such that it has additionally engaged the attention of scholars outside of these disciplines. With its power to influence thoughts, values, customs, belief systems, behaviors, religious trends, education, and politics, the topic of identity remains particularly relevant while scholars grapple with how identities impact the way we live. Diverse disciplines, such as biology, philosophy, religion, anthropology, cultural studies, and disability studies have explored the roles of identity, how identity is constructed, and how identity has impacted diverse lives and societies (e.g., Wetherell & Mohanty, 2010). Each of these disciplines has its own perspective on the parameters of identity and how identity evolves, taking something from earlier explorations and adding its frame of reference. In terms of biology, for example, the evolution of DNA base sequences has led biomedical researchers to conceptualize individual identities such as racial identity categories based on tiny alterations in the sequence of letters underlying genetic structures (Fausto-​Sterling, 2010). Buttressing the role of biology is the common practice of labeling individuals with dysfunctional hair cells in the cochlea as deaf (Leigh, 2009). In essence, the role of biology in identity formation is to link aspects of the body to identity labels. Going beyond biology, as mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, the discipline of philosophy was the first discipline to ask and endeavor to answer questions about the essence, nature, and continuity of the self (Olson, 2015), particularly those questions that ask who I am, when did I become, and how am I the same or different from others. While we are our bodies, how that is understood and what it means for the individual have engaged philosophers for centuries. Considering the way technology has impacted what it means to be deaf, philosophy has a role in articulating the self as manifested in today’s environment. Religious identity is pervasive throughout the world. While religious identity is conceptualized as a way of life related to the sacred as a locus of self (Werbner, 2010), this identity is most commonly viewed as simply a matter of self-​identification with a religion or religious tradition. There is a cognitive process by which religion gets internalized as an aspect of identity formation and influences individual self-​ perceptions (Bell, 2014). Studies of how religions influence identity formation are few despite its pervasiveness worldwide (Oppong, 2013). In the case of deaf individuals, inclusion or exclusion from the religions espoused by families of origin has to have a significant impact on self-​ perception and identity. The discipline of anthropology is concerned with the study of human societies and cultures and how these develop. According to Martin Sökefeld (1999), anthropological discourse that is focused on identity shifts the attention from individuals and selves as predominant in Western notions of identity toward more non-​Western concepts

14   Deaf Identities

of the self, specifically in terms of how aspects of identity are shared with others, particularly within cultures or groups. In this regard, the focus is on differences and plurality. Subsequent to the emergence of Deaf culture and Deaf Studies, there has been an increase in the number of cultural anthropologists, particularly Deaf anthropologists, who are examining deaf lives from the vantage point of the diverse international cultures within which deaf people live (e.g., Friedner & Kusters, 2015). While it seems that cultural anthropology overlaps with cultural studies, the latter is essentially a diverse field of study that focuses on the study of contemporary cultural phenomena in various societies. The focus is on understanding how meaning is developed and disseminated based on the social, political, and economic areas within a given culture. Cultural studies differs from cultural anthropology and ethnic studies in that instead of focusing on similarities and differences, it focuses on the political dynamics of contemporary cultures and societies, including cultural hegemony and agency, forms, institutions and practices, and their relation to wider patterns of social change (Jary & Jary, 2000). The same can be said of disability studies, which encompasses the examination of disability as a social, cultural, and political phenomenon (National Resource Center on Supported Living and Choice, 2013). As such, the field of disability studies is informed by various disciplines, including history, sociology, literature, political science, law, policy studies, economics, cultural studies, anthropology, philosophy, theology, gender studies, and so on. In terms of identity, the focus is on the construct of disability as a social and cultural phenomenon, rather than as a medical anomaly. This leads to the conceptualization that the identity of culturally Deaf people is that of a culture, not a disability, contrary to the typical medical definition of deaf as disability. Bauman (2008a) states that the concepts of identity and culture are a central core of Deaf Studies, as is the case for minority studies. Deaf Studies has drawn experts from diverse disciplines as well with the goal of understanding societal influences on how deaf people view themselves. The question then becomes: How are disability studies and Deaf Studies related, if at all? This very complex question has been explored by Burch and Kafer (2010), with no easy answers but rather an uneasy coexistence emerging. Hopefully the reader can discern how the disciplines listed here convey different paradigms related to the construct of identity. While authors representing diverse disciplines have presented their perceptions of what it means to be deaf, this book represents an effort to collect these paradigms at one fell swoop, while acknowledging the seminal contributions of psychology and social psychology/​sociology. Looking specifically at deaf identities, psychologists started exploring deaf identity issues as a means of gauging the psychological

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   15

well-​being of deaf people. This paved the way for further scrutiny of what it means to be deaf in multiple ways, using different frames of reference. Scholars from other disciplines, starting with Ben Schowe (1979), a labor economist and labor research specialist (Gannon, 1981), as well as Carty (1994), an educator, and Breivik (2005), a social anthropologist, have provided their perspectives of how deaf people define their various deaf selves and have developed their own taxonomies for deaf identities (see Leigh, 2009 for a detailed description). It is important to note the explosion of Deaf Studies as an academic area of study beginning in the 1970s, with academic departments offering degree-​ granting programs being introduced in the 1980s (Bauman, 2008b). Concomitantly, the publication of Deaf in America: Voices From a Culture (Padden & Humphries, 1988), which popularized the concept of a Deaf culture, fueled further discourses on the meaning of Deaf identity. Bauman (2008b) reported that the primary agenda of seminars and workshops held in the 1980s on the topics of Deaf culture and Deaf identity was that of defending Deaf culture, defining attributes of Deaf identity, and developing a model for bilingual, bicultural Deaf education. As Bauman (2008b) explained, at that time the propensity of African American studies, women’s studies, and Deaf Studies was to “critique existing social arrangements that have served to marginalize their kind; they explore the complexities of identity construction within a political context, and they celebrate what is most unique to their ways of being” (p. 9). What ensued for Deaf Studies was the framing of an essentialist Deaf identity focused on the mores of Deaf culture, which involves the use of native or near-​native use of American Sign Language, de-​ emphasis of speech, and socialization with similarly minded members of the culture. This exacerbated tensions between those who identified themselves as culturally Deaf and those deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals comfortable with spoken language who may or may not also use sign language (Davis, 2008; Humphries, 1996, 2004), a conflict that has attracted the attention of academics from other disciplines. The growing realization is that there is no one way to be either culturally Deaf, or simply deaf, and an essentialist frame of Deaf identity is very limiting because comparatively few deaf children are born to culturally Deaf parents (approximately 4%; Mitchell & Karchmer, 2004). The majority of deaf individuals aligned with Deaf culture have gravitated into the culture at varying stages of their lives, depending on the nature of their socialization experiences, whether in school or in adulthood, and whether these experiences have primed them to look favorably on the culture and feel welcomed. Additionally, the incredible variety of the human species begs for scholarly attention to ethnic, cultural, and other individual differences that impact how deaf identities develop.

16   Deaf Identities

Coupled with the awareness of Deaf culture as a nonhomogenous entity, we now encounter a greatly expanded scholarly body of identity explorations from multiple disciplines. Witness, for example, books such as Many Ways to be Deaf (Monaghan, Schmaling, Nakamura, & Turner, 2003); Social Constructions of Deafness (Horejes, 2012); Introduction to American Deaf Culture (Holcomb, 2013); Deaf Gain: Raising the Stakes for Human Diversity (Bauman & Murray, 2014); It’s a Small World: International Deaf Spaces and Encounters (Friedner & Kusters, 2015); Citizenship, Politics, Difference:  Perspectives From Sub-​ Saharan Signed Language Communities (Cooper & Rashid, 2015); and Deaf Epistemologies, Identity, and Learning (De Clerck, 2017). All these examples and more speak to the value of this book, which incorporates diverse paradigms on identity with the expectation that readers will recognize the complexity, variations, and depth of deaf identity issues and the diverse ways in which these issues are framed and conceptualized by authors representing different disciplines. CONTENTS OF THIS BOOK

Each of the chapters in this book presents deaf identity frameworks based on the personal and academic experiences of the authors. There has been a recent explosion of different perspectives on the meanings of deaf identities, and the chapters reflect the breadth and depth of these perspectives. Many of the authors are deaf or hard of hearing, and the hearing authors are very close to the deaf experience based on their respective histories. By virtue of this, all of these authors convey perspectives that are not only academic based but also truly lived. The goal of this book is to convey to you, the reader, the complexities and nuances of deaf identities, how these deaf identities are processed through their unique perspectives and/​or research explorations, and how these identities have brought meaning to the lives of deaf people. Chapter 2, “Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities,” is written by a group of deaf academics using three foundational social inquiries as a guiding framework to examine sociological perceptions of deaf identities. Leala Holcomb, Thomas Horejes, Joseph Santini, and Oscar Ocuto integrate their own personal experiences in an academic framework grounded in sociology to explore the impact of social institutions, including the family, the educational system, and community influences on the social construction of deaf identities. From the vantage point of philosophy, Teresa Blankmeyer Burke, a deaf philosopher, proceeds to discuss identities from a philosophical stance with particular focus on the ethics dimension in “Identity, Ethics, and the Deaf Community” (Chapter  3). She introduces an analytical philosophical approach to the topic of ethics and deaf identities that involves concept clarification, analysis of brief examples, and posing

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   17

particular kinds of questions that are typical of this discipline. Her chapter ends with a plea for academics and community participants to continue exploring explicit identification of beliefs about the nature and meaning of deaf identity. Moving on to the role of religion, Noah Buchholz and Rabbi Darby Jared Leigh, both of whom are deaf and represent different religions, provide a cutting-​edge treatise on the relationship between religion and deaf identities in Chapter  4, “Religion and Deaf Identity.” They present different interpretations based on religious treatises that include perspectives of deaf people. These perspectives are fraught with the complexities of multiple social identities that interact with the deaf identity component. While religion has the potential to coalesce deaf people and affirm their deaf identities, the chapter also explores how the religious setting can manifest the dynamics of oppression—​dynamics that potentially may result in personal and community dissociation. The use of cochlear implants has increased exponentially. Much has been written about how cochlear implants may have changed deaf identities, with recent research documenting a trend toward a more hearing-​ oriented identity with potential for positive psychological well-​being (e.g., Moog, Geers, Gustus, & Brenner, 2011; Percy-​Smith, Cayé-​Thomasen, Gugman, Jensen, & Thomsen, 2008). In Chapter  5, “Lessons Learned:  How Studying Cochlear Implantation Reveals the Context in Which d/​Deaf Identities Are Formed,” Laura Mauldin, a hearing sociologist and ethnographic researcher, focuses on how the clinical context shapes both parental decision making toward obtaining cochlear implants for their deaf children and the far-​reaching influence that hearing-​oriented systems have on this decision-​making process, not just for parents but also for deaf individuals and communities. Schools for deaf children serve as Deaf culture acculturation agents when the children come from homes with hearing parents who tend to be unfamiliar with Deaf culture paradigms. In Chapter 6, “The Impact of Identity on Culturally Responsive School Leadership:  Leaders of Schools and Programs for the Deaf,” Catherine A. O’Brien, a deaf school leadership and culture expert, highlights the importance of cultural identity relevance that school leaders need to consider and effectively respond to in order to facilitate healthy cultural identity development in their students. She examines the intertwining of Deaf culture, school leadership, pedagogy, and the culturally responsive schools in terms of how all these constructs impact the students. “The Body as a Canvas:  Developing a Deaf Bodily Habitus in Deaf Signing Preschools,” is the title of Chapter 7, written by Patrick J.  Graham and Joseph J.  Tobin, both of whom are educational anthropologists. These authors, one deaf and one hearing, explore how deaf bodies become social agents that mediate the spaces around them. They provide examples of the process by which deaf children in

18   Deaf Identities

signing preschools located in three different countries acquire social awareness and physical approaches to create cultural perspectives of how their bodies should be representative of their society, and in turn of deaf identities. In Chapter 8, “Identity Positioning and Languaging in Deaf-​Hearing Worlds:  Some Insights From Studies of Segregated and Mainstream Educational Settings,” Sangeeta Bagga-​ Gupta, a multidisciplinary scholar who is hearing and multilingual in spoken, sign, and written languages, uses her unique background to anthropologically study communication, culture, diversity, and learning sciences with the aim of exploring the relationships between language issues and the development of deaf identities. Her research specifically highlights the ways in which various communication forms can shape the meaning of deaf identities. Goedele A. M. De Clerck, a deaf anthropologist and social scientist, and Debbie Golos, a hearing deaf education faculty and researcher, partnered to explore the implications of language deprivation on deaf identities and present strategies to encourage the internalization of positive deaf identities in the face of limited linguistic input in Chapter 9, “Minimizing the Impact of Language Deprivation and Limited Access to Role Models on Deaf Identity Development in Children and Adults: Global Perspectives for Positive Change.” In Chapter  10, “Intersectionality—​Beyond the Individual:  A Look Into Cultural Identity Development of Deaf and Hard-​ of-​ Hearing Children of Multicultural ‘Hearing’ Families,” Cheryl L.  Wu, a culturally “hearing”/​ hard-​ of-​ hearing Chinese American clinical psychologist, and Nancy C.  Grant, a hearing social worker, demonstrate deaf–​hearing collaboration as they address intersectionality and multicultural issues that are pertinent for deaf and hard-​of-​hearing children and young adults in hearing families that are racially, ethnically, and culturally diverse. They affirm that intersectionality is not just about dealing with how separate parts of an individual evolve. Rather, there is an interactive component in terms of how these separate parts engage each other and the sociopolitical environments that influence them. The authors expand on these perspectives, using examples to bring issues to life. In “Stories in the Building of Deaf Identity:  The Potential of Life Storytelling to Enhance Deaf Flourishing and Well-​Being” (Chapter 11), Goedele A.  M. De Clerck, mentioned earlier, takes the position that storytelling is critical to the formation of personal and collective deaf identities. She introduces the “anthropology of deaf flourishing” to illustrate how deaf identity can be understood as a complex process of learning through interacting with changing cultural contexts and multiple communities in which deaf people participate and narrate their life experiences. Emphasis is placed on how storytelling as a deaf

Deaf Identities: A Maturing Framework   19

cultural resource enables deaf refugees to internalize the potential for resilience and well-​being. Lindsay Moeletsi Dunn, a deaf immigrant from South Africa who identifies as a Black Deaf scholar, and Glenn B. Anderson, a Black Deaf academic from the South Side of Chicago, describe Black Deaf historical perspectives, the influence of Black ASL, and what it means to be Black and Deaf in Chapter 12, titled “Examining the Intersectionality of Deaf Identity, Race/​Ethnicity, and Diversity through a Black Deaf Lens.” Considering the scarcity of research on non-​White deaf communities, they highlight the transnational identity issues of Black Deaf immigrants and provide a thought-​provoking treatise on what it means to be Black and Deaf with unique backgrounds in the United States. Moving on, Cara A. Miller, a clinical psychologist, and Kyle Amber Clark, a licensed professional counselor, both of whom are deaf, delve into the issue of sexual orientation among other identities in Chapter 13: “Deaf and Queer at the Intersections: Deaf LGBTQ People and Communities.” In this chapter, they elaborate on how these LGBTQ identities become socially medicalized and minoritized, how development of these identities occurs, the diversity within this complex group of individuals, the multiple oppressions experienced by many LGBTQ who are deaf or hard of hearing, and the intersectional issues especially confronted by certain Deaf LGBTQ groups, including people of color and transgender youth and adults. In so doing, they rely on the lens of social justice and intersectional analysis to buttress their points. Chapter  14, “On (Always) Passing,” is a treatise on the issue of passing as a hard-​of-​hearing, or rather, as a deaf adult. Coming from a background in English studies and rhetorical analysis, Brenda Jo Brueggemann forged her professional identity as a deaf female academic grounded in the arts and humanities. Using this background as a foundation, she has created a solid body of literature on the meanings of disability, deaf identities, gender, and the interactions of all three. In her chapter, she moves from her previous conceptualization of “almost passing” to “always passing” as her current stance vis-​à-​vis her identity as a deaf academic and deaf family member and illustrates how taking a stand regarding passing and being upfront about her needs as a deaf person can be affirming. Joseph Michael Valente, a deaf educational anthropologist, places himself squarely in the liminal zone of identity as an in-​betweener, identifying himself as culturally Deaf and also as a deaf person who speaks. Using this as a starting point in Chapter  15, “In Between Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk:  Crises of Collage, Mutating Identities, and Collective Subjectivities,” he argues for a shift from a politics of identity toward a politics of vitalism that rejects a focus on individual bodies and differences and instead focuses on flows of vitality that emerge through difference and movement across multiple bodies

20   Deaf Identities

and identities. In so doing, he disavows an essentialist and dualistic “us-​them” framework that elucidates the richness of the in-​between and serves as a generative force to move beyond a subject’s struggle for an unattainable unified identity to instead seek connections with multiple bodies. Denise Thew Hackett, a deaf counseling psychologist with expertise in public health investigation, uses the kaleidoscope as a metaphor for her exploration of how identities and the variables contributing to these identities converge in Chapter 16, “Looking Through the Kaleidoscope: A Metaphor for Convergences of Identities.” In this chapter, she explores her own identity exploration as a deaf woman and how her personal and professional identities have been influenced by multiple variables. She relies on acculturation and intersectional theories to broaden her understanding of her life journey. She also examines the implications of deaf identity formation for psychological well-​being. The last chapter, “Concluding Thoughts,” written by coeditors O’Brien and Leigh, presents our thoughts related to where we are now in terms of understanding deaf identities and what possible future trends might emerge. We hope that the overview of the chapters in this book provides a compelling rationale for you to dive in and get a glimpse of the various perspectives and academic paradigms on deaf and hard-​of-​hearing identity formation and the crucial impact that different environments bring to bear in this evolving process. Having written this, we acknowledge that there were multiple areas we could have covered, further highlighting the complexity and diversity of the deaf community. Issues pertaining specifically to the Latinx, Native American/​Indigenous, and Asian Deaf populations are addressed only in passing throughout this book. These populations deserve more than cursory attention. Nor does this book address issues relevant for DeafBlind or DeafDisabled identity aspects, a significant omission. Readers will likely identify additional communities that need exploration. We leave it to future scholars to provide pathways for us to explore the nuances of the identities that these communities generate. REFERENCES Abrams, J. (1998). Judaism and disability. Washington, DC:  Gallaudet University Press. Barnett, S., Klein, J., Pollard, R., Samar, V., Schlehofer, D., Starr, M., . . . Pearson, T. (2011). Community participatory research with Deaf sign language users to identify health inequalities. American Journal of Public Health, 101(12), 2235–​2238. Bat-​Chava, Y. (2000). Diversity of deaf identities. American Annals of the Deaf, 154(5), 420–​428.

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Bauman, H-​ D. (2004). Audism:  Exploring the metaphysics of oppression. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 9(2), 239–​246. Bauman, H-​ D. (2008a). On the disconstruction of (Sign) language in the Western tradition: A deaf reading of Plato’s Cratylus. In H-​D. Bauman (Ed.), Open your eyes: Deaf Studies talking (pp. 127–​145). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Bauman, H-​D. (2008b). Introduction: Listening to Deaf Studies. In H-​D. Bauman (Ed.), Open your eyes: Deaf Studies talking (pp. 1–​32). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Bauman, H-​D., & Murray, J. (2014). Deaf gain: Raising the stakes for human diversity. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Baumeister, R., Twenge, J., & Ciarocco, N. (2003). The inner world of rejection:  Effects of social exclusion on emotion, cognition, and self-​regulation. In J. Forgas & K. Williams (Eds.), The social self: Cognitive, interpersonal, and intergroup processes (pp. 161–​174). New York, NY: Psychology Press. Baynton, D. (1993). “Savages and Deaf-​ mutes”:  Evolutionary theory and the campaign against sign language in the nineteenth century. In J. Van Cleve (Ed.), Deaf history unveiled (pp. 92–​112). Washington, DC:  Gallaudet University Press. Baynton, D. (1996). Forbidden signs. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Bell, D. (2014). Religious identity. In D. Leeming (Ed.), Encyclopedia of psychology and religion (pp. 1525–​1528). New York, NY: Springer. Biernat, M., Eidelman, S., & Fuegen, K. (2003). Judgment standards and the social self. In J. Forgas & K. Williams (Eds.), The social self: Cognitive, interpersonal, and intergroup processes (pp. 51–​72). New York, NY: Psychology Press. Branson, J., & Miller, D. (2002). Damned for their difference: The cultural construction of deaf people as disabled. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Breivik, J. (2005). Deaf identities in the making. Washington, DC:  Gallaudet University Press. Brewer, M., & Pickett, C. (2003). The social self and group identification:  Inclusion and distinctiveness motives in interpersonal and collective identities. In J. Forgas & K. Williams (Eds.), The social self: Cognitive, interpersonal, and intergroup processes (pp. 255–​271). New York, NY: Psychology Press. Burch, S. (2002). Signs of resistance: American Deaf cultural history, 1900 to 1942. New York, NY: New York University Press. Burch, S., & Kafer, A. (Eds.). (2010). Deaf and disability studies: Interdisciplinary perspectives. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Burkitt, I. (2011). Identity construction in sociohistorical context. In S. Schwartz, K. Luyckx, & V. Vignoles (Eds.), Handbook of identity theory and research (pp. 267–​283). New York, NY: Springer-​Verlag. Buss, D. M. (2016). Evolutionary psychology: The new science of the mind (5th ed.). London, UK: Routledge. Carty, B. (1994). The development of Deaf identity. In C. Erting, R. C. Johnson, D. Smith, & B. Snider (Eds.), The Deaf way (pp. 40–​ 43). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Chapman, M. (2016). Veil as stigma:  Exploring the role of representations in Muslim women’s management of threatened social identity. Journal of Community and Applied Social Psychology, 26(4). doi:10.1002/​casp.2269

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Montemayor (Eds.), Adolescent identity formation (pp. 73–​90). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Harter, S. (1999). The construction of the self. New York, NY: Guilford Press. Hatzenbuehler, M. (2016). Structural stigma: Research evidence and implications for psychological science. American Psychologist, 71(8), 742–​751. Helms, J. (1994). The conceptualization of racial identity and other “racial” constructs. In E. Trickett, R. Watts, & D. Birman (Eds.), Human diversity (pp. 285–​311). San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Hintermair, M. (2008). Self-​esteem and satisfaction with life of deaf and hard-​ of-​hearing people: A resource-​oriented approach to identity work. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 13(2), 278–​300. Hintermair, M. (2014). Psychosocial development in deaf and hard-​of-​hearing children in the twenty-​first century:  Opportunities and challenges. In M. Marschark, G. Tang, & H. Knoors (Eds.), Bilingualism and bilingual deaf education (pp. 152–​186). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Hogg, M. (2003). Social identity. In M. Leary & J. Tangney (Eds.), Handbook of self and identity (pp. 462–​479). New York, NY: The Guilford Press. Holcomb, T. (2013). Introduction to American Deaf culture. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Horejes, T. (2012). Social constructions of deafness. Washington, DC:  Gallaudet University Press. The Human Dignity Trust. (2014). Uganda; Anti-​ Homosexuality Act 2014. Retrieved from http://​www.refworld.org/​pdfid/​530c4bc64.pdf Humphries, T. (1996). Of deaf mutes, the strange, and the modern Deaf self. In N. Glickman & M. Harvey (Eds.), Culturally affirmative psychotherapy with deaf persons (pp. 99–​114). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Humphries, T. (2004). The modern Deaf self:  Indigenous practices and educational imperatives. In B. Brueggemann (Ed.), Literacy and deaf people (pp. 29–​46). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Jary, D., & Jary, J. (2000). Collins dictionary of sociology (3rd ed.). New  York, NY: HarperCollins. http://​encyclopedia2.thefreedictionary.com/​Cultural+ Studies Kelly, R., Quagliata, A., DeMartino, R., & Perotti, V. (2016). 21st century deaf workers: Going beyond “Just Employed” to career growth and entrepreneurship. In M. Marschark, V. Lampropoulou, & E. Skordilis (Eds.), Diversity in deaf education (pp. 473–​505). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Kluwin, T., & Stinson, M. (1993). Deaf students in local public high schools: Background, experiences, and outcomes. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas. Leary, M., & Tangney, J. (Eds.), (2012). Handbook of self and identity (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Guilford Press. Leigh, I. W. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University  Press. Leigh, I. W., & Andrews, J. F. (2017). Deaf people and society: Psychological, sociological, and educational perspectives. New York, NY: Routledge. Leigh, I. W., & Pollard, R. (2011). Mental health and deaf adults. In M. Marschark & P. Spencer (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of Deaf studies, language, and education (pp. 214–​226). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Major, B., & O’Brien, L. T. (2005). The social psychology of stigma. Annual Review of Psychology, 56, 393–​421.

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Pollard, R. (1993). 100  years in psychology and deafness:  A centennial retrospective. JADARA, 26,  32–​46. Quartararo, A. (2008). Deaf identity and social images in nineteenth century France. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Rée, J. (1999). I see a voice. New York, NY: Metropolitan Books. Rosenthal, L. (2016). Incorporating intersectionality into psychology:  An opportunity to promote social justice and equity. American Psychologist, 7(6), 474–​485. Schowe, B. (1979). Identity crisis in deafness. Tempe, AZ: The Scholars Press. Schultz, D., & Schultz, S. (2017). Theories of personality, 11th ed. South Melbourne, Australia: Cengage Learning. Schwartz, S., Unger, J., Zamboanga, B., & Szapocznik, J. (2010). Rethinking the concept of acculturation: Implications for theory and research. American Psychologist, 65(4), 237–​251. Serpe, S., & Stryker, S. (2011). The symbolic interactionist perspective and identity theory. In S. Schwartz, K. Luyckx, & V. Vignoles (Eds.), Handbook of identity theory and research (pp. 225–​248). New York, NY: Springer-​Verlag. Sheridan, M. (2011). Whose literacy is it, anyway? Strengths-​based guidelines for transforming the developmental environments of deaf children and adolescents. In D. Zand & K. Pierce (Eds.), Resilience in deaf children (pp. 229–​ 249). New York, NY: Springer. Sinai Health System and Advocate Health Care. (2012). Final report: Improving access and quality of health care for Deaf populations:  A collaborative project of the Sinai Health System and Advocate Health Care, July 1, 2002–​December 31, 2012. Retrieved from https://​www.sinai.org/​sites/​default/​files/​SUHI%20 Final%20Report%20FINAL%208%2020%2014.pdf Sökefeld, M. (1999). Debating self, identity, and culture in anthropology. Current Anthropology, 40, 417–​ 448. Retrieved from http://​ www.jstor.org/​ stable/​ 10.1086/​200042?seq=1#page_​scan_​tab_​contents Stinson, M., & Foster, S. (2000). Socialization of deaf children and youths in school. In P. Spencer, C. Erting, & M. Marschark (Eds.), The deaf child in the family and at school (pp. 191–​209). Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Stinson, M., & Kluwin, T. (1996). Social orientations toward deaf and hearing peers among deaf adolescents in local public high schools. In P. Higgins & J. Nash (Eds.), Understanding deafness socially (pp. 113–​134). Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas. Stinson, M., & Whitmire, K. (1992). Students’ views of their social relationships. In T. Kluwin, D. Moores, & M. Gaustad (Eds.), Toward effective public school programs for deaf students (pp. 149–​174). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Sumner, R., Burrow, A., & Hill, P. (2018). The development of purpose in life among adolescents who experience marginalization: Potential opportunities and obstacles. American Psychologist, 73(6), 740–​752. Szymanski, C. (2010). An open letter to training directors regarding accommodations for deaf interns. APPIC-​E Newsletter, 3(2), 16–​17. Retrieved from https://​www.appic.org/​Portals/​0/​Newsletters/​2010/​appic_​november2010.pdf Tajfel, H. (1981). Human groups and social categories. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

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Task Force on Health Care Careers for the Deaf and Hard-​ of-​ Hearing Community. (2012). Building pathways to health care careers for the deaf and hard-​of-​hearing community: Final report. Retrieved from https://​www.rit.edu/​ ntid/​healthcare/​task-​force-​report Thapa, S. J. (2015, September). LGBT Uganda today: Continuing danger despite nullification of Anti-​Homosexuality Act. Global Spotlight. Retrieved from https://​assets2.hrc.org/​files/​assets/​resources/​Global_​Spotlight_​Uganda_​_​ designed_​version_​_​September_​25_​_​2015.pdf Thomashow, M. (1996). Ecological identity: Becoming a reflective environmentalist Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Turner, J. (1996). Henri Tajfel: An introduction. In W. P. Robinson (Ed.), Social groups and identities:  Developing the legacy of Henri Tajfel (pp. 1–​23). Oxford, UK: Butterworth-​Heinemann. Van Cleve, J., & Crouch, B. (1989). A place of their own: Creating the Deaf community in America. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Werbner, P. (2010). Religious identity. In M. Wetherell & C. T. Mohanty (Eds.), The Sage handbook of identities (pp. 233–​258). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Wetherell, M., & Mohanty, C. T. (2010). The Sage handbook of identities. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Woodward, K. (1997). Concepts of identity and difference. In K. Woodward (Ed.), Identity and difference (pp. 7–​50). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Woodward, K. (2002). Understanding identity. London, UK: Arnold. Young, A., Rogers, K., Green, L., & Daniels, S. (2011). Critical issues in the application of resilience frameworks to the experiences of deaf children and young people. In D. Zand & K. Pierce (Eds.), Resilience in deaf children (pp. 3–​24). New York, NY: Springer.

2    Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities Leala Holcomb, Thomas P. Horejes, Oscar Ocuto, and Joseph Santini

Sociology is the scientific study of the development, classification, and management of human societies, including identity and culture. Within sociology, there are foundational questions covering identity and its confluence with society as found in the heart of The Sociological Imagination (Mills, 1959/​1971). These questions include the following: (1) What is the structure of the particular society? (2) Where does that society stand in human history? and (3)  What varieties of humans succeed in that society? (p. 12). Each question allows sociologists to frame a society’s position within the socio-​historical timeframe of a specific era and then make connections to issues relevant to that particular society and its culture. Sociology as a discipline has facilitated greater understanding of deaf people and their place in the world. However, the various cultures of deaf1 peoples and their communities have most often been researched by academics who themselves are not deaf. How hearing academics have described and defined for deaf people what it means to be a deaf person in society does not often match with how many deaf people perceive themselves. The four authors in this chapter, and those deaf authors in this book, aim to provide a different perspective on deaf identity beyond what a reader may normally find. In 1956, sociologist A. S. Lunde, who is mentioned in Stokoe’s (1960/​ 2005) seminal work on the structure of American Sign Language (ASL), proposed that deaf people should be viewed through a lens that is not rooted in a deficit-​based framework; rather, the study of deaf people ought to be viewed through a different sociological lens. Lunde’s paper entitled “Sociology of the Deaf,” which was presented at the American Sociology Association in 1956, claimed that there might be nothing inherently and ideologically wrong with the biological notion of deafness. Generating a paradigm shift, Lunde suggested it was the social influences perpetuating the status quo (or what sociologists would label as hegemonic forces) that constructed deafness as “dumb,” thereby leading society in general to regard deaf people as such. It was Lunde’s Leala Holcomb, Thomas P. Horejes, Oscar Ocuto, and Joseph Santini, Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0002

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introduction to a sociology of deaf people, along with Paul C. Higgins’s (1980) description of deaf people as outsiders in a hearing world, followed by Higgins and Nash’s (1987) treatise on understanding deafness socially, that encouraged the shift in the study of deaf people using the sociological imagination. The deaf sociologist Yerker Andersson recognized and incorporated the Sociological Imagination’s content into Deaf Studies as an academic field (Andersson, 1981), using sociology as a framework. In 1993, he and Stokoe co-​chaired a taskforce that laid the foundation for the establishment of a Deaf Studies department at Gallaudet University, now known as the Department of American Sign Language and Deaf Studies, using the confluence of sociology and ASL (Cordano, 2016). Researching deaf people and identity using a sociological lens allows us to reframe Mills’s holistic questions more specifically to our chapter by asking:  (1) What does it mean to be a deaf person in today’s society and what varieties of deaf people exist? (2) How have the constructions of deaf people been framed and reframed in human history? and (3) What strategies are deaf people using to manage their lives in today’s society? There are diverse sociological theories and research methods to deconstruct each of the three holistic questions for the study of deaf people. While the foundational and essentialist definition of the word deaf (i.e., deaf vs. Deaf) is situated in the experience of not being able to hear, variations of what it means to live as deaf individuals across the world do exist, are significant, and need to be understood (Woodward & Horejes, 2016). The existence of positionality, the social standpoint of a person based on his, her, or their experiences and identities, allows sociologists to reveal multiple perspectives of related issues (Graham & Horejes, 2016). In other words, not only are there many ways to be deaf in the literal sense, there are also multiple ways to explain one and the very same deaf experience, depending on each person’s positionality or standpoint. For example, the four authors of this chapter are deaf with diverse backgrounds and have different preferences in how we want to be identified. Our unique positionalities allow us to explore the similarities and differences in our experiences and perceptions of being deaf in this society. As this chapter addresses the three refined sociological imagination questions listed earlier, we share some of our own lived experiences with the goal of facilitating the understanding of deaf people in society. QUESTION #1: WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A DEAF PERSON IN TODAY’S SOCIETY AND WHAT VARIETIES OF DEAF PEOPLE EXIST?

Deaf individuals provide different responses when asked about their deaf identity. Some call themselves deaf. Some label themselves as hard

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   29

of hearing. Some use the capitalized D as in Deaf. Some say they do not identify as deaf but as cochlear implant users. Hearing individuals will provide less differentiated responses to the same question when they are asked about how they perceive deaf people. Their answers most often reflect deaf peoples’ tragic inability to hear; this is then subtly associated with a long list of deficiencies. The medical view focuses on the decibel levels of hearing to determine one’s place in society—​the less “hard of hearing” (having more hearing abilities) you are, the “less” deaf you are. And the “less” deaf you are, the worthier you are of being treated as equal to hearing people (Edwards, 2010). However, the numerical cutoffs in hearing decibels for being part of either of these two identity groups (hearing and deaf) are arbitrary from a sociological standpoint but are at the crux of other disciplines such as Audiology and Deaf Education. Relevant to identity, the terms “Deaf,” “deaf,” “hard of hearing,” or “cochlear implant user” are not audiological measurements but are representations of a set of social perceptions about what it means to be “deaf.” For example, even though Leala Holcomb’s grandmother, Majoriebell (Mabs) Holcomb, was profoundly deaf and did not speak, her hearing teachers at the Ohio School for the Deaf labeled her as hard of hearing, not deaf, and placed her in an oral track because she was “smart” due to her academic abilities. Without question, labeling is politically charged and comes with social implications of identity (Holcomb, 2013). There is a new controversy in determining what deaf communities as a whole should be called, whether to name all of the prominent identifiers, including for example:  “Deaf, DeafBlind, DeafDisabled, and Hard of Hearing” followed with an acronym “DDBDDHH” or whether to encompass all groups under the “deaf” umbrella. The former is a political act of consciously naming and acknowledging groups that are typically marginalized, not only by the larger society but also by other deaf people. The latter focuses on being straightforward in incorporating all kinds of deaf people into one word. Indeed, this umbrella term does mask the broadness and complexities of deaf identities. Perhaps it explains why deaf people are still creating new approaches or labels to capture and redefine their identities and experiences in ways that feel true. Even with important conversations about new identity politics, deaf people seem to have reached a general consensus that the term “hearing impaired” is offensive (Holcomb, 2013) and should not be used due to the implication of deficit. However, deaf individuals who were raised using speech and have no connection to deaf people or communities might embrace the hearing-​impaired label. Thus, deaf identities as well as deaf experiences and opinions are remarkably heterogeneous and laden with sociocultural meaning and significance.

30   Deaf Identities

Private answers may reinforce a personal identity of how deaf people view themselves, but public answers reinforce a social identity of how deaf people are viewed by others. As with other internal identity constructs, deaf individuals do not wake up in the morning realizing that they are deaf. Rather, it is some social implication from or interaction with those in more or less privileged positions that reminds them of their experience, place, and category in society. I, Leala, noted that all of my deaf nephews did not realize that they were deaf until they were approximately 3  years of age. At that age, they began to notice that hearing people were moving their mouths and not using their hands to communicate. My deaf nephews asked, “What are they doing with their mouths?” I explained that “they are hearing. They do not know sign language. They use their mouths to communicate.” Rather than feeling sorry for themselves for being deaf, the young deaf nephews felt sorry for hearing people who could not communicate in sign language. My experience is similar to those of others who were raised in deaf families. Even though the existence of social representations, social constructions, and identity politics envelop deaf children from birth onward, deaf children are initially unconcerned regarding the meanings imposed on them. Over time, as deaf children get older, internalize their identities, and attach meanings to them based on specific histories and cultures, they often realize that they either fall inside or outside the expectations of hearing society. Leala’s anecdote exemplifies how deaf individuals do not realize they are deaf (or black, queer, female) until they interact with certain individuals or groups who reveal their identity and its sociocultural meanings to them. The type of identity development during which children learn about what it means to be “deaf” and “hearing” in ways that do not make them feel inferior depends on family’s identities, acceptance and how broadly they are exposed to groups that are similar to or different from them. When learning about the varieties of deaf people, deaf children raised in hearing families typically have different experiences from those of deaf children raised in deaf families. Between 92% and 96% of deaf babies are born into hearing families, most of whom have never met a deaf adult or know ASL (Mitchell & Karchmer, 2004), and most of whom have been preconditioned by society and in retrospect, themselves, to view being deaf as a deficit, in contrast to the experience of Leala’s family. Deaf children from hearing families may learn that being deaf is inferior and may be encouraged to assimilate into the dominant group in order to gain praise and respect from this group for overcoming their disability. For example, I, Thomas, grew up not learning ASL because sign language was framed as gestures that detract from the ability to speak. I was taught by my school, as a social institution, that sign language

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   31

was reserved only for monkeys. Whenever I  attempted to learn sign language, I  encountered resistance from my teachers, who in turn influenced my parents to follow the monolingual paradigm of spoken English. Since I  was surrounded by people who praised me for appearing more “hearing-​like” and remaining in the hearing community, my understanding of what it means to be deaf was laden with negative connotations. The stark contrast between Thomas’s self-​perception and Leala’s family’s perception of their deaf identities can be attributed to the consequence of being immersed in the hearing culture as opposed to Deaf culture. All cultures have their own unique sets of understandings attached to what it means to be “deaf,” whether it is something to be celebrated or frowned upon. For example, I, Joseph, was born to hearing parents, one of whom spoke Spanish, and the other, Arabic. I was initially referred to early intervention services and placed in a mainstreamed environment without a sign language interpreter. I  would describe my own childhood as experiencing a mishmash of labels. I was labeled hard of hearing—​but also immigrant, deafie, hearing impaired, Arab, and spic. During these initial years of schooling, other (hearing) students had no idea what to call me. Bullying and taunting often took the form of identity attacks. “Are you Jewish? Are you Spanish?” My various points of difference became points for discussion, and this bullying, and other limiting experiences, eventually led to my decision to leave and try learning in an ASL-​centric Deaf school environment. When I came home from the Deaf school, I was acutely aware that I was different from the rest of my family members as a deaf person who used ASL. Nonetheless, my experience was positively tempered by the diversity within my own family and recognition of my own and my father’s ability to relate across different experiences. My father, who still struggled with some English consonants, understood perfectly how language impacted one’s relationship to society. Our differences brought us closer together as a family. Most of my deaf peers from hearing families did not have multilingual families to equalize the playing field. These two anecdotes of Thomas and Joseph exemplify how deaf individuals born into families composed primarily of hearing individuals can form and solidify their identities in dramatically different ways. In Joseph’s situation, difference was construed with a positive underlying meaning, because language and cultural differences were an acceptable norm in his family. Conversely, Thomas’s familial background as White, hearing, and monolingual reinforced the ideology of homogeneity with the dominant culture as to what it means to be deaf. Leala, Joseph, and Thomas are deaf; yet their deaf experiences varied greatly due to the hearing status of their parents, language access, race, class, and family perception of deafness.

32   Deaf Identities

One area of sociological study has to do with how an individual’s identity formation, including the act of labeling, is influenced by the mores and behaviors that individual has learned while growing up. Society’s approach to normalcy can make one’s identity acutely invisible or visible. An example of normalcy is when hearing people are unaware of their own hearing identity as part of hearing privilege while being quick to label deaf individuals as deaf or hearing impaired. Conversely, those who do not hear are extremely cognizant of their deaf-​related identities. It is within this very system of “othering” particular groups of people that cultural biases heavily influence the formation of individual identity (de Beauvoir, 1952/​1989) for both the deaf and hearing. However, the deaf identity of a deaf person is just one part of a constellation of multiple identities. For example, a deaf person could also be a woman, a man, nonbinary, or transgender, or can additionally be White, Black, Asian, Latinx, or multiracial. Therefore, multiple layered identities are inherent within each deaf person, impacting that person’s status and experience at all times, places, and spaces. The creation of status and experience based on a matrix of oppression of multiple identities is recognized as intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1989). Intersectionality has become influential in the social sciences as a way to study “the consequences of race, class, and gender inequality for different groups in society” (Andersen & Collins, 2004, p. 7). As this book illustrates, deaf scholars are increasingly focusing on deaf-​centric epistemologies (ways of knowing) that address intersectionality among deaf people and analyzing what it means to be deaf while managing two or more identities in various environments (see also Kusters, De Meulder, & O’Brien, 2017). This fluidity of identity affirmation confirms our evolving understanding of the standpoint of positionality, specifically that one can acknowledge several identities simultaneously rather than following the traditional approach of focusing on one identity at a time. Sociological discussions involving multiple identities for deaf individuals now incorporate a greater understanding of intersectionality, even to the point where it is now deemed offensive to ask “Which identity is first? Which identity is more important?” (Ruiz-​ Williams, Burke, Chong, & Chainarong, 2015). Several examples of the intersectional framework being applied to the formal study of deaf people are reviewed next. For instance, a study conducted at the Rochester Institute of Technology/​National Technical Institute for the Deaf explored identity formation and issues of diversity in Asian American, Hispanic American, and African American deaf college students (Foster & Kinuthia, 2003). Researchers found that students who identified with both Deaf culture and their ethnic/​racial group felt as if they were caught in the borderlands between two or three worlds. The term “borderland” is used to describe two or more cultures that exist inside a marginalized person’s mind and space and

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   33

have the potential to redefine how this individual may want to relate within society (Foley, 1995). These deaf students struggled to connect with hearing persons related to their ethnic/​racial backgrounds and with White deaf persons (who are considered the cultural majority within their deaf community). Being a cultural minority within the hearing and White deaf communities led these deaf college students to feel discriminated against and marginalized by both the hearing community and the White deaf community. One of the interviews in Oliva and Lytle’s (2014) chronicle of mainstreamed deaf children was with a Black deaf woman who stated that while she valued her Black hearing friends and White deaf friends, she cherished deaf people of color the most because they shared her experiences of being both deaf and persons of color. The resources coming from communities of deaf people of color increased her social capital for having confidence in her identities, which is associated with empowerment and resilience (Leigh, 2009; Moore & Mertens, 2015; Zand & Pierce, 2011). The section covering the second social imagination question (see later) includes further discussion of capital. Local, national, and international perspectives on intersectionality are critical for the study of variations in deaf people. It has been noted that deaf individuals around the world have a shared pattern in the experience of existing in hearing-​dominant societies (Holcomb, 2013). Deaf individuals commonly discover their way to their country’s sign language or develop their country’s sign language in congregated spaces such as deaf schools, deaf clubs, deaf communities, and/​or through the Internet (Holcomb, 2013; Holcomb,2018; Padden, 1980). However, in some parts of the world, including the United States, deaf people’s involvement in deaf schools, deaf clubs, or deaf communities is changing with the surge of cochlear implants and mainstreaming, thereby creating a new area of sociological investigation into how these cochlear-​implanted and mainstreamed deaf individuals discover sign language and the deaf community, if they ever do, and how their altered trajectories impact their deaf identity development (Horejes & Heuer, 2013). On an international level, scholars in the past have studied how multiple identities and perspectives on deaf education in select countries impact deaf identities, including Great Britain (Branson & Miller, 2002), Australia (Komesaroff, 2008), Japan (Nakamura, 2006), and Ireland (LeMaster, 2002), and what being deaf means to different groups in these countries. Robert E.  Johnson’s (1991) research of deaf members in the Yucatan area of Mexico revealed that their deaf identities were not as relevant as their gender status and occupation, for example, males as farmers and females as homeworkers. Jan-​ Kåre Breivik (2005) interviewed several deaf Norwegians and recorded their identity struggles within different deaf identity borderlands. Some of the

34   Deaf Identities

participants found sign language to be central to their sense of empowerment. Mugeere, Atekyereza, Kirumira, and Hojer (2015) interviewed 42 deaf Ugandans and found that some deaf Muslim women refrained from using fingerspelling and Ugandan Sign Language with men outside of marriage due to the belief that gestures are a form of obscene expression to attract men. These are a few examples of the abundance of variations in the deaf experience beyond the United States. The national and international literature cited thus far counters the perspective of homogeneity among deaf people that predominated in research prior to the 1970s and indicates that there is no one way to frame what it means to be deaf. In fact, sociologists are not so much concerned with concrete and discrete determinations of what it means to be deaf. Rather, they examine the ways society influences these types of determinations. Society plays powerful and specific roles in the creation and maintenance of human values, ideology, identity formation, and classifications for deaf people. Examining these can answer parts of the remaining two questions of the sociological imagination of deaf people. We address this in the subsequent sections. QUESTION #2: HOW HAVE THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF DEAF PEOPLE BEEN FRAMED AND REFRAMED IN  HUMAN HISTORY? Social Constructions and Human Capital

The socialization process naturally takes place when individuals interact with their families, obtain education both formally and informally, and live among people in their society (Bourdieu, 1992). Generally, societies perceive the existence of socialized norms, beliefs, and opinions of the dominant group as superior, favorable, and normal. Shared beliefs and the status quo, however, are not necessarily always absolute truths, but rather a form of social consensus covering how things should be. According to Elkin (1960), the individual “not only knows what is expected of him and behaves accordingly; he also feels that this is the proper way for him to think and behave” (p.  4). Therefore, all individuals are products of social construction with different capital, including economic, cultural, social, and/​or symbolic resources, that maintain social and institutional affairs and determine a person’s position of power and privilege within relevant societies (Bourdieu, 1992). When members of the dominant group are unaware of how their behaviors and thoughts are biased towards their own personal interests and experiences, they commonly invest in and defend the status quo through various forms of capital (or resources) that advance their objectives. For example, hearing people’s ways of experiencing and understanding the world are attached to hearing “sound,” and

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   35

they cannot fathom existence without relying on sound for guidance. Consequently, the ideology specifically shared by hearing people defines what is considered all-​important, necessary, desirable, and even normal in the society, which circumstantially advances the salience of sound and constructs the narratives of inferiority related to the deaf experience (Hauser, O’Hearn, McKee, Steider, & Thew, 2010). As a result, the cultural, social, and linguistic capital of deaf individuals who do not speak English and do not rely on sound for living are discredited and devalued by many hearing people. On the other hand, deaf people who speak English, are able to access sound through technology such as hearing aids or cochlear implants, and participate in hearing-​based societal functions have increased worth and respect as human beings in the larger society. The values of certain capital are not always perceived the same way across time, cultures, and communities. Within signing deaf communities, for example, sign language instead of spoken language is a valued linguistic capital for social mobility and increases a person’s ability to navigate deaf communities (Hauser et al., 2010). Variations in the use of sign language can decrease or increase an individual’s worth and respect within deaf communities. Deaf people who use signed systems following English structures, such as Signed Exact English, simultaneous communication, or Cued Speech often feel excluded by those who are more fluent in ASL. The reason for such exclusion may be due to the feelings among many deaf individuals that people who use English-​based signed systems are reinforcing the superiority of English—​the language of the dominant group that has repeatedly discredited and tried to eradicate ASL. Another case of variations in sign language as it relates to social mobility within deaf communities is the use of Black ASL. It is acceptable to use Black ASL in the Black deaf community while Black ASL may be ridiculed in the White deaf community (McCaskill, Lucas, Bayley, & Hill, 2011). Deaf individuals, especially those from deaf families, may be privileged in deaf communities but disadvantaged in hearing communities or vice versa. I, Leala, am considered by many in the deaf community to embody the “mythical norm” (see Lorde, 1984) and be labeled as an “elite deaf” person. The mythical norm reflects the idealized version of individuals people who carry capital that brings the most power and privilege in society, typically white, male, abled-​bodied, beautiful, rich, smart, heterosexual, and so on. In my case, I am a fourth-​generation White deaf non-​binary person who had full access to ASL since birth, went to a large, well-​known deaf school with many deaf teachers and leaders, is fluent in ASL and English, attended Gallaudet University, and has a Ph.D. degree in deaf education. I may carry privileges that are obvious within the deaf community. However, once I step into the hearing community, I  am instantly disadvantaged and ostracized by

36   Deaf Identities

hearing people because I do not speak or hear. Therefore, from the perspective of the hearing society, I am nowhere close to the mythical norm. However, I, Thomas, am in a different position. Since I came from a hearing family and grew up attending an oral school using spoken language successfully, my social mobility in the hearing community is higher. While my hearing-​based capital, as well as other capitals such as white, middle-​class, and male, brings me closer to the mythical norm through the lens of the hearing community. Once I enter the deaf community, my use of and reliance on hearing aids for social mobility is rendered unnecessary and worthless in deaf spaces. I  struggle to negotiate my own identity in both the deaf community and the larger society such as whether I ought to wear hearing aids or not based on what my sense of normalcy is. Science, medicine, and education are among the social institutions that solidify social norms of the dominant group and determine which types of capital get to carry power and privilege in society (de Beauvoir, 1989/​1952/​1989; Perry, 2017). As cultures develop and change, what is commonly perceived as “the norm” or “the truth” may change over time, depending on social forces and whether pockets of resistance exist to counter these changes. Looking at the societal changes in the United States, for example, we have seen considerable shifts of what is defined as “normal” on a myriad of topics. There have been changes to approaches to education (and even who “deserves” to be educated), religious ideology and its place in society, how women are perceived and their place, and how White people justified the enslavement of Black people by labeling them as subhuman (Collins, 2002). Similar to other marginalized groups attempting to assert their “truths” by offering counter-​narratives, deaf communities, in an effort to change perceptions, have consistently identified themselves as a part of the social/​cultural category and resisted the ways society defined them (Ladd, 2003; Padden, 1980). As discussed earlier, all deaf people inevitably go through socialization processes and develop capital (resources) that might either increase or decrease their social mobility in hearing and deaf communities. The social status of deaf people, in various contexts, may change based on various forms of capital that may bring greater or less marginalization in the shifting of boundaries across cultures and communities. As part of the mechanism of social construction, certain social institutions such as science, medicine, and education play prominent roles in applying ideologies and procuring constructed consequences. Framing Deaf People: Science, Medicine, and Education

The rise of race science and eugenics during the late 1800s and early 1900s reinforced the ideology of normalcy in which the “weak” would be eliminated (Gould, 1996). Deaf people were included in the “weak”

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   37

groups, along with poor, mentally ill, blind, developmentally disabled, homosexuals, and certain racial groups (Davis, 1995). This “scientific knowledge” was injected into the medical and educational systems (Horejes, 2012), which in turn became policy (Horejes, 2013) and consequently has significantly contributed to the social constructions of deaf people through a deficit-​based lens. This phenomenon is called “problem-​orientation in research” (Zambrana, 2013). In the world of problem-​oriented research, there is a constellation of studies portraying marginalized cultures as subordinate by comparing them to the standards of the dominant culture. Historically and currently, many hearing researchers have focused on exploring the ways deaf people differ from hearing people, with those deaf people who resemble hearing people being spotlighted as desired for their perceived approximations of dominant group norms (Beadle et  al., 2005; Bourdieu, 1986; Ladd, 2003, Pisoni et  al., 2008; Reagan, 2002). The differences among deaf individuals are highlighted by segregating deaf people who can hear and speak from those who cannot through the act of labeling (e.g., deaf vs. hard of hearing) and educational placements (e.g., deaf schools vs. mainstreaming) (Horejes, 2012). Moreover, the roles and experiences of marginalized individuals with multiple identities and cultures, such as deaf + LGBTQ + disabled + people of color, are often nonexistent in the discourse. These research studies neglect how power and ideological imbalance manifest between the oppressed culture and the dominant culture and contribute to the normalization of systematic inequalities and exclusion (Ladd 2003; Smith, 1999). When people are consistently exposed to negative research evidence (or myths) about deaf people’s culture, language, and communities, prejudice and discrimination become justified and normalized inside and outside deaf communities. Cultural and linguistic assaults through problem-​ oriented research have cornered deaf people into investing their energy, time, attention, and resources into debunking the myths that question the value of deaf people, Deaf culture, and sign language (Hauser et al., 2010). In the medical system, the “science” described earlier has influenced discourse surrounding deaf babies, often illustrated in terms of tragedy, loss, and repair (Reagan, 2002). For example, the Centers for Disease Control & Prevention (CDC) continue to associate “hearing impairment” with their theme of “saving lives & protecting people” (CDC, 2018). The medical system is heavily involved in early diagnosis (or identification) of deafness in infants. When deafness is identified in a baby, parents detect through the attitude and behavior of medical professionals that this can be and should be remedied. Then parents are counseled to meet the child’s immediate medical needs (“curing hearing loss”) and to steer the child into social conformity by not exposing them to sign language. Theoretically, parents are entitled to freedom of choice in how they raise their children, but choices deemed

38   Deaf Identities

as deviant by medical professionals will not be emphasized, and usually they are choices that most parents would not make. The urge and pressure to surgically place cochlear implants in deaf babies, have them undergo potential repeated surgeries as well as intensive listening and speech therapy, and not use sign language are powerful (Bruin & Nevøy, 2014; Crowe, McLeod, McKinnon & Ching, 2014; Uus, Young, & Day, 2015; see also Mauldin, this volume). Consequently, the practice of parenting from the beginning focuses on maintaining the superiority of hearing capital and norms and nurturing an identity within that deaf child which embraces those norms (Mauldin, 2016). Even deaf parents with deaf children are not immune to this type of pressure from the medical system. For example, despite the fact that Leala’s deaf great-​ grandparents, grandparents, and parents used sign language and were literate and employed, professionals discouraged them from using sign language with their deaf children for it would make them “dumb” and “unsuccessful.” Nowhere is this negative construction of deaf people more solidified than in the marriage of medical and educational institutions; this represents one of the most (if not the most) important sites of acculturation and enculturation for deaf people. For both parents of deaf children and deaf children themselves, the formation of “deaf” as a social identity often becomes more clearly defined and understood in educational programs. Educational professionals come into families’ lives as soon as their deaf baby qualifies for early intervention services (Sass-​ Lehrer, 2016). Parents are then provided with streamlined support, advice, and information that appear to be unbiased about how they could help their deaf child access language and education. Early intervention experts (predominantly hearing) inform the parents that they are to make an “informed choice” for the sake of their deaf child and society at large (Holm & Davies, 2009) and help them make decisions with educational placements. Educational placements often determine whether deaf children will be seen as individuals with broken ears (based on the medical model) who need to be remediated in order to gain status and respect within the larger society or as individuals with a unique characteristic (based on the cultural/​social model) that leads to identification with human diversity, bilingualism/​multilingualism, and Deaf culture and communities (Horejes, 2012). The former is the default approach in the current medical and educational system. This can be attributed to the fact that for the last 250 years, deaf education has been dominated by a hegemony whose social structure has framed deafness as a deficit (Moores, 2010). In other words, approaches, methods, and practices in deaf education have been developed based on hearing people’s terms and on their capital, language, worldview, and epistemology. Even though research has demonstrated variable and often less-​than-​ desired outcomes in hearing-​centric approaches focusing on speech

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   39

and listening, these approaches continue (Hall, 2017). If deaf children do not master speech and listening, they may often wrestle with not only language deprivation, but also with developing a healthy self in the midst of a society that is more tolerant towards those who approach hearing expectations and norms. The relations between the society at large, medical and educational professionals, the parents and their deaf child as described earlier contribute to the challenges of developing a healthy deaf identity. The development of a healthy deaf identity is defined as a positive attitude toward oneself, one’s culture, and the related community (Chen, 2014). Medical and educational institutions over time have effectively disciplined the deaf body using medical and educational terminology, stigmatized symptoms, created audiological solutions and encouraged the belief that somehow the hearing loss will be fixed with interventions (DePoy & Gilson, 2004; Horejes & Lauderdale 2007; Hughes & Paterson 1997). I, Joseph, recall a visit to the audiologist after attending a Deaf high school. I  went with my father for a simple hearing aid repair. Upon arrival, the audiologist refused to respond to me despite my effort to communicate through writing and speaking. The audiologist walked behind me and, without warning, pulled out my hearing aids from my ears to examine them directly. By this action, the audiologist asserted his dominance over me as the deaf patient, and symbolically the dominance of the hearing body over the deaf body. The implication of the lack of communication and ease in physically manipulating a deaf person was that I did not need to be treated with respect, and that my physical boundaries could be violated with impunity. I  plucked the hearing aids from the audiologist’s hand and left the room. Thanks to my experiences in the Deaf community and at school, I had gained confidence, empowerment, and resilience. I was no longer willing to allow my boundaries to be violated by hearing norms. Sociologists refer to social institutions that strengthen hegemonic medical and educational norms as bureaucratic social organizations resulting from universal webs of hierarchy, consolidation of powers, and division of labor based on efficiency, reliability, legitimacy of authority, calculability, regulated tasks, and rules to maintain and reinforce ideology (Lauderdale, 2011). In schools, which are social institutions, what it means to be deaf becomes a social construct that reinforces certain ideas, values, and norms for deaf students, including what ought to be the culture of deaf people. One key sociology construct that has been used to study deaf education is the nature of language used in schools, specifically which language is “the” language of instruction, whether it is signed or spoken language, which in turn influences culture; hence, “languaculture” (Horejes, 2012). Currently, three different language pedagogies for deaf children are used in schools in the United States:  schools that

40   Deaf Identities

exclude the use of any form of sign language, schools that include sign-​supported English, and schools that use ASL and written/​spoken English. Schools that exclude signing focus on spoken English as the primary choice of language pedagogy for deaf students and often include specific curricula designed to improve speech as much as possible. Schools that include sign-​supported English (i.e., Pidgin Signed English, Signing Exact English, Conceptually Accurate Signed English, and Cued Speech) also focus on the written and spoken forms of English in their instructional activities with deaf children. Schools that include ASL emphasize its development as the primary natural language and then anchor ASL to written and/​or spoken English, incorporating bilingual approaches. These three language pedagogical approaches, which also shape their culture or languaculture, can be found in both deaf schools and mainstreamed settings. In mainstreamed environments, deaf students often need accommodations such as sign language interpreters, transcribers, and/​or assistive listening devices to access discourse in the public school classroom. Educational placements play a large role in the formation of identity among deaf children. For instance, deaf children in the mainstream with limited exposure to deaf adults and peers will perceive themselves and express their identities differently compared to those who attend a program with a large presence of deaf leaders, educators, staff, and/​ or students. In ASL-​English bilingual deaf schools, in addition to the standardized curriculum, deaf students also have access to ASL literature, learn ASL as an academic language, take Deaf Studies courses, and reflect on their deaf identities with deaf teachers guiding the way (O’Brien, Kroner, & Placier, 2015; Ocuto, 2015). Moreover, schools that include ASL with deaf teachers are more likely to add information about deaf people to the curriculum (e.g., deaf people’s involvement in historical events and deaf inventors in science) and incorporate deaf role models in daily societal functions. All these will impact how deaf children perceive themselves in terms of deaf identities. Social constructions and human capital in conjunction with other sociological factors shape deaf identities. Social institutions such as families, the medical system, education, and research venues heavily influence socialization processes. However, deaf people are not always docile bodies allowing institutions to perform in ways that are against their wishes. They have some agency in shifting their reality through social movements, as discussed in the next section. QUESTION #3: WHAT STRATEGIES ARE DEAF PEOPLE USING TO SUCCEED IN TODAY’S SOCIETY?

Social movements are group actions to challenge traditional political or social issues as reinforced by ideology and the status quo (Lauderdale,

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   41

2011). Early in this chapter, we highlighted the use of sociological imagination to study the structure of deaf communities and variations within groups of deaf people. The tension and conflict coming from social movements are affected by and affect the societal functions of social institutions (society at large, social media, and school establishments) and social organizations (deaf organizations and political affiliations). Deaf people continue to offer narratives that counter the messages of society at large about their language, culture, identity, and communities. Yet deaf people continue to face very real systematic barriers that are detrimental to their quality of life. They struggle with a dearth of qualified ASL interpreters (Cogen & Cokely, 2015), stigmatization of ASL as a language, unequal access to information (such as noncaptioned online videos), subpar quality of education (teachers with poor signing skills or low expectations), and high unemployment rates (Garberoglio, Cawthon, & Bond, 2016). Topics that concern the autonomy and agency of deaf people in deaf-​related organizations and schools have long been considered important in deaf communities. Examining some social movements that attempt to change entrenched values and norms in the dominant society and impact self-​perceptions can provide some insight. The formation of the national Deaf Grassroots Movement (DGM) represents one social organization’s response to identified barriers. While DGM is yet to be formally studied from an academic perspective, it is a nationwide mobilizing organization whose mission is to increase deaf communities’ and the larger society’s awareness that deaf people’s legal rights in communication, education, and employment are not being met. DGM was formed by seven deaf people in 2015 with the purpose of improving deaf lives by informing legislators about the injustices through statewide and nationwide rallies. Its impetus and momentum were reinforced by tens of thousands of deaf people joining a nationwide conversation about their opinions, feelings, and experiences on social media, primarily through ASL videos (vlogs). There have been numerous regional and national DGM rallies, including one rally at the U.S. Capitol on March 8, 2018. DGM is noted for its grassroots mobilization without relying on an elitist framework that has governed the history and sociology of deaf people. For instance, the Deaf President Now (1988) movement was led by four White college-​educated deaf leaders. The International Congress on the Education of the Deaf, which dates back to the 1800s, continues to be primarily led by hearing educators of the deaf. A sociology framework elucidates that processes involving traditional (elite) intellectuals and organic (grassroots) intellectuals create fissures in the bottom-​to-​ top and top-​to-​bottom impact on shifting hegemony (Gramsci, 1971). Following this line of consideration, it is worthy to note that in 2016, the National Association of the Deaf (NAD, a long-​established social

42   Deaf Identities

organization fighting to eradicate systemic barriers imposed upon deaf people) has formally partnered with DGM on its efforts and at least three of its NAD priorities were voted to align with DGM’s main areas of interest. “Nothing about us, without us” (Charlton, 1998) is a popular slogan of excluded people and groups that has been adopted by deaf organizations, including the NAD, to stress the importance of leadership and involvement of deaf people in deaf-​related affairs. There has been a steady increase in the number of deaf educators and researchers who are committed to analyzing the complex ways in which oppression is manifested on personal, cultural, and structural levels. The overarching goal of this effort is to demarginalize the oppressed by centering their experiences and providing creative and emancipatory avenues to solve complex issues such as the following: What have we gained, learned, and inherited by being deaf? How can deaf narratives be leveraged to turn deaf education from a breeding ground of trauma and pain into a space of healing and liberation? What would it look like if deaf ways of being in this world were embraced and optimized? These lines of investigation, led by deaf people themselves, are needed to offer challenges to the ongoing deficit-​based framework of deafness or “hearing impairment” as the cause of gaps in cognition, language, and socialization. It is the reason why the four authors of this chapter, as well as other deaf authors and researchers, are highly motivated to pursue academic perspectives for defining our own identities to better understand the situation our communities are in. To address the issue of language deprivation and poor quality of teaching in deaf education, the NAD posted recommendations on their website on how to hire appropriate leaders for schools or programs that serve deaf people. The NAD’s criteria for a search process represents the spirit of “nothing about us, without us” by insisting that “1) Members of the deaf community should be included in this search process, and 2) the majority of the search committee should be deaf or hard of hearing” (National Association of the Deaf, 2018). Their criteria for hiring a school leader explicitly recommends a person who is not only fluent in ASL and English, but that the leader should be a deaf or hard-​of-​hearing person because “students deserve a strong role model in their school leader” (National Association of the Deaf, 2018). Trudy Suggs, who is deaf herself, posted results of her investigation into the number of deaf staff and superintendents at deaf schools on her website (Suggs, 2018). Suggs noted, “Despite all the challenges, it is certainly motivating to note that there are now 23 superintendents of deaf schools or charter schools who are deaf” (n.p.). Increases in the number of deaf people gaining leadership positions in deaf-​related fields such as deaf schools, organizations, and agencies are examples of deaf communities attempting to gain control over their lives. It is important

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   43

to remember that Gallaudet University (formerly Gallaudet College) finally had its first deaf president only in 1988 after having been led by a hearing individual for the past 124 years. Deaf communities are similar to the larger society when it comes to race and racism. Those who lead deaf-​related social organizations and institutions are typically White, regardless of hearing status. In deaf education, approximately 50% of deaf children are children of color (Simms, Rusher, Andrews, & Coryell, 2008), paralleling percentages of hearing children of color in public schools (Musu-​Gillette et al., 2017). By contrast, 90% of the teachers of the deaf are White and do not reflect the faces they teach (Simms, Rusher, Andrews, & Coryell, 2008). There has been an increase in conversations about race and racism in deaf communities, especially with regard to concerns about the principle of “nothing about us, without us.” The current reality is deemed unacceptable in deaf communities of color and among other concerned deaf individuals. On her website, Suggs (2018, n.p.) states: “Another challenge is the lack of diversity among employees at deaf schools.” Many people no longer inquire only about the number of deaf and hearing people involved in organizations and schools; they also inquire about the number of people from the “other” category. Recently, the NAD has demonstrated its commitment to inclusion and equity by electing a woman of color as its president, actively collaborating with deaf people of color organizations, hiring deaf people with diverse marginalized identities, and prioritizing issues that greatly affect people of color such as the criminal justice system. What about the strategies deaf people of color use to succeed in today’s society? Starting in the 1980s, deaf people of color became frustrated with the limited diversity found in predominantly White deaf organizations such as the NAD. They formed their own organizations to address issues that affect their respective cultural and racial groups. For example, the Council de Manos comprises “Latinx Deaf, DeafBlind, DeafDisabled, and Hard of Hearing people” whose mission and vision is “to end injustice and for the people we serve to achieve self-​ fulfillment” (see Council De Manos website, 2018). Comparably, the National Black Deaf Advocates was formed out of concern that “Black Deaf and hard of hearing Americans are not adequately represented in leadership and policy decision-​making activities affecting their lives” (see National Black Deaf Advocates website, 2018). Similarly, the National Asian Deaf Congress aims to “address the cultural, political, and social issues experienced by Asians who are Deaf or Hard of Hearing” (see National Asian Deaf Congress website, 2018). As discussed earlier in this chapter, the names of these organizations personify the variety present among deaf people in the way they label and identify themselves: the capitalized “d” in deaf, the inclusion of deafblind, deafdisabled, and hard-​of-​hearing categories, or placing

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racial identities in front of the word “deaf.” These organizations host conferences with increasing numbers of participants due to intensified nationwide dialogues on racism and social justice. Information sharing at these conferences is among the strategies that deaf people of color use to resist dominant narratives through the conscious effort to decolonize and preserve their native cultures, languages, and communities. These organizations are also active on social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter. Since all of the aforementioned examples include social media as a significant means to affect change, it is one of, if not the most, popular strategies to access and exchange resources in today’s society. In the past, deaf people depended on deaf schools, deaf organizations, deaf clubs, or deaf events to meet deaf role models, learn about deaf identities, develop positive understandings of Deaf culture, and create new ways of being deaf. With the increased mainstreaming of deaf students and the decline of deaf clubs and deaf schools, deaf people now often turn to social media to virtually connect with other deaf people (Holcomb, 2018). There are interest-​specific groups and webpages on social media that attract certain types of deaf people, including deaf LGBTQ individuals, cochlear implant users, grassroots deaf, deaf academics, late-​deafened persons, deaf people of color, deaf teachers, deaf parents of hearing children, and more. Social media make it possible for deaf people from all around the world to connect with each other without ever meeting in person. Deaf people can exchange a vast amount of knowledge, experience, political insight, and resources to become empowered and lead more effective lives in their respective environments. National conversations often spill over to other countries, thus encouraging deaf individuals of all backgrounds to wrestle with different topics that have relevance to their identities. Some topics that recently went viral include (but are not limited to) cleaning up English’s influence on ASL (e.g., replacing initialized handshapes in the signs “family” and “culture”); clarifying the preference of deaf over hearing impairment as a label; deaf identities and labels (e.g., DeafPlus vs. DeafDisabled); deaf roles and deaf-​related themes in film and theater (e.g., #DeafTalent in America’s Next Top Model, Dancing With the Stars, A Quiet Place, This Close, and Spring Awakening); and deaf leadership (or lack thereof) in deaf-​related institutions (e.g., the hiring of hearing superintendents for deaf schools or the hiring of a hearing CEO for the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf, which monitors interpreter qualifications in communication access). Additional topics often discussed include ASL-​ English bilingual access for deaf children, deaf involvement in politics, and interpreting services. There is also a push for textbooks, courses in higher education, and published journals about deaf people that are typically delivered in English to be translated into ASL. Research-​based

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   45

signed videos (e.g., National Deaf Center on Postsecondary Outcomes) being circulated on social media along with transcripts, images, and video descriptions provide evidence of the shift in adhering to the spirit of “nothing about us, without us.” The overriding themes of deaf representation, deaf visibility, deaf leadership, and inclusion found on social media reinforce the formation of positive deaf identities and resilience. Wardle (2017) wrote about the political socialization of the deaf community through media accessibility:  “Having established the community-​building tools of language access and education, media is then the socializing agent . . .” (p. 17). This confirms the importance of language access and education in enabling deaf people to benefit from social media. However, disparities still exist surrounding deaf people’s language use and accessibility on social media. Deaf people often express frustration when they are unable to access content due to the speaker choosing to use sign language, spoken language, or written language without providing accessibility such as captions for nonwritten languages for diverse audiences. Access difficulty is compounded when DeafBlind people are hindered from accessing signed videos (vlogs) when they do not include captions or transcripts. Since our current society heavily relies on social media to function, stay connected, and mobilize, lack of accessibility robs deaf individuals of opportunities for being active agents in changing their reality. In response to those barriers, some individuals and organizations are speaking out about inclusion on social media. In the recent 2018 National Association of the Deaf magazine (NADmag), multiple articles stressed the significance of social media in improving deaf lives and being mindful of accessibility for diverse audiences including an article that provides tips on how to be more inclusive via social media (Reis, 2018).2 Indeed, social media is its own social field with linguistic, cultural, and political capital that can trigger tensions. These tensions have the potential of leading to conflict and change within deaf communities and society at large, affecting the way people perceive and define deaf identities. Howard Rosenblum (2018, p. 8), Chief Executive Officer of the NAD commented, “If we really want people to respect us and treat us as equals, we must change their perception of us through the media.” Such efforts have taken place through social media activism locally, nationally, and internationally. A public dispute that occurred in 2016 between Nyle DiMarco and Meredith Sugar, the then president of the Alexander Graham Bell Association for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing, mobilized deaf people on social media to come together and collectively respond to the negative myths about deaf communities. Nyle DiMarco, a deaf model and actor, used his celebrity status, his social media platforms (Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat), and his organization, The Nyle DiMarco Foundation, to dispel what he considered to be misinformation being dispensed by medical professionals and educators against the use of sign languages

46   Deaf Identities

with deaf children. “There are 70 million Deaf people worldwide and only 2% of them have access to education in sign language,” DiMarco stressed on his website (The Nyle DiMarco Foundation, n.d.). In responding to widespread publicity about DiMarco’s win on Dancing With the Stars and his claims about the ongoing struggles of deaf children experiencing language deprivation, Meredith Sugar contested his perspectives, stating, “What it means to be ‘deaf’ has changed” (Sugar, 2016). She implied that deaf children could learn how to hear and speak without the added support of sign language. In response to Sugar, more than 50 open letters shared on social media were written by deaf associations, deaf schools, deaf organizations, and deaf researchers. Deaf people from all walks of life posted on their social media platforms about deaf capital, cultural views of deaf people, and new research repudiating deficit-​based views of deaf people. Currently, social media seems to be an integral tool in many social movements that aim to advance positive and constructive understandings of deaf people in society and affirm the resilience of deaf identities. CONCLUSION

It is challenging for deaf people to enter discourses in academics about deaf people that have been established, frequently cited, and built on historical precedents. In order to assert narratives and truths including what it means to be deaf from a deaf-​centric and sociological lens, research must have sources, and those sources need to have sources. Ideas describing deaf people that are novel and/​or counter to the foundations that hearing people built into the study of sociology have been routinely discredited unless they conform to the status quo of the history of what has gone before them. For instance, the birth of a sociology of deaf people within the cultural framework began only 60  years ago, thanks to Lunde (1956), a hearing sociologist who presented this concept at an American Sociological Association conference. Subsequently, William Stokoe (another hearing scholar) used Lunde’s framework as a cited source in his famous 1960 work giving ASL formal recognition as a whole language. In this case, it took hearing scholars who were privileged (closer to the status quo) to reframe deafness utilizing a non-​deficit-​based paradigm that finally shed light on a different way of studying deafness, that is, through a sociological lens. As emphasized in this chapter, applying a sociological framework requires a focus on cultural inequalities that put a spotlight on how differing values, norms, and ideals cause different groups to be caught in conflict (Agar, 1994). The use of sociological imagination contributes to the knowledge base that describes how deaf people move through their relevant institutions, organizations, and movements. It has only been recently that deaf people have become involved in discussing

Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities   47

sociological issues. Needless to say, there is still much to learn about deaf people and their place in the world from the perspective of deaf people themselves. In writing this chapter, we as deaf academics are joining other marginalized groups in the effort to dispel the myths disseminated by problem-​oriented research and at the same time learn from past histories. Interestingly, all four authors underwent different socialization processes growing up, including a multigenerational signing family, hearing nonsigning family, and hearing signing family. Yet we arrived at the same place as young deaf academics passionate about sharing the value of sign language, deaf culture, and deaf communities. Admittedly, we spent hours and hours debating conflicting perspectives and interpretations of deaf identities. Through this process, we recognized that the identity of deaf people is not a monolithic entity. We saw how being members of distinct communities cultivated differing capital, power, and privilege in ourselves that are inevitably being mediated, not only by societal interdependent structures, specifically social institutions, social organizations, and social movements, but also when we interact with each other, with other deaf people, and with society at large. The larger society is not always the shaping force of what happens to deaf people, as deaf people themselves also have the agency to change society. Some of us have presented at NAD conferences, marched to the Capitol with the DGM, joined deaf people of color organizations in challenging racism, and escaped isolation and found empowerment through connecting with other deaf people on social media. There is so much to learn about how deaf people move through this world and perceive their identities. We feel we fall short in our analysis since there is so much more to be covered in this chapter both in breadth and depth. Nonetheless, it is our hope that our chapter will encourage others to augment the reference list of deaf perspectives for future generations. The deaf authors of this chapter look forward to engaging in ongoing dialogues about deaf identities and moving deaf communities toward greater understanding about the potential of deaf individuals who are part of the human condition in our larger society. NOTES 1. This chapter uses the National Deaf Center on Postsecondary Outcomes (NDC)’s term deaf in an “all-​inclusive manner, to include people who may identify as Deaf, deaf, DeafBlind, DeafDisabled, hard of hearing, late-​ deafened, and hearing impaired . . . with the goal of recognizing experiences that are shared by all members of our diverse communities while also honoring all of our differences” (nationaldeafcenter.org, n.d.). 2. Unlike many Blind people who access transcripts through written English to voiced English through software (i.e., DragonSpeaking®), many DeafBlind individuals access these transcripts via ZoomText or Braille.

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Horejes, T., & Heuer, C. J. (2013). Negotiating deaf bodies and corporeal experiences: The cybernetic deaf subject. Societies, 3, 170–​185. Horejes, T., & Lauderdale, P. (2007). Disablism reflected in law and policy: The social construction and perpetuation of prejudice. Review of Disability Studies, 3(3),  13–​23. Hughes, B., & Paterson, K. (1997). The social model of disability and the disappearing body; Towards a sociology of impairment. Disability & Society, 12(3), 325–​340. Johnson, R. (1991). Sign language, culture and community in a traditional Yucatec Maya village. Sign Language Studies, 73, 461–​474. Komesaroff, L. (2008). Bilingual education. In L. Komesaroff (Ed.), Disabling pedagogy: Power, politics, and deaf education (pp. 51–​76). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Kusters, A., De Meulder, M., & O’Brien, D. (Eds.). (2017). Innovations in deaf studies: The role of deaf scholars. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Ladd, P. (2003). Understanding deaf culture:  In search of deafhood. Toronto, Canada: Multilingual Matters. Lauderdale, P. (2011). A political analysis of deviance (3rd ed.). Whitby, Canada: de Sitter. Leigh, I. W. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University  Press. LeMaster, B. (2002). School language and shifts in Irish deaf identity. In L. Monaghan, C. Schmaling, K. Nakamura, & G. H. Turner (Eds.), Many ways to be deaf (pp. 153–​172). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Lorde, A. (1984). Age, race, class and sex: Women redefining difference. In Sister outsider: Essays and speeches (p. 114). Freedom, CA: Crossing Press. Lunde, A. (1956). Sociology of Deaf people. Paper presented at the American Sociological meeting, Detroit, MI. Mauldin, L. (2016). Made to hear:  Cochlear implants and raising deaf children. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. McCaskill, C., Lucas, C., Bayley, R., & Hill, J. (2011). The hidden treasure of Black ASL: Its history and structure. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Mills, C. W. (1959/​ 1971), The sociological imagination. Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin (originally published 1959). Mitchell, R., & Karchmer, M. A. (2004). Chasing the mythical ten percent:  Parental hearing status of deaf and hard of hearing students in the United States. Sign Language Studies, 4, 138–​163. Moore, E. A., & Mertens, D. M. (2015). Deaf culture and youth resilience in diverse American communities. In L. Theron, L. Liebenberg, & M. Ungar (Eds.), Youth resilience and culture (pp. 143–​155). Dordrecht, the Netherlands: Springer. Moores, D. (2010). The history of language and communication issues in deaf education. In M. Marschark & P. E. Spencer (Eds.), Oxford handbook of deaf studies, language, and education (Vol. 2, pp. 17–​30). New  York, NY:  Oxford University Press. Mugeere, A., Atekyereza, P. R., Kirumira, E. K., & Hojer, S. (2015). Deaf identities in a multicultural setting: The Ugandan context. African Journal of Disability, 4(1), 320–​329. Musu-​Gillette, L., de Brey, C., McFarland, J., Hussar, W., Sonnenberg, W., & Wilkinson-​Flicker, S. (2017). Status and trends in the education of racial and ethnic groups (NCES 2017-​051). U.S. Department of Education, National

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Center for Education Statistics. Washington, DC. Retrieved from https://​nces. ed.gov/​programs/​raceindicators/​ Nakamura, K. (2006). Deaf in Japan:  Signing and the politics of identity. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. National Asian Deaf Congress. (2018). About us. Retrieved from http://​www. nadcusa.org/​about.html National Association of the Deaf. (2018). School leader search process recommendations. Retrieved from https://​ www.nad.org/​ parents/​ school-​leader-​search-​process-​recommendations/​ National Black Deaf Advocates. (2018). About us. Retrieved from https://​ www.nbda.org/​content/​about-​us National Deaf Center on Postsecondary Outcomes. (n.d.). About us. Retrieved from https://​www.nationaldeafcenter.org/​about-​us  on The Nyle DiMarco Foundation. (n.d.). About us. Retrieved from https://​ nyledimarcofoundation.com/​about/​ O’Brien, C., Kroner, C., & Placier, P. (2015). Deaf culture and academic culture:  Cultivating understanding across cultural and linguistic boundaries. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 8(2), 104–​119. Ocuto, O. (2015). A review in retrospect: American Sign Language instructional guide by Todd Czubek. American Annals of the Deaf, 160(4), 427–​429. Oliva, G. A., & Lytle, L. R. (2014). Turning the tide: Making life better for deaf and hard of hearing schoolchildren. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Padden, C. (1980). The deaf community and the culture of deaf people. In C. Baker & R. Battison (Eds.), Sign language and the deaf community (pp. 89–​103). Silver Spring, MD: Linstok Press. Perry, H. S. (2017). Intersectionality as an institution: Changing the definition of feminism. DePaul Journal of Women, Gender & the Law, 7(1). Pisoni, D. B., Conway, C. M., Kronenberger, W. G., Horn, D. L., Karpicke, J., & Henning, S. C. (2008). Efficacy and effectiveness of cochlear implants in deaf children. In M. Marschark & P. C. Hauser (Eds.). Deaf cognition: Foundations and outcomes (pp. 52–​101). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Reagan, T. (2002). Toward an “archaeology of deafness”:  Etic and emic constructions of identity in conflict. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 1(1),  41–​66. Reis, R. (2018). #ImageVideoDescription:  Social media considerations. NADMag, 18(2). Rosenblum, H. (2018). Reflections from Howard. NADMag, 18(2), 8. Ruiz-​Williams, E., Burke, M., Chong, V. Y., & Chainarong, N. (2015). My deaf is not your deaf: Realizing intersectional realities at Gallaudet University. In M. Friedner & A. Kusters (Eds.), It’s a small world: International deaf spaces and encounters (pp. 262–​273). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, Sass-​Lehrer, M. (2016). Early intervention for deaf and hard-​of-​hearing infants, toddlers, and their families: Interdisciplinary perspectives. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Simms, L., & Rusher, M., Andrews, J. F., & Coryell, J. (2008). Apartheid in deaf education: Examining workforce diversity. American Annals of the Deaf, 153(4), 384–​395. Smith, L. T. (1999). Decolonizing methodologies:  Research and indigenous people. London, UK: Zed Books.

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Stokoe, W. (1960/​2005). Sign language structure: An outline of the visual communication systems of the American Deaf. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 10(1),  11–​15. Sugar, M. (2016). Dispelling myths about deafness. Baltimore Post Examiner, April 2.  Retrieved from http://​baltimorepostexaminer.com/​ag-​bell-​ dispelling-​myths-​deafness/​2016/​04/​02 Suggs, T. (2018). Deaf schools:  True-​business deaf?—​20  years later. Retrieved from http://​w ww.trudysuggs.com/​d eaf-​s chools-​t rue-​b usiness-​ deaf-​20-​years-​later/​ Uus, K., Young, A., & Day, M. (2015). Parents’ perspectives on the dilemmas with intervention for infants with auditory neuropathy spectrum disorder: A qualitative study. International Journal of Audiology, 54, 552–​558. Wardle, J. (2017). Political socialization of the deaf community through new media accessibility (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Georgetown University, Washington, DC. Woodward, J., & Horejes, T. (2016). deaf/​Deaf: Origins and usage. In P. Boudreault, G. Gertz, & J. G. Golson (Eds.), The Deaf Studies encyclopedia, vol. 1 (pp. 284–​ 286). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Zambrana, R. E. (2013). Toward understanding the educational trajectory and socialization of Latina women. Education Feminism: Classic and Contemporary Readings, 75. Zand, D., & Pierce, K. (Eds.). (2011). Resilience in deaf children. New  York, NY: Springer.

3    Identity, Ethics, and the Deaf Community Teresa Blankmeyer Burke

INTRODUCTION

The word philosophy in American Sign Language (ASL) used to be synonymous with the contemporary ASL word for “wise”—​a fist with an extended bent index finger positioned at one’s temple, thumb at the brow as the hand rocks back and forth from the wrist like an oil derrick, evoking the back-​and-​forth dialectic of philosophical discourse. The folk explanation of the etymology of this word starts with the current use of the straight-​index-​finger classifier representing a person in the prime of life. As the story goes, aging and the wisdom imparted from years of experience shift the person from the certitude of uprightness (and perhaps youth) to the crooked finger, symbolizing a stooped posture representing not only age but the metaphorical weight of accumulated knowledge.1 Recently, use of the ASL word representing the concept of philosophy has shifted from this indexical representing a sage individual to a splayed hand moving at the same location. In this iteration, picture the signer’s hand at her or his temple, palm facing down with extended fingers simultaneously wiggling as the hand travels outward from the person toward the world. While I  am not a linguist by any stretch of the imagination, I  find these two ASL representations of the word philosophy helpful for capturing the application of philosophical discourse to the topic of identity and ethics. In the first version, the concept and suggestion of wisdom are affixed in the representation of the person as philosopher; in the second version, the implication is of philosophical ideas spilling outward from the individual’s mind to the world—​the concept of wisdom hinted at indirectly via association by location. If philosophy is ultimately a love of wisdom, as determined by the Greek roots of philo + sophia, how we choose to represent it matters (“Philosophy,” 2006). These two ASL words signifying philosophy aptly illustrate the tension of the connection between binding the philosopher’s ideas to the philosopher and the release of those ideas into the world for discussion. Teresa Blankmeyer Burke, Identity, Ethics, and the Deaf Community In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0003

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The main concept of philosophy holds for each signed word, but the emphasis shifts. In this chapter, I attempt to do likewise for the notion of deaf identity. As an analytically trained philosopher with pluralist leanings, I come to this topic of identity and ethics from a lineage of primarily Anglophone philosophy. The irony, of course, is that Anglophone is hardly the apt descriptor for a deaf philosopher—​Anglotext might be more suitable. Even as I write this paragraph, I find my shoulder muscles tightening and my fingers fumbling as I  grapple with the labels I  have assigned to myself:  Anglophone, analytically trained, philosopher, pluralist leanings, deaf, Anglotext. I suspect this tension will be a familiar feeling for others who have let go of certitude and accepted the weight of complexity—​a metaphorical stance akin to the first ASL word used for philosophy as the bowed countenance of wisdom acquired from age. Given that my task is to put together some thoughts about the ways in which philosophy, however constructed, might offer some guidance in thinking about the ethics of identity (or is that ethics and identity?), I will pound some stakes into the sand and designate some terrain for this inquiry. Telling someone “I’m deaf” can elicit a variety of responses:  solidarity, pride, confusion, denial, pity, support, laughter, rejection, annoyance, frustration, curiosity, perplexity, or happiness. This simple assertion of identity is usually taken to be a claim of self-​knowledge and reality—​that is, an epistemic and a metaphysical claim of what one knows and what one is. But this can only take one so far. In addition to emotional and psychological states, the variety of reactions described earlier also include various shades of normativity or value-​ based claims. This chapter considers the ethical implications related to the assertion of deaf identity from both the part of the person making the claim and also those reacting to it. Inspired by the first ASL version of the word philosophy representing the sage thinker’s dialectic, I begin by sketching an analysis of the metaphysics of philosophical identity. From that, I offer some suggestions for how thinking through the metaphysical and epistemological claims might inform ethical discourse about issues of identity, identifying a suite of identity claims that raise ethical questions and introduce some approaches for analyzing such claims. Here I  shift away from the philosopher’s analysis of concepts to examining three particular ways in which ethics and identity have received attention in contemporary Anglotext philosophical discourse, and I  rework these via three examples that highlight particular and unique aspects of deaf identities. I conclude this chapter with some suggestions for the application of philosophical tools to the ways in which ethics and identity have received attention in contemporary discourse about the deaf experience, revisiting and fitting my three examples about deaf identity

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into a moral landscape of flourishing deaf lives. Fittingly, this final move also serves to return the reader’s attention to the contemporary ASL word for “philosophy” as represented by the extension of pluralist philosophical thought radiating out into the world. METAPHYSICS AND DEAF IDENTITY

Why would a chapter about the ethics of deaf identity start with a discussion of metaphysics and epistemology? The answer to this is simple: If our claims about ethical matters are based on our beliefs about what is real and what we know, some reflection about these beliefs is in order. This section introduces an analytical philosophical approach to these topics illustrating the method of inquiry used by analytically trained philosophers, which involves concept clarification, analysis of brief examples, and posing particular kinds of questions that are typical of this discipline. This section will not offer a definitive view of the metaphysics of deaf identity, nor will it provide a conclusive epistemic take on what is known about deaf identity. The philosophical terms metaphysics and epistemology have somewhat different meanings in other fields; however, for this chapter metaphysics will be defined as a branch of philosophy that deals with the ultimate nature of reality (van Inwagen, 2014), and epistemology will be defined as the branch of philosophy that deals with the nature of knowledge (Steup, 2005). Additionally, the use of the phrase “deaf identity” should not be taken to mean that there is one global concept for this notion—​just as the term “epistemology” can refer to a field of inquiry or a particular way of knowing, the term “identity” also carries with it some ambiguity. Unless stated otherwise, the term “identity” will be used broadly, referring to a cluster or family of related concepts applied to an individual. One of the best-​ known contemporary traditions for undergraduate students at Gallaudet University is that of “Bald Day”—​a date chosen during the spring term when participants who are members of the freshman class shave their heads as a ritual of class year solidarity. Since Gallaudet University is a liberal arts institution founded with the aim of educating deaf and hard-​of-​hearing students, most of the first-​ year students (but not all) participating in this annual ritual are deaf or hard of hearing. Terminology usage for marking identity groups can often be vexing—​this is also the case for deaf identity. In the instance just mentioned, the language chosen reflects that of the Education of the Deaf Act (1986), a piece of legislation promulgated by the Congress of the United States of America that sets forth some of the policies governing the administration of Gallaudet University, a private university with a federal charter that receives significant funding from the U.S. Department of Education.

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Now, the Bald Day ritual is one associated with a Gallaudet University identity, and not an explicitly deaf identity. This is because not all participants are deaf or hard of hearing, and also because not all deaf or hard-​of-​hearing people attend Gallaudet University. Yet this ritual serves as a useful device for raising questions about the philosophical underpinnings of identity—​what is it, exactly, that grounds a deaf identity? Are there requisite conditions of deaf identity? If so, how is this determined? What are metaphysical claims about the nature of the reality of deaf identity? Should the metaphysics of deaf identity be grounded in claims about the social construction of reality (social ontology) or is it that to be deaf is a claim about natural kinds? Moving beyond reality to knowledge, even if the nature of deaf identity can be determined (and it very much seems to be an open question whether this is possible), how do we move from this claim to a claim about knowledge of a deaf identity? Can a person who is a member of the signing deaf community assert a deaf identity? Or is this claim necessarily bound up with the particulars of the physical body and biomedical assessment? In philosophical inquiry, the use of necessary is synonymous with required—​another way of asking this question is whether someone who otherwise satisfies social criteria for signing deaf identity (say a child of deaf adults, or CODA) but has a “hearing” individual physiology could rightfully claim a “deaf identity”? EPISTEMOLOGY AND DEAF IDENTITY

The question of who counts as deaf can be answered using a number of different standards or assessments. Is the status of being counted as deaf something that is asserted or conferred? One standard is self-​ identification—​if individuals assert that they are deaf, this is sufficient. Another standard might be collective affirmation of a claim, that is, a group of persons or an entity supports the truth of a person’s assertion to be deaf. Yet another might be to use a standard based on a particular assessment or measurement, such as the audiogram standards used within allopathic medicine (Stramondo, 2015). My objective in listing such disparate approaches is twofold. The first is to note the complexity of how such standing is determined, and the numerous judgments and decisions that factor into this task. The second is to invite readers to reflect on what standards of deaf identity they might use to determine such standing, and what assumptions and biases shape their decision-​making process. This section will address some of the issues inherent in these questions. Among other things, analytic philosophy as a discipline focuses on concept clarification. The question “who counts as deaf?” involves a set of issues around both metaphysical and epistemological concept clarification. Since metaphysics deals with questions about the nature

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of reality, such an approach would be to examine one’s thoughts regarding what, exactly, is referenced by the word deaf and how does this reflect assumptions about the nature of what it is to be deaf? Several issues are raised here. One issue is who determines whether a person is deaf or not. Another issue is what standing that person, group, or entity has to assert such a claim. Yet another issue deals with motivation—​ what reasons might motivate the assertion (or denial) of such a claim. Sometimes these reasons are about preserving the cohesiveness of a group such as a sociolinguistic community; sometimes these reasons may be motivated by the desire to qualify for a particular set of social services and benefits (in the United States this might include access to Supplemental Security Income [SSI] or related benefits tied to SSI eligibility, including access to free or reduced-​cost health care insurance [Stein, Silvers, Arehardt, & Francis, 2014]). Other examples include financial support to education through state vocational rehabilitation services or additional support for communication access at one’s place of employment (Stein et al., 2014). How a person is counted as a deaf person is not the same question as whether a person has a deaf identity. From a philosophical vantage point, identity claims can be one of number (e.g., there are five deaf persons in the cohort of 100)  using a widely accepted or stipulated standard or assertion, whatever that may be. Identity as it is often used in social and political philosophy relates to a different set of claims, including a self-​assertion component, for example, “I am deaf.” This inclusion of self-​ assertion of identity presupposes the capacity to make such self-​assertions. Yet even self-​assertion of identity can be problematic, for the capability of self-​assertion of identity can change throughout a lifetime. A  person who once had the capacity for self-​ assertion of identity may lose it later in life; an infant’s capacity for self-​ assertion is potential, not actual. Furthermore, there is a philosophical question of whether a robust self-​assertion of identity requires the capacity of language—​not a specific language, but of language at all. If so, what are the implications for this standard in a population or community where language deprivation and its effects are not uncommon (Glickman & Hall, 2019). Given that not all deaf persons may exhibit such a capacity for self-​assertion of identity, this raises hard questions about the use of self-​assertion of identity (whatever standard is used) and inclusion in a definition of deaf identity. Should deaf identity be assigned only to those who have decisional capacity or broadened to include those with potential decisional capacity? If the latter, what are the justificatory reasons for such a move? Still another issue is who counts as a deaf person. In the field of bioethics and philosophy, the definition of “persons” has several technical meanings (Jaworska, 2009). One such meaning is a being capable of using reason or possessing the capacity for reason (Jaworksa, 2009).

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Such a being need not be human or even carbon-​based—​under this definition, a robot with sophisticated artificial intelligence capabilities could count as a person. Another way to look at the question of who counts as a deaf person is to switch the emphasis from deaf to person—​ considering from this bioethics perspective whether a deaf human being who does not possess the capacity for reason can be considered a person. In this instance, the individual could satisfy the criteria for deaf, but not satisfy the criteria for person. Given the often vexed relationship between language acquisition and deaf education, not to mention the challenge of sorting out the question of whether language is integral to reason, this line of inquiry runs dangerously close to some historic perspectives of deaf people as less than fully human (Bayton, 1996; Lane, 1984). Yet embedded in the notion of a deaf identity is the assumption that identity is a characteristic of not just deaf humans, but deaf persons. The claim of deaf identity can thus also be associated with what philosophers refer to as a genealogy or history of this notion of deaf identity and the transformation of such an identity through time. Is it necessary to settle answers to metaphysical and epistemological questions in order to discuss the ethics of deaf identity? As a pluralist, my tendency is to say, it isn’t the idea of making this settled knowledge that is at stake; rather what is important is for the person making the claim to get clear on his or her metaphysical and epistemological underpinnings around identity. There is a move afoot by some in the field of Deaf Studies to claim (or at least assume) that the social construction of knowledge is settled knowledge (Kusters, De Meulder, & O’Brien, 2017). While the social construction of knowledge may be a settled matter for some disciplines, in academic philosophy, this is still regarded as very much a live question. And of course, what counts as socially constructed knowledge is itself a metaphysical question! IDENTITY AND PHILOSOPHY: EPISTEMOLOGY

What kinds of epistemological questions might be important to think through before reflecting on ethics and deaf identity? What kinds of ethical issues arise from staking a deaf identity claim? Does staking a (group) identity claim entail any ethical obligations? To self or group? This section considers the application of the philosophical notion of epistemic injustice to deaf identity claim ethics. Epistemic injustice is a relatively new concept in philosophy, developed by Miranda Fricker (2007). Fricker investigates the phenomenon of what happens when an individual’s testimony is disregarded because of that person’s standing. For example, a person listening to another’s account (testimony) might be less inclined to believe the speaker’s credibility, not because of what the speaker is saying, but because of his or her social position. Fricker uses the example given by

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Susan Brownmiller about the phenomenon of an unjust set of discriminatory experiences shared by women that was unnamed for a long time, and thus unrecognized by the larger society. Once the label of “sexual harassment” was generated through a collective sharing of resources and experiences, the women experiencing sexual harassment not only had a label to use but also reduced their cognitive disadvantage regarding this particular matter of epistemic injustice:  injustice predicated on their status as knowers. A more recent social example of such epistemic injustice can be found in the roots of the Black Lives Matter social movement, which was a response to the dismissal and disbelief of reports from Black people in the United States about their different experiences with law enforcement compared to White people (Lebron, 2017). Until fairly recently, these testimonial reports from Black individuals regarding how they were treated by police officers were disregarded or disbelieved by many White people (Lebron, 2017). It wasn’t until the widespread distribution of several documented examples that this claim began to be taken more seriously, beginning with the viral video in 1991 of the Black American man Rodney King shown to be on the receiving end of police brutality as he was violently beaten (Cannon, 1999). An increase in technology resulted in numerous other videos of police brutality against Black men, women, and children recorded and distributed by bystanders with their cell phone cameras (Lebron, 2017). How might epistemic injustice concerns apply to deaf identity claims? These claims are of a different sort than the example provided above from the Black Lives Matter social movement, not just because of the accounts of police violence experienced by Black people, but because the nature of the claim differs. In the example earlier, there is a reporting of an incident that has occurred but was not believed. The occurrence of the incident can be verified or disproven by external evidence, at least in theory. Deaf identity claims have two components attached—​the first is the self-​assertion of knowing one’s deaf identity (epistemological), the second is the metaphysical claim of being deaf, which could potentially be verified through evidence. The weight of the epistemic injustice phenomenon rests on the experience of not being believed, or being dismissed (Fricker, 2007). Here, the experience of some deaf people being told that they are not deaf (or perhaps insufficiently deaf or not deaf enough) is worth scrutinizing as a phenomenon of epistemic injustice. Before going into an example of testimonial epistemic injustice as it might apply to deaf people, some background is in order. Historically in Deaf Studies, there has been a distinction drawn between deaf people who use a signed language as a preferred mode of communication and those who do not. One common way of marking this distinction has been to use “Deaf” with an uppercase “D” to signify those persons who

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use a signed language as a primary language and whose behaviors and mores are those of the signed language community (Padden & Humphries, 1988; Woodward, 1972). The term “deaf” in lowercase is reserved for the audiological condition of not hearing (Padden & Humphries, 1988; Woodward, 1972). Using a similar construction of “Hearing” with an uppercase “H” for distinguishing between those persons who use a spoken language as a primary language and who follow the behaviors of spoken language community, and “hearing” with a lowercase “h” to signify audiological status, I contend that this distinction is ultimately problematic because it draws a distinction between two things that are dissimilar in concept and nature (Burke, Snoddon, & Wilkinson, 2016). That said, for the purposes of clarity and custom in the example that follows, I will follow these conventions of upper and lowercase. Imagine a person who is a beginning and not yet fluent signer of ASL asserting that he or she is Deaf. Now imagine that a beginning deaf signer makes the claim “I am Deaf” in ASL. Such an identity claim may be received differently by a culturally hearing nonsigner who obtains this message through an ASL-​English interpreter than by a culturally Deaf signer who can evaluate not only the linguistic fluency of the assertion of the claim but also the new signer’s cultural competence. A  dismissive response from the culturally Deaf signer would use a different epistemic assessment than that of a hearing nonsigner who evaluates and accepts such a claim, perhaps based on a view that (for example) a Deaf person would be working with an ASL-​English interpreter, or perhaps because of a lack of understanding about what the word D/​deaf means in both Deaf and Hearing cultural contexts. What matters here are a few considerations. One is what resources of knowledge are available to the listener2—​does the listener have sufficient knowledge of the Deaf community and deaf identity to determine whether this claim is warranted? Another is whether the listener has a particular conception (narrow or broad) of what the deaf identity claim might entail. Still another involves whether more credence is attributed to deaf people who exhibit certain kinds of behaviors that might be viewed as more identity confirming (e.g., use of a signed language, fluency in a signed language, use of voice privileges, demonstration of cultural mores) (Padden & Humphries, 1988)  and not others, and how these might measure up against the heuristic criteria used by the listener. Epistemic injustice as initially laid out by Fricker (2007) has two components: testimonial injustice, when one’s claim is not given sufficient uptake because of the identity of the person making the claim; and hermeneutical injustice, which highlights the phenomenon that occurs when a (majority) community does not possess the tools (of language or structure) to identify what is occurring. Without a name for

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the experience, articulating it and acknowledging it are much more difficult. The historic account given by Fricker is the matter of sexual harassment; although familiar to us today, this term had yet to be coined in the 1960s. For example, the offensive sign that is glossed as THINK HEARING in ASL has a deep contextual meaning in the signing deaf community, but this same concept does not have a corresponding word in English (Valente, 2011). The lack of such a word in English requires that the concept has to be explained along with the context. The harm of hermeneutic injustice regarding the lack of such a corresponding word in English has consequences particularly in bilingual communities, such as deaf educational spaces. Here, for example, English-​speaking people with greater power are fluent in spoken and written English, but frequently they are not as fluent in ASL. While English speakers may be hearing or deaf, and the converse also applies to ASL signers, it is typical that most fluent English speakers in these environments are hearing and most fluent ASL signers are deaf. This is important to the concept of hermeneutical injustice because it underscores the challenge of labeling deaf experiences with particular words or phrases. The challenge is not just to provide an appropriate term in the languages used but to ensure that the experiences of the ASL fluent speakers receive uptake and recognition. Without such particular words, deaf experiences may be dismissed because the concept is hazy and not well defined or sufficiently understood in the community of English language users. Given that in the United States policies and laws are codified in written English and not ASL, a lack of such hermeneutic justice for Deaf ASL signers has potential implications for the advocacy of social and political justice that can impact deaf educational institutions and practices. Using Fricker’s (2007) work as a launchpad, how we think about identity and identity claims historically shapes our discussion. When did deaf identity first emerge in popular discourse? What were the social conditions that precipitated this? How was deaf identity a useful concept? Is deaf identity still a useful concept? Is deaf identity a harmful concept? What are the benefits to using the concept of deaf identity? These questions require metaphysical, epistemological, and ethical responses. In my view, sorting out how one thinks through each of these is integral to working through the ethics of identity. IDENTITY AND PHILOSOPHY: THE LABOR OF DEAF NARRATIVE

What ethical obligations might one have to herself regarding identity claims? Are there ethical obligations to others regarding identity claims? If so, what ethical obligations might one have to others regarding their identity status claims? Are there obligations to a social unit? To a political category? To something else? How might such ethical obligations

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be grounded, given some of the challenges noted earlier with the self-​ assertion of identity stance? Philosopher and bioethicist Hilde Lindemann (2014) considers identity work in the context of holding and letting go. To do this, she offers an account of identity work as a narrative construction of personhood—​ that is a narrative self that is curated and edited as an expression of identity. This expression is produced in a “performance” viewed by others, who respond to this by taking up the role of both audience and performer. Lindemann (2014) likens this to the art of improvisation, which includes a set of expectations but also variations within those expectations. To illustrate her analysis, Lindemann (2014) references an article by Jackie Leach Scully, who writes of “performing deafness” and the hidden labor involved in such a performance. In Scully’s case, this is conveyed by (for example) cupping her hand behind her ear and looking quizzical when she speaks in English to let a flight attendant know that she needs accommodations for in-​flight announcements. The additional work that is done, but not marked as such, is noted as hidden labor (Daniels, 1987; Scully, 2010). The ethical quandary of the need to perform such hidden labor in order to be responded to as a person with a particular identity, and the response of the audience to such a performance, is what I focus on in this section. As I see it, the problem is twofold. The person making an identity claim, having done the work of performing that identity, has made choices to make such an identity more clear to the “audience” of the performance, very likely using the tropes and stereotypes accepted by the audience as part of this performance. The deployment of such stereotypes may be distasteful to the performer, but this is countered by their effectiveness. Now, ethics is, of course, not merely a matter of taste, but when the response to a particular practice is discomfort or even a sense that one has compromised one’s sense of who she is and her identity, that signals a place where attention should be focused. Why is it that these performance tropes must be deployed? The performer might respond with a reason based on effectiveness. But the audience who receives these performances, most likely in uncritical fashion, has an obligation as well. In the instance provided by Scully, the flight attendant has both a professional and ethical obligation to accept the request made of her without any sort of resistance or pushback request querying for proof that such a request is justified. This leads to epistemological, ethical, and empirical questions: Why is it that some kinds of performances garner a trigger for proof and others do not? What assumptions about deaf people in popular culture and elsewhere support these views of deaf identity over others? Anecdotally, these views can be deeply rooted. As a deaf person who

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has voice privileges and uses signed and spoken languages equally, I was recently chagrined to find myself falling into this behavior while at a local coffee shop near Gallaudet University staffed by deaf, hard-​ of-​hearing, and hearing employees. The commercial area immediately surrounding Gallaudet University has become a place where English and ASL are used by employees and employers, in part due to the economic advantages conferred by the adoption of such a bilingual approach (Lipin, 2013). Gloria Anzaldúa uses the Náhuatl word nepantla to indicate a borderlands that is an in-​between state of uncertain terrain, not one place or another, but a place where identities are transitional (2009a). This includes language, race, class, sexual identity, and later on, disability (Anzaldúa, 2009b). Union Market, positioned in a physical space that borders Gallaudet University, is a place where nepantla exists. As I was waiting in line to order my coffee, the cashier at the front said (in spoken English, which I speechread), “it will be just a minute.” Assuming that she was hearing, I ordered my drink from her soon afterward. As I spoke, she asked me to repeat it, remarking that she was hard of hearing and signing this as she spoke. I  immediately switched to ASL, clarifying my drink order, all the while internally chiding myself for leaping to conclusions about a person who very much behaves as I do in borderland bilingual space! IDENTITY AND BIOETHICS: DETERMINING DEAF IDENTITY

The issue of determining a deaf identity has often been associated with parental choice. Parents choose a language and language modality for their deaf child. Parents choose an educational institution for their child, and these choices align with the parents’ values regarding language and communication. Discussions about deaf identity in the bioethics literature are typically limited to the sphere of medical decision making, especially those decisions involving surrogates (usually parents) and the choices they make for deaf children (Lantos, 2015; Mellon et al., 2015). A classic example of such a case is the decision of whether to provide a prelingually deaf child with a cochlear implant. Historically, this has been framed as much a choice of how to best raise a deaf child, and with that the assumption that the deaf child’s parents are the ultimate authorities regarding the best way to raise their child given their beliefs and knowledge about the way their family functions, as well as their imagined best future for their deaf child (Crouch, 1997). Early on, the bioethics literature set up a dichotomy of choosing a signing deaf identity or mainstreaming the deaf child into the hearing world (Crouch, 1997; Tucker, 1998). While not specifically designating an identity for the deaf child, these surrogate decisions (usually by parents) operate to shape a series of actions that tend toward an identity path (Burke, 2011, 2014; Crouch, 1997; Leigh, 2009).

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So one crucial ethical question in bioethics and deaf identity focuses on who ought to determine a deaf child’s identity path (or has the option to foreclose branches on this path). Legally and historically, parents have been given extensive leeway in making choices about their child’s life, which includes identity-​determining choices such as religious upbringing, education, geographical ties (from nationalism to regional culture), language usage, and nonmedical body alteration practices, such as piercing ears (Burke, 2011; Minow, 1996; O’Neill, 1996). Permanent bodily alterations that confer a religious/​cultural identity can include tattoos (Situ) or genital alteration (e.g., male circumcision, female infibulation) (Svoboda, 2017). In the case of some of these, a medical or well-​being justification can also be asserted. For bioethicists, the ethical issue here rests in two areas: First, what identity shaping choices are best for the particular deaf individual? This can occur both for the deaf individual’s best lifetime outcome or the deaf individual’s best childhood, chances at a particular kind of lifestyle, or other. Second, if identity-​shaping choices are made by surrogates (again, in most cases these are parents) and later the individual expresses unhappiness about those choices, ought this unhappiness to count as harm to one’s deaf identity? The issue of surrogate decision making is additionally problematic because ethical standards for making these decisions range from the standard of the child’s best interest to the standard of substituted judgment (Howe, 2014). More recently with the advent of genetic technology, these questions of deaf identity have begun to permeate the field of deaf bioethics. For example, consider a 22-​week-​old fetus on the edge of infant viability (Glass et al., 2015) and with a low rate of survival who has a genetic profile that corresponds to being deaf, does that fetus get counted as deaf? What about a fertilized egg about to be implanted via in vitro fertilization that has been determined to have this profile via preimplantation genetic diagnosis? To extend the question of the potential deaf person even further, consider the question of genomic identity, a concept I developed when I first started thinking about deaf identity and bioethics (Burke, 2011). Here, I draw an analogy between a human being who is born deaf due to inheriting a particular genetic DNA pattern and a fetus in the womb about to be born who has the identical genetic DNA pattern but is not yet born. While the question of personhood can perhaps be bracketed off from the question of who counts as deaf, what happens when we start asking about the deaf identity of individuals who have not yet been born? Is the individual’s genetic material sufficient to assert such a deaf identity claim for the as of yet unborn individual? Does that as of yet unborn individual have a right (loosely conceived) to the genome that formed at conception? If so, on what grounds is such a deaf identity claimed? Genomic integrity extends the notion of bodily

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integrity from the gross physical structure to the level of DNA, yet is it enough to claim that one’s original form is what one ought to be born with? The question of who counts as deaf isn’t just a matter of lining up definitions or categories with individuals. The act of assigning or asserting identity based on these definitions can also be an act that involves making judgments about where the boundaries ought to be drawn and who ought to draw them (Burke, 2011; Burke et al., 2016). Again, these normative biomedical choices are both epistemological and ethical. IDENTITY AND INTERSECTIONALITY: THE ETHICS OF ADJUDICATING MULTIPLE IDENTITIES

What ethical issues arise when a person asserts other identities in addition to a deaf identity? How might a person think through the ethical complexities involved in asserting multiple identities? Are certain ethical notions more salient when an individual is contemplating whether to assert one or more identities? Do discussions about multiple and intersectional identities presume certain assumptions? As a deaf Arab American who flies frequently, I  am often pulled aside for additional screening. I  (perhaps mistakenly) ascribe the reasons for this to my compounded identities. My appearance and supporting documents (e.g., passport) satisfy some criteria stated in the 2008 United States Transportation Security Administration Screening Manual; my deaf behavior of constantly scanning the environment satisfies another criterion. The conflation of olive skin, Arab American ancestry, membership in Arab American anti-​discrimination organizations, a documented history of travel to the Middle East, including a visa photograph in hijab (which neither reflects my religious beliefs nor my usual appearance), plus a behavior of looking around repeatedly come together in a way that garners attention. But if I were asked whether this was a kind of discriminatory response based on being Arab American or being deaf, I could not simply point to one of these as a sufficient response. Instead, it is the combination of these (plus perhaps other factors that I’ve overlooked) that contributes to the decision to pull me aside for additional screening. Deaf people who are members of other underrepresented or marginalized or less powerful identity groups are familiar with a kind of questioning that asks us to pit our identities against each other: Which is harder? To be deaf or a person of color? To be deaf or disabled? To be deaf or female? To be deaf or Muslim? The problem with framing such questions is the underlying assumption that these experiences are discrete and individual; additionally, the metaphysical assumptions behind such questions are unclear. Does this imply a metaphysical assumption about social identities as separate or distinct for

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individuals? Or is there another way to think through multiple identity philosophically? In 1989, Kimberle Crenshaw coined the term “intersectionality” to respond to a problem in U.S.  law, the construction of which reflects the privileged position and identities of lawmakers at that time. The problem involved a forced choice for women of color experiencing discrimination. Crenshaw references Degraffenreid v. General Motors, a Title VII discrimination case brought by five Black women against General Motors, a major automobile manufacturing company. The ruling of this case rejected the claim for gender discrimination based on the hiring of White women during the specified period; and dismissed the race discrimination complaint, recommending that it be consolidated with another race discrimination complaint. These moves by the court served to reject the plaintiffs’ contention of a combined experience of race and sex discrimination. At that time, a lawyer defending a case of discrimination for a Black woman had to choose between making a claim of gender discrimination or racial discrimination, with the legal fiction that these two categories were separate and distinct. It was not possible to file under both claims. Yet this assumes that the experience of being a Black woman can be sorted out into racial discrimination and gender discrimination, with neither of these affecting the other, a claim that Crenshaw takes to task in her important article, resulting in her argument for intersectionality. Moving away from the legal conundrum identified by Crenshaw (1989), the ethical conundrum has a similar component. Such priority identity questions asked of the deaf woman assume that the deaf person can separate her experience of being a woman from being deaf, but that deaf woman’s lived reality is of being both deaf and a woman. Sometimes there may be reason to assert one identity claim over another, depending on the context. Given that each of us has multiple options for making identity claims, what ethical considerations come into play as we sort through these? On what grounds might one make the choice to suppress or elevate certain kinds of identities? Might one have a particular responsibility or duty to make the claim of being deaf, especially if one could pass as hearing? Or the converse—​suppose one is privy to information about the hearing status of a deaf person who has decided to pass as hearing. Is there an obligation to “out” that person? CONCLUSION: BINDING PHILOSOPHY, DEAF EXPERIENCE, AND IDENTITY

I began this exploration of ethics and identity by asserting my philosophical identity as a value pluralist—​as a philosopher, I subscribe to the view that that many values coexist, and these values are substantively

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different from each other. In other words, I reject the claim that there is one foundational kind of value under which all other values can be reduced. Examples of the kinds of things philosophers consider candidates for value (foundational or nonfoundational, pluralist or monist) include happiness, pleasure, friendship, liberty, and so on (Mason, 2018). I also aver that value pluralism is consistent with ethical intersectionality as described in the section earlier, in part because different contexts and experiences showcase the need for different values. In my view, the ethical calculus needed to sort through the ways that these various aspects of a person’s identities inflect and shape one’s identity choices relies on the various values one holds (Burke, 2011, 2014; Burke et al., 2016). In this chapter I  provided three examples drawn from different branches of analytic philosophy, each designed to emphasize different kinds of ethical questions about identity. The first example, rooted in feminist philosophy, focused on the labor of deaf narrative and the identity work that a deaf person does in order to perform what it is to be deaf, often relying on stereotypes existent in society. The second example turned to the bioethics of deaf embodiment and identity-​ conferring choices about genetic selection, raising questions about whether a deaf identity must (in the sense of philosophical necessity as requirement) include a biological basis. The third example deployed social philosophy by highlighting the ways in which context can amplify or subdue choices about how to present one’s various identities, including those related to the deaf experience. These examples were presented as thought experiments to be used as a starting point for reflection about one’s views on the ethical issues of the justification and assertion of deaf identity. It is important to keep in mind that the lived deaf experience is much more complex and richly nuanced than any examples presented in this paper. The questions I  have raised in the text for each example only serve to initiate this complex work of ethical analysis of identity. I hope it has become clear to the reader that for each person who attempts to deepen his or her ethical analysis of any given case of deaf identity, it will be critical to identify the metaphysical and epistemological claims or assumptions relied on. Here are some of the most compelling reasons for starting with metaphysical and epistemological claims. First, explicit identification of beliefs about the nature of deaf identity becomes a critical move for avoiding the problem of talking past each other. This is not just important for academic discussion but also for community discussion of these issues. It may not be possible to reach agreement in how to answer these questions, but it is helpful to sort out the disagreements from the misunderstandings. Second, epistemological questions are grounded in assumptions about what is knowable and what constitutes knowledge. Again, explicit identification of the

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assumptions and beliefs held by each person in the discussion (academic or communal) will serve to advance the conversation beyond simple misunderstanding. Third, binding together metaphysical, epistemological, and ethical questions pushes back against facile responses and encourages deeper discussion about the relationships between these important questions. It is not enough to just do the philosophical analysis of metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics. In addition to this philosophical work of concept clarification, I have also warned that the examples provided in this chapter are only starting points for discussion. Ethical analysis requires a rich substrate that goes beyond simplified cases. Deaf video narratives and deaf written memoirs are one such promising substrate for excavating a variety of metaphysical, epistemological, and ethical analyses of deaf identity. The application of philosophical analysis to these texts (in written and signed languages) offers another disciplinary testbed for putting together a more comprehensive picture of the numerous ethical issues associated with deaf identity and suggests an ethically justifiable ways to respond to these issues. In conclusion, as a deaf philosopher, I have come to think that two of the most fundamental philosophical issues for deaf people worldwide can be framed as ethical questions about the value of deaf identity. The first is “what is the best way to educate deaf children?” The second is “what is a flourishing deaf life?” Answering these ethical questions well requires developing accounts of the nature of being deaf (metaphysics), of the ability to know who counts as deaf and what justifiable criteria might be used to determine this (epistemology), and of the value or values that one holds, whether monist, pluralist, foundational, or nonfoundational (metaethics). As a pluralist, I maintain that a variety of ethically justifiable responses to these questions are emerging in part through the contemporary discourse about the constitution and exemplification of deaf identities. This should not be confused with a relativist claim—​I am not claiming that all responses to these questions are equally true. Instead, I  am emphasizing the pluralist claim that ethical and philosophical reasoning about deaf identities can rest on different values. Recall the second ASL word for “philosophy” as a splayed hand with wriggling fingers moving from the individual out into the world. The hand, radiating outward, serves as a metaphor for pluralism, with each of these fingers standing in for philosophical ideas, approaches, or even values. I conclude with this thought: The work of puzzling through deaf identity philosophically can and ought to contribute to identifying what those values are for deaf people individually and collectively. Building on those values for the pursuit of good and flourishing deaf lives is perhaps the most important task of deaf philosophy.

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NOTES 1. For more information about the etymology of early ASL and the influence from French Sign Language, please see A Historical and Etymological Dictionary of American Sign Language by Emily Shaw and Yves Delaporte (Gallaudet University Press, 2015). On page  311 there is an intriguing description of the sign (wise/​philosophy) that may offer some support for the apocryphal tale. 2. Fricker uses “hearer,” which is a standard convention in philosophical accounts. For obvious reasons, I am replacing “hearer” with “listener”—​on my understanding of the distinction, hearing requires an auditory component, but listening includes the ability to attend to an individual who is speaking.

REFERENCES Anzaldúa, G. (2009a). Border arte:  Nepantla, el lugar de la frontera. In G. Anzaldúa, A. L. Keating, W. D. Mignolo, S. Saldívar-​Hull, & I. Silverblatt (Eds.), The Gloria Anzaldua reader (pp.  176–​ 186). Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Anzaldúa, G. (2009b). On the process of writing Borderlands/​La Frontera. In G. Anzaldúa, A. L. Keating, W. D. Mignolo, S. Saldívar-​Hull, & I. Silverblatt (Eds.), The Gloria Anzaldua reader (pp.  187–​ 197). Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Bayton, D. (1996). Forbidden signs. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Burke, T. B. (2011). The quest for a deaf child: Ethics and genetics (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from University of New Mexico digital repository. https://​digitalrepository.unm.edu/​phil_​etds/​14/​?show=full. Burke, T. B. (2014). Armchairs and stares: On the privation of deafness. In H-​ D. Baumann & J. Murray (Eds.), Deaf gain: Re-​imagining human diversity (pp. 3–​22). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Burke, T. B., Snoddon, K., & Wilkinson, E. (2016). Genetics and deafness:  A view from the inside. In B. Vona & T. Haaf (Eds.), Monographs in human genetics: Genetics of deafness (pp. 1–​8). Basel, Switzerland: Karger. Cannon, L. (1999). Official negligence: How Rodney King and the riots changed Los Angeles and the LAPD. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Crenshaw, K. (1989). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist politics. University of Chicago Legal Forum, 1989(1), 39–​167. Crouch, R. (1997). Letting the Deaf be deaf: Reconsidering the use of cochlear implants in prelingually deaf children. Hastings Center Report, 27(4),  14–​21. Daniels, A. (1987). Invisible work. Social Problems, 34(5), 403–​415. Education of the Deaf Act. (1986). 20 USC Chapter 55 §§4301–​4363. Fricker, M. (2007). Epistemic injustice:  Power and the ethics of knowing. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Glass, H., Costarino, A., Stayer, S., Brett, C., Cladis, F., & Davis, P. (2015). Outcomes for extremely premature infants. Anesthesia & Analgesia, 120(6), 1337–​1351. Glickman, N., & Hall, W. (Eds.). (2019). Language deprivation and deaf mental health. New York, NY: Routledge.

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Howe, E. (2014). Approaches with surrogate decision makers. Journal of Clinical Ethics, 25(4), 323–​332. Jaworska, A. (2009). Advance directives and substitute decision-​making. In E. Zalta (Ed.), Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved from https://​plato. stanford.edu/​entries/​advance-​directives/​ Kusters, A., De Meulder, M., & O’Brien, D. (2017). Innovations in deaf studies:  Critically mapping the field. In A. Kusters, M. De Meulder, & D. O’Brien (Eds.), Innovations in deaf studies: The role of deaf scholars (pp. 1–​53). Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Lane, H. (1984). When the mind hears. New York, NY: Random House. Lantos, J. (2015). Deaf children, cochlear implants and language acquisition. Pediatrics 136(5), e1489. doi:10.1542/​peds.2015-​3106D. Lebron, C. (2017). The making of Black lives matters:  A brief history of an idea. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Leigh, I. W. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University  Press. Lindemann, H. (2014). Holding and letting go:  The social practice of personal identities. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Lipin, M. (2013). Washington food market becomes hub for the deaf community. Voice of America News. Retrieved from https://​www.voanews.com/​z/​ 599 Mason, E. (2018). Value pluralism. In E. Zalta (Ed.), Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved from https://​plato.stanford.edu/​entries/​value-​pluralism/​ Mellon, N., Niparko, J., Rathmann, C., Mathur, G., Humphries, T., Napoli, D. J., . . . Lantos, J. (2015). Should all deaf children learn sign language? Pediatrics, 136(1), 170–​176. Minow, M. (1996). Rights for the next generation: A feminist approach to children’s rights. In R. Ladd (Ed.), Children’s rights re-​visioned: Philosophical reading (pp. 42–​59). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. O’Neill, O. (1996). Children’s rights and children’s lives. In R. Ladd (Ed.), Children’s rights re-​ visioned:  Philosophical reading (pp. 29–​ 41). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Padden, C., & Humphries, T. (1988). Deaf in America:  Voices from a culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Philosophy. (2006). In J. Simpson (Ed.), The Oxford English dictionary (3rd ed.). Retrieved from http://​www.oed.com.proxyga.wrlc.org/​search?searchType =dictionary&q=Philosophy&_​searchBtn=Search Scully, J. L. (2010). Hidden labor: Disabled/​nondisabled encounters, agency, and autonomy. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics, 3(2),  25–​42. Stein, M., Silvers, A., Arehardt, B., & Francis, L. (2014). Accommodating every body. The University of Chicago Law Review, 81(2), 689–​756. Steup, M. (2005). Epistemology. In E. Zalta (Ed.), Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved from https://​plato.stanford.edu/​entries/​epistemology/​ Stramondo, J. (2015). The medicalization of reasonable accommodation. Discrimination and Disadvantage. Retrieved from http://​philosophycommons. typepad.com/​disability_​and_​disadvanta/​2015/​01/​the-​medicalization-​of-​ reasonable-​accommodation-​in-​higher-​education.html Svoboda, J. (2017). Nontherapeutic circumcision of minors as an ethically problematic iatrogenic injury. American Medical Association Journal of Ethics, 19(8), 815–​824.

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Tucker, B. (1998). Deaf culture, cochlear implants, and elective disability. Hastings Center Report, 28(4),  6–​14. United States Transportation Security Administration. (2008). Screening procedures standard operating procedures. Retrieved from https://​wikileaks. org/​ w iki/​ U S_​ Transportation_​ S ecurity_​ A dministration:_​ S creening_​ Procedures_​Standard_​Operating_​Procedures,_​1_​May_​2008 Valente, J. M. (2011). D/​deaf and D/​dumb: A portrait of a deaf kid as a young superhero. New York, NY: Peter Lang. van Inwagen, P., & Sullivan, M. (2014). Metaphysics. In E. Zalta (Ed.), Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved from https://​ plato.stanford.edu/​ entries/​metaphysics/​ Woodward, J. (1972). Implications for sociolinguistic research among the deaf. Sign Language Studies, 1,  1–​7.

4    Religion and Deaf Identity Noah Buchholz and Darby Jared Leigh

In Mark Medoff’s (1980) Children of a Lesser God, Sarah recounts her experience attending church while growing up as a Deaf child: When we were kids in school here, on Sunday they made us go to church. They played an organ fiercely. Orin cried because he could hear just enough for it to hurt his ears. The kids with hearing aids were forbidden to turn them off. We were told it was the voice of God and should hurt. They said we should love God for being so fierce and demanding. When Orin was nine and I  was eleven, we started hiding in the trees behind the duck pond on Sunday. We pretended we were soldiers and threw dirt clods at the church and made sounds like hand grenades. (p. 50) This account reflects the experiences of many Deaf individuals with their religions. Religion is one of the most influential spheres of human life, affecting societies and individuals on many different levels—​ social, political, educational, familial, and so on. Unfortunately, many religious communities, organizations, places of worship, leaders, and followers, whether intentionally or not, marginalize Deaf people. As a result, many Deaf people experience profound identity crises inflicted by religion, like Sarah and her Deaf friend Orin. On the other hand, some Deaf people’s experiences with religion are mainly positive and they find religion helpful as they develop their Deaf identities. Our personal experiences with religion as Deaf individuals indeed show both positive and negative influences of religion on Deaf identity. For example, I (Darby Jared Leigh) can personally attest to the positive impact of Judaism on my Deaf Jewish identity. I recall having learned as a young child that in the holiest Jewish book, the Torah, G-​d says that G-​d created Deaf people. Knowing this at a young age gave me a positive association with Judaism and the Torah and a sense of validation and personal self-​worth as a young Deaf child. This allowed me to feel that I had been created Deaf, as opposed to my deafness being an error, defect, or aberration. Even as I learned as an adult that in certain texts the later rabbis seemed to devalue Deaf people and the Deaf experience, being able to lean on the bedrock of claims about deafness Noah Buchholz and Darby Jared Leigh, Religion and Deaf Identity In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0004

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in the Torah allowed me a significant amount of self-​confidence and healthy pride. I credit this self-​confidence for having given me the energy and impetus to go forth and explore and analyze the later rabbinic/​hearing interpretations from a healthy, strong, and confident Deaf Jewish identity. My (Noah Buchholz) experience with religion as a Deaf individual has been significantly shaped by both my Deaf grandfather and Deaf mother’s experiences with religion. The Deaf school my grandfather attended required all students regardless of their denominations to attend a nearby Deaf Lutheran church every Sunday. Even though the church’s pastor was Deaf and services were conducted in sign language, the Bible was still in English and the worship service was not compatible with Deaf culture. As a result, my grandfather believed that religion was a “hearing people’s thing.” When my mother was little, she wondered why all her hearing friends went to church on Sundays but not her family. She asked my grandfather about it, but my grandfather scoffed and said church was for hearing people. When she was in her thirties, she became an ordained pastor and decided to devote her life to showing Deaf people that God is a God of all people regardless of gender, race, hearing abilities, and so on. One way she helped Deaf people understand God was working with the American Sign Language (ASL) Bible translation team at Deaf Missions. One day, when I was little, my grandfather visited my home and my mother had him watch the videotaped ASL translation of Genesis while she was working in her office. Suddenly, my mother heard a loud cry (she has some hearing) and ran to check on my grandfather. Seeing my mother, my grandfather signed excitedly, “Did you know that the Bible explains exactly how Noah’s ark was built?” My mother nodded and told him she already knew that. She went back to her office, but my grandfather kept interrupting her again and again to tell her what he had learned from watching the Bible. Eventually, thanks to the ASL translation of the Bible and the Deaf church that my mother pastored, my grandfather decided to commit to church life. Their involvement in church has shown me that church life does not belong to hearing people only; it can be experienced by Deaf people too. In any case, whether it has a positive or negative influence, religion certainly plays a significant role in shaping Deaf identity for many Deaf people. Looking closely at the relationship between religion and Deaf identity, this chapter starts with a brief review of certain sacred writings from different religions in order to better understand the potential effects of these writings on how societies perceive Deaf people, the place of Deaf people in various religious communities, and the formation of one’s Deaf identity. This is followed by an exploration of the role of religion as it relates to the oppression of Deaf people and its negative effects on the formation of Deaf identity. The chapter ends with

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discussions of how some Deaf people find liberation from oppression through religion and how it can positively influence the development of one’s Deaf identity. At this point, we would like to note some aspects. First, this chapter focuses on the three Abrahamic faiths: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. The primary reason for this is that due to their shared roots, they overlap with each other in many areas, making it easier to cover a number of issues within one chapter. Other religions will also be discussed in this chapter, albeit very briefly. In addition, it is necessary to point out that the number of scholarly works covering the interdisciplinary topics of religious studies and Deaf studies is very limited. Thus, a number of personal observations, ours and others, presented in this chapter, cannot be corroborated by academic research. Nevertheless, we hope that this chapter will prompt more academic research on the interdisciplinary topics of religious studies and Deaf studies. Secondly, it is critical to learn about a religion from those who practice that religion. Also, many aspects of a religion are inextricably linked to certain aspects of the culture out of which the religion emerges and vice versa. For this reason, it is necessary to incorporate cultural and linguistic studies that are relevant to the religion. This must include creative anthropological approaches that enable the voices of people who have firsthand knowledge and experience of the respective culture, language, and religion to take the lead in developing, critiquing, and disseminating relevant research. Finally, this chapter is written by a Christian theologian (Noah Buchholz) and a rabbi (Darby Jared Leigh). While we are thrilled that this chapter is written from the perspectives of two distinct religious traditions, not just one, we realize this is insufficient in terms of discussing the broad topic of religion. That being said, we ask for forgiveness in advance for any serious shortcomings in our discussions of various religions. Nevertheless, we hope that this first venture into the exploration of the interface between religions and Deaf identities will subsequently encourage contributions to this discussion from more religious traditions. SACRED WRITINGS

One of the starting points for understanding a religion ought to be its sacred writings. Within each religion, at least within each Abrahamic faith, there is a wide range of views regarding sacred writings. For each of the Abrahamic faiths, there is a body of sacred writings, often called “scripture,” that is considered the holiest of all sacred writings. Many believers consider scripture to be direct divine revelation. As a result, scripture substantially influences their beliefs and

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behaviors. Some believers indeed do not regard scripture as direct divine revelation; however, they may still consider scripture as authoritative to varying degrees and rely heavily on scripture for developing doctrines and dogmas. Alternatively, some believers may claim that scripture is not authoritative, but may still draw more wisdom from scripture than from other sources from either their own religions or other religions. There is also a body of sacred writings that is considered “holy” but not as authoritative or venerated as scripture. Even though nonscriptural sacred writings are commonly not as venerated as scripture, they still influence how believers interpret scripture and thus they in turn play a significant role in shaping believers’ beliefs and behaviors. Jewish people have provided various perspectives of different Judaic writings. The Hebrew Bible is called the “TaNaKh” by Jewish people. The TaNaKh is an acronym for the first Hebrew letter of each of the three books in the Hebrew Bible:  Torah (the first five books of Moses), Nevi’im (the book of prophets), and Ketuvim (the book of collected writings). While these three books are all regarded as sacred in the Jewish tradition, they differ in “levels” of holiness. The Torah is the foundational text for all of Judaism and is understood to be the most sacred of Jewish texts, although the entire TaNaKh is considered sacred. Furthermore, there is a category of extra-​biblical writings in the Jewish tradition, specifically early rabbinic writings, including the Mishnah, Gemara, Midrash, and so on. While all of these texts are sacred to a certain extent, different Jewish denominations have varying relationships to them and thus various texts may influence believers in different ways. Finally, there are some other Judaic writings, such as the Zohar, that are highly venerated by many Jewish people but are not regarded as sacred to the same degree by all of them. The foundations of the Abrahamic faiths and many other religions are deeply rooted in their sacred writings. For this reason, sacred writings are among the most influential aspects of the relationships between religion, the place of Deaf people in religious communities, and the formation of one’s Deaf identity. Thus, it is imperative to investigate passages in sacred writings that are relevant to the discussion of Deaf identity. Interestingly, John Van Cleve and Barry Crouch (1989), two of the leading authorities in Deaf history, straightforwardly state that “the overall attitude of the Old Testament passages [in relation to deafness] is optimistic, empathetic, and positive” (p. 2), while in the New Testament “deaf people are reduced to objects, or at best they are depicted as sick beings to be cured by the miraculous powers of Jesus” (p. 3). In actuality, the portrayal of deafness in both the Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament is much more complicated and demands a more careful examination.

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Hebrew Bible

There are only two verses in the Torah that mention deafness. One of them is in the dialogue between Moses and God that takes place at the burning bush in the fourth chapter of Exodus. In responding to God’s charge to rescue the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt, Moses protests that he is “slow of speech and slow of tongue” (v. 10).1 God replies, “Who gives man speech? Who makes him dumb or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the LORD?” This statement about deafness attributed to God can certainly be seen as affirming Deaf identity because it states that it is God who creates Deaf people and that it does not matter what the conditions of people are because God is in control of everything. However, this verse can also be seen as presenting deafness in a negative light. It says it is God who makes people Deaf, but it does not clarify the intentions that God might have for making people Deaf. Thus, some may see this verse as affirming the idea that deafness is a form of punishment from God. As a matter of fact, the idea that disability is a form of punishment from God is common in ancient Judaic and Christian writings (Abrams, 1998; Henning, 2017; Lewis, 2007). Without question, the authors of those ancient Judaic and Christian writings were familiar with God’s statement about deafness in Exodus. Thus, one cannot say this Exodus passage is patently optimistic about deafness as Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) suggest. Of course, this verse can be interpreted as celebrating and esteeming the existence of Deaf people (Lewis, 2007), but these different interpretations of this verse should be taken into consideration when tracing the development of Judaic and Christian views that ultimately patronize Deaf people. The second verse in the Hebrew Bible that mentions deafness is found in Leviticus 19:14 in a cluster of verses that are often referred to as the holiness code. These verses are a series of instructions as to how one must behave in order to “be holy.” One of the instructions is the commandment to “not insult/​curse the deaf.” On the one hand, this verse can be read as validating the Deaf experience and asserting that although the Deaf experience may be different from the “mainstream” experience, it is not to be disrespected nor disregarded. In this way it can be seen as supporting or even celebrating the Deaf experience. On the other hand, this verse can also be read as patronizing or condescending. The fact that this verse exists can be understood as evidence that Deaf people are in “need” of protection because they are such “unfortunate” creatures (as a later rabbinic text states). Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) mention that in the Book of Isaiah ­chapters  29 and 35 there are passages that contain the promise that Deaf people as well as people with disabilities in general will one day be freed from their “afflictions” (p. 2). They cite this as evidence that

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the Hebrew Bible is categorically optimistic in its portrayal of deafness. However, the view of disability in the Book of Isaiah as well as other places in the Hebrew Bible is actually complicated and multifaceted. Couey (2017) agrees with Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) that the Book of Isaiah contains passages that seemingly address disability in a positive way. However, Couey (2017) makes the point that some passages in the Book of Isaiah indicate how God uses disability to punish/​discipline people, such as God telling Isaiah, the eponymous author of the book, to shut people’s ears and eyes in c­ hapter 6. Of course, this may be interpreted figuratively; however, using disability as a metaphor for punishment/​discipline may be problematic (see our discussion on disability as a metaphor for various spiritual shortcomings later). In addition, discussing the implications of the healing of infirmities that are put side by side with the transformations of the land in the Book of Isaiah, Couey (2017) asks whether Isaiah actually envisions a physical healing of infirmities or merely employs disability to illustrate the spiritual transformation. Furthermore, Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) overlook how the eschatological2 promise of disabilities being healed in the end times is problematic in light of Deaf culture and disability theory. The vision that people with disabilities one day will be, to use Van Cleve and Crouch’s words, “free of disabilities” (p.  3) may negatively affect believers’ perspectives of people with disabilities since this reaffirms the idea that the concept of disability is self-​evident and that people with disabilities need to be “freed” from their disabilities. Also, this may cause one to anticipate a celebration of the termination of deafness, which contradicts the celebration of the existence of Deaf people in Deaf culture. This is problematic even for deaf people who are not culturally Deaf; it implies that they presently are not complete persons, which may negatively affect their perspectives of their deaf identities. Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) do not address the fact that many places in the Book of Prophets and the Book of Writings use various disabilities, including deafness, as symbols for spiritual shortcomings. This is certainly problematic from the perspective of Deaf culture. Many individuals view deafness as a negative loss, and the association between deafness and certain spiritual shortcomings may hamper one of the primary aims of Deaf studies, that is, demonstrating how being Deaf can be a positive gain (Bauman & Murray, 2014). In addition, Warren Carter (2011), in his postcolonial critique of the Gospel of John, points out that spiritual symbols of disabilities may result in rendering literal disabilities invisible, causing people to neglect the real problems and struggles of people with literal disabilities. Thus, spiritual deafness may distract people from taking a serious look at Deaf people’s actual struggles (mostly not because they are Deaf but rather because the world makes being Deaf a disability). Discussing

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spiritual deafness in the presence of people who are actually Deaf may cause those Deaf people to experience identity crises because their actual Deafness is being rendered invisible. As the Hebrew Bible’s perspective of Deaf people and people with disabilities in general is much more variegated and complicated than what Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) suggest, understanding the potential effects of the Hebrew Bible on general perspectives of Deaf people and the formation of their Deaf identities demands a careful examination that does not overlook the Hebrew Bible’s multifaceted view of deafness. New Testament

Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) state that, unlike the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament “contains neither commandments to treat deaf people decently nor promises that one day all shall be free of disabilities” (p. 3). Rather, as they observe, the passages in the New Testament that mention deafness are nothing but problematic. Again, as with the Hebrew Bible, it is much more complicated than what Van Cleve and Crouch make it appear to be. Van Cleve and Crouch’s (1989) statement that the New Testament contains no promises that people with disabilities will be freed from their afflictions is not completely correct. In Matthew and Luke, disciples of John the Baptist asked Jesus on behalf of John the Baptist whether he was the Messiah or not. Jesus replied, “Go and tell John what you hear and see; the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear [emphasis added], the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matthew 11:4–​5, Luke 7:22). Some Christians believe that Jesus actualizes the new creation promised in the Hebrew Bible, which includes the healing of physical infirmities. In light of this belief, the New Testament actually contains passages that confirm the actualization of the eschatological promise that those with disabilities will be freed from their afflictions, including stories of Jesus healing people with disabilities. Nevertheless, as discussed earlier, such an eschatological promise is actually problematic in light of Deaf culture and disability theory. Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) are correct in stating that the New Testament does not contain any verse that explicitly commands one to be kind to Deaf people, such as Leviticus 19:14 (see earlier). However, the New Testament, unlike the Hebrew Bible, contains a story that involves an actual Deaf–​hearing interaction, that is, the story of Jesus healing the Deaf man in Mark 7. Even more, Jesus’s behavior toward the Deaf man can be interpreted as exceptionally respectful according to the standards of modern Deaf culture. The story of Jesus healing the Deaf man in Mark 7 is indeed problematic because, at first look, it celebrates the termination of

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deafness, which contradicts the celebration of deafness in Deaf culture. However, Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) propose a different reason why this story is problematic. The problem they mention is that in this story “Mark shows no concern or empathy for the deaf man; he merely exploits his condition to demonstrate supernatural power” (Van Cleve & Crouch, 1989, p.  3). Some biblical scholars would agree that the most important purpose behind the healing of the Deaf man was the revelation of God’s nature in Jesus (Goving, 1989; Horne, 1999). Van Cleve and Crouch correctly note how this implies that Jesus employs the Deaf man as a “poster child” for his messianic campaign, which Deaf people may not find liberating because many of them have indeed been taken advantage of by hearing people for their own purposes. Yet in the story, Jesus tells people not to tell anyone about the healing (v. 36), which can be understood as forfeiting the idea that Jesus heals the Deaf man for his personal gain. It is true that the author of Mark probably aims to reveal Jesus’s nature as the Son of God, but this does not necessarily mean that the primary intention behind the healing of the Deaf man is to reveal Jesus’s divine power. Instead, in my (Noah Buchholz’s) opinion, interpreting this story through the lens of modern Deaf culture reinforces the interpretation that the healing of the Deaf man reveals Jesus as the Son of God who understands the pain of people and restores their humanity. The healing of the Deaf man in Mark 7 is actually unique compared to other miracles in the Gospel of Mark as well as in the other three gospels because Jesus executes the healing in private and does not use any words while interacting with the recipient of the healing. The experiences of Deaf people suggest why Jesus heals the man in private. When people talk about a Deaf person in front of that Deaf person, just like the Deaf man’s friends do in this story, the Deaf person oftentimes feels distressingly lonely and prefers to be alone. It is possible that Jesus knows this and thus decides to heal him in private, away from people who talk about him while he is unable to understand them. Also, based on Deaf people’s experiences today, the fact that Jesus did not use his voice with the Deaf man is rather remarkable. It is rare that hearing people turn off their voices and try their best to use body language to communicate with a Deaf person. They typically keep talking and feel awkward about using body language, even though they know the Deaf person may not understand them. In contrast, Jesus seemingly gesticulates with the Deaf man and speaks only one word, “Ephphatha,” which possibly is easy to lip-​read. While this story remains deeply problematic in light of Deaf culture prima facie, the way Jesus interacts with the Deaf man is unique, thereby suggesting that this text is not as completely problematic as Van Cleve and Crouch (1989) suggest. There are many other interpretations of Mark 7 (Black,

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1996; Coughlin, 2007; Lewis, 2007), which reaffirm the ambiguity with which deafness is viewed in the New Testament. Some would claim that the New Testament contains stories that associate deafness with demonic spirits. This association is problematic for obvious reasons. However, the association between demonic spirits and specifically deafness in the New Testament is actually vague. The Greek word for “deaf” in the New Testament is kophos; however, this word can also mean “mute.” Based on the context, there are five places in the New Testament where kophos more likely means “mute” and four places where “deaf” likely is meant. Nevertheless, it is likely that deafness and muteness are conflated in the New Testament. For example, in Mark 9:25, the father of the son who is possessed by a demonic spirit tells Jesus that the spirit makes his son unable to speak (alalon), but Jesus, when confronting the spirit, says, “You spirit that makes this boy unable to hear (kophon) and speak (alalon)” (9:25, translation mine). The Greek word for “being unable to hear” in this verse is a form of kohpos. The father does not use the word kophos or mention anything that implies that his son cannot hear, but Jesus puts the words alalos (being unable to speak) and kophos (being unable to hear) side by side. Based on other verses, it seems that when kophos is put side by side with alalos, kophos should be translated as “deaf,” but when kophos is not put side by side with alalos, it could mean either deaf or mute. Indeed, the context helps determine the meaning of kophos. For example, in Matthew 11:5, the list of infirmities that Jesus has cured says that those who are kophoi are able to hear, but, in Matthew 12:22, the list says that those who are kophoi are able to speak. However, based on the fact that people throughout history tend to confuse deafness and muteness, it is highly probable that scripture, no matter what specific words are used, does not provide completely accurate information about the status of one’s speaking and hearing abilities.3 There are two passages in the New Testament that make an association between demonic spirits and deafness/​ muteness. Matthew 9:32 states, “a demoniac who was kophon” and in the next verse (9:33) explains how people were amazed that “the one who had been kophos spoke.” This passage says nothing about this man being unable to hear, only using the word kophos. However, in Mark 9:14–​27, as discussed earlier, the father simply says that his son is unable to speak, but Jesus claims that the demonic spirit causes the boy to be both alalon (being unable to speak) and kophon (either being unable to hear or being unable to speak). One cannot be sure whether the authors of Matthew and Mark originally made an association between demonic spirits and deafness. Nevertheless, it is evident that no matter what the authors actually meant, the passages in the New Testament that associate kophos with demonic spirits easily promote negative views of Deaf people and possibly harm their self-​perception and identity.

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Rabbinic Writings

As discussed earlier, the Hebrew Bible’s perspective on deafness is rather multifaceted. Passages in it that mention deafness may seem optimistic about deafness but actually are ambiguous enough for negative interpretations to emerge. On the other hand, a number of rabbinic writings are much less ambiguous about their views of deafness compared to the Hebrew Bible. While, as mentioned previously, rabbinic writings are not considered as sacred as the TaNaKh, they are viewed as authoritative to varying degrees by different Jewish denominations. Also, examining rabbinic writings is critical for tracing the historical development of various ideas in Judaism. Some rabbinic writings apparently encourage people to treat the Deaf condescendingly. In the Hebrew Bible (Leviticus 21  & 22), the list of deficiencies (mumim) that would disqualify a particular sacrificial animal or potential temple priest notably excludes deafness, but the later rabbinic Midrash reinterprets the original biblical text to state that this list actually does include deafness as well (Sifra Emor 3b:i; Abrams, 1998; Gracer, 2011). Also, throughout the Talmud, Deaf people (heresh) are grouped with the intellectually disabled (shoteh) and minor (katan) as exempted or prohibited from following many Jewish laws and commandments, presumably because they cannot understand them (Abrams, 1998; Gracer, 2011; Haggiah 2b). In yet other rabbinic texts, Deaf people are described as among the most lowly and unfortunate of all people (Abrams, 1998; Gracer, 2011; Mechilta Nezikin 5; Sanhedrin 66a). However, some parts of the Talmud affirm the dignity of Deaf people. For example, there is a statement in the Talmud that, perhaps in an attempt to protect Deaf people, prohibits Deaf people as well as people with intellectual disabilities and minors from making vows because they would not be able to fully understand their obligations. Nevertheless, some places in the Talmud clearly state that Deaf people are able to make vows (marriage vows, business transactions, etc.) since it is clear that they are able to exchange ideas through “gestures” or “lip movements” (Abrams, 1998; Gracer, 2011; Mishna Gittin 5:7). This indeed has some positive implications. First of all, some rabbis apparently acknowledged that Deaf people’s “gestures” (sign language) and other alternative communication methods such as speechreading and head nodding are sufficient for intelligible conversation. Second, some rabbis acknowledged that Deaf people are intellectually capable of making certain vows, which contradicts the common view in ancient times that Deaf people are arrantly uneducable. For these reasons, Bonnie Gracer (2011) concludes that while rabbinic writings contain some inappropriate views of deafness, they demonstrate “extremely positive developments” in suggesting that Deaf people are capable of doing things, contrary to the perceptions of many, if not most,

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people in ancient times (p. 38). Unlike other perspectives of deafness in rabbinic literature that view Deaf people rather condescendingly, this perspective of deafness may increase Deaf people’s confidence in their ability to communicate. Even more, this affirms that Deaf people can participate in religious activities since making vows is an integral part of many religious activities. This has important implications because certain religious activities function as critical roles in a number of communities, and allowing Deaf people to participate in them puts them on equal footing with their families and peers and allows them to participate in their society. Qur’an

The Qur’an, unlike both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, has no passages that mention physical deafness. However, the spiritual symbol of deafness that is used in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament is also found in the Qur’an. Ingrid Mattson (2012), one of the leading authorities on Islam, addresses this. She explains that the term “deaf” is mentioned in only 20 places in the Qur’an, often alongside “blind” or mute,” specifically in reference to spiritual deafness, or, in Mattson’s words, “those who are ‘deaf’ to the Divine message” (p. 1). For example, Qur’an 5:71, translated by Muhammad Asad,4 states:  “And so the parable of those who are bent on denying the truth is that of the beast which hears the shepherd’s cry, and hears in it nothing but the sound of a voice and a call. Deaf they are, and dumb, and blind:  for they do not use their reason.” Mattson (2012) claims that “deaf” in this verse refers to a spiritual deafness but admits that this verse is rather problematic prima facie. This verse can be misunderstood as saying that Deaf people do not have a complete “faculty of reason” and thus should not be taken seriously or seen as full humans, which has been an ongoing view of Deaf people. One possible solution for clarifying what “deaf” actually means in the Qur’an is that of adding the qualification “of heart” to “deaf,” just like Asad does for Qur’an 21:45. However, since “any translation needs to balance form and meaning,” Mattson argues that the term “deaf” as well as the terms “mute” and “blind” should be avoided and that the more generic terms such as “unhearing” should be used in order that people may not confuse spiritual unhearing with physical deafness (pp. 2 and 3). Mattson (2012) admits that new translations are very difficult to disseminate but insists that some new translations must be relentlessly promoted. For example, some people would say that it is permissible to use “man” to refer to “humanity” as commonly used and people are well aware that “man” does not mean just men. However, in response to this, Mattson argues: “language is a historical and social phenomenon and we cannot separate the reality of the diminishment of women’s value from the preference to resort to male-​gendered terms” (p.  4).

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Likewise, some people would say that it is acceptable to use deafness as a spiritual symbol because such usage is very common and people know that spiritual deafness does not represent a common trait for Deaf persons. Mattson argues: “Given the historical stigma attached to deafness, I believe it is worth making an effort to change our terminology for the sake of our deaf brothers and sisters, our deaf daughters and sons” (p.  4). Also, Carter’s (2011) proposition that spiritualizing disabilities renders the actual disabilities invisible, as previously discussed, is another reason why it is necessary to create new translations that do not use the word “deaf” for those verses that use “unhearing” as a metaphor for a spiritual shortcoming.5 Auditory-​Centric Language

One of the traits that many sacred writings from different religions share is auditory-​ centric language. For example, the Hebrew Bible and New Testament contain a number of verses that exhort people to make “joyful sounds” (shouting praises, singing, playing on musical instruments, etc.) to praise the Lord. Does this mean Deaf people have to follow how hearing people worship, that is, through aural music? Does this mean some Deaf people lack the ability to worship God fully because they supposedly are not able to make “joyful sounds”? Also, the Hebrew Bible and New Testament focus on hearing aurally and speaking orally. Of course, this is understandable because the majority of the entire human race communicates via hearing aurally and speaking orally. Also, the Hebrew Bible and New Testament emerged out of a culture that relied heavily on oral transmission and reception for exchanging and preserving information and tradition, which explains their privileging of those who can participate in an oral/​aural transmission system. Nonetheless, the implications of the auditory-​ centric language used in sacred writings should be considered. In the Jewish tradition, one of the most prominent, primary, and foundational prayers is a verse from the Torah. Deuteronomy 6:4 can be literally translated as “Listen/​hear O’Israel, the Lord is our G-​d, the Lord is One.” This prayer is commonly known by its first word, Shema. Since the word shema has the literal meaning of “listen” or “hear,” this foundational text seems on its surface to exclude those who do not hear. Hence, in its literal meaning, this text certainly appears to be auditory-​ centric. Thankfully, Jewish tradition has always recognized the need for textual interpretation to uncover deeper meanings. I (Darby Jared Leigh) have come to understand that shema in this context does not mean a literal “hear with your ears,” but rather, “pay attention” and “know this.” There are some auditory-​centric verses that may have disturbing implications. For instance, in John 5:25, Jesus proclaims, “Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming, and is now here, when the dead will hear

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the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live.” Does this mean one who is Deaf will not be able to rise from among the dead? Or, does this mean there will be no Deaf identity in the end times and all Deaf people will become hearing? Another “disturbing” verse is Romans 10:17, in which Paul the Apostle remarks that “faith comes from hearing.” This has indeed caused some people to think that Deaf people cannot have faith and thus they need to be “redeemed” from their deafness (Lewis, 2007). RELIGION AND DEAF OPPRESSION

It is apparent that the view of deafness in the Hebrew Bible, New Testament, rabbinic writings, and Qur’an is multifaceted and ambiguous to the extent that it enables a wide range of interpretations, both positive and negative, in their portrayal of deafness and of Deaf people. Indeed, throughout history, sacred writings have been used to justify oppressive views of Deaf people or at least have been interpreted in ways that do not elevate the status of Deaf people. For this reason, certain interpretations of sacred writings, along with cultural influences, significantly contribute to how religion can perpetuate the oppression of Deaf people. Investigating the role of religion in this oppression helps one better understand the relationship between religion and Deaf identity. Three different aspects of the religious oppression of Deaf people will be examined: charity, healing ministries, and exclusion from the religious community, each of which has the potential to traumatize Deaf individuals and influence their Deaf identities. Charity

Charity is one of the most prominent themes found in various religious traditions.6 Rabbi Hillel declares, “Do not do unto others as you would not have others do unto you. This is the whole Torah—​the rest is commentary” (Shabbat 31a). Likewise, Jesus teaches that “Love your neighbor as yourself” is the second greatest commandment (Matthew 22:39; Mark 12:31). Almsgiving (zakat) is one of the Five Pillars of Islam. In Buddhism, generosity is the first of six “perfections,” the qualities one aims to develop in the pursuit of spiritual awakening (Wright, 2009). Ironically, many religious individuals and communities inadvertently oppress Deaf people through their charity works. One of the greatest examples of this irony is the role of religion in the dissemination of pure oralism, the philosophy that Deaf children should not be taught sign language but instead be taught through spoken language only. The first known work on teaching Deaf children was published by a priest named Juan Pablo Bonet in 1620. He may have been interested in teaching Deaf children for charity reasons. Having stated that the Deaf are “inferior beings, monsters of nature and human only in form”

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(as cited in Shea, 2017, p. 13), he aimed to “cure” them by teaching them how to speak. He acknowledged that some Deaf people communicate via sign language but strongly advised “never to let the mute use it” (as cited in Shea, 2017, p. 17). As a result of his supposedly charitable actions in teaching Deaf children, he deprived them of full access to communication by not permitting them to use sign language. The Second International Congress on Education of the Deaf exemplifies how religion was used to justify pure oralism. This conference, also known as the Milan Conference, brought together educators working with Deaf children from around the world in Milan, Italy, in order to settle the dispute between those who thought Deaf children should be taught sign language and those who did not. At the end of the conference, 160 out of the 164 attendants voted in favor of the resolution supporting pure oralism (Van Cleve & Crouch, 1989). Interestingly, out of the 164 attendants, 139 were clergy (Ladd, 2003). Indeed, religious language was used at the Milan Conference to affirm pure oralism. Paddy Ladd (2003) is right to say that the role of religion in oralism cannot be easily traced; however, it is evident that a number of oralists, many of whom were religious leaders themselves, relied on their religious beliefs for justifying pure oralism. Serafino Balestra, who was clergy himself, proclaimed: We are all children of the one Christ who gave us the example. . . . The minister of Christ must open the mouth of the deaf. . . . I will add that for a Catholic priest, the mutes must speak. (as cited in Ladd, 2003, p. 121) Yet another clergy, Giulio Tarra, the president of the conference, said: Oral speech is the sole power that can rekindle the light God breathed into man when, giving him a soul in a corporeal body, he gave him also a means of understanding, of conceiving, and of expressing himself . . . no shape [sign], no image, no design, can reproduce these ideas. Speech alone, divine itself, is the right way to speak of divine matters. (as cited in Ladd, 2003, p. 121) Evidently, religious language was used to promote pure oralism. Thus, it would not be surprising if some Deaf people developed a hostility to religion because of its prominent role in the promotion of pure oralism in the late 19th century and early 20th century. Moreover, charity works often are patronizing and, as a result, significantly disempower Deaf people, as exemplified by the struggle between missionaries and Deaf people in the United Kingdom during the 20th century (Ladd, 2003). “Missions for the Deaf” were local advocacy organizations that were primarily run by domestic missionaries, almost all of whom were hearing. (Some Missions for the Deaf took over Deaf-​run clubs, and some Missions for the Deaf were established

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by the missionaries themselves.) Ladd explains that the missions operated on three levels:  management, missionary, and social. The management level consisted of people who were in charge of the business side of the missions. The social level consisted of “grassroots” Deaf people who regularly gathered together at the missions for social purposes. The missionary level, the level between the management level and social level, consisted of hearing missionaries and their middle-​class Deaf acolytes. Many of the hearing missionaries had the support of middle-​class Deaf people primarily because those Deaf people were worried about what hearing people in general thought of them and tried to get their approval by adhering to the standards of hearing people (mostly likely due to internalized oppression). Furthermore, the missionaries recruited the hearing parents of these middle-​class Deaf people to manage the missions and thus were able to exert substantial influence on the management level themselves (Ladd, 2008). The missionaries used their middle-​class Deaf acolytes to regulate the third level, the social level, which consisted of what Ladd (2008) terms “Deaf subalterns” (p. 47). At that time the missions did not function only as social service organizations but also as Deaf clubs. Some missionaries even punished Deaf people who challenged their authority by “banning them from the club or the missionaries’ services,” which, as Ladd (2008) points out, were “terrifying prospects for Deaf people back in those days” because other places where Deaf people could socialize with other Deaf people or get services they needed were very limited (p. 47). As a result, many Deaf people were disempowered, enabling the missionaries to be in charge of their lives. Although most missions for the Deaf have gone out of existence, Ladd (2003) claims that the oppressive structure implemented by the missionaries “is still in place today in almost every Deaf club in the UK” (p. 333). Healing Ministries

Another kind of charity work that appears to be detrimental to Deaf identity is the healing ministry. Benjamin Bahan’s (1994) Bird of a Different Feather, an allegorical fable echoing the Deaf experience, depicts a scene where an eagle Christian pastor tries to “heal” the main character, who supposedly is a bird born into an eagle family but is “afflicted” with a straight beak. The pastor first speaks to God in a charismatic fashion and then grabs the protagonist’s beak. The way the pastor grabs the beak apparently makes the protagonist uncomfortable, but the protagonist seems to accept it, probably because his parents, who are there the whole time, do not object to this and the pastor appears to have some kind of authority. In the end the protagonist’s beak is still straight, but the pastor tells him to take the Bible and read it and pray to God daily in order to be cured.

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Indeed, this straight-​beaked bird’s experience reflects many Deaf people’s experiences with religion. It is not hard to find individuals in the Deaf community who have personal stories about how a religious individual or group attempted to “heal” them through the power of God. Some would ask them if they could pray for God to “heal” them; some would just start praying without asking them; some would lay their hands on them without their consent; some would even touch their ears or shake their heads, again without their consent. Many Deaf people who have experienced this have reported that this was a traumatic experience for them, which is unsurprising, because the desire for a Deaf person to be “cured” implies that this Deaf person is not a whole person. Unfortunately, there are not many recorded stories of Deaf people’s experiences with healing ministries, which is rather surprising, since those stories are very common lore in the Deaf community (hence the inclusion of a healing ministry in Bahan’s story). Also, there is not a lot of research that investigates theologies behind various healing ministries. However, there are some suggestions as to why some religious individuals and groups want to “heal” Deaf people and other people with disabilities. Lewis (2007) points out that a number of healing ministers “equate ‘wholeness’ with ‘holiness’,” implying “the link between forgiveness and healing” (p.  65). For example, Francis MacNutt (1989), in his book, Healing, states, “Our physical sickness, far from being a redemptive blessing, is often a sign that we are not totally redeemed, not whole at a spiritual level” (p. 177). This implies that disability prevents a person from being fully redeemed and thus for a person to become spiritually whole, that is, being fully forgiven and redeemed, the person ought to be healed of his or her disability. Another possible reason behind the avowed desire to heal Deaf people and other people with disabilities is that they believe that people ought to strive to become more like God. This view is based on Genesis 1:26, 27, which states that people were made in God’s image. There is a wide variety of perspectives on what it means that God created humankind in God’s image. Some perceive this to mean that we have physical likeness to God; thus, those who have physical impairments are less like God than those who do not (Lewis, 2007). For example, a proponent of pure oralism in the 18th century, J. C. Amman (1700), states that “creatures formed in [God’s] image ought, of necessity, to be able to speak, and in this respect resemble their Creator” (pp. 12–​13). Following Christ’s example is another possible reason behind Christians wanting to heal Deaf people. Many Christians believe that they ought to follow Christ’s examples and thus some of them think they ought to try to heal Deaf people because it is what Christ did (Mark 7). As quoted earlier, Balestra stated that people ought to “open the mouth of the deaf” because it is what Christ did. Of course, another

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possible reason is that people just feel bad for Deaf people and want to help them by healing them through the power of God, freeing them from what they see as the hardship of being deaf. What they do not realize is that many culturally Deaf people do not want to be “healed,” because they cherish their culture and language, and are proud of who they are (Black, 1996). Exclusion From the Religious Community

Many Deaf people, both those who practice religion and those who do not, experience some kind of exclusion from religious communities. Different kinds of religious communities can be categorized into hearing religious communities or Deaf religious communities (McClain, 2014). The former might be a misnomer because in theory religious communities are actually open to the public, but this is what many Deaf people call them. This is like calling a public school “HEARING SCHOOL” in American Sign Language. This simply reflects the fact that public places tend to be dominated by hearing people. It is not known which is more common, Deaf people participating in hearing religious communities or in Deaf religious communities. It depends on which religion and even which denomination. For example, it is mostly likely that there are more Deaf Catholics participating in hearing Catholic communities than Deaf Catholic communities, in part because there are currently only about 16 Deaf priests in the world (Portolano, 2019). However, other Christian denominations appear to have many more Deaf pastors and indigenous Deaf religious communities, which are religious communities that are established and run by Deaf people themselves, especially the Assemblies of God and the Southern Baptist Convention (see www.deafchurchwhere. com). In Islam, there are no Deaf imams or sign language masjid services throughout the world (www.globaldeafmuslim.org). Also, Deaf Muslim communities that gather primarily for religious purposes are very rare. In Judaism, there are fewer than 10 Deaf rabbis and a few Deaf Jewish groups. Unfortunately, many, if not most, hearing religious communities exclude Deaf people in various ways. First, many hearing religious communities do not ensure access for their Deaf members, especially Deaf children in hearing families. Most hearing family members are not fluent in sign language so they cannot easily explain religious information to their Deaf family members. Even if interpreting services are provided, interpreters may not always be adequate in terms of conveying religious information. The lack of access constrains the learning of basic religious beliefs and components of religious services. In her ethnographic study of a Deaf Catholic community, Audrey Seah (2017) notes how some Deaf people who grew up in hearing Catholic communities did not know what many fundamental components of

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the Catholic religion meant because they had no access to communication in church. For example, one Deaf person who grew up in a hearing Catholic community believed that confessionals were elevators to heaven when she was little. Another Deaf person thought that her Confirmation was a graduation ceremony and the priest slapped her face (it was a ritual slap) because she failed in her school. Seah (2017) concludes that “because pastors, catechists, and family members were unable to communicate effectively with them, the Sacraments did not comfort these women, but caused anxiety and confusion instead” (p.  139). The fact that hearing leaders labor to educate their hearing congregational members about their religions without investing in access for Deaf people implies that they value hearing people more than Deaf people, even if unintentionally, which may cause Deaf people to feel significantly devalued. Some religious communities genuinely attempt to include Deaf people and still fail to do so. For example, one time the senior pastor of a renowned megachurch came to me (Noah Buchholz) and asked, “We provide interpreting services every Sunday, but no Deaf people come to our church. What have we done wrong?” I told him, “It’s because everyone goes to the Deaf church across the street!” Like this megachurch, many religious communities invest a lot of time and money in making their services more accommodating for Deaf people. But they often do not realize that their efforts may be more effective if they invest in supporting already-​existing Deaf religious communities where Deaf people are able to worship in their own culture and language (Buchholz, 2018). While Deaf adults can self-​advocate and decide for themselves which religious community is the best fit for them, many Deaf children are unable to do so and, as a result, end up in religious communities where they do not flourish maximally. Many mainstreamed Deaf children grow up isolated, not being around anyone who knows sign language at school or home (Oliva & Lytle, 2014). It would be helpful for them to be part of a community where they could communicate freely and build profound relationships with other people similar to themselves. Deaf religious communities and other religious communities that have Deaf members are able to provide this kind of community. However, many religious communities minimize opportunities for Deaf children to join Deaf religious communities because they mistakenly think that, in order to minister to these children, they need to make them feel at home in their own hearing religious communities (Buchholz, 2018). RELIGION AND DEAF LIBERATION

Religion plays a significant role in the oppression of Deaf people, but it also plays a significant role in freeing Deaf people from their oppression.

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This chapter will address three different aspects of the relationship between Deaf liberation and religion: the emergence of modern Western Deaf culture, Deaf sociality, and Deaf spirituality. The Emergence of Modern Western Deaf Culture

Religion has played a prominent role in the formation of modern Western Deaf culture. Modern Western Deaf culture originally emerged from the first public Deaf school in the Western world, which was founded by a hearing Catholic abbot, Abbe de l’Épée, in France. Abbe de l’Épée was one of the first persons to use French Sign Language to formally educate Deaf children. Large groups of Deaf children were brought together and had access to academic education for the first time in history. As a result, they naturally fortified primitive French Deaf culture, which has subsequently shaped many other Deaf communities and given rise to today’s Western Deaf culture, thanks to Abbe de l’Épée’s religious ambitions to fulfill charity duties and proclaim the Gospel to Deaf people (Lane, 1984). Deaf culture as developed in France was then brought to the United States by Laurent Clerc, an alumnus and Deaf teacher of Abbe de l’Épée’s school, and Reverend Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet, a hearing American Protestant pastor. Together they founded the first permanent Deaf school in the United States. In one of his sermons, Gallaudet explicitly stated that he hoped Deaf schools “may be made the instruments of advancing that happy period, when the heathen shall be given to Christ for his inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession” (Gallaudet, 1852). Benjamin Conner (2018), a Church historian, states that “in Gallaudet’s mind, deaf people were among the heathen, and their evangelization would provide them with moral uplift, making them better citizens—​and, importantly, hasten the return of Christ” (p. 80). Their evangelization could not be maximally accomplished without providing them with formal education. Gallaudet’s other sermons reveal many more religious reasons for his founding of the first Deaf school in the United States (Chang, 2016; Conner, 2018; Fernandes, 1979; Morse, 2005). Many people followed Gallaudet’s steps and founded Deaf schools in the United States with religious ambitions in mind. A  number of Deaf school founders and superintendents claimed that they desired to educate Deaf children so that they could learn God’s Word. Also, Edward Miner Gallaudet, the son of Thomas Gallaudet, founded Gallaudet University,7 the first and only liberal arts college for the Deaf in the world, with religious ambitions. It may be true that many of those pioneers who promoted teaching Deaf children through sign language for religious reasons were rather paternalistic toward Deaf people (Lane, 1984). Nevertheless, one cannot deny that their religious ambitions significantly contributed to the emergence of modern

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Western Deaf culture, which has become one of the most powerful tools for fighting against Deaf oppression around the world. Deaf Sociality

Many religious spaces provide Deaf people with safe places where they can socialize and use their own languages. Michele Friedner (2014) argues that many Deaf adults “convert” religious spaces into “deaf sociality” (p. 39). As mentioned previously, a number of Deaf people in the United Kingdom converted the Missions for the Deaf into Deaf clubs. While these Missions often were not healthy places for Deaf people because of the oppressive regime of the missionaries, other religious spaces were much more liberating for Deaf people. Through her anthropological studies of Deaf communities in India, Friedner discovered that an extraordinary number of Deaf people, especially Deaf young adults, in Bangalore depend on their Deaf Christian religious communities for “learning, understanding, and development” (2014, p.  39). In Bangalore, Deaf people found that they were unable to learn in schools because of communication barriers. Instead, they were able to learn more in church because their pastors, many of whom were Deaf, were fluent in sign language and understood Deaf culture. For this reason, those Deaf people found liberation from ignorance and communication barriers in these churches. The same is true for many Deaf Jewish people. They did not fully understand a number of the basic tenets of Judaism until they found a Jewish Deaf community. Deaf Spirituality

Many Deaf religious communities and other religious communities that are accessible to Deaf people not only provide Deaf people with “secular” social and learning spaces; they also provide opportunities to grow spiritually without compromising their Deaf identities. Indeed, having such opportunities helps many Deaf people to better understand their Deaf identities. For example, the organization called The Jewish Deaf Foundation hosts Deaf Jewish gatherings and produces religious materials in sign language to teach Deaf people about Judaism (www. jewishdeaffoundation.org). The Hebrew Bible and New Testament are being translated into different sign languages by Christian organizations such as Deaf Missions, DOOR, and Jehovah’s Witnesses. Global Deaf Muslim was founded with the mission “to advocate for the advancement and inclusion of Deaf Muslims in the Muslim Ummah” (www.globaldeafmuslim.org). A  Deaf Buddhist monk, Rev. Oshin Jennings, founded a Soto Zen Temple in Washington, DC, with one of its goals being that of making Buddhism accessible to Deaf people (www.nobarrierszen.org). Making religious materials accessible to Deaf people naturally allows them to develop theologies and religious beliefs that explicitly promote

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healthy Deaf identities. Hannah Lewis’s (2007) seminal work, Deaf Liberation Theology, integrates theology and Deaf experience, forming a contextual theology that aims to liberate Deaf people from being oppressed by “hearing people’s religion,” that is, any religious belief/​ community/​ system that essentially marginalizes Deaf people and neglects their struggles. She portrays God as being on the side of Deaf people and against Deaf oppression perpetuated by hearing people. Also, a group of Deaf and hearing leaders from different Christian denominations drafted a statement called the Claggett Statement, which proclaims that “the message of Jesus is a message of liberation . . . from all of oppression,” including Deaf oppression (Baker-​ Shenk, 2007, p. 107). This statement also demands that hearing people “stop trying to communicate the Gospel through hearing people’s eyes” because Deaf people “have a right to know the Gospel in their own language, and relevant in their own context” (Baker-​Shenk, 2007, p. 108). In 2011, the Jewish Conservative movement published a teshuvah or response entitled “The Status of the Heresh and of Sign Language” (Barmash, 2011). This response concluded that Deaf people who use sign language to communicate and do not speak are no longer to be regarded as mentally incapacitated. Therefore, Jews who are Deaf are responsible for the mitzvot (commandment or good deed done out of religious obligation) that Jewish communities, synagogues, schools, and camps must strive to be accessible, and sign language may be used in ritual and liturgical matters. This response was approved by an unanimous vote of 16 rabbis. CONCLUSION

Throughout history, religion has powerfully shaped every layer of humanity; thus, to explore humanity without tracing its relationship to religion is a meaningless enterprise. Since the whole fabric of humanity is deeply saturated with the influence of religion, Deaf humanity must be examined in light of its relationship to religion in order for its patterns to be manifest. Multifaceted perspectives on deafness found in sacred writings enable a wide range of interpretations. Since sacred writings are highly esteemed and even considered categorically authoritative in many religious traditions, certain interpretations can have profound effects on Deaf people and how they feel about themselves and their identities. Moreover, it is clear that religion has played a significant role in the oppression of Deaf people. Many aspects of Deaf oppression can be linked to various religious ambitions. Nevertheless, religion is not found only in the valleys of one’s Deaf identity journey, in contrast, it also brings liberation from oppression to many Deaf people. Religion is one of the primary reasons that modern Western Deaf culture, one of

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the most powerful tools against Deaf oppression in today’s global Deaf community, came into existence. Evidently, religion and Deaf identity are inextricably connected, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. As Sarah and Orin observe in Children of a Lesser God, the voice of God is indeed as powerful as the booming sounds of an organ such that it even vibrates in Deaf people’s ears. It may hurt; it may not hurt. NOTES 1. In this chapter, we use the English translations of the New Jewish Publication Society (1985) and the New Revised Standard Version (1989) for the verses from the Hebrew Bible and New Testament, respectively, unless noted otherwise. 2. The term “eschatological” refers to anything that is related to the end times. 3. The Hebrew word heresh in the Hebrew Bible has a similar issue; at times it can mean either Deaf or Deaf and mute. 4. There are other translations of the Qur’an, but we use Muhammad Asad’s translation because it is what Ingrid Mattson uses in her article discussing deafness in the Qur’an. 5. It is important to note that there may be interpretations different from Mattson’s. Unfortunately, articles that address the Qur’an in light of Deaf culture from the perspective of a Muslim like Mattson’s article are difficult to find. 6. There are various definitions and understandings of charity among different religious communities. For example, a common definition of “charity” in English is voluntary giving of help; however, “charity” in Judaism, termed Tzedakah, whose literal meaning is “justice” or “righteousness,” does not signify voluntary action of help, but rather an act of justice that is commanded by God. 7. It was called the Collegiate Department of the Columbia Institution for the Deaf and Dumb at that time.

REFERENCES Abrams, J. Z. (1998). Judaism and disability:  Portrayals in ancient texts from the Tanach through the Bavli. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Amman, J. C. (1700). Dissertatio de Loquelo. Amsterdam, the Netherlands:  J. Wolters. English translation:  A Dissertation on Speech. 1873; reprint, Amsterdam, the Netherlands: North Holland. Bahan, B. (1994). Bird of a different feather. San Diego, CA: DawnSign Press. Baker-​Shenk, C. (2007). Breaking the shackles:  Liberation theology and the Deaf community. In M. Broesterhuizen (Ed.), The Gospel preached by the Deaf: Proceedings from a conference on Deaf liberation theology held at the Faculty of Theology of the Catholic University of Leuven (Belgium), May 19th, 2003 (pp. 103–​109). Leuven, Belgium: Peeters. Barmash, P. (2011). The status of the heresh and of sign language. Retrieved from https://​www.rabbinicalassembly.org/​sites/​default/​files/​public/​ halakhah/​teshuvot/​2011-​2020/​Status%20of%20the%20Heresh6.2011.pdf

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Bauman, H., & Murray, J. (2014). Deaf gain: Raising the stakes for human diversity. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Black, K. (1996). A healing homiletic:  Preaching and disability. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. Buchholz, N. (2018). Harmful inclusion. Retrieved from https://​thethread. ptsem.edu/​leadership/​harmful-​inclusion?rq=buchholz Carter, W. (2011). “The blind, lame and paralyzed” (John 5:3): John’s Gospel, disability studies, and postcolonial perspectives. In C. R. Moss & J. Schipper (Eds.), Disability studies and biblical literature (pp. 129–​ 150). New  York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Chang, N. W. (2016). The legacy of Jonathan Edwards in the founder of American Deaf education: An historical theology of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet (Doctoral dissertation). Available from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses database. (UMI No. 10260891) Conner, B. T. (2018). Disabling mission, enabling witness:  Exploring missiology through the lens of disability studies. Downers Grove, IL: InterVaristy Press. Couey, J. B. (2017). Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and the Twelve. In S. Melcher, M. Parsons, & A. Yong (Eds.), The Bible and disability: A commentary (pp. 215–​274). Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Coughlin, T. (2007). Ephphatha:  A challenge for Deaf people’s responsibility for Deaf ministry. In M. Broesterhuizen (Ed.), The Gospel preached by the Deaf: Proceedings from a conference on Deaf liberation theology held at the Faculty of Theology of the Catholic University of Leuven (Belgium), May 19th, 2003 (pp. 13–​40). Leuven, Belgium: Peeters. Fernandes, J. J. (1979). The gate to heaven:  T.H. Gallaudet and the rhetoric of the Deaf education movement (Doctoral dissertation). Available from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses database. (UMI No. 8017260) Friedner, M. (2014). The church of Deaf sociality: Deaf churchgoing practices and “sign bread and butter” in Bangalore, India. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 45(1),  39–​53. Gallaudet, T. H. (1852). A sermon, delivered at the opening of the Connecticut Asylum for the Education and Instruction of Deaf and Dumb Persons, April 20th, 1817. In H. Barnard (ed.), Tribute to Gallaudet: A discourse in commemoration of the life, character and services of the Rev. Thomas H. Gallaudet. Hartford, CT: Brockett & Hutchinson. Goving, S. D. (1989). Strong at the broken places: Persons with disabilities and the church. Louisville, KY: Knox. Gracer, B. (2011). What the rabbis heard:  Deafness in the Mishnah. In D. Schumm & Michael Stoltzfus (Eds.), Disability in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: Sacred texts, historical traditions, and social analysis (pp. 29–​42). New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Henning, M. (2017). Metaphorical, punitive, and pedagogical blindness in hell. Studia Patristica, 81, 139–​152. Horne, S. T. (1999). Injury and blessing:  A challenge to current readings of biblical discourses concerning impairment (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from 23http://​etheses.bham.ac.uk/​567/​ Ladd, P. (2003). Understanding Deaf culture:  In search of Deafhood. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.

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Ladd, P. (2008). Colonialism and resistance:  A brief history of Deafhood. In H. L. Bauman (Ed.), Open your eyes:  Deaf studies talking (pp. 42–​ 59). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Lane, H. (1984). When the mind hears:  A history of the Deaf. New  York, NY: Random House. Lewis, H. (2007). Deaf liberation theology. New York, NY: Routledge. MacNutt, F. (1989). Healing. London, UK: Hodder & Stoughton. Mattson, I. (2012). “Deaf” in the Qur’an and in the Muslim community. Retrieved from http://​ingridmattson.org/​article/​deaf-​in-​the-​quran-​and​in-​the-​muslim-​community/​ McClain, R. (2014, Jan/​Feb). Reaching the Deaf:  An entirely different experience. Mission Frontier, 36(1),  11–​14. Medoff, M. (1980). Children of a lesser god. New  York, NY:  Dramatists Play Service. Morse, T. A. (2005). Seeing grace: Religious rhetoric in the Deaf community (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from http://​repository.arizona.edu/​handle/​10150/​ 194132. Olivia, G., & Lytle, L. (2014). Turning the tide: Making life better for Deaf and hard of hearing school children. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Portolano, M. (2019). Be opened! Deaf culture and the Catholic Church. Manuscript submitted for publication. Seah, A. (2017). From communication to communion:  Enculturation of Deaf culture in Roman Catholic worship. Proceedings from North American Academy of Liturgy Annual Meeting. Notre Dame, IN: North American Academy of Liturgy. Shea, G. (2017). The language of light:  A history of silent voices. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Van Cleve, J. V., & Crouch, B. A. (1989). A place of their own: Creating the Deaf community in America. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Wright, D. S. (2009). The six perfections: Buddhism and the cultivation of character. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

5    Lessons Learned: How Studying Cochlear Implantation Reveals the Context in Which d/​Deaf Identities Are Formed Laura Mauldin

INTRODUCTION AND DISCIPLINARY BACKGROUND

In this chapter, I reflect on what I have learned in the last decade while researching pediatric cochlear implantation. The chapter also addresses some of the implications this research has for thinking about d/​Deaf identities in the context of hearing parents raising deaf children in an era of cochlear implants (CIs). I begin by outlining my training and the different perspectives and disciplines I weave together to accomplish my work. Then I discuss some of the main findings of my research and the clues that my research may offer for thinking about the context in which d/​Deaf identity-​making happens and what this might say about the possibilities for d/​Deaf identities in the future. Sociology of Medicine, Science, and Technology

I am a sociologist and trained to study the role of medical knowledge and medical technologies in society, including how we as individuals and families interact with health care systems. This means I  examine how medical or scientific knowledge and practices shape our identities, influence which bodies we deem in need of technological intervention, and influence how we define what good care is in relation to technologies. This connects to Deaf culture because the medical and pathological narrative of deafness, which often results in the technological intervention of CIs, is powerful. And it is this very narrative that spurs Deaf people to actively fight against it through articulations of identity, culture, and community. For many people the medicalized view of deafness has been a generative force in their lives, often negatively shaping their life experiences and resulting in strong Deaf communities defining themselves in opposition to it. Thus, I see mapping and understanding medical knowledge and discourse about Laura Mauldin, Lessons Learned In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0005

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deafness as crucial for comprehending the social world in which the meaning of deafness is made. That is, my research looks at the larger social processes and structures that shape the ways in which d/​Deaf persons may identify. This is in line with a particular strand of sociological research on identity. While there is a vast body of sociological literature on identity, and some analyses focus on the internal development of a sense of self, my focus is on “how consensual, cultural identity meanings are implemented within situations that evoke them” (Owens, Robinson, & Smith-​Lovin, 2010, p. 478). That is, rather than the psychological, internal process, I am concerned with the social processes that are occurring and the way in which these shape how potential individuals’ identities might develop. Thus, this is the focus of this chapter, rather than the internal processes of identity development. Many people have influenced my thinking and training on these issues in the field of sociology of health and illness, as well as science and technology studies (STS). One of the most important sociological concepts in my work is medicalization, which is the process by which ordinary bodily conditions or processes come to be seen as medical problems, defined in medical language, and addressed through medical intervention (Conrad, 1992, 2007; Zola, 1972). The concept of medicalization allows us to question who has the power to define bodies as medical problems, as well as contemplate the way in which the prestige of medical knowledge can infiltrate and colonize the knowledge and experience of the very people and communities that are being defined. As such, thinking about deafness from a medicalization standpoint is ultimately a useful way for thinking about identity and the social context of power in which individuals struggle to make meaning out of their lives, bodies, and experiences. Even though Foucault never uses the word medicalization, much of his work (e.g., Foucault, 1975/​ 2003) echoes these sentiments. His work has been described by medical sociologists as outlining how “medical discourse can influence people’s behaviors, impact their subjective experiences of embodiment, shape their identities, and legitimate medical interventions” (Conrad & Barker, 2010, p. 69). An important area of inquiry in STS is concerned with how technologies and identities are co-​produced. In STS, technologies are part of the social world, interacting with human social actors in order to co-​create meanings and sociotechnical arrangements, which is known as co-​production (Bijker, Hughes, & Pinch, 1987). Thus, investigations into specific technologies (such as CIs) from an STS standpoint can tell us more about how the technology and the social practices that surround it come together to create new possibilities for identities and communities. Others have done this in the context of biomedicine (e.g., Clarke et al., 2010; Mol, 2002, 2008).

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Because I  use a sociological approach to examine issues related to pediatric implantation, I also aim to understand how social categories of difference (e.g., race, class, gender, and disability) impact decisions on implantation. At the heart of sociological inquiry is a concern with stratification. This refers to the ways in which we organize and hierarchize people in society based on their characteristics or social position. Sociologists often study processes of inequality that occur because of stratification, especially with regard to race, class, and gender. But many sociologists of disability approach disability as a social category in which people are treated unequally and argue that it is just as powerful and important as one’s race, class, or gender in determining how persons may be treated (Altman & Barnartt, 2000; Barnes, Mercer, & Shakespeare, 1999; Carey, 2009; Frederick, 2017; Green, 2017; Oliver, 1990; Scotch, 2002; Welch, 2017; Zola, 1982). And like other sociologists, I  am especially concerned with how disability—​ as a broad social category—​ is constructed through language, given meaning within the clinical context, and thus how it is responded to by families and clinicians (e.g., Blum, 2015; Green, 2007; Leiter, 2004). I focus on these clinical encounters as sites for potential identity development because deaf children grow up in these families and are surrounded by the meanings of deafness attributed to them from people outside of the Deaf community. My approach contributes to studies of identity because it provides the social context in which potential identity development is occurring. Doing so highlights the meanings and narratives about deafness that are available to deaf children as they move through the systems we have designed to serve them, especially CI clinics. In order to better understand this, I chose to use ethnographic methods to investigate how deafness is understood and given meaning for parents in the clinical encounter. Ethnography is a method where the researcher immerses herself in a social world to describe interactions and document the meaning of things to the people in that world; it does not impose meaning. Disability Studies

Certainly, the framing of deafness as a disability is sure to rankle some. But my work is profoundly informed by the field of disability studies. The premise of disability studies is that disability is a social and political category, but also that disability is constructed and can be a source of pride. That is, bodies and their characteristics are given meaning through social interactions, and certain groups of people are systematically excluded through social structures in society, and valued or devalued in culture (e.g., Ben-​Moshe & Magaña, 2014; Davis, 2013; Dunhamn et  al., 2015; Kafer, 2013; Linton, 1998; Shakespeare, 2006; Thomson, 1997). Foundational to the field of disability studies are the two models of disability: the social model and the medical model. The

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medical model locates the “problem” on the body; a person’s disability is an individual pathology and is understood in medical terms. The social model, however, moves the site of the “problem” to society; the problems then are social barriers, social attitudes, and unwillingness to accommodate different types of bodies (e.g., Barnes, Mercer, & Shakespeare, 1999; Oliver, 1990, 2013; Shakespeare, 2006; Shakespeare & Watson, 2001). The medical model should sound familiar here; it echoes the critiques of medicine that come out of the sociological concept of medicalization and it is the very thing that culturally Deaf identities seek to revoke. Disability studies also claims that like race, class, and gender, disability is another social category of difference that must be taken into account for all analyses. Importantly, the field of disability studies provides analytical tools for thinking about nonnormative bodies—​ anybody that violates the norms of what society says are acceptable. This includes disabled bodies and minds, deaf bodies, sick bodies, fat bodies, and all those in between. There is radical potential in disability studies for pushing back on bodily norms, critiquing and redefining them, and highlighting disability culture and cultural production. The same is true for Deaf Studies, although it is more narrowly focused on culturally Deaf people and communities. But there are also Deaf disabled people—​these categories intersect and overlap in complex ways. And disability is exciting because it’s not just like other social categories. It is a social category and always intersects with all other social statuses. The aims of both fields—​disability studies and Deaf Studies—​are politically and theoretically similar and full of rich analyses for better understanding identity. Thus, when I  talk about issues in implantation, I frame them not just as Deaf issues, but as disability issues. I do so because deafness is an example of a disability (albeit a unique one because of the presence of language) and because the scholarly and political goals are often the same:  critiquing what is defined as good and healthy and to do so from the vantage point of people who live in those bodies and are experts on their own lives. In my book (Mauldin, 2016), I acknowledged that discussing deafness as a disability may not sit well with many Deaf people. But, because of my training in disability studies, I believe that the tendency of Deaf communities to distance themselves from disability is the result of ableism. Disability studies scholar Fiona Kumari Campbell defines ableism as “a network of beliefs, processes, and practices that produces a particular kind of self and body (the corporeal standard) that is projected as the perfect, species-​typical and therefore essential and fully human. Disability then is cast as a diminished state of being human” (Campbell, 2009, p.  5). Although deafness is legally categorized as a disability and meets all the major definitions of disability, some d/​Deaf persons participate in the devaluation of disability and disabled people by denying an

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association because it is undesirable and therefore distance themselves from it. I find this denial of association problematic. And I believe that disability studies is full of rich, scholarly ideas that resonate with Deaf studies and offer productive theories and ideas regarding the politics of deafness and d/​Deaf identities. Growth in disabilities studies scholarship and expansion of alliances between disabled and d/​ Deaf persons can provide a rich site for contemplating d/​Deaf identities. One excellent resource for thinking through these questions is Burch and Kafer’s (2010) collection, Deaf and Disability Studies, in which they ask the question, “What does it mean to claim a Deaf (or deaf) identity rather than a disabled one in spite of overlapping histories of oppression?” (2010, p. xiii). Others, like Michele Friedner, have suggested that when thinking about a culturally Deaf identity versus a general deaf identity, we are assuming that these categories are stable and their boundaries clear when they are not (Friedner, 2010). She argues that if we explore “the ways that little d and capital D d/​Deaf are intertwined, I believe that we will see that, despite our initial feelings of unease about the failure of boundary work around these categories, little d sets up conditions of possibility for capital D d/​Deafness” (Friedner, 2010, p.  345). One of the ways I  follow Friedner’s (2010) lead and explore how deaf and Deaf identities are intertwined is by studying the processes that seek to produce the “little d” identity of deafness, particularly through cochlear implantation. Feminist Scholarship

Finally, I view all of these phenomena through a feminist lens. Feminist scholarship is broad and expansive, but the basic definition of feminism from the scholar bell hooks is, “Feminism is the struggle to end sexist oppression” (hooks, 2000, p. 28). You might ask then, what does this have to do with deafness, d/​Deaf identities, or disability? While much feminist scholarship begins with looking at systems of oppression related to sexism, feminism is also a political commitment and a portable and nuanced critical framework. Because it highlights power and often the ways in which power is exerted over particular people and their bodies, we can use the tenets of feminist scholarship to also attend to other systems of domination, such as classism, racism, and ableism. Examining the ways in which these various systems oppress people at the intersection of multiple aspects of their identity is called intersectionality. Intersectionality is a term from Black feminist thought and refers to taking into account the systems that structure or shape our experiences with regard to race, class, gender (and I  would add disability) as well as how they intersect and interlock (Collins & Bilge, 2016; Crenshaw, 1991). There is a rich body of scholarship in feminist disability studies that integrates these fields (e.g., Garland-​Thomson, 2005, Hall, 2011, Berne et al., 2018).

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My work and the work of others more generally need to do a better job of considering race in analyses. One way I use intersectionality is to draw a connection between interlocking systems enforcing power over individuals through the vectors of gender and disability. For example, my research is concerned with highlighting women’s stories and gendered processes around care. In my book (Mauldin, 2016)  I  focused on the primarily White mothers of deaf children as people who were subjected to gender norms around women being the primary caregivers to their children, as well as how mothers were targeted and recruited into clinics and to take on a particular approach to deafness because of their role. That is, the narrative of deafness as a medical problem interlocks with and depends upon the demand and expectation that women provide a particular type of care to their deaf children. These two things cannot be untangled and depend upon each other. I remain convinced that understanding how women are told they will be the “best mothers” to deaf children is fundamental to understanding how deaf children will grow up to understand themselves and what their deafness means. But intersectionality is from Black feminist thought and as such demands that we attend to the way race/​nationality also operates. While this appeared in part of my book regarding the ways in which deaf children from immigrant or bilingual families were less likely to be deemed candidates for implantation, I  have since started a new project that addresses issues of race/​nationality more overtly, which I outline later in this chapter. Finally, part of doing feminist scholarship means being reflexive about my position in the world and how this shapes the work that I  do. I  try here to make very clear where I  come from intellectually when I approach the subject. But I must also address my privilege as a hearing person. I am acutely aware that my status as a White, hearing person—​a status shared by the majority of employees in audiology and related professions that “help” deaf children—​allowed me to access sites, communities, and individuals that a signing deaf person would probably not have been allowed to access because of the politics around CIs. My position also provides me with access to parents who largely shared the same identity categories as myself. How then does my privilege shape the work and in what ways can I use my privilege appropriately? While d/​Deaf identities are of central concern here, a feminist methodology demands that we ask: Who is doing the research? What does this mean for the kind of work that gets produced (i.e., in written or spoken English, not American Sign Language [ASL])? Questions of identity propel the research being reflected upon here and the process of doing the research itself. For the last 15 years, I have done research and worked part time as an ASL interpreter. Studying CIs was the perfect convergence of my interdisciplinary academic interests, knowledge of ASL, and experiences

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with and investment in the Deaf community. I want to be very clear that I do not and have not studied d/​Deaf adults deciding to obtain CIs. My work is strictly limited to the project of pediatric cochlear implantation. Why? I focus on children because they are the most common recipients of CIs (Sorkin, 2013); because the messages that parents receive about deafness tell us so much about dominant cultural narratives about disability and deafness, and because we still do not fully empirically understand how pediatric implantation affects children as they become adults. It is these questions of the future of d/​Deaf identities for implanted children that I address in the following sections. PAST AND CURRENT RESEARCH AND THE IMPLICATIONS FOR D/​DEAF IDENTITIES Past Research

In my book, Made to Hear:  Cochlear Implants and Raising Deaf Children (2016), I  described fieldwork consisting of observations and in-​depth interviews in a CI clinic that served pediatric patients and their families. The overarching goal of my study was to find out what CIs mean to the people in that world; what does the CI mean to the practitioners in the clinic (including audiologists, social workers, surgeons, etc.) and what does it mean to the families (usually the mothers)? My research did not involve deaf people; it was focused on those in positions of caring for deaf children. The deaf children in the research were not included. No one asked them what the CI meant to them. For the majority of the families in my study, the children were infants and toddlers. This meant that my attention was on the parents and the health care professionals working with them. This did not reflect a lack of interest on my part in the deaf experience of implantation; I was focused on the social context in which meanings of deafness were made by the people raising deaf children and giving these children messages about what deafness means. It was crucial to me to capture how the meaning of deafness was being made by adults—​and specifically adults in a clinical context—​because this is where the majority of deaf children find themselves, since nearly 96% of deaf children are born to hearing parents (Mitchell & Karchmer, 2004). I  wanted to know:  What does deafness mean to these people? What is the overall environment and dominant narrative of deafness in which children begin to know themselves as deaf? Of course, this also suggests that if we are able to answer these questions, we might then be able to intervene more effectively, which can impact the meaning of deafness that deaf children subsequently internalize from them. By focusing on this context and the social actors in these settings, I  learned that the process of pediatric cochlear implantation was not

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about Deaf people at all, but that does not mean it does not have implications for d/​Deaf identities. For the most part, Deaf culture and Deaf communities were absent from the clinical setting. Deaf culture was the absent “other” and Deaf viewpoints or Deaf adults were not included in the clinic in which I did my fieldwork. Sometimes it was a quite neutral descriptor—​those Deaf parents who signed with their children are not going to come here, audiologists might tell me. Other times, the Deaf perspective was dismissed and a presumed blanket stance against CIs deemed merely a cultural or ideologically driven viewpoint—​as opposed to a “scientific” one. This was how perceived Deaf opposition to CIs was undercut; it was characterized as full opposition that was neither scientific nor “normal,” assigning an “objective” (in contrast to ‘cultural’) value judgment to science, medicine, and the pursuit of hearing. In the book, I trace this back to two linked dominant cultural narratives that are much bigger than the specificity of deafness: that disability in general is not valuable, but that the pursuits of normalization through science and technology are. One of the aims of my book was to show that the clinical perspective and the clinical practices surrounding CIs are equally cultural. This is the intervention that sociological approaches to science, technology, and medicine can perform; theories from these fields show that such things, like medicine, are not apolitical, nor are they objective. Rather, they seem objective—​and claim objectivity!—​because of the discourse and the prestige we give to them. That said, this was one clinic and it may not be identical to all other clinics, but I  suspect it is indicative of most other clinics. However, over the years, I  have given talks in multiple cities across the United States. I  have found that whenever I gave a talk in a larger city that had a significant deaf population and there was an audiologist present at the talk, she or he would approach me afterward. Inevitably the audiologist would tell me how her or his clinic was different, that it did not eschew Deaf culture or Deaf voices. Because I have not made observations in these other clinics, I do not know the validity of these claims. Overall, however, I got the sense that the aim of pediatric implantation is to avoid Deaf cultural and Deaf identities, to render them unnecessary because we want to have a “technological fix.” And more than just this, some in the clinic seemed to suggest that there is a CI culture. I witnessed communities of people in school or parent support settings where this did seem to be occurring. Children may go to CI-​related events and conferences every year with their parents and have other friends with CIs that they keep in touch with. Parents may be actively involved in parent groups and local school programs that serve deaf students with CIs. This meant that children with CIs were grouped together. What kinds of identities might develop in such a context? Even though the cultural meanings of being Deaf are seemingly absent in the

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CI world I observed, communities were actively created surrounding children’s use of CIs and the specific experiences and needs that accompany them and their parents. How might this shape how these children define themselves as they grow up? And although the bulk of my fieldwork was in the clinical setting, it was the glimpses I got of these communities from time to time that piqued my curiosity. Certainly, it tells us that new meanings of deafness in relation to CIs go far beyond the clinic walls. And as CI technology improves and the clinical reach expands and grows through new technological markets (markets such as CI accessories, FM systems, and other specific objects that might be of importance to a CI user) and cooperation with local schools expands, I  suspect that CI-​related identities will also continue to develop and complicate our understandings of what it means to be d/​Deaf. For example, in one school I visited, I witnessed a room of elementary-​aged deaf students with CIs talking to each other using speech. If I had not known that they were all deaf, I would never have guessed. During an interview with a parent, I  encountered her teenaged child, who was also “passable” as hearing. How would these children identify? What does their CI mean to them? Do they know that there are other scripts of deafness—​namely that there is a cultural script of being Deaf? What influence might this have, if any? While others have examined some trends regarding having a CI and identity previously (e.g., Chapman & Dammeyer, 2017; Hyde & Punch, 2011), these studies did not focus exclusively on young adults since 2000 nor were they conducted in the United States. These are the sorts of questions that will continue to be important as this generation of deaf children who were implanted as young as 12 months in the United States moves into adulthood. In what ways will their stories be different from generations of deaf people before? In what ways might they be different? I  believe the research in Made to Hear provides deep insights into the context in which they are being raised and in turn may help us better analyze and understand their identities in adulthood as well. I  will comment more on these developments later in this chapter. Current Research

Since writing Made to Hear, I  have continued to research pediatric implantation and wanted to know more about what happens to the children getting CIs. I am thinking about them because I believe they will tell us about the next generation of d/​Deaf people and the complexity of identities they may bring into d/​Deaf communities because of their experiences growing up in an age where CIs are a routine treatment. One important thing to consider from my Made to Hear study is that the parents who participated were in the clinic often and/​or were part of the CI world that I  came to know. That is, the families that I encountered were considered highly compliant with CI regimens

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by health care professionals and educators. They were also parents of children for whom the CI had largely been “successful.” In the clinical context, successful tends to mean that their speech was developing and that the children did not use and were not exposed to sign language. After completing the book, I wondered: Where are the families for whom the CI did not “work”? And by this I mean, where are the children for whom speech was not developing and whose parents had perhaps not maintained strong ties to the clinic (since that was who I  had access to)? How might these children have different identities than those for whom the CI seemed to be facilitating spoken development and had strong ties to the clinic? For the most part, these families were a hidden population in a clinical setting. The families for whom it was not working did not frequent the clinic and were not part of the CI-​centered world I encountered. Importantly, this means that clinical researchers—​along with the rest of us—​missed their stories. From my sociological perspective, I  knew that these families existed, but they were no longer frequenting the clinic and they were not found in other CI-​related settings like support groups for parents or school programs for CI-​using children. So where were these children and their families? To find them, I turned to a community site: deaf schools. The children for whom the CI did not work turned to sign language—​eventually. I say eventually because sign language is usually excluded in implantation practices. Instead, it is often relegated to a “last resort” method of communication for those children who are not expected to achieve what is clinically defined as a good outcome (Davidson, Lillo-​Martin, & Chen Pichler, 2014; Hall et  al., 2016; Henner et  al., 2016; Peterson, Pisoni, & Miyamoto, 2010). There is a dearth of comprehensive national data, but anecdotal reports from state schools for the deaf suggest a disturbing trend. At one school where I  conducted research, the average age of first enrollment was between 12 and 14. Although there are no comprehensive and national-​ level data, conversations with administrators revealed that many of those children enrolling late were without meaningful command of either spoken language or ASL, even though a significant number had received CIs as children. Late placement in schools for the Deaf and the lack of language often occurred because these children went through implantation, were told to avoid sign language, to “stick with” the oral route and be patient, and yet spoken language did not develop. I  suspected that eventually they were turning to sign language, and deaf schools were the places to find these children and their families. Once again, I  approached this project through the perspective of parents. It is often quite difficult to obtain approval of ethics boards for research with minors, especially those minors who are classified as disabled. Even though I  remain deeply interested and invested in capturing these children’s stories, my research once again turned to the

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parents to illuminate the stories of their children. Part of the reason for this was to get a clear understanding of the years leading up to their child’s enrollment in the deaf school by asking parents about the events that led them there. I  wanted to know how long they “stuck it out,” how they found out about the deaf school, what their thoughts were on it, and what it was “really like” to parent a deaf child with a CI who was not receiving benefit from it. It is important to understand the context in which these children are growing up and to document what parents are expected to do, how this is asked of them by clinics, and what ends up happening to the children. I will now share some initial insights I  have gained from the first phase of research in the deaf school. This work consisted of in-​depth interviews with parents and a short survey administered to them to capture their demographics and their child’s demographics. I  have currently completed one set of interviews from one school. However, four additional schools have agreed to let me recruit parents into the study and there will be more stories to add to this. But for now, I would like to share that unlike the largely White, middle-​class families that were participants in my book, many of these late enrolling children are non-​White and from a lower socioeconomic status (SES). Based on discussions with school administrators, the same pattern is expected from the other four schools I  will be working with to recruit more parents. Thus, the sample in this project is far more diverse. This reflects already documented disparities in pediatric cochlear implantation (e.g., Boss et al., 2011; Kirkham et al., 2009) but also better represents racially diverse d/​Deaf communities. Approximately half of the study respondents were White and the other half were predominantly Latinx, with an additional family originally from Saudi Arabia (who identified as Middle Eastern/​Arab on their survey). Importantly, two of the families emigrated to the United States in order to enroll their deaf child in a deaf school, and two others moved from the US territory of Puerto Rico. The SES of these families was also diverse. Household income was distributed across a number of income categories: Four of the 11 families had an annual household income of $50,000 to $74,999; four had an income of less than $50,000 (with one of those having an income of less than $25,000). Two families were in the highest SES bracket, with an annual household income of more than $150,000. This sample, albeit a small one, more nearly represents the diversity of SES position of d/​Deaf communities. These initial interviews have much to suggest about the emergent d/​Deaf identities of the children for whom the CI implants did not “work.” This is because the notion of a Deaf community began to appear in these interviews in a way that it did not appear in my book. First, in some ways, the discussion of the Deaf community was implicit; parents talked about how important it was and how relieved

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they were that their child had a way to communicate. In other words, they were pleased that their child now had access to sign language. It is well known that language and identity are intertwined, but even though these parents were excited about and supportive of their child learning to sign, they did not talk about “identity” per se. Thus, in the context of these interviews, the Deaf community was implicit—​not necessarily named, but nevertheless something for which the parents were grateful. They did not discuss or know how to foster a Deaf identity, but they did see their child having access to communication, and this was absolutely a positive thing in their eyes. Other times, the notion of their child’s Deaf identity was more explicitly discussed. And here, interesting tensions appeared. Three of the families in my sample had chosen to send their child to the deaf school at the high school level. Two of these families transferred their child from a residential oral school because while their child had developed spoken language skills, they did not have a sense of self and connection to others. They told me that their children could produce speech but were missing what they referred to as “the social stuff.” This included more incidental information, but it also included a sense of self, of self-​ esteem, and a need to be with others “like them.” However, one of these mothers talked about how her son was beginning to develop a Deaf identity and to delve further into the Deaf world. She was alarmed by this, particularly his suggestions that because of his deafness he experienced oppression in a larger hearing society and was beginning to articulate this to his parents. This particular child received CIs as an infant, had been in spoken language programs from the beginning of his life, and attended an oral school until high school. This suggests that—​not unlike previous generations—​there are children out there who spend the majority of their childhood in an oral world but turn to the Deaf community as they enter adulthood. The question remains, how does the CI, in particular, mark these experiences as different from previous generations? Does it? Finally, these parents’ stories give us more contextual information about the intersection of deaf identities with race and class. Many of the non-​White parents in this study experienced overt discrimination within the CI clinic. This took various forms: Parents described being denied CI-​related services, being directly told they were draining the system—​a particular accusation that has its roots in eugenic thought—​ and being victims of omission by simply not being told about available CI-​related services. Thus, their stories reveal how non-​White families must deal with additional barriers and obstacles, including discrimination in clinical settings and structural barriers to care rooted in historical institutional racism (e.g., the lack of CI-​related services in Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic). How might these experiences shape these deaf children’s lives? Such stories show us the dynamic ways in which

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systemic, institutional racism in the form of lack of services affects minority families with deaf children disproportionately and shine a light on areas for future research on experiences of d/​Deaf persons. Finally, many of these families spoke Spanish at home, and a translator was present for interviews. Strikingly, these families were accustomed to multiple languages being spoken at home and, more so than monolingual families, were comfortable with ASL being just one more language resource they had. While the norm in the United States continues to be monolingualism, these families are excellent examples of spaces where multiple languages and cultures intersect, giving us even more information about the diverse background of deaf children obtaining CIs. Once again, this research project privileges parents’ stories and not the children’s. But these stories do tell us something about the context in which these deaf children are emerging into adulthood and into their d/​ Deaf identities. These larger patterns of school enrollment, CI protocols, disparities in CI outcomes, and parental resources are crucial for understanding d/​Deaf identity development. This is because the argument that deaf children need access to the Deaf community is clearly not just a “cultural” or identity argument; it is a matter of healthy child development. This is not a new assertion, but these research projects can provide the sociological data needed to contextualize deaf children within their families and give a picture of what their development looks like in the context of pediatric cochlear implantation over a long period of time. The advantage of interviewing these parents is that they can recount the years of interventions that have occurred and their effects. Developmental processes and identity are so tied together and interwoven. Examining the stories of families where the CI did not “work” for their child, then, is a way to really account for those who are the most vulnerable. We know that non-​White and lower SES families have poorer CI outcomes than White, middle-​class families. The initial interviews here begin to show us ways in which we can start addressing language deprivation in deaf children (see Hall et al., 2016; Henner et al., 2016) not just in terms of providing language for the purposes of identity development, but because language development is key for overall health and wellness. That is, when the CI does not provide access to spoken language, children experience language deprivation, which has cascading developmental effects. This is not a discussion of merely promoting Deaf culture and identity, but a discussion of providing linguistic input for language development to ensure overall health. PEDIATRIC IMPLANTATION ON THE GROUND: WHERE ARE WE NOW?

As I  have outlined in the previous sections, my work highlights the context in which d/​Deaf children are being raised in the age of CIs

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and reveals the context in which their identities are being developed. This section will provide a brief overview of implantation trends. This will be followed by a section which makes suggestions for future research on d/​Deaf identities based on my research and the situation “on the ground” regarding implantation. In 2000, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) lowered the minimum age requirement for CIs to 12 months. According to the National Institute on Deafness and other Communication Disorders (NIDCD), the most recent numbers available from the FDA indicate that as of 2012, a total of 58,000 devices had been implanted in adults and 38,000 in children in the United States. We know that children aged approximately 12  months are the most rapidly growing population of CI recipients and receive CIs at faster rates than adults (NIDCD, 2010; Sorkin, 2013). We also know that more than 90% of the deaf children receiving CIs have hearing parents, and some states report that parents choose the combination of implantation, aural habilitation, and oral educational placements in “as high as nine out of ten cases” (Murphy, 2009, p. 22). The primary clinical goal of implantation is to increase auditory perception to aid in the acquisition, development, and/​or use of spoken language (e.g., Geers, 2006; Peterson et al., 2010). Importantly, obtaining a CI is not sufficient for spoken language acquisition; aural habilitation is required (e.g., Boons et  al., 2012). This habilitation process is also a years-​long, intensive endeavor which, as Made to Hear demonstrated, might explain the development of the CI-​ related communities. My current research agenda centers on parents’ retrospective accounts of this endeavor when it did not “work” precisely because all the existing literature on pediatric implantation indicates—​but is unable to explain—​disparities in outcomes across SES and race/​ethnicity (e.g., Belzner & Seal, 2009; Boss et al., 2011; Chang et al., 2010; Hyde & Power, 2006; Kirkham et al., 2009; Stern et al., 2005). Moving toward a better understanding of these disparities and the context in which deaf children are being raised is one of the goals of my work. One of the central questions regarding identities of the future now may be: What does all of this mean for the post-​2000 children who are turning 18 the very year I am writing this, and what will it mean for the generations that follow? Because what we know is that for children for whom the CI seems to work, their socialization processes happen within or are connected to a CI clinic and/​or community. What about the generations of deaf children growing up today in such a system where they may be asked to take part in a CI culture and come to identify as a CI user? What relationship might this have to d/​Deaf identities? What then would the boundaries of a “Deaf identity” look like as these children come of age and individuate? Will their identity be a “Deaf” identity or something altogether different?

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During the time of writing this chapter, these very questions surfaced in an opinion piece written by a 14-​year-​old girl in the Washington Post (Corwin, 2018). She points out that many think CIs are a “solution” to deafness, but that they are not. Indeed, she talks about her identity as deaf, but that she is located in a space between the Deaf and hearing worlds. In this space, she says, she experiences that both Deaf and hearing people do not understand or always support her experience. What is a “deaf body” if we consider the ways in which CIs are changing the experience of what it means to be deaf in the first place? We also know that those who are successful CI users are primarily White, middle-​class children. Disparities in pediatric cochlear implantation (PCI) have been documented to occur across racial categories and SES both in the population of children who obtain CIs, as well as in outcomes for those who undergo implantation (e.g., Belzner & Seal, 2009; Boss et al., 2011; Hyde & Power, 2006; Kirkham et al., 2009). For example, the prevalence of deafness is higher in children from a lower SES and children from minority groups; however, the literature suggests that the opposite pattern is true in adoption rates for CIs: The highest rates of implantation are in White children from a higher SES (Fink et al., 2007; Stern et al., 2005). Yet one study by Chang et al. (2010) found that there were no significant differences in access to CIs (that is, access to the device and surgery) across SES when analyzed in terms of whether families were using private insurance or Medicaid in a context where insurance reimbursements were equal. They argue that the most significant disparities based on SES then are found in implantation outcomes, or what they called “downstream disparities” associated with the long-​term and intensive follow-​up care required in PCI. That is, significant disparities emerge over the long-​term course of follow-​up care and aural habilitation after implantation. This means there are deaf children in precarious identity states and processes that we have yet to understand empirically from a sociological perspective. In addition, we have a body of research that privileges the narratives of families—​but little information from the deaf children themselves. There is wide variability in PCI outcomes. This is acknowledged again and again across the clinical literature (e.g., Boons et  al., 2012; Peterson et al., 2010; Pisoni et al., 1999). For example, “Enormous individual differences exist . . . Children with similar audiological profiles who receive the same intervention often have drastically different communication, language, social, cognitive, educational, literacy, and vocational outcomes” (Holt et al., 2013, p. 388). In addition to not having a body of research that accounts for families’ and children’s experiences with implantation, there are two other hugely important aspects of implantation that need discussing. First, there is no single, nationally defined protocol for CI clinics, although they typically follow US Food and Drug Administration guidelines and CI manufacturers’

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recommendations (Bradham, Snell, & Haynes, 2009). Second, we do not have national comprehensive data on the characteristics of those receiving implants (i.e., their sociodemographic data) and the outcomes of their implantation. That is, there is no national database where one can look up CI recipients and analyze the outcomes and patient demographics. While patient demographic information exists at the clinical level, there is no way for researchers to empirically evaluate on a national scale the rate of success in pediatric implantation. This lack of data means there is a lack of accountability. A research agenda that seeks to remedy this information gap is of urgent importance. While comprehensive data are needed, I  have spent the last 10  years collecting the stories of implantation as a way of filling this void. FUTURE DIRECTIONS: A CI-​RELATED RESEARCH AGENDA

In this chapter, I have outlined my background, my past and current research projects, and have given a picture of what it looks like “on the ground” with regard to pediatric implantation. But what does this mean for d/​Deaf identities, and how does my work fit into the literature on d/​Deaf identities? Past research has come from a variety of disciplines. For example, psychological and psychosocial studies have focused on assessing d/​Deaf individuals’ identification, accounting for various identities that deaf people have and assessing them (Bat-​Chava, 2000; Fischer & McWhirter, 2001; Glickman & Carey, 1993; Leigh et al., 2009; Maxwell-​McCaw & Zea, 2011). Others have come from multidisciplinary backgrounds to explore intersections of d/​Deaf identities from a Deaf perspective (e.g., Bauman, 2008; Friedner & Kusters 2015; Leigh, 2009, 2011; Obasi, 2008; just some of many). And still others have looked specifically at the process of moving from a deaf identity to a Deaf identity (e.g., Carty, 1994; Ladd, 2003; Valentine & Skelton, 2007), as well as how d/​Deaf identities are specifically shaped by family processes (Chen, 2014; Mauldin, 2018). And Hole’s (2007) study emphasized that a Deaf identity is constructed through the stories that we tell. As I have stated earlier, my research focuses on the context in which deaf children are being raised, particularly the clinical context and how meanings seep into family and intimate life. I have used a sociological approach to examine the social processes and systems that structure d/​ Deaf experiences and thus shape d/​Deaf identities. This reflects a more sociological approach that began with Irving Goffman (1959, 1963), who taught us that identity emerges from and in dynamic conversation with our social context. Thus, while my research on pediatric implantation has not privileged the stories of those who have CIs, it has provided a great deal of contextual information for how we might approach the ways in which this context will shape the children’s identities in the future.

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As mentioned earlier, after the FDA’s lowering of the minimum age for implantation in 2000, we are now entering a time period 18 years later in which the first of these CI children are moving into adulthood. The emerging adulthood of these individuals provides a unique opportunity for research moving forward. It may be time, in addition to understanding the family context, to ask these young adults about their experiences and identity. Thus, I suggest a sociological research agenda that turns to this task and garners empirical data from which we might better understand the consequences of pediatric implantation practices. What might such an agenda look like? It begins with a shift toward centering the narratives on these deaf individuals who experienced pediatric cochlear implantation. One way to do this would be to gather retrospective accounts of their childhood experiences and to then have a discussion of their identity now as a result. As they emerge into adulthood, they can tell us what the CI means for their identity and indeed what identity categories they feel are available to them. One challenge to doing this research is finding these individuals. Some may be in college, though these would not tell us about those who do not attend college. A sample of d/​Deaf college students would also be different depending on which colleges they attend, as places like Gallaudet University and Rochester Institute of Technology/​National Technical Institute for the Deaf may skew to certain kinds of CI recipients, while other colleges may not. Clinics could be a place to start, but if individuals decided to no longer use their CI, they may be hidden from the clinical space. We may also need to include recruitment of participants through networks like the A.G. Bell Association for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing or other organizations central to CI communities, raising the question of what counts as part of Deaf Studies. Are these individuals who may not identify as Deaf to be included in research on d/​Deaf identities? These are just some of the possibilities and complications that are raised by including those who received a CI in the last two decades in our research on d/​Deaf identities. We also need research that broadly examines the question of whether and how CIs change the long history of narratives of finding one’s Deaf identity. History abounds with stories of deaf persons who found sign language and the Deaf community later in life. How does the expansion of pediatric cochlear implantation both repeat and alter the narratives that came before and in what ways? Furthermore, research should be intersectional. Critical theories in Black feminist thought give us analytical tools like intersectionality so that we may better account for the ways in which race, class, gender—​as well as disability status and sexuality—​intersect with d/​Deaf identities. We must turn our gaze toward the ways that systems oppress individuals through a variety of vectors at once. Such an intersectional approach is of paramount importance.

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Finally, the investigation of these identities should also bear in mind the identities of those doing the research. That is, any research on d/​ Deaf identities should be marked by reflexivity during the research process. One example of this is Jones and Pullen’s (1992) research that emphasized how social science research that gathers empirical data largely relies on auditory-​ centered methods of data collection and makes suggestions for how to move forward in data collection in a way that includes Deaf people. CONCLUSION

The most important take-​away for me from this reflection on my research is the challenge that rampant pediatric cochlear implantation is going to bring to the fore in Deaf Studies in the future: How do these individuals with CIs—​in their deaf bodies—​fit into the larger scheme of d/​ Deaf communities moving forward? As Friedner (2010) has suggested, deaf and Deaf identities are closely related, and we might learn more about Deaf identities if we incorporate curiosity about deaf identities, or perhaps even the transition between these two, albeit unstable, categories (Mauldin, 2018). The field of Deaf Studies has also centered collective claims of identity and cultural production (e.g., Bauman, 2008; Brueggemann, 1999; Friedner & Kusters, 2015; Ladd, 2003). And d/​Deaf identity development has primarily been grounded in the psychosocial literature concerned with internal, psychological features of identity for deaf persons. This body of research in particular has provided some clues as to the socialization and well-​being of individuals with CIs. Indeed, numerous psychosocial studies (e.g., Chapman & Dammeyer, 2016; Dammeyer, 2010; Lin & Niparko, 2006; Nahm et al., 2016, to name just a few) measure and evaluate “quality of life,” well-​being and identity in CI users. As Leigh (2009) overviews in her book, many of these studies “imply that implants are not necessarily creating a body of children stuck between the deaf and hearing worlds, lacking a clear identity. Rather they appear to be assuming more of a bicultural stance or comfort in shifting identities” (Leigh 2009, p. 158). As I have already mentioned, a sociological perspective would not necessarily focus on measuring identities and quality of life, but be grounded in social constructionism, which “emphasizes the social, relational and situated nature of meanings, and identity. . . . Thus, identities are meaning-​making activities where subjects construct identities in the narratives they tell to themselves and to others, in relationships by drawing on the discourses (linguistic and cultural representations) available in their cultural worlds” (Hole, 2007, p. 260). In other words, sociological perspectives would investigate these meaning-​ making processes and center the stories of people with CIs through qualitative methods rather than measure fixed identity categories. And as

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mentioned earlier, such approaches must include an intersectional approach (Collins & Bilge, 2016; Crenshaw, 1991) because only focusing on d/​Deaf and hearing binaries is insufficient for capturing the ways in which race, class, and gender all figure into identity and meaning making. This has thus far been largely ignored in the literature on d/​ Deaf identities, despite the fact that we know disabilities more broadly to be “co-​constituted with the system of racial stratification” (Frederick & Shifrer, 2018, p. 2). One cannot assume that disability or deafness is a “monolithic experience that is divorced from other forms of oppression” (Frederick & Shifrer, 2018, p. 4). We are moving forward into an era where most of those individuals with CIs will have received one as a young child and there is high variability in outcomes. These outcomes are stratified across race and class, and the world is ever changing in terms of technology and identity. As these children who received CIs grow into adulthood and we can investigate these new possibilities for identities, it is imperative that we let them tell us. REFERENCES Altman, B. M., & Barnartt, S. N. (2000). Introducing research in social science and disability: An invitation to social science to get it. In B. N. Altman & S. N. Barnhartt, Expanding the scope of social science research on disability (pp. 1–​30). Research in Social Science and Disability 1. Bingley, UK: Emerald. https://​ doi.org/​10.1016/​S1479-​3547(00)80003-​2. Barnes, C., Mercer, G., & Shakespeare, T. (1999). Exploring disability: A sociological introduction. Malden, MA: Polity Press. Bat-​Chava, Y. (2000). Diversity of Deaf identities. American Annals of the Deaf, 145(5), 420–​428. https://​doi.org/​10.1353/​aad.2012.0176. Bauman, H. D.  L. (2008). Open your eyes:  Deaf studies talking. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Belzner, K. A., & Seal, B. C. (2009). Children with cochlear implants: A review of demographics and communication outcomes. American Annals of the Deaf, 154(3), 311–​333. Ben-​Moshe, L., & Magaña, S. (2014). An introduction to race, gender, and disability:  Intersectionality, disability studies, and families of color. Women, Gender, and Families of Color, 2(2), 105–​114. Berne, P., Morales, A. L., Langstaff, D., & Invalid, S. (2018). Ten Principles of Disability Justice. WSQ: Women’s Studies Quarterly, 46(1), 227–​230. Bijker, W. E., Hughes, T. P., & Pinch, T. J. (1987). The social construction of technological systems:  New directions in the sociology and history of technology. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press. Blum, L. M. (2015). Raising generation rx: Mothering kids with invisible disabilities in an age of inequality. New York, NY: New York University Press. Boons, T., Brokx, J. P. L., Dhooge, I., Frijns, J. H. M., Peeraer, L., Vermeulen, A., Wouters, J., & Van Wieringen, A. (2012). Predictors of spoken language development following pediatric cochlear implantation. Ear and Hearing, 33(5), 629–​639. https://​doi.org/​10.1097/​AUD.0b013e3182503e47.

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Boss, E. F., Niparko, J. K., Gaskin, D. J., & Levinson. K. L. (2011a). Socioeconomic disparities for hearing-​impaired children in the United States. The Laryngoscope 121(4), 860–​866. https://​doi.org/​10.1002/​lary.21460. Bradham, T. S., Snell, G., & Haynes, D. (2009). Current practices in pediatric cochlear implantation. Perspectives on Hearing and Hearing Disorders in Childhood, 19(1), 32–​42. https://​doi.org/​10.1044/​hhdc19.1.32. Brueggemann, B. (1999). Lend Me Your Ear. 1 edition. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Burch, S., & Kafer, A. (2010). Deaf and disability studies:  Interdisciplinary perspectives. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Campbell, F. K. (2009). Contours of ableism: the production of disability and abledness. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Carey, A. C. (2009). On the margins of citizenship:  Intellectual disability and civil rights in twentieth-​century America. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. https://​muse.jhu.edu/​book/​9236. Carty, B. (1994). The development of Deaf identity. In C. Erting, R. C. Johnson, D. Smith, & B. Snider (Eds.), The deaf way (pp. 40–​43). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Chapman, M., & Dammeyer, J. (2016). The significance of Deaf identity for psychological well-​being. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, https://​doi. org/​10.1093/​deafed/​enw073. Chapman, M., & Dammeyer, J. (2017). The relationship between cochlear implants and Deaf identity. American Annals of the Deaf, 162(4), 319–​332. Chang, D. T., Ko, A. B., Murray, G. S., Arnold, J. E., & Megerian, C. A. (2010). Lack of financial barriers to pediatric cochlear implantation: Impact of socioeconomic status on access and outcomes. Archives of Otolaryngology—​Head & Neck Surgery, 136(7), 648–​657. https://​doi.org/​10.1001/​archoto.2010.90. Chen, G. (2014). Influential factors of Deaf identity development. Electronic Journal for Inclusive Education, 3(2). http://​corescholar.libraries.wright.edu/​ ejie/​vol3/​iss2/​5. Clarke, A. E., Mamo, L., Fosket, J. R., Fishman, J. R., & Shim, J. K. (2010). Biom edicalization:  Technoscience, health, and illness in the U.S. Durham, NC:  Duke University Press Books. Collins, P. H., & Bilge, S. (2016). Intersectionality. Cambridge, UK: Polity. Conrad, P. (1992). Medicalization and social control. Annual Review of Sociology, 18(1), 209–​232. Conrad, P. (2007). The medicalization of society:  On the transformation of human conditions into treatable disorders. Baltimore, MD:  Johns Hopkins University Press. Conrad, P., & Barker, K. K. (2010). The social construction of illness:  Key insights and policy implications. Journal of Health and Social Behavior, 51, 67–​ 79. https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​0022146510383495. Corwin, J. (2018). Opinion: The lonely world between the hearing and the Deaf. Washington Post. https://​www.washingtonpost.com/​opinions/​the-​lonely-​ world-​between-​the-​hearing-​and-​the-​deaf/​2018/​07/​20/​6628571c-​86d8-​11e8-​ 8f6c-​46cb43e3f306_​story.html. Crenshaw, K. (1991). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review, 43(6), 1241–​1299. https://​doi.org/​10.2307/​1229039.

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Dammeyer, J. (2010). Psychosocial Development in a Danish Population of Children With Cochlear Implants and Deaf and Hard-​of-​Hearing Children. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 15(1),  50–​58. Davidson, K., Lillo-​Martin, D., & Chen Pichler, D. (2014). Spoken English language development among native signing children with cochlear implants. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 19(2), 238–​250. https://​doi.org/​ 10.1093/​deafed/​ent045. Davis, L. J. (2013). The disability studies reader (4th ed.). New York, NY: Routledge. Dunhamn, J, Harris, J., Jarrett, S., Moore, L., Nishida, A., Price, M., Robinson, B., & Schalk, S. (2015). Developing and reflecting on a Black disability studies pedagogy:  Work from the National Black Disability coalition. Disability Studies Quarterly, 35(2). http://​dsq-​sds.org/​article/​view/​4637. Fink, N. E., Wang, N., Visaya, J., Niparko, J. K., Quittner, A., Eisenberg, L. S., Tobey, E. A., & CDACI Investigative Team. (2007). Childhood development after cochlear implantation (CDaCI) study:  Design and baseline characteristics. Cochlear Implants International, 8(2), 92–​116. https://​doi.org/​10.1179/​ cim.2007.8.2.92. Fischer, L. C., & McWhirter, J. (2001). The Deaf identity development scale: A revision and validation. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 48(3), 355–​358. http://​ dx.doi.org.ezproxy.lib.uconn.edu/​10.1037/​0022-​0167.48.3.355. Foucault, M. (1975/​ 2003). The birth of the clinic:  An archaeology of medical perception. New  York, NY:  Routledge (Originally published under the title Naissance de la Clinique by Presses Universitaires de France © Presses Universitaires de France 1963) Frederick, A. (2017). Risky mothers and the normalcy project:  Women with disabilities negotiate scientific motherhood. Gender & Society, 31(1), 74–​95. https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​0891243216683914. Frederick, A., & Shifrer, D. 2018. Race and disability:  From analogy to intersectionality. Sociology of Race and Ethnicity, July https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​ 2332649218783480. Friedner, M. (2010). Biopower, biosociality, and community formation:  How biopower is constitutive of the Deaf community. Sign Language Studies, 10(3), 336–​347. https://​doi.org/​10.1353/​sls.0.0049. Friedner, M., & Kusters, A. (2015). It’s a small world: International Deaf spaces and encounters. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Garland-​Thomson, R. (2005). Feminist disability studies. Signs, 30(2), 1557–​ 1587. https://​doi.org/​10.1086/​423352. Geers, A. E. (2006). Factors influencing spoken language outcomes in children following Early cochlear implantation. Advances in Oto-​Rhino-​Laryngology, 64, 50–​65. https://​doi.org/​10.1159/​000094644. Glickman, N. S., & Carey, J. C. (1993). Measuring Deaf cultural identities:  A preliminary investigation. Rehabilitation Psychology, 38(4), 275–​283. http://​ dx.doi.org.ezproxy.lib.uconn.edu/​10.1037/​h0080304. Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. New York, NY: Anchor. Goffman, E. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-​Hall. Green, S. (2017). Managing the emotions of reading Goffman: Erving Goffman and Spencer Cahill looking at disabilities. In S. Green & S. Barnartt, Sociology looking at disability:  What did we know and when did we know it (pp. 30–​39).

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Research in Social Science and Disability 9. Emerald Group. https://​doi.org/​ 10.1108/​S1479-​354720160000009007. Green, S. El. (2007). “We’re tired, Not sad”: Benefits and burdens of mothering a child with a disability. Social Science & Medicine, 64(1), 150–​163. https://​doi. org/​10.1016/​j.socscimed.2006.08.025. Hall, K. Q. (2011). Feminist disability studies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hall, M. L., Eigsti, I., Bortfeld, H., & Lillo-​Martin. D. (2016). Auditory deprivation does not impair executive function, but language deprivation might: Evidence from a parent-​report measure in Deaf native signing children. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​ deafed/​enw054. Henner, J., Caldwell-​Harris, C. L., Novogrodsky, R., & Hoffmeister, R. (2016). American sign language syntax and analogical reasoning skills are influenced by early acquisition and age of entry to signing schools for the deaf. Frontiers in Psychology, 7. https://​doi.org/​10.3389/​fpsyg.2016.01982. Hole, R. (2007). Narratives of identity: A poststructural analysis of three deaf women’s life stories. Narrative Inquiry, 17(2), 259–​278. https://​doi.org/​ 10.1075/​ni.17.2.06hol. Holt, R. F., Beer, J., Kronenberger, W. G, & Pisoni, D. B. (2013). Developmental effects of family environment on outcomes in pediatric cochlear implant recipients. American Otological Society, American Neurotology Society [and] European Academy of Otology and Neurotology, 34(3), 388–​395. https://​doi.org/​ 10.1097/​MAO.0b013e318277a0af. Hooks, B. (2000). Feminist theory:  From margin to center (2nd ed.). Cambridge, MA: South End Press. Hyde, M., & Power, D. (2006). Some ethical dimensions of cochlear implantation for deaf children and their families. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 11(1), 102–​111. https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​deafed/​enj009. Hyde, M., & Punch, R. (2011). The modes of communication used by children with cochlear implants and role of sign in their lives. American Annals of the Deaf, 155(5), 535–​549. Jones, L., & Pullen, G. (1992). Cultural differences: Deaf and hearing researchers working together. Disability, Handicap & Society, 7(2), 189–​196. https://​doi. org/​10.1080/​02674649266780211. Kafer, A. (2013). Feminist, queer, crip. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Kirkham, E., Sacks, C., Baroody, F., Siddique, J., Nevins, M. E., Woolley, A., & Suskind, D. (2009). Health disparities in pediatric cochlear implantation: An audiologic perspective. Ear and Hearing, 30(5), 515–​525. https://​doi.org/​ 10.1097/​AUD.0b013e3181aec5e0. Ladd, P. (2003). Understanding Deaf culture:  In search of Deafhood. Clevedon, UK: Cromwell Press. Leigh, I. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Leigh, I. W. (2011). Not just Deaf:  Multiple intersections. In R. Nettles & R. Balter (Eds.), Multiple minority identities:  Applications for practice, research, and training (pp. 59–​80). New York, NY: Springer. https://​books.google.ie/​ books?hl=en&lr=&id=DBBa4ggh_​FAC&oi=fnd&pg=PA59&dq=deaf+inter sectionality&ots=_​TIgsTviXr&sig=FzPDtIxw9L0bybElP3ziKMNqVPQ&re dir_​esc=y#v=onepage&q=deaf%20intersectionality&f=false.

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Leigh, I. W., Maxwell-​McCaw, D. Bat-​Chava, Y., & Christiansen, J. B. (2009). Correlates of psychosocial adjustment in deaf adolescents with and without cochlear implants:  A preliminary investigation. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 14(2), 244–​259. https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​deafed/​enn038. Leiter, V. (2004). Dilemmas in sharing care: Maternal provision of professionally driven therapy for children with disabilities. Social Science & Medicine, 58(4), 837–​849. Lin, F. R., & Niparko, J. K. (2006). Measuring health-​related quality of life after pediatric cochlear implantation: A systematic review. International Journal of Pediatric Otorhinolaryngology, 70(10), 1695–​1706. https://​doi.org/​10.1016/​ j.ijporl.2006.05.009. Linton, S. (1998). Claiming disability:  Knowledge and identity. New  York:  NY: New York University Press. Mauldin, L. (2016). Made to hear:  Cochlear implants and raising deaf children. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Mauldin, L. (2018). “Coming out” rhetoric in disability studies: Exploring the limits of analogy by looking at its fit with the Deaf experience. Disability Studies Quarterly, 38(2). http://​dsq-​sds.org/​article/​view/​5863. Maxwell-​ McCaw, D., & Zea, M. C. (2011). The deaf acculturation scale (DAS):  Development and validation of a 58-​item measure. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16(3), 325–​342. https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​deafed/​ enq061 Mitchell, R. E., & Karchmer, M. A. (2004). Chasing the mythical ten percent:  Parental hearing status of deaf and hard of hearing students in the United States. Sign Language Studies, 4(2), 138–​163. Mol, A. (2002). The body multiple: Ontology in medical practice. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Mol, A. (2008). The logic of care: Health and the problem of patient choice. New York, NY: Taylor & Francis. Murphy, C. (2009). Bergen County: A model program for listen and spoken language. Volta Voices, 16(5),  22–​25 Nahm, E. A., Liberatos, P., Shi, Q., Lai, E., & Kim, A. H. (2016). Quality of life after sequential bilateral cochlear implantation:  An updated comprehensive cochlear implant questionnaire. Otolaryngology—​Head and Neck Surgery. Retrieved from https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​0194599816674685. NIDCD. (2010). Quick statistics. Retrieved from http://​www.nidcd.nih.gov/​ health/​statistics/​Pages/​quick.aspx. Obasi, C. (2008). Seeing the Deaf in “deafness.” Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education. https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​deafed/​enn008. Oliver, M. (1990). The politics of disablement:  A sociological approach. London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Oliver, M. (2013). The social model of disability: Thirty years on. Disability & Society, 28(7), 1024–​1026. https://​doi.org/​10.1080/​09687599.2013.818773. Owens, T. J., Robinson, D. T., & Smith-​Lovin, L. (2010). Three faces of identity. Annual Review of Sociology, 36(1), 477–​499. https://​doi.org/​10.1146/​annurev. soc.34.040507.134725. Peterson, N. R., Pisoni, D. B., & Miyamoto, R. T. (2010). Cochlear implants and spoken language processing abilities:  Review and assessment of the literature. Restorative Neurology and Neuroscience, 28(2), 237–​250.

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Pisoni, D. B., Cleary, M., Geers, A. E., & Tobey. E. A. (1999). Individual differences in effectiveness of cochlear implants in children who are prelingually deaf: New process measures of performance. The Volta Review, 101(3), 111–​164. Scotch, R. (2002). Paradigms of American social research on disability: What’s new? Disability Studies Quarterly, 22(2). http://​dsq-​sds.org/​article/​view/​ 342. Shakespeare, T. (2006). Disability rights and wrongs. New York, NY: Routledge. Shakespeare, T., & Watson. N. (2001). The social model of disability: An outdated ideology? Research in Social Science and Disability, 2, 9–​28. https://​doi. org/​10.1016/​S1479-​3547(01)80018-​X. Sorkin, D. L. (2013). Cochlear implantation in the world’s largest medical device market:  Utilization and awareness of cochlear implants in the United States. Cochlear Implants International, 14(1), 4–​12. https://​doi.org/​10.1179/​ 1467010013Z.00000000076. Stern, R. E., Bevan Y., Lewis, C., Norton, S., & Sie, K. C.  Y. (2005). Recent Epidemiology of pediatric cochlear implantation in the United States: Disparity among children of different ethnicity and socioeconomic status. The Laryngoscope, 115(1), 125–​131. https://​doi.org/​10.1097/​01.mlg. 0000150698.61624.3c. Thomson, R. G. (1997). Extraordinary bodies:  Figuring physical disability in American culture and literature. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Valentine, G., & Skelton, T. (2007). Re-​defining “norms”: d/​Deaf young people’s transitions to independence. The Sociological Review, 55(1), 104–​123. https://​ doi.org/​10.1111/​j.1467-​954X.2007.00684.x. Welch, M. J. (2017). Back to the future:  Irving K.  Zola’s Contributions to the sociology of disability. In S. Green & S. Barnartt (Eds.), Sociology looking at disability:  What did we know and when did we know it (pp. 97–​141). Research in Social Science and Disability 9. Emerald Group. https://​doi.org/​10.1108/​ S1479-​354720160000009007. Zola, I. K. (1972). Medicine as an institution of social control. The Sociological Review, 20(4), 487–​504. Zola, I. K. (1982). Missing pieces: A chronicle of living with a disability. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

6    The Impact of Identity and Culturally Responsive School Leadership: Leaders of Schools and Programs for the Deaf Catherine A. O’Brien

INTRODUCTION Laedere (old English)—​(n.) one who leads; (v.) to teach, to guide.

The goal of our schools is to ensure opportunities for every child. In the current era of high-​stakes accountability, school success is measured by student achievement. An academically high-​performing school is viewed as a successful school. While we know that teacher quality is the single biggest factor influencing the achievement of students in our schools (33% of a school’s total impact on achievement), we also know that principals play a large part in the success of schools. Principals, while not directly instructing students, account for 25% of a school’s total impact on achievement primarily because they are key in shaping and promoting a vision and mission of academic success for the school (Leithwood, Lewis, Anderson, & Wahlstrom, 2004; Lewis, Leithwood, Wahlstrom, & Anderson, 2010; Marzano, Waters, & McNulty, 2005, 2011). According to a Wallace (2013) report, “the principal remains the central source of leadership influence” (p. 6) in the school. Considering the importance of these school leaders, it is imperative that high-​quality preparation programs be available to give aspiring leaders knowledge and help to develop the skills and behaviors required to positively influence and improve teaching and learning in their schools. Research has demonstrated that highly qualified school leaders possess a solid foundation of leadership for teaching and learning (Lewis, Leithwood, Wahlstrom, & Anderson, 2010; Marzano, Waters, & McNulty, 2005, 2011). The most recent Wallace-​supported report (Manna, 2015)  finds that in addition to being responsible for what goes on within the walls of the school, school leaders must also have mastered skills that support the diverse needs of a school community. Catherine A. O’Brien, The Impact of Identity and Culturally Responsive School Leadership In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0006

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Although research exists around the education of deaf and hard-​of-​ hearing1 students in schools and programs serving deaf students, there is little research centering on the role of leadership in these schools (O’Brien, 2011). More important, there is a lack of research regarding how school leaders respond to the diverse needs of deaf students in PreK–​12 school settings (O’Brien & Robinson, 2017). Further, research has not documented how school leadership impacts students’ academic achievement, social and emotional growth, identity development, families, the Deaf community, and the culture of schooling for deaf students. Research has shown that traditional (hearing, White, middle-​class) schools marginalize many students who come from minority cultures (Ladson-​Billings, 2001; Spring, 2008). English-​only schools do not consider the languages of minority students and therefore create unintentional barriers to accessing education (Delpit, 1995; Spring, 2008). Children from different language and social/​ cultural backgrounds often struggle to achieve academically in these schools. The traditional hearing bias of general education in the United States marginalizes deaf students who would benefit from visual ways of communicating and learning (Bauman, 2004; O’Brien & Placier, 2015). Further, Leigh (2009) mentions that schools are critical in influencing the development of students’ identities. This chapter will utilize a framework of the epistemology of deafness and culturally responsive school leadership (CRSL) theory. Through a lens of culturally responsive leadership, it will describe how the school leaders’ identities, values, practices, actions, policies, and everyday discourses influence a school’s climate, culture, and teacher efficacy to understand the academic achievement and identity development of students. It will also describe the impact of members of the Deaf community associated with schools for the deaf through a culturally responsive school leadership lens. EPISTEMOLOGY OF DEAFNESS School Leadership: Oppression and Audism

Current school leaders often reproduce and legitimize a traditional approach that includes the dominant societal hearing linguistic and cultural approach to teaching. The conventional assumption is that diverse populations benefit from traditional education (Boske, 2007). However, a question to ponder might be, Are all school leaders knowledgeable and ready to implement school cultural and linguistic changes to provide equitable learning opportunities for deaf students? If so, then this would mean that current school leaders would be knowledgeable of and able to confront all types of oppression in the school, including audism,

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for deaf students. The term “audism” was coined by Tom Humphries in 1975 in an unpublished paper in which he noted that the term is based on the Latin word audire, which means “to hear” (Bauman, 2008; Lane, 1999). Humphries (1975) offered the following definition: Audism: (Oˆdizm) n. The notion that one is superior based on one’s ability to hear or behave in the manner of one who hears. (Bauman, 2008, p. 13) According to Bauman (2004), Humphries then fleshed out this definition by describing the common manifestations of audism: [Audism] appears in the form of people who continually judge Deaf people’s [including deaf PreK–​12 students] intelligence and success on the basis of their ability in the language of the hearing culture. It appears when the assumption is made that the deaf person’s happiness depends on acquiring fluency in the language of the hearing culture. It appears when deaf people actively participate in the oppression of other deaf people by demanding of them the same set of standards, behaviors, and values that they demand of hearing people. (p. 240) Audism is brought to light in this chapter to not only inform but also to inquire whether school leaders today are prepared to be culturally responsive by recognizing and supporting deaf children and their linguistic, cultural, academic, and community needs. Culturally responsive leaders would recognize the oppression and barriers to accessing academic learning that are often perpetuated in the absence of adequate knowledge of Deaf culture, language, and the academic needs of deaf students (e.g., testing access, language learning, etc.). Identity Conflict

Within the Deaf community and outside in the hearing world there is a conflict in how Deaf people are identified in society (Leigh, 2009). While reading this chapter, you will notice that sometimes the word “deaf” is written with a lowercase “d” and sometimes with an uppercase “D” (Ladd, 2003; Padden & Humphries, 1988; Senghas & Monaghan, 2002). The “d” refers to the disability model (sometimes referred to as “the medical model”), the physical condition, the “disability” or “pathology” of deafness. The little “d” is indicative of audism, implying that something is broken and the ability to hear is impaired (Lane, 1999; Munoz-​Baell & Ruiz, 2000). Because of the medical model perspective, many educators, medical professionals, and parents are embracing a “cure” for deafness through cochlear implantation (Bagga-​ Gupta, 2007; Mauldin, this volume; Paludneviciene & Leigh, 2011). Unfortunately, many education and disability policies, including the Americans with Disabilities Act, refer to

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deaf people as “hearing impaired,” a description that perpetuates the disability model. In contrast, “D” denotes the cultural model, including deaf people who consider themselves members of Deaf culture or the Deaf community. Culturally Deaf people emphasize their linguistic and cultural heritage and strengths (Baynton, Gannon, & Bergey, 2007; Ladd, 2009; Lane, 1999; Padden & Humphries, 1988). People who identify as part of the Deaf community wish to preserve their history, language, values, and beliefs as elements of a shared identity (Baynton, Gannon, & Bergey, 2007; Lane, 1999; Lane, Hoffmeister, & Bahan, 1996). These views are in conflict with the deficit/​medical model perspective. Today, many educational leaders who continue to define Deaf people within the deficit/​medical models perpetuate the oppression and low expectations of Deaf students. They often knowingly or unknowingly hinder the ability of Deaf students to learn (Cerney, 2007; Ladd, 2009; Lane, 1999; O’Brien, 2011; Ramsey, 1997)  and to develop healthy identities (O’Brien, 2011). School leaders who lack knowledge of special education, deaf education, deaf cultural identity, and how to provide academic access to deaf students are unprepared to lead education programs for deaf students. Many are not able to communicate effectively with deaf students and are unfamiliar with the rich heritage of the Deaf community. To understand the perspectives of the staff interviewed (described later), one must look at them and their identities as hearing or deaf persons. One must also look at their language and social/​cultural backgrounds to understand how they identify and interact with deaf people. For example, a hearing person who is fluent in American Sign Language (ASL), is involved with the Deaf community, and is aware of and practices Deaf cultural norms will have a different perspective compared to a hearing person who is not fluent in the language, does not socialize with the Deaf community, or is not aware of or does not practice the cultural norms set within the Deaf community. The Deaf community can be defined as those who are Deaf within the learning community/​school or could also include the learning community/​ school and members of the larger Deaf community outside of the school as well. The school culture and school leaders’ identities assist in understanding how school leaders lead and impact learning for deaf students. Deafness as a Culture or Disability: The Impact of Perspective Differences

How others (nonmembers) perceive a group or culture can have a significant impact on the cohesiveness of the organizational culture (Schein, 2004), such as a school. A sense of superiority and dominance of one group over another will negatively impact how members of both

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cultures (e.g., deaf and hearing) are able to work, learn, and teach in the school environment. On the other hand, the school organization can become a powerful place for the education of Deaf children if both groups are accepting, view the other as equals, appreciate and connect ideas, and are respectful of each other’s cultural norms, beliefs, and values. How the two groups respond and interact with each other also affects the level of trust between the cultures within the school organization (Schein, 2004). The following sections describe how members of schools for the deaf perceived deafness as a culture and a disability. All of the data represent formal and informal interviews for which staff volunteered. The staff includes teachers, teacher leaders, directors, assistant principals, principals, assistant superintendents, and superintendents. The data in this chapter were collected while studying six schools and programs for the Deaf. Neither school names nor the names of the interviewees are used. For a single interviewee a single gender pronoun is used, but it may or may not reflect the actual gender of the respondent. Deaf as a Culture: A Deaf Perspective

Deaf staff and school leaders from schools for the Deaf overwhelmingly stated that “Deaf” is a culture. Deaf culture gives them a sense of identity; it is who they are; it is how they live and express themselves. As with any other culture, language is the glue and medium by which new members are acculturated. Their culture helps them define how they want to be represented in society. When asked if they see themselves as a cultural minority or disabled, the Deaf staff members immediately stated that they are members of Deaf culture, which happens to be a linguistic minority. One staff member insisted that she is more than an “ear”; that is, she is a whole person who uses a visual language with which to communicate with her peers, students, family, and friends. Deaf culture identifies who she is and how she understands the world. She further explained that there are two worlds, the Deaf world and the hearing world. They differ from each other in various ways, including communication, behavior, and socialization. She stated that the hearing staff (of her school) and hearing world tend to look down on the Deaf world and attempt to change and oppress Deaf people. Another Deaf staff member explained the perspective of Deaf as an identity: I consider myself Deaf, I  identify as Deaf. I’m comfortable with hearing people and I can read lips. I’m also comfortable with Deaf people. . . . Some people go in and out of the culture; some are more immersed, some just walk on the edges. Another member explained that Deaf culture provides a sense of belonging, something that they want to pass down to young Deaf children.

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Deafness as a Disability: A Deaf Perspective

When Deaf staff members were asked what they thought about the disability perspective of deafness, their answer was an emphatic “No way!” They explained that Deaf people are not disabled; they can do anything they want except hear. One staff member who grew up in a grassroots Deaf family (the term grassroots indicates a person of Deaf cultural heritage and reflects generations of deafness within their family) stated, “Anything that a hearing person can do I can do. I am the same. Physically and mentally we are the same. I can do things visually better than a hearing person.” A school leader stated, “Even the phone no longer hinders Deaf people in their ability to communicate. They now have access to hearing and Deaf people anytime and anywhere. Disability is negative. It has a negative connotation to me.” Deaf staff agreed that disability does not define who they are and that their inability to hear does not hinder them. They felt they were successful in their jobs, community, and family lives. Most stated that it was important to them to be involved in the Deaf world and to advocate and be involved with Deaf organizations. Staff also pointed out that it was critical to teach their students the same perspective. Deaf as a Culture: A Hearing Perspective

Hearing teachers expressed different and conflicting views of Deaf as a culture. For some, their cultural perspective was based upon the Deaf person’s ability to sign fluently in ASL, speak, write, and read in English. Others felt that culture and disability could not be separated, and they felt that people who are Deaf are members of a culture and are disabled; still others felt that to be deaf was a disability. Following are some of the opinions they expressed. A school leader stated: My perspective is a little different. Yes, all the kids here have an IEP [individualized education program]. And under the conditions of Special Education, deafness is labeled as a disability. But my perception is that deafness itself is not a disability. It is more like being from a foreign country. Like foreigners that come from a different country, English is not their first language. That is how I view deafness. Deaf people use English as their second language. Another school leader expressed this perspective: Personally, I view Deaf people as a cultural minority. I understand that many people in the world view deafness as a disability, but I grew up interacting with Deaf people and never viewed it as a disability. Deaf people are able to do anything, especially with the technological advances, like the videophone. Certainly in today’s world there are virtually no limitations to a Deaf person’s ability, so I do

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not view deafness as a disability . . . I try to educate people about Deaf culture. One administrator explained that deafness is both a disability and a cultural social outlet. She explained the determination of whether deafness was a disability or a culture would depend on whether individuals had a Deaf family (or a hearing family), where they grew up, and whether they have an education about deaf people. Were they fully immersed into the language? Do they use ASL? Can they read and write in English? Can they make the accommodations to their situation? She saw these as aspects of culture. The same administrator believed that the Deaf community was disappearing. She saw Deaf culture as a social group unrelated to language. Many of the hearing interviewees saw being deaf as both a disability and a culture, depending on the deaf individuals’ abilities to express themselves in English (reading and writing) and to conform to hearing behavioral norms. One former administrator stated that he was a cultural minority since he possessed a command of English and ASL. Since he can write in English and sign in ASL, he felt that he was not disabled; he stated that he was culturally Deaf, but still a minority. On the other hand, he noted that Deaf individuals who are not fluent in ASL and English are labeled disabled. With the disability and culture perspectives in mind, the remainder of this section will focus on deafness as a culture and school leadership as culturally responsive. CULTURALLY RESPONSIVE SCHOOL LEADERSHIP

As American schools become more diverse, it is imperative that school leaders and teachers become culturally proficient, valuing the culture, language, and ways of being of their students. Lindsey, Robins and Terrell (2009) provide an overview of changes in views about diversity over the last six or seven decades. American culture has moved from segregation to multiculturalism to diversity and cultural proficiency. Culture is inclusive and broadly includes all shared human characteristics (age, gender, language, deafness, ethnicity, physical abilities, etc.). Though there is no accepted definition of culture, language serves as glue that binds members of a culture together; it is a source of sustenance or enculturation for young or acculturation of new members. Language may function as a lubricant, helping to break down barriers or remove friction within the community (Schein, 2004). One primary way to identify a culture is how the members of the culture communicate (Harris, 1968; Manganaro, 2002; Schein, 2004; Spring, 2000). Language unifies and holds the unique cultural community together (Carmel & Monaghan, 1991; Harris, 1968; Spring, 2000, 2008) and is usually learned implicitly as elements of the culture are carried on and transmitted

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(Rutherford, 1988). Thus, every culture must have a common language (Carmel & Monaghan, 1991; Harris, 1968; Manganaro, 2002; Spring, 2000, 2008). Recognizing the importance of differences in language and working toward ways to enrich understanding of the diversity within schools are the first steps toward helping students and the school community become more aware of the diverse global community in which they live (Gay, 2010). Culturally responsive schools “require the development of individual and collective discourse and practice focused on exploring how cultural perspectives, experiences, and histories shape and divide members of the system” (Kozleski, Sobel, & Taylor, 2003, p. 73). Culturally responsive school leaders must seek to transform their schools by grasping an understanding of the school culture, diversity, language(s), and the community(ies) that are represented within their schools. In short, culturally responsive school leaders are instructional leaders who seek to support and mentor their teachers and encourage pedagogical practices that meet the overall academic, social, and emotional needs of students (Gay, 2000; Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016; Ladson-​Billings, 1995; Valle, Almager, Molina, & Claudet, 2015). Culturally responsive school leaders are critically reflective of their practices. Leaders who utilize self-​reflection in their everyday practices understand how their practices impact students (Shields, 2010). Self-​ reflection is one of the ways culturally responsive school leaders are able to identify when their practices are oppressive, biased, and hinder students, including students with disabilities (Shields, 2010). Further, they are aware and reflective of their values, beliefs, and/​or biases when serving all students (e.g., students with disabilities, students of color, language diversity, sexual orientation). According to Shields (2010), self-​reflective leaders seek answers to questions regarding their leadership such as:  Which students are successful? Who is included? Who is excluded? Or who is not represented in the school community? “Critical reflection” is important in the preparation of and ongoing professional development for professional learning communities (Howard, 2003; Shields, 2010). Reflection helps teachers think critically and deeply about their behavior and what is happening in their classrooms. Critical reflection allows teachers to consider ways to make their teaching more inclusive of the various cultures represented. Some questions for reflection suggested by Howard include the following: (1) How frequently and what types of interactions did I have with individuals from racial backgrounds different from my own growing up? (2) Who were the primary persons that helped to shape my perspectives of individuals from different racial groups? How were their opinions formed? (3) Have I ever harbored prejudiced thoughts toward people from different racial backgrounds? (4)  If I  do harbor prejudiced thoughts, what effects do such thoughts have on students

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who come from these backgrounds? (5) Do I create negative profiles of individuals who come from different racial backgrounds?” Although Howard’s questions all apply to students from different racial backgrounds, school leaders and teachers may find them useful as they relate to students with any kind of background different from their own (e.g., living in poverty, rural, urban, or deaf). Hearing teachers working with Deaf students must reflect on their beliefs and interactions with those students. An honest appraisal of their attitudes, including learning more about the cultural backgrounds of the students, would likely improve the teaching and learning in these classrooms and the overall climate and culture of the school. Culturally Proficient Behaviors

Lindsey, Robins, and Terrell (2009) provide a list of culturally proficient behaviors toward which they believe school leaders and teachers should strive. These qualities are important in the classroom or any setting where members of the school community interact. The characteristic behaviors are (1)  assessing one’s own culture and that of the students; (2)  valuing the diversity observed; (3)  managing the differences; (4) adapting to the diversity by continuously learning about the different cultures; and (5) working to influence the culture of the entire school toward cultural proficiency. The characteristics of strong collaborative culture ought to also identify goals for culturally proficient leaders: enhancing mutual trust, possessing empathy, giving access to support and assistance, being willing to take risks, and sharing proactive knowledge. Brooks and Normore (2010) describe nine cultural literacies that must be developed in the education of school leaders so that they are aware of and use “glocal” literacy in “their pedagogy and practice” (p. 52). These literacies “are (a) political literacy, (b) economic literacy, (c)  cultural literacy, (d)  moral literacy, (e)  pedagogical literacy, (f)  information literacy, (g)  organizational literacy, (h)  spiritual and religious literacy, and (i) temporal literacy” (pp. 53–​54). Glocally educated leaders understand that people in the 21st century live in multiple cultures, nested one within another and interacting in numerous ways, simultaneously, and they must practice the kind of culturally responsive pedagogy (CRP) advocated by Ladson-​Billings, Gay, and others. Ladson-​Billings (1994, 1995)  and Gay (2000, 2010)  were instrumental in setting the stage for in-​depth research into cultural responsiveness and greater understanding of the needs of diverse students in schools and how school leaders and teachers impact how those needs are met. More important, culturally responsive schools will seek strategies to promote academic achievement by assisting their culturally diverse students to learn; valuing students’ culture, language, an identity; and promoting self-​growth (Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016; O’Brien, 2011).

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Essentially, school leaders need to embrace and celebrate the diversity of the students whom they serve, “including their languages and literacies, spiritual universes, cultures, racial proclivities, behaviors, knowledges, critical thought, and appearances” (Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016, p. 7). In considering CRSL, Cazden and Leggett (1976) suggested that “all school systems should bring the invisible culture of the community into the school through parent participation, hiring and promotion of minority group personnel, and in-​service training for the school staff. That in-​service training should include both experiential and formal education components” (p. 34). School leaders should encourage parent participation by seeking their perspectives and valuing their presence and inputs. Culturally responsive school leaders should also look for ways to encourage changes in school policy and funding to support and respond in positive ways to students (Gay, 2010). Although there is limited current research on the impact that school leaders have in growing culturally responsive teachers, Khalifa, Gooden, and Davis (2016) and Wallace (2013) have demonstrated through their research that the role of the school leader is critical. Much of the culturally responsive school leaders research focuses on students of color (Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016); however, the concept has been applied to school leaders in schools and programs serving deaf students (O’Brien, 2011; O’Brien & Robinson, 2017). Current and aspiring school leaders in schools and programs serving deaf students must have a depth of knowledge and competencies to lead instruction, encourage professional learning communities, and ensure educational access for all students (O’Brien, 2011; O’Brien & Robinson, 2017). Culturally Responsive Pedagogy

Within culturally responsive school leadership, culturally responsive pedagogies alone cannot solve “the major challenges” that confront minority students, including deaf students, in the United States (Gay, 2010; Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016; O’Brien, 2011; O’Brien & Robinson, 2017). Gay (2000, 2010) states that culturally responsive teachers use cultural knowledge and their experiences within the context of their practice and an awareness of the performance styles of their students. Culturally responsive teachers teach to and through the strengths of their students. They are concerned with academic achievement as well as maintaining the cultural identity and heritage of their students. Culturally responsive pedagogy attempts to recognize that students, regardless of their background (e.g., race, ethnicity, disability, language, etc.), bring their culturally influenced ways of being, identity, cognition, behavior, and dispositions with them to school.

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For teachers to become culturally responsive to the needs of their students, school leaders need to support them by not only becoming culturally responsive school leaders but also by providing pathways for teachers to learn better ways to teach, reaching all students in ways that allow students to feel and know they are valued and can achieve (Gay, 2000, 2010). Culturally responsive school leaders must provide professional learning communities to assist teachers in learning to become more culturally responsive so that they in turn are able to assist their students to learn and grow (Gay, 2010; Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016). Culturally Responsive Schools

Culturally responsive schools have leaders, teachers, and even students who are culturally proficient in understanding the diversity of the school and the diverse needs of students. Lindsey, Robins, and Terrell (2009) describe cultural proficiency as a proactive way of influencing school culture that is behavioral and based upon values. The influence of culturally responsive school leaders should affect organizational practices and individual behaviors, as other workers have suggested. In other words, “cultural proficiency is a model for shifting the culture of the school or district; it is a model for individual transformation and organizational change” (p. 4). They provide four tools to help leaders develop cultural competence. These tools are barriers, guiding principles, continuum, and essential elements. In this chapter we will focus on the first two: barriers and guiding principles. The barriers include at least three attitudes that would-​be culturally proficient school leaders and teachers must be aware of (by implication, in themselves or in their school): (1) their belief that all personal achievements are accrued solely due to the merit and the quality of one’s character; (2) societal oppression and privilege that affect others different from oneself; and (3) a lack of awareness of the need to adapt. The guiding principles of cultural proficiency equip school leaders with a moral framework for doing their work. Lindsey, Robins, and Terrell explain that there is a series of practices that help school leader(s) gain cultural proficiency. These practices include assessing culture, valuing diversity, managing the dynamics of difference, adapting to diversity, and institutionalizing cultural knowledge. Further, Lindsey, Robins, and Terrell state that culturally responsive school leaders move from cultural deficiency to cultural proficiency, primarily in racially diverse schools, developing a school culture that values diversity. CULTURALLY RESPONSIVE LEADERSHIP AND CULTURALLY RESPONSIVE PEDAGOGY FOR DEAF STUDENTS

Next we will seek to demonstrate what CRSL, culturally responsive pedagogy, and culturally responsive schooling mean for schools and

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programs serving deaf students. This section will apply the principles of culturally responsive school leadership to data collected in studies of six schools for the deaf. Schools for the deaf are spaces in which we can learn about the ways school leadership influences, and is influenced by, Deaf culture without the dominant and potentially oppressive dynamics that the hearing culture imposes on Deaf students and educators in many mainstream public schools. While their mission is to support students who share certain cultural characteristics (e.g., Deaf culture and ASL), it is evident that like many other school cultures (Theoharis, 2009), schools for the deaf develop their own dynamics related to equity and social justice that privilege certain students while oppressing and marginalizing others. School leadership, exercised by formal and informal leaders throughout the organization and community, critically determines whether or not inequitable educational practices are perpetuated or challenged in schools (Scheurich & Skrla, 2003) serving deaf students (O’Brien, 2011; O’Brien & Robinson, 2017). LEADER IDENTITY: PERCEPTIONS OF DEAF

School leaders (assistant principals, principals, directors, assistant superintendents, and superintendents) were interviewed to assess their knowledge of and understanding of the impact of being culturally responsive leaders within their learning communities. These data are aggregated (schools, states, and regions are not revealed in the data presented) and the identities are concealed. All respondents volunteered to be interviewed and the same questions related to school leadership, CRSL, and CRP were asked of each. Observations of everyday school operations and interactions are also included in the data. School leader respondents who reported that they possessed a Deaf identity were often Deaf. They explained their perception of Deaf identity as being immersed in the Deaf community, communicating through ASL, deaf as a way of being, deaf is who they are, and how they identify themselves to their friends, family, and school community. Some elaborated that being Deaf was positive and they do their best to portray Deaf pride to their students, staff, teachers, school community, and the Deaf community. Most stated they would not change anything about their identity and were happy with who they are. One school leader stated, “I grew up in this school! The school means a lot to me, that is the reason why I came back here.” Another school leader stated, When I first attended school [school for the deaf] I didn’t know who I was. I had no identity because I had no means of communication. I  knew nothing and felt lost. It probably took me 3  months before I started learning sign language and began feeling like a part of the community. To be honest, it was a struggle. It would have been easier

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if I had started when I was 5 or 6, but I didn’t start until I was 8 and it was rough . . . a positive Deaf identity is critical for all of us. Of all the school leaders interviewed, there was one school leader who possessed both hearing and child of Deaf adults (CODA) identities. The respondent felt that due to the experiences growing up, he or she developed a Deaf identity and feels very much a part of the Deaf community. He or she stated that ASL was the first language and continues to be the everyday primary language over spoken English. The respondent also discussed the success of his or her parents and how they shaped his or her life in becoming a member of the Deaf community and a school leader. Further, the respondent stated that the Deaf community also contributed to his or her identity development and that he or she is an accepted member of the community. In contrast, school leaders who stated that they possessed a hearing identity were observed struggling with expressive and receptive ASL skills when communicating with Deaf students, teachers, and staff. However, many stated that for the most part they were able to communicate conversationally. When asked about a Deaf identity, all except one responded that they clearly were hearing and did not have any Deaf members in their family. One school leader stated that he had a sibling who was deaf who had attended a school for the deaf. Most of these hearing leaders did not regularly invest time in the Deaf community. As one school leader stated, “The Deaf community, as you call it, is very small. They tend to get together in town at the Deaf club. While many of them graduated from the school, we like to keep the school separate from the community.” School Leaders’ Perceptions: Disability and Linguistic Cultural Minority

The dichotomy in the disability versus cultural perception was based largely on whether the school leaders who were hearing believed Deaf students were fluent in English; sometimes it was tied to the fact that all of the students had IEPs and, therefore, by state and federal definitions, the students were disabled. At other times, it depended on leaders’ perceptions of Deaf culture, how one defined culture, and how the students were taught ASL. Some respondents relied on their perception of language and cultural immersion to explain student identities of disability or culture. One school leader applied language proficiency to determine disability or culture. If one could write in English and sign in ASL, he did not believe a person was disabled if he or she had a command of English writing skills and was fluent in ASL. He stated, “There is the culture, but people who are culturally Deaf and have equal skills to hearing people are not disabled.”

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School leaders’ expectations and perceptions of their students impacted academic outcomes. Most of the school leaders interviewed affirmed that their students were capable of achieving academically. Many school leaders expressed a desire to enroll the students at an earlier age. Most school leaders felt that their schools could capitalize on student learning if students learned a visual mode of communication. School enrollment data for all schools showed that K–​8 enrollment numbers were below or similar to the enrollment numbers for 9–​12. Due to the late enrollment and lack of language access at an early age, the argument of disability versus culture emerged. As a Deaf school leader stated, “If we could only get them here sooner, then they would be set.” A  hearing school leader stated, “Learning language [ASL] in kindergarten is much better than waiting until middle school or high school.” Most school leaders echoed the perception that early language learning was critical for all students when discussing the disability perspective. The identities of the school leaders did not always impact their perceptions of whether they believed that deafness was a disability or a culture. Many discussed how education policy shaped their perspectives. Most of the respondents discussed both the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) and the Americans with Disabilities Act, noting that while these two policies created access and services (funding) for deaf students, they also perpetuated a disability approach to deafness. Both school leaders whose identities were related to Deaf culture and deaf pride and those who felt their identities were that of the hearing culture stated that because of their positions of leadership within the schools, along with mandated state and federal school policy requirements such as IEPs, deafness must be seen as a disability. However, most of the school leaders who possessed a Deaf identity pointed out that the cultural perspective outweighed the disability perspective. As one school leader stated, “We really cherish our culture; we want to pass that along to our students, that is important, we must teach and model Deaf culture.” Of all the school leaders interviewed, only one school leader felt that deafness was a disability and not a culture. The hearing school leader stated, “I cannot hear; therefore, I am disabled. Like it or not, deafness is a disability, period.” On the other hand, many of the respondents who possessed a hearing identity seemed to be uncomfortable responding to the disability versus culture questions. They teetered back and forth, having a conversation with themselves in terms of stating their rationale for their perceptions. Only two respondents felt deafness was a disability. One school leader stated that deaf students have a peer culture but struggled with the perception of culture: If there was a culture, it is disappearing due to the changing population in schools for the deaf:

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I guess there is a peer culture that is developed. I guess you can say that is Deaf culture. Not that all Deaf people have that. It is developed from the residential school, the residential school life, but there are different groups and each of them is small. Some are here all day and all night and they have their own peer culture here . . . But I am not going to say that because that is probably Deaf culture in the past, yes it probably was . . . It’s really varied, it’s limited to just their social aspect . . . They have socialization groups because they have similar experiences here at school, if you want to label that as culture, that is fine. The other school leader cited students’ abilities and compared them to those of the hearing population and whether the students receive disability benefits by stating, “I would ask if they are equal to the hearing students. And personally, I think that culturally ‘Deaf people,’ who accept SSI, accept the government’s label of disabled. You accept the label that comes with it . . . ” CULTURALLY RESPONSIVE LEADERSHIP: COMMUNICATION AMONG TEACHERS AND STAFF

Communication is critical for understanding the giving and receiving of information. In the school for the deaf, language and communication and how to learn ASL was an area of conflict. Language learning is both explicit and implicit. In schools located in the United States, there are many ways that explicit learning occurs in the classroom. Most commonly, explicit learning is acquired through textbooks, teachers, homework, and so on. Implicit language learning is acquired through socialization among peers, adults, and family members. Explicit Language Learning

Explicit and implicit ASL language learning appears to be present in all schools among school leaders, teachers, staff, and students. Explicit language learning relies upon a formal classroom instructional approach. The student/​adult learner is taught the rules, grammar, visual production, or verbal pronunciation. Sometimes nonnative speakers are the teachers in the language-​learning classroom. Nonnative speakers often miss teaching the slang or idioms that are necessary for conversing and socializing with native speakers within the school. Often, students/​ adult learners miss the native or natural communicative experience. Nonnative speakers tend to be more rigid and literal. Better explicit learning occurs when the instructor is a native speaker. Explicit language learning is beneficial because it instills a concrete language learning experience. Students/​adult learners are taught the rules and grammatical structure such as verb placement, syntax,

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or morphology that are important to learning the language. Native speakers tend to be able to clearly explain the structure of the language, allowing the students/​adult learners to become proficient more quickly. Many of the hearing school leaders, teachers, and staff experienced explicit language learning before being employed. Most of the hearing teachers who possess deaf education certification explained that their sign language lessons were taught by hearing university professors. The teachers’ formal training in deaf education or special education may have required only one or two signing classes for certification; some required no signing classes. Since it is nearly impossible to learn a second language in one or two semester-​long courses, they found that they learned much more when they interacted and socialized with Deaf people during student teaching or as a teacher in a residential school for the deaf. As one school leader stated, “I felt confident that I could conversationally sign and could understand Deaf people who signed to me; that was until I began working here and interacting with Deaf staff and students. Understanding students was a challenge for me, but I  learned from them. I  learned I  needed more ASL.” Another school leader stated, “I believe that even though I took ASL classes and had been exposed to the language for years as a teacher, I still have difficulty with understanding students. I am still learning.” Implicit Language Learning

In implicit language learning, the new language is acquired by trial and error, unconsciously learned in a natural environment. The student/​adult learner learns the language informally through immersion in the culture. The ASL instructors may not have the official title of “teacher” but are simply cultural members who are fluent in the language. Implicit second language learning at times allows the student/​ adult learner the opportunity to make mistakes and receive immediate correction while interacting/​socializing. Implicit learning requires intensive student–​teacher interaction and is enhanced through socialization. An added value is that the students learn about the culture as well. Therefore, the students not only learn the language but also are absorbed into the culture—​the linguistic cultural approach. All members of each school appeared to learn ASL in different ways. Some were hired without any ASL knowledge or skills and without any knowledge of Deaf culture or Deaf people. On the other end of the spectrum, some school leaders refused to hire anyone to work directly with students who was not fluent in ASL and did not possess knowledge of the Deaf community. Language Policy and Conflict

Some schools appeared to have communication conflict every day while other schools seemed to have significantly fewer issues with language

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conflicts. The school leader’s identity appeared to impact language policy and language policy enforcement. As one school leader stated, “If we consider ourselves a bilingual campus, that means the hearing staff have to become proficient in ASL. The other expectation is that the Deaf staff become proficient in English . . . that is fair.” Another school leader stated that there is conflict between those who speak in English at times and do not sign. “I will say to them [hearing person(s)] . . . Hey please sign. It becomes sticky. Generally what happens is, I begin to interpret for that person. I will accept the role of an interpreter because it’s rude . . . When the hearing person catches me interpreting, then he or she begins to sign. Every so often that happens. Typically, what I do is, after the Deaf person has left I will take that person into my office and explain to them what it means to work on a Deaf campus. It means communication access is there no matter where you are. Wherever you are, you sign.” Communication appeared to be the cause of the biggest conflicts within the schools when communication policies were not observed. One school leader noted that there are signs all over stating everyone must sign. The school leader pointed to several signs within close proximity and stated, “It is a simple request! I still have teachers who do not sign at all times. It is frustrating.” Another school leader stated that there are conflicts when ASL skills are not strong. For example, one school leader stated, “Just the other day I had two teachers really going at it. I stepped in and as they each explained their version of the conflict, it was clear the hearing teacher misunderstood the deaf teacher’s signs. It happens. When you have two languages and two people from different backgrounds, there are bound to be language issues. I wish all teachers were fluent in ASL; the hearing teachers struggle and that can sometimes cause conflict.” School leaders who experienced communication conflicts between teachers and/​or staff stated that the language abilities often caused conflicts within the school. Of these leaders some felt that individual values, language norms, and behaviors also caused conflicts. For example, one school leader stated, There is a difference between English and ASL [communication norms and behaviors] and I can see how not having a grasp of these languages can cause some misunderstandings. If the teachers are not fluent in the language and do not have an understanding of the nuances of the language, they can misunderstand what is being said. Deaf individuals do like to be able to sign at a normal speed without being interrupted. I have noticed frustration on the part of Deaf teachers. I feel that it is important for a hearing person to hang around Deaf individuals so they can become fluent in sign language. I  notice that some teachers plateau and are comfortable with their current skill levels when they have more to learn about the language.

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To further complicate the situation, each school had a communication policy in place. The policies generally state that a teacher should meet ASL language proficiency requirements within 3 years of being hired. However, the school leaders who identified as hearing were more “flexible” with their policy and language evaluations and gave the hearing teachers extensions if they were showing “progress,” which was not clearly defined in the language policy, was subjective, and was not consistent. For example, one school leader stated, “They have 3  years to reach the intermediate level. We provide training for them. We have small group training and one-​on-​one training with the staff. And of the four people who as of this year have not met the required level, I had to decide whether or not to have an extension for them. So I met with each of their supervisors and asked what their feelings were toward that individual, and how they worked with the children and their co-​ workers.” Many of the hearing school administrators stated that they gave hearing teachers extensions for learning ASL if (1) they could document that they were attending ASL classes, (2) they appeared to have positive relationships with peers, and/​or (3) if the students appeared to be learning and were not educationally hindered because of the language barrier. The aforementioned criteria for ASL proficiency appear to be subjective and in some cases teachers lacking ASL fluency appeared to be adequate for the Deaf children from the audistic hearing community perspective. Language norms, linked inevitably to cultural norms, continued to be the most debated and conflictive aspect of the schools. Many conflicts occurred because the Deaf staff believed that the hearing should acculturate to Deaf culture and accept them as whole people, practice Deaf cultural norms and behaviors, and accept their values. In contrast to the Deaf perceptions, several hearing administrators stated that they believed English should be the primary language of the school because graduates will enter the larger hearing society; therefore, all Deaf students should learn English so they could later assimilate or converge into this hearing world. This view was also prevalent among those who believed that deafness was primarily a disability. Culturally Responsive School Leaders and Language

All school leaders who espoused that they possessed a Deaf identity were adamant that their school leaders, teachers, and staff with direct responsibilities to students must be fluent in ASL. Further, these school leaders stated that they would only interview school leaders, teachers, or a staff member (who worked directly with students) who were fluent in ASL. Further, they would question prospective employees about their knowledge of and experiences with the Deaf community. It was their expectation that all teachers would be able to communicate the curriculum fluently in ASL. These school leaders required all prospective

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teachers to teach a lesson as a part of the interview process. They felt that the students needed leaders, teachers, and staff who could communicate with them at all times. It is especially important to note that these school leaders stated that they had significantly less communication conflict and teachers demonstrated more teamwork and collaborative efforts. CULTURALLY RESPONSIVE PEDAGOGY

CRP empowers students intellectually, socially, emotionally, and politically by using cultural referents to impart knowledge, skills, and attitudes that can and will increase academic achievement and a positive deaf identity. Culturally responsive teachers recognize the need to increase their knowledge and use of culture within their teaching style. Teachers of Deaf students will be conscious of the language and visual learning needs of their students and the need for engagement in their learning process. Because Deaf students need to learn by seeing and actively engaging in the curriculum, the experienced teacher must be aware of the performance and learning styles of his or her students. Culturally responsive teachers will teach to and through the strengths of individual students. These teachers are focused on academic achievement as well as maintaining the language, norms, behavior, cultural identity, and heritage of their students. It is significant that most school leaders encouraged team teaching. Teachers, when developing their teams, did their best to ensure a strong culturally responsive teacher was in the group. Teaching practices for the most part were shared. It was the team’s responsibility to work together to help students; the team followed the lead of Deaf teachers and would come to some agreement as to how to help the students. When deaf students were able to observe the Deaf teacher interacting with the hearing teachers, this seemed to contribute positively to their Deaf identity. The evidence demonstrated that the students were pleased to see the Deaf teacher teaching the hearing teachers, and they became more responsive to their Deaf teacher. Culturally Responsive Teachers: Teaching Practices and Actions

In a school where culturally responsive pedagogy was observed for over 6 months, ASL and English were explicitly taught. Students had teachers who were Deaf who taught ASL and teachers who were Deaf or hearing who taught English classes. These language classes were never combined; however, all other subject matter was taught in both ASL and English. For example, during a poetry lesson, it was observed that there were two teachers teaching the lesson. The hearing teacher wrote

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the poem on the board in English. The Deaf teacher gave instructions to students regarding how to sign a specific poem for the day in ASL. During the lesson, the Deaf teacher taught how to use ASL to sign the poem, and the hearing teacher taught how to write the poem in English using a smart board. Each teacher explained the significance of the poem in each language. After the lesson, the students were instructed to create their own poems in both ASL and English. The students were asked to videotape themselves on a laptop computer signing their poems in ASL. When they completed the videotaping, they were to type their poems using Microsoft Word in English. While it appears to an outsider that the lesson was done twice and took more than twice the time to complete the tasks, the students were engaged, learning, and the activity seemed to be an everyday expectation. These teachers teamed up every day to teach language arts to the students. The interactions of the teachers with the students give us some implications for Deaf identity and bicultural development. The students did not seem to react negatively to completing the lesson in written and video format. They also demonstrated a desire to complete both written and video assignments and learned from each. The learning activities are described as being bilingual (ASL and English) student learning. The lesson was taught bilingually; however, the students were also learning biculturally from the teachers. School Leadership and Curriculum

Of the schools where the school leaders embraced their Deaf identity, language was primary for the curriculum. In all of these schools, Deaf teachers taught ASL as a language in the classroom. These teachers developed the ASL curriculum for their respective schools. Students learned ASL explicitly. However, in these same schools, English classes were also taught. At the elementary school level, team teaching of ASL and English was required. School leaders and teachers at these schools stated that bilingualism was a priority; ASL and English were equally taught and respected. They also stated that they could document students’ language development; as the language skills increased, the academic skills were also increasing. In these schools, the school leaders and teachers created a curriculum that responded effectively to the educational, language, social, and cultural needs of students, thereby encouraging a bicultural identity. TEACHERS AS LEADERS

When teachers were asked to explain who of their peers they felt were culturally responsive leaders, the answer among many of the teachers

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interviewed was the Deaf teachers who had taught in the schools for many years. They explained that the students looked up to their Deaf teachers, and often had a strong bond, even though these teachers expected more of them. The Deaf teachers were sought after more by the students and students tended to emulate their teachers. The perspective from a hearing teacher follows: We have Deaf teachers who understand student needs and they are able to quickly pick up the ball and help them out. We have a few Deaf teachers who take the lead and help the students along in their development voluntarily after school. Further, teachers explained that the Deaf students respected the Deaf teachers because they were culturally Deaf. Deaf teachers often gave directions for new lessons. It was observed that when a teacher who was not fluent in ASL found that students did not understand the task at hand, the teacher would run to the next classroom and change places with the Deaf teacher, who would leave the classroom to explain the task to the students. One hearing teacher pointed out that in the classroom Deaf teachers are a great resource for teaching students ASL skills. Another hearing teacher explained that Deaf teachers are always willing to go the extra mile. Professional Development

While teachers have been observed in instructional leadership roles, there have been no observations of school leaders as instructional leaders. There is a gap in professional development in assisting school leaders and teachers in improving their instructional strategies, curriculum, and leadership skills. Teachers have been observed teaching without instructional vertical or horizontal teaming to help them understand what teachers are teaching at the same level and to learn what is at the next level so the teachers can assist in preparing the student for the next grade level. Many times teachers appear to be teaching independently of each other. In observations, the school leaders appeared to be doing “administrative” work instead of attending to the everyday teaching and learning activities of the school. School leaders and teachers were questioned about the need for professional development for school leaders and teachers to include (but not be limited to) Deaf culture, Deaf identity development, teaching strategies for Deaf students, CRSL, CRL, and CRP. They cited the lack of funding; funding from the state for professional development was often inadequate. The limited observations of the teaching groups suggest that culturally responsive teachers and school leaders would encourage positive identity development among students, but this has not been studied directly.

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CONCLUSION

The work described in this chapter is a part of a larger study. This research demonstrates that it is imperative that school leaders recognize the need for and practice of culturally responsive leadership. Members of the school learning community should be fluent in ASL and be knowledgeable of and practice the cultural norms, behaviors, and values of the Deaf community. These culturally responsive practices would positively impact students’ academic achievement and enhance their identity development as they learn about the Deaf community and Deaf culture. It is important to note that knowledge is not enough; embracing and practicing the cultural norms, behaviors, and values every day is imperative for deaf students’ success and for developing a solid core of self. Students should be at the heart of school leadership for schools and programs serving deaf students. Time and again we have seen similar conclusions regarding healthy identity formation among students of color (Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016). While Khalifa, Gooden, and Davis (2016) stated that they “believed Black, Latino, and Indigenous students perform worse on nearly every educational measure valued by U.S. schools,” research has shown that Deaf students actually perform worse. It is further believed that Black Deaf, Latinx Deaf, and Indigenous Deaf students most likely perform the worst of all groups. However, the national school data to demonstrate the academic performance of PreK–​12 Deaf students have not been collected. Further, more research is needed to understand the relationship between culturally responsive teachers and leaders in relation to Deaf student identity development. There is a need for culturally responsive school leadership preparation and professional development programs targeted at cultural sensitivity for leaders to serve Deaf students. When students know they are the heart of the school and that their school cares about them, they have a better outlook and achieve greater academic successes (Gay, 2000, 2010; Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016; Ladson-​Billings, 1994, 1995). The historically dominant hegemonic disability-​ focused ways of school leadership and pedagogy have been detrimental for deaf students. Deaf students need to have their cultural identities acknowledged as integral parts of student learning within the school. Schools serving deaf students should consider the need to promote culturally responsive and inclusive school environments if these students are to succeed in the world. NOTE 1. The term “deaf” in this chapter is used as an inclusive term used to describing deaf, hard of hearing, and deafblind.

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REFERENCES Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2007). Going beyond the great divide. Reflections from deaf studies, Örebro, Sweden. Deaf Worlds. International Journal of Deaf Studies. Special theme issue: The meaning and place of “Deaf Studies,” 23(2 & 3),  69–​87. Bauman, H. L. (2004). Audism:  Exploring the metaphysics of oppression. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education 9(2), 239–​246. Bauman, H. L.  (Ed.). (2008). Open your eyes:  Deaf studies talking. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Baynton, D., Gannon, J., & Bergey, J. (2007). Through deaf eyes. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Boske, C. (2007). The awakening:  The multicultural attitudes and actions of chief school executives. International Journal of Educational Management, 21(6), 491–​503 Brooks, J., & Normore, A. (2010). Educational leadership and globalization:  Literacy for a global perspective. Educational Policy, 24, 52. Retrieved from http://​epx.sagepub.com/​cgi/​content/​abstract/​24/​1/​52. doi:10.1177/​ 0895904809354070 Carmel, S., & Monaghan, L. (1991). Studying Deaf Culture: An introduction to ethnographic work in Deaf communities. Sign Language Studies, 73, 411–​420. Cazden, C. B., & Leggett, E. L. (1976). Culturally responsive education: A response to LAU remedies II. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. Cerney, J. (2007). Deaf education in America:  Voices of children from inclusion settings. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Delpit, L. D. (1995). Other people’s children: Cultural conflict in the classroom. New York, NY: New Press. Gay, G. (2000). Culturally responsive teaching:  Theory, research and practice. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Gay, G. (2010). Culturally responsive teaching:  Theory and practice. New  York, NY: Teachers College Press. Harris, M. (1968). The rise of anthropological theory. Boston, MA: Thomas Crowell. Howard, T. C. (2003). Culturally relevant pedagogy:  Ingredients for critical teacher reflection. Theory into Practice, 42(3), 195–​202. Khalifa, M. A., Gooden, M. A., & Davis, J. E. (2016). Culturally responsive school leadership: A synthesis of the literature. Review of Educational Research, 20(10), 1–​40. doi:10.3102/​0034654316630383. Kozleski, E. Sobel, D., & Taylor, S. (2003). Embracing and building culturally responsive practices. Multiple Voices for Ethnically Diverse Exceptional Learners, 6(1), 73–​87. Retrieved from https://​multiplevoicesjournal.org/​doi/​abs/​ 10.5555/​muvo.6.1.54558065122030q7. Ladd, P. (2003). Understanding Deaf culture: In search of deafhood. Clevedon, Great Britain: Cromwell Press. Ladd, P. (2009). Understanding Deaf culture:  In search of deafhood. Tonawanda, NY: Multilingual Matters. Ladson-​Billings, G. (1994). The dreamkeepers. San Francisco, CA, Jossey-​Bass. Ladson-​Billings, G. (1995). Toward a theory of culturally relevant pedagogy. American Educational Research Journal, 32(3), 465–​491.

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Ladson-​Billings, G. (2001).Crossing over to Canaan: The journey of new teachers in diverse classrooms. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-​Bass. Lane, H. (1999, originally 1992). The mask of benevolence. New York, NY: Alfred Knopf. Lane, H., Hoffmeister, R., & Bahan, B. (1996). A journey into the Deaf-​world. San Diego, CA: DawnSignPress. Leigh, I. W. (2009). Lens on Deaf identities:  Perspectives on deafness. New  York, NY: Oxford University Press. Leithwood, K., Lewis, K., Anderson, S., & Wahlstrom, K. (2004). How leadership influences student learning. New York, NY: The Wallace Foundation. Lewis, K., Leithwood, K., Wahlstrom, K., & Anderson, S. (2010). Learning from leadership: Investigating links to improved student learning. New York, NY: The Wallace Foundation. Lindsey, R. B., Robins, K. N., & Terrell, R. D. (2009). Cultural proficiency: A manual for school leaders (3rd ed.) Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Manganaro, M. (2002). Cultures, 1922:  The emergence of a concept. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Manna, P. (2015). Developing excellent school principals to advance teaching and learning:  Considerations for state policy. Retrieved from www. wallacefoundation.org. Marzano, R., Waters, T., & McNulty, B. (2005). School leadership that works: From research to results. Alexandria, VA: ASCD. Marzano, R., Waters, T., & McNulty, B. (2011). Balanced leadership: Effect of leadership on student achievement summary. Alexandria, VA: ASCD. Munoz-​Baell, I., & Ruiz, M. (2000). Empowering the deaf: Let the Deaf be deaf. Retrieved from www.jech.bmj.com O’Brien, C. (2011). The influence of Deaf culture on school culture and leadership: A case study of a school for the deaf (Doctoral dissertation). University of Missouri, Columbia. O’Brien, C., & Placier, P. (2015). Deaf culture and competing discourses in a residential school for the deaf: “Can do” versus “can’t do.” Journal of Equity and Excellence, 48(2), 320–​338. O’Brien, C., & Robinson, K. (2017). Leadership for cultural and language diversity within the context of schools for the deaf. Journal of School Leadership, 27(3), 304–​332. Padden, C., & Humphries, T. (1988). Deaf in America:  Voices from a culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press. Paludneviciene, R., & Leigh, I. W. (2011). Cochlear implants: Evolving perspectives. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Ramsey, C. (1997). Deaf children in public schools. Washington, DC:  Gallaudet University Press. Rutherford, S. (1988). The culture of American Deaf people. Sign Language Studies, 59, 129–​147. Schein, E. (2004). Organizational culture and leadership (3rd ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-​  Bass. Scheurich, J. J., & Skrla, L. (2003). Leadership for equity and excellence:  Creating high-​achievement classrooms, schools, and districts. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press.

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Senghas, R. J., & Monaghan, L. (2002). Signs of their times: Deaf communities and the culture of language. American Review of Anthropology, 31,  69–​97. Shields, C. M. (2010). Transformative leadership: Working for equity in diverse con-​ texts. Educational Administration Quarterly, 46, 558–​ 589. doi:10.1177/​ 00131 61X10375609. Spring, J. (2000). The universal right to education:  Justification, definition, and guidelines. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Spring, J. (2008). The American school: From the Puritans to No Child Left Behind (7th ed.). New York, NY: McGraw-​Hill. Theoharis, G. (2009). The school leaders our children deserve. Seven keys to equity, social justice, and school reform. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Valle, F., Almager, I., Molina, R., Claudet, J. G. (2015). Answering the call for 21st century instructional leadership: A case study of a school district and university job-​embedded aspiring leaders partnership. Open Journal of Leadership, 4(3), 86–​101. Wallace. (2013). The school principal as leader:  Guiding schools to better teaching and learning, 2013 Expanded Edition. Retrieved from http://​ www. wallacefoundation.org/​knowledge-​center/​school-​leadership/​effective-​ principal-​leadership/​Documents/​The-​School-​Principal-​as-​Leader-​Guiding-​ Schools-​to-​Better-​Teaching-​and-​Learning-​2nd-​Ed.pdf.

7    The Body as a Canvas: Developing a Deaf Bodily Habitus in Deaf Signing Preschools Patrick J. Graham and Joseph J. Tobin

INTRODUCTION

Early childhood education programs situated in schools for the Deaf are key sites for deaf children to learn their country’s formal sign language, to be introduced to Deaf culture, and to acquire a Deaf habitus. Teachers in signing preschools for deaf children are able to support the early development of a Deaf bodily habitus by introducing these deaf children to the Deaf cultural norms of eye gaze, attention elicitation strategies, joint attention, facial expressions, and body language (Shantie & Hoffmeister, 2000). This transfer of habitus through dialogue and explanation creates a mutual understanding of specific bodily movements and mannerisms that facilitates the awareness of deaf ways of being, which lays the foundation for a more fully developed culturally Deaf identity (Bauman & Murray, 2014). McIlroy and Storbeck (2011) encourage us to consider the dialogue model as “critical self-​ reflective bicultural dialogue, which embraces postmodern tensions between contradictory identities” (p.  496), with these contradictory identities such as “hearing” identity versus Deaf culture identity reflecting different ways of being. What this means is that in order for deaf children to have a fully developed Deaf identity, they need to understand the full purpose behind specific mannerisms, such as why they flick the lights to elicit attention instead of calling out to them through voice, or why they tap people on the shoulders instead of saying “hey,” and why eye gaze is very important compared to using auditory listening for interpersonal communication. It is also important to understand the reasons for these differences and come to terms with these to minimize those tensions between the contradictory identities that McIlroy and Storbeck mention.

Patrick J. Graham and Joseph J. Tobin, The Body as a Canvas In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0007

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TECHNIQUES OF THE BODY AND BODILY HABITUS

Marcel Mauss, in his 1935 essay “Techniques of the Body,” introduced the concept of bodily habitus. Mauss argued that techniques of the body, rather than being either idiosyncratic or universal, are characteristic of gender, social status, professions, and culture. He gives examples of how differently women and men walk, how people from different cultures swim, and how French and British soldiers march. Bourdieu (2000) builds on Mauss’s work with his concept of “bodily habitus,” which he defines as ways of using one’s body, not idiosyncratically, but in concert with others. As he states, “The body is in the social world but the social world is in the body” (p. 150). He also elaborates by writing that “Habitus understood as an individual or a socialized biological body, or as the social, biologically individuated through incarnation in a body, is collective or trans-​individual, and so it is possible to construct classes of habitus” (p. 157). This line of reasoning suggests that an embodied version of identity precedes a self-​conscious version of belonging to a community. This is consistent with Freud’s statement that “the ego is first and foremost a bodily ego” (Freud 1923/​1960, p. 20) as well as with Louis Althusser’s (1971) use of an example from Pascal to suggest that you are religious because you pray, in contrast to the conventional reasoning that you pray because you are religious. The material, embodied practices of religion (for example, Catholics kneeling down, making the sign of the cross, and taking communion) precede and construct the religious ideation. The bodily practice comes first and the belief follows. In this chapter we make a parallel argument that for deaf young children fortunate enough to attend schools with signing culturally Deaf teachers, the development of a bodily Deaf habitus precedes the development of a conscious Deaf cultural identity. In this chapter, we use Mauss’s (1935) and Bourdieu’s (2000) concepts of bodily habitus to explore how deaf children acquire a Deaf bodily habitus in Deaf cultural settings, especially in signing preschools for deaf children. We suggest that deaf children who grow up without access to a Deaf cultural habitus may be less able to become fully integrated in either the Deaf or hearing worlds and in turn feel that they are not a good fit in either culture. IMPACT OF SCHOOL ENVIRONMENT

Many deaf children enter schools that do not provide Deaf role models or access to the Deaf culture and the Deaf community. The majority of deaf children are mainstreamed or enrolled in preschools that follow either an all-​spoken language approach, or a “total communication” (TC) framework, which simultaneously uses sign language with speech

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and speechreading (Marschark, 2018; Scheetz, 2012). Technology-​ assisted listening (with the use of hearing aids and, increasingly, cochlear implants) is a significant feature for both spoken language and TC methodologies. Many Deaf children of hearing parents lag behind their hearing peers when it comes to acquiring language due to difficulties in accessing the meaning of language conveyed auditorially (e.g., Erting & Pfau, 1997; Knoors & Marschark, 2012; Ladd, 2003). This limitation in internalizing a language model can impact the acquisition of a fully developed identity if one is unable to comprehend the reasoning behind specific mannerisms. As Leigh (2009) reminds us, Deaf people “do not learn how to be deaf or hard of hearing in isolation” (p. 166). Most deaf children of hearing parents who do not have complete access to communication may enter school lacking fluency in either ASL or spoken English (Calderon, 2000; Marschark, 2018; Scheetz, 2012). These deaf children who attend a spoken language-​based deaf education program that offers training in speech may miss out on the chance to become culturally Deaf and acquire a Deaf bodily habitus at a young age. Many of these mainstreamed deaf children “hit the wall” in their academic and social progress when they reach middle school or high school, and, frustrated with the failure of their hearing schools to provide them with a deaf-​friendly visually oriented environment, seek out opportunities in adolescence and young adulthood to learn ASL and be immersed in Deaf culture (Angelides & Aravi, 2006; Bat-​Chava, 2000; McIlroy & Storbeck, 2011; Nikolaraizi & Hadjikakou, 2006). THE ROLE OF TEACHERS AS CULTURAL MEDIATORS

Teachers in schools that incorporate sign language into their curriculum play a key role in how children acquire a culturally Deaf bodily habitus, because, as Mauss (1935) observed, a child can “imitate actions which have succeeded and which he has seen successfully performed by people in whom he has confidence and who have authority over him” (p.  73). In other words, a bodily habitus is acquired largely through observation of trusted figures combined with participation in a community. Shantie and Hoffmeister (2000, p.  40) write that the “role of the teacher of Deaf children carries with it not only the teaching of information but being a model for the acquisition of language.” Therefore, there is a need in culturally Deaf preschool classrooms for teachers who are native signers (Shantie & Hoffmeister, 2000). When teachers are not native signers, they may implicitly transfer their hearing bodily habitus onto these young deaf children. These children already live in a dominant hearing society that tells them “how to live, express, or inhibit their capabilities and experience their bodies” (Hauser, O’Hearn, McKee, Steider & Thew, 2010, p. 490). These children need educators

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who can show them how to use their Deaf bodies to their maximum potential. In a signing Deaf education environment, Deaf children learn the rules and norms of Deaf culture. These rules and norms include using each country’s formal sign language, using facial expression for grammatical cues, and maintaining eye contact with the speaker. These children also learn how to communicate using their body language and spatial norms in ways showing that they are aware of their environment and positioned so as to best employ their visual ways of knowing. This begins prior to the acquisition of sign language. When deaf children of hearing parents enter kindergarten in a school for culturally Deaf children, they are quickly introduced to cultural norms of Deaf culture, such as banging on the table, waving in the air, or tapping a person’s shoulder to grab his or her attention before they start communicating. A Deaf bodily habitus includes such strategies as establishing a distance with others during a conversation that is close enough to clearly see the others’ eyes, body, and hands, but not so close that one must choose between looking at their hands or face and responding to lights being turned on and off by turning their attention to the person operating the light switch. Teachers of deaf children need to become aware of their implicit bodily practices and make their body movements explicit to their students in order to facilitate students recognizing these habits and incorporating them in their everyday life. By doing so, Deaf educators help their deaf students develop not just competence in sign language and a Deaf bodily habitus, but more generally a Deaf way of experiencing and being in the world, what Paddy Ladd (2003) calls “a Deaf epistemology.” As Ladd (2003) explains, “Deaf epistemology is an opportunity for people to understand clearly ‘Deaf ways’ of being in the world and their own place within it, both in actuality and potentiality” (p. 19). THE DEAF KINDERGARTENS IN THREE CULTURES PROJECT

The Deaf Kindergartens in Three Cultures project (Tobin, Valente, & Horejes, in preparation) was based on fieldwork in three kindergarten classrooms, one in France, one in Japan, and one in the United States. The original aim of this project was to examine how deaf children acquire a Deaf habitus and identity while attending schools for the deaf. The method used in this study was video-​cued ethnography, which entails videotaping an event, and then showing the event to an individual or a focus group and obtaining their perspectives on what was happening during the event. The event itself is not the data; rather, the data come from the perspectives surrounding the event.

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The research team included Deaf, CODA (child of deaf adults), and hearing researchers from the United States, Japan, and France. The team was led by Joseph Michael Valente of Pennsylvania State University, Thomas Horejes of Gallaudet University, and Joseph Tobin of the University of Georgia, and included Patrick Graham, Jennifer Hensley, Akiko Hayashi, Christi Batamula, and Adeline LeBeaux. Before entering the classroom, the researchers obtained permission from all participants, including the parents of the children in the relevant classrooms, to be videoed and photographed. They also asked for permission to set up the cameras and record in the classroom. Once the permission was obtained, the cameras were set up in the classroom for a couple of days prior to taping, to allow the children and teachers to get used to the presence of the cameras and research team. A full day in each classroom was then filmed using two cameras, yielding about 12 hours of footage which the research team then edited and reduced to a 30-​minute videos. These edited videos were then used to stimulate interviews, first with the teachers seen in each video, then with their colleagues and the directors at their school, and then for focus group interviews with deaf educators in other schools for the deaf within each country. While editing the videos, the research team met with several experts in Deaf education and American Sign Language (ASL) to obtain their perspectives regarding the content of the videos. During one of these meetings, a professor at Gallaudet University brought along his deaf 10-​year-​old daughter, Sarah.1 She joined us (the authors) as we watched one of the videos. One scene in this video shows a 4-​year-​old girl at the Maryland School for the Deaf listening to another girl describe the events of the day. Sarah asked us to stop the video to point out what she called the “deaf scrunch,” a subtle facial gesture involving raising the nose, widening the eyes, and opening the mouth to show active listening, as can be seen in Figure 7.1. This observation by Sarah encouraged the research team members to return to the research data and look for characteristically Deaf gestures and body movements. What was intriguing was that, until Sarah pointed it out, the Deaf and CODA members of the research team had missed this important cultural marker. Levine (1982) explains that this is a common problem some people face while studying their own culture. Because they are “insiders” to their culture, they often do not realize what is interesting or unique about their language and culture and thus may overlook salient bits of information. In a world that is predominantly hearing, how do deaf children acquire full access to Deaf conversational norms and social etiquette? As Leigh (2009) notes, “the evolution of self and identity is a multidimensional, reflective process involving psychological motivation, cultural knowledge and the ability to perform roles” (p.  5). For this chapter,

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Figure 7.1  The scrunch: performing active listening. Photo used with permission.

we focus on one aspect of our research, specifically that of identifying how educators encourage socialization in schools for the deaf to establish a visual sense of making meaning. Children seek to create peer relationships and gain acceptance from their teachers (Corsaro, 2017; Jennings, 2015; Woodhead, 2015). For most young children, and especially for young deaf children, preschools tend to be the first place where they interact with peers and adults who are not related to them. They also learn social behaviors and community norms of the larger society (Adair, 2011; Marschark, Lang, & Albertini, 2002; Riojas-​Cortez, Huerta, Flores, Perez, & Clark, 2008; Tobin, Hsueh, & Karasawa, 2009). Since 96% of deaf children are born to hearing parents (Mitchell & Karchmer, 2004), many deaf children’s first introduction to sign language and Deaf culture typically begins when they attend schools for the deaf or a deaf and hard-​of-​hearing program that uses sign language as one of the modes of communication or the predominant mode of communication. TEACHERS AS MODELS FOR THE ACQUISITION OF SIGN LANGUAGE AND DEAF CULTURE

Singleton and Morgan (2006) encourage exposure of deaf preschool children to “ASL proficient deaf teachers [who can] capitalize on ASL’s rich grammatical and narrative structures such as role play, classifiers, and facial expressions to engage [them]” (p. 364). They also encourage having teachers expand this concept to include knowledge of specific

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techniques of the body, such as using appropriate distance to see the face and hands while conversing with other children, turning heads toward the light switch while it is being flicked on and off to get their attention, using facial expressions appropriately to guide conversations, and negotiating sign motions to increase or decrease the emphasis of what is being said. The videos from the Deaf Kindergartens in Three Cultures project provide examples, three of which we present here through photo clips, of how Deaf teachers in schools for the deaf demonstrate and scaffold the development of Deaf bodily techniques in their students. Explaining the Intricacies of Signs

At Meisei Gakuen, a school in Japan, Eko, that day’s toban (leader) of the morning opening activity, returned to her seat to allow Ikeda-​sensei (Note:  sensei is the formal title for teacher) time to discuss the day’s activities. Ikeda began by asking the students why one of their peers, Ritsuki, was missing. Satoshi leapt up, and said he knew why Ritsuki was not there (see Figure 7.2a). He signed that Ritsuki threw up, then sat down. Ikeda asked the group if the sign that Satoshi used was correct

Figure 7.2a–​e  Clarifying a sign. a. Satoshi: He threw up! b. Ikeda: Is this the right sign? c. Ikeda: Is it? d. & e.  Ikeda:  No, you need to sign from here down to here, not out like a fountain. Photos used with permission from participants.

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(Figures 7.2b and 7.2c). She repeated the sign that Satoshi had used and gave a questioning look. She then explained that the sign that Satoshi used means “fountain,” meaning that he had said Ritsuki vomited like a fountain. She imitated Ritsuki’s sign to demonstrate that it would not be possible to throw up in this way. She then demonstrated the correct sign for “throw up” by moving her hand down rather than up from her lips (Figures 7.2d and 7.2e). When children are learning to use language, spoken or signed, they inevitably make mistakes. This is normal as they are attempting to fine-​ tune their linguistic understanding. Ikeda’s clarification of the difference between the verbs “vomiting” versus “spewing like a fountain” is not only a Japanese Sign Language (JSL) vocabulary lesson but also a reminder that the wrong hand movement can completely change the meaning of a sign, which could lead to confusion and misunderstanding. When we asked Ikeda about this scene, she explained: When the children use incorrect sign language, I tell them it’s wrong. I don’t focus only on mistakes. I also convey information about other things. Especially in this class, there aren’t many Deaf [children] of Deaf [parents], so I’m very careful regarding the use of sign language. When there’s an error, I don’t just tell them it’s wrong. I also make sure that the correct sign language is input naturally. Several educators we interviewed in the focus groups agreed with Ikeda’s approach, saying they also used this same method of teaching sign language in their classrooms. For example, one educator from Bordeaux, France, explained that she does the same thing in providing the correct sign when her students sign the word incorrectly, adding that this is the same approach that hearing educators would use with hearing children, providing them with the correct pronunciation if they mispronounced the word. Another educator from Poitiers, France, mentioned that when teachers teach hearing children, they provide information about sounds, letters, and words. She rationalized that it would make sense for teachers who teach deaf children to provide parameters, hand shapes, facial expressions, and the use of space while teaching sign language. Facial Grammar and Space Negotiation

In a scene in the video our research team made in a Deaf classroom in Toulouse, France, one of the classroom teachers, Sophie Berthe, leads the children in a lesson on how to recite French Sign Language (LSF) deaf poetry. Before the children arrived, Sophie recorded a short video of herself reciting a simple poem. Later in the morning, Sophie gathered five of the children around her to watch the video and then take turns reciting the poem.

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When Henri volunteered to perform the poem (Figure 7.3a), Sophie changed her location to a seat that would allow Henri to be able to see the computer and her while still being visible to his classmates. Sophie motioned for him to move back a little bit, so that everyone could see. When she noticed that Zoe still could not see, she motioned for Zoe to move to another seat, the one previously used by Henri. Henri protested, saying, “That’s my place!” Sophie then responded, in a matter of fact way, “She can’t see you from over there.” See Figures 7.3 b–​f for the sequence described earlier.

Figure 7.3a–​f  Positioning for visual communication. a. Sophie: Move over a little. b. (points to Zoe) c. Sophie: Come here . . . d. Henri: Hey! e. Henri: That’s my place! f. Sophie: She can’t see . . . Photos used with permission from participants.

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When we asked Sophie about this interaction, she said: I always ask people to move over for me to see. It is automatic. If I don’t see, I need to make the person bothering me move, and I do the same for the children. . . . When I teach, I don’t say to myself, “Now I’m teaching this specific deaf need.” It is more of my knowledge I need to give that is influenced by my Deaf culture. Here Sophie emphasizes a normative behavior of Deaf culture. She interrupts the flow of her poetry activity to have the children adjust their positions to allow for better sight lines. She points out that, having grown up Deaf, insisting on such spatial adjustments before proceeding with a conversation or lesson is “automatic.” As Sophie tells us, when asking her student to move, she is not explicitly thinking about what she is doing. She is more conscious about the lesson she is teaching. She did not realize she is also teaching another lesson implicitly, that of showing a student how to advocate for herself and insist on positioning that allows for visual communication. These students are constructing their knowledge through life experiences, as well as learning academic content. After watching the section of the video where Henri signs the poem along with the video on the computer, Sophie explained that she wanted each of the children to have a turn signing along with the poem. In the scene we see the children watching Sophie intently, following the movements of her hands. All the students stood up one by one and followed along with the video. As Henri stood up, Sophie watched him sign “wash,” and then asked him to look at her face and tell her if her facial expression indicated she was working hard or not while washing the car (Figure  7.4a). He responded that she was working hard. She nodded, pointed at her face, and showed Henri again the intensity of her grimaced expression and then relaxed her face while she signed the word “Sunday.” She reminded him of the transition between Saturday and Sunday using facial expressions. Sophie pointed to her face again and told the students to watch the change in facial expressions. She explained that this is important because she does not rest with a serious working face. She rests with a serene look on her face. (See Figures 7.4 b-​ d.) The children then practiced their serious and relaxed facial expressions as Sophie looked on. Sophie smiled with approval, and the lesson proceeded. When we paused the video, Sophie explained the rationale for her actions: I just thought, in that scene, I  question the kids about the facial expressions and I  correct them. Did you notice? This is something typically deaf. You need to say “tired” with a tired facial expression, you cannot say “tired” while smiling. Most of the time the children

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Figure 7.4a–​d  Role of facial expressions. a. Sophie: Look at my face. b. Sophie: I am working hard washing the car. c. Henri: Oh! You’re working hard! d. Sophie: Now I am resting.

disconnect their signs from their facial expressions; they do not completely have the knowledge of the inseparable link between both. There, I ask them, “Why do I blow out like that?” I don’t know, but I  imagine that a person who masters LSF completely but nothing more, a hearing person for instance, will not think of questioning the children about this facial expression. The person will think that the children are already aware of the fact that blowing out that way is linked to the “tired” sign. But children don’t have this awareness and sign while smiling. They need to be taught that facial expressions give a specific meaning. At this point, children will do the sign again with appropriate facial expression and will understand better. These are little details we need to emphasize.

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Sophie’s reflections here suggest that it is necessary to provide deaf children with explicit instruction in developing appropriate facial expressions to be able to understand and to express emotions and language properly. Many participants in our focus groups made positive comments about Sophie’s lesson. A teacher from Poitiers, France, commented that it was excellent how Sophie went into detail about the importance of facial expressions, hand shapes, space, movement, and all the different parameters of French Sign Language. Other educators also noticed that Sophie took the time to explicitly discuss the nuances of the language; however, we, the authors, would suggest that there is an implicit practice going on here, an explanation of social interaction with the world by using the appropriate facial expressions. When children interact with their teachers and peers at school, they are participating in social situations that may be different from their experiences at home, especially if their parents are hearing and the child is deaf (Brahim & Syarif Sumantri, 2010; Erting & Pfau, 1997; Gay, 2002). It becomes “critical at an early age to provide opportunities to learn effective social communication skills from peer or adult models” (Bobzien et al., 2013, p. 340). Facial expressions are an important mode of meaning making in all signed languages. Facial expressions have been explained as a “rich source of social signals” (Gu, Mai, & Luo, 2013, p.  1) in academic exchanges, narratives, and social interaction. Since one of the main ways children communicate with each other is through the use of facial expressions, it is important for them to understand how facial expressions are used and why they are important. In their article, Corina, Bellugi, and Reilly (1999) list several functions of facial expressions:  “alerting, threatening, greeting, displaying affection, playing, and so forth” (p. 309). In sign languages, as a general rule, facial expressions also carry linguistic meaning. The linguistic aspects for facial expressions are linked to syntactic components, such as eyebrow raising for yes, no, or “wh” questions. It can also be used for adverbs, to give emphasis to a signed word (Corina, Bellugi, & Reilly, 1999). Currently, there is a large body of research on the use of facial expressions in sign language (Corina & Singleton, 2009; Letoureneau & Mitchell, 2011; Penn, Commerford, & Ogilvy 2007). There is very little research about the acquisition of facial expressions by young deaf children or their comprehension of the social significance of such acquisition, and little research about the implications of this social significance for Deaf identity formation. Explaining Social Etiquette

In a scene we filmed in the preschool classroom at the Maryland School for the Deaf in the United States, we see the lead teacher, Bonnie Arnold, preparing her students to listen to a story about a truck that delivers

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flowers. Bonnie asked the students to get their chairs and sit in a semicircle. All the students stood up, moved their chairs into a semicircle, and prepared to sit down. Emma decided it would be funny to sit next to Bonnie, instead of with the group. Bonnie asked Emma to move up and join the group. Emma did so, but she kept moving back further and further. Bonnie asked Emma to stop. She explained to Emma that she prefers to have the students sit in a small semicircle close to her as it helps her see the students well, as indicated in Figure 7.5a. She then provided the opposite option, of sitting far away, but quickly said this would make it harder for her to see the students (Figure 7.5b). She relaxed her facial expression as a form of comfort while discussing the close proximity to her, signifying that if the students sit close, she does not have to work hard to see the students. She also stressed with her facial expressions that if the students sat too far away, it would be difficult for her to see the students, and she would have to work harder, which could cause some strain. Bonnie took the time to explain specific situations to her students to maintain social order. Teachers need to take the time to adequately explain to their students about specific reasons for using techniques of the body. Ikeda of Japan explained that when she scolds children, she is aware of how different her scolding may be from the hearing

Figure 7.5a & b  Explaining social placement. a. Bonnie: If you sit up close, I can see you all just fine. b. Bonnie: If you sit far away, then it will be hard for me to see. Photos used with permission from participants.

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social norms in Japan because she is deaf herself. She added that even if hearing parents try to scold children in a deaf way, they will never replicate the deaf mannerisms that she possesses until they understand what it is like to be deaf. When people share the same native language, they are more likely to share the same cultural perspectives and can communicate these perspectives clearly (Shannon & Begley, 2004). When perspectives are different, it can be misunderstood or misinterpreted. Regina, a teacher from the Atlanta Area School for the Deaf, provided the following example: Hearing teachers use vocal intonation to convey messages to hearing children. Educators who work with deaf children must use their bodies to communicate intonation, and this is far more obvious for these children compared to vocal intonation. CONCLUSION

In signing schools for the deaf, deaf children are given the opportunity to learn characteristically Deaf visual strategies and ways of communicating. Examples include “the scrunch” to signal acknowledgment and pairing appropriate facial expressions with signs to indicate attitude. Deaf teachers have an essential role to play here, a role that goes beyond their fluency in sign. Teachers who have all five senses may not understand what it is like to only have four senses and how those individuals with four senses compensate in terms of enhanced communication information. As Ladd (2003) explains: .  .  .  hearing teachers who know only a sign system do not realise that sign language manifests a “visual logic” of its own, has its own visual grammar. Unless a teacher is able to use this with children, complex concepts, ideas, and explanations cannot easily be transmitted. (p. 148) A thorough understanding of Deaf visual logic and grammar and the use of body position, movement, and facial expression are essential components of Deaf communication. As deaf children acquire these Deaf communicative abilities, they become not just fluent signers but also begin to internalize culturally Deaf identities. Young deaf children enrolled in signing preschool programs led by culturally Deaf teachers acquire the bodily habitus that lies at the core of what it means to be a member of Deaf culture. Before children are old enough to fully understand what it means to be members of Deaf society, to identify as culturally Deaf, or to participate in Deaf politics, they can acquire what Ladd (2003) calls a “Deaf way of being.” Deaf children who interact in sign language with their teachers and deaf peers learn not just the vocabulary and grammar of a signed language but also the “behavioral

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and cognitive strategies, knowledge of self, and others, and a sense of being part of the world” (Vaccari & Marschark, 1997, p. 793). Our research in France, Japan, and the United States shows that before deaf children in signing preschools have a self-​conscious Deaf identity, they acquire an embodied Deaf habitus, a way of interacting with the world that is characteristically Deaf. In these settings, learning to sign is a skill that develops alongside other embodied Deaf skills of expression and attention, skills that together are the building blocks of a culturally Deaf identity. NOTE 1. Pseudonym.

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8    Identity Positioning and Languaging in Deaf-​Hearing Worlds: Some Insights From Studies of Segregated and Mainstream Educational Settings Sangeeta Bagga-​Gupta

INTRODUCTION

Over time, identity issues in the education of students who are deaf or hear differently have been related to the language variety1 and modality of instruction in schools. A medically oriented spoken (or oral) language model continues to dominate the institutional fields of deaf education, rehabilitation, and deaf-​related scholarship despite the emergence of a cultural-​linguistic model that has challenged the medical model. This dichotomy is often mapped onto a spectrum from “deaf as a defective” to “Deaf as an expected component of diversity” (Leigh, 2009, 2017). Such a “great divide” (Bagga-​Gupta, 2007) continues to characterize the field of deaf education that has witnessed pendulum swings between medical and cultural-​ linguistic framings, including specific educational models, pertaining to both communication and identity (Bagga-​ Gupta, 2004a; Jankowski, 1997; Kermit, 2009; Lane, Hoffmeister, & Bahan, 1996). These models include oral education where spoken talk is privileged; bilingual education where a specific signed language and the spoken and/​or written forms of a specific majority language are considered important in instruction; total communication models where components from both spoken and manual communication are included, and so on. The work presented in this chapter attempts to go beyond these dichotomized medical-​linguistic ideologies and models of instruction to examine identity as these ideologies and models play out in routine or common social practices in classrooms. The focus is on what transpires in classrooms—​in terms of the patterns of communication and how the language variety and modality used is related to the identity positioning of the participants—​students and adults (teachers, resource persons, etc.) in these instructional spaces. The routine communication in classroom settings, it is argued, is connected to how Sangeeta Bagga- Gupta, Identity Positioning and Languaging in Deaf- Hearing Worlds In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0008

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identity “plays out” and develops. Thus, identity positioning cannot be reduced to a monolithic identity of being deaf, or hard of hearing, or hearing, and so on. While it is the case that identity positioning is embedded in the fluid performance of routine social life, it cannot be studied primarily through personal reports about peoples’ identities. It is not identities as defined by people themselves or by others that is relevant in this chapter; rather, it is how identity plays out in common practices that is of interest. Unpacking the complex nature of identity is done by focusing on languaging behaviors as points of departure rather than focusing on identity positions based on audiological hearing levels. Such a focus on identity requires a shift toward considering how the use of language resources is conceptualized in policy and by individuals in social settings like classrooms, and how these reinforce or challenge the making of or doing identity (Bagga-​Gupta, Hansen, & Feilberg, 2017). This stance requires explorations of how language resources are handled in everyday practices within Deaf-​Hearing (hereafter DH) worlds2 or spaces in segregated and mainstream educational settings. Such explorations facilitate reimagining identity generally and “deaf identity” specifically in the 21st century. Thus, a focus in this chapter is the ways in which language use or languaging (Linell, 2009) reinforces, challenges, and/​or complicates the identity positioning of individuals like students and adults such as teachers, school leaders, resource persons, and so on who are—​irrespective of their hearing levels—​members of DH school spaces. Going beyond the understanding of fixed pregiven identities, research has illuminated peoples’ identity positionings and how these relate to their use of spoken and/​or written language, signing, embodiment (including gaze and gestures), and support provided by analog and digital tools and technologies like paper, pen, computers, and so on (Finnegan, 2015; Goodwin, 1994; Jewitt, 2009; Machin, 2013). This research has deepened our understanding of the complex heterogeneity and fluidity of languaging across settings, including education settings (Gynne, 2016; Kress, 2003; Messina Dahlberg, 2015; Paulasto, Riionheimo, Meriläinen, & Kok, 2014; St John, 2013; Tapio, 2013). However, most of this research is conducted in demarcated academic areas. Specifically, written communication is scrutinized (typically) in literacy scholarship; use of more than one language variety is included in bilingual studies or second-​ language acquisition and/​ or foreign language scholarship; digital communication is a part of multimodal scholarship; and the visual-​manual nature of signed communication is studied in substreams of deafness scholarship (linguistics, anthropology, education, etc.). Analysis of the relationship of identity to languaging in DH worlds is significant in that it can potentially not only contribute to each of these academic domains but also creates bridges

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among them. Framed broadly at the intersections of multidisciplinary domains such as Deaf Studies, Educational Sciences, Communication Studies, Literacy Studies, and Bi/​ Multilingual Studies, the work presented here aims to contribute to the small, growing body of literature that highlights the relevance of multidisciplinary analysis for reconceptualizing the ways in which identity and language are signed, talked, and written-​into-​being across settings. The rest of this chapter is organized as follows. The second section presents the theoretical framings and the nature of data that I  draw upon. Ideologies that have shaped organizational strategies and conceptualizations of identity and language across time in Sweden (discussed in the third section) are challenged by data analyses presented as ethnographic accounts and transcripts of identity positioning and languaging in the fourth section. Languaging patterns are also illustrative of how people, in everyday social practices, give meaning to the nature of Swedish Sign Language (SSL or STS) and its relationship to other language varieties and modalities, thus reflecting their identity positioning. Analysis of micro-​ (i.e., the turn-​by-​turn interactional), meso-​(i.e., interactional patterns across lesson phases), and macro-​(i.e., policy) level ethnographic data presented in the fourth section also shows how the routine nature of the use of language varieties and modalities can illuminate what is meant by “being deaf” and “deaf bilingualism.” A focus on this routine patterned nature of languaging highlights the meaning-​ making potentials of communication—​ this, I argue in the fifth section, constitutes a central dimension of identity positioning. The patterns of language use presented in this chapter make visible how people, that is, signers, speakers, and writers, communicate, shedding light on the ways in which languaging is a dimension of identity that cannot be based only on the hearing levels of signers, speakers, and writers. ANALYTICAL-​METHODOLOGICAL FRAMINGS

Socially oriented perspectives form the analytical points of departure that I  use to make visible dominant (stereotypical) perceptions about identity and their relationships to languaging patterns in micro-​, meso-​ , and macro-​level data analyses (Bagga-​Gupta, 1999/​2000, 2010; Garcia, 2009; Hornberger, 2003; Rosen, 2013). Here, Southern Theory is important (Mignolo, 2009; Omoniyi, 2014, 2015; Savransky, 2017). Such a theoretical orientation emphasizes the hegemonic stance that perpetuates a monolingual, spoken/​oral language bias together with a “naturalization” (Säljö, 2002) of boundaries that create static understandings of identity and its relationship to language. A spoken or “oral language bias” (Bagga-​Gupta, 2012)  highlights the privileging of this modality and the marginalization accorded to written and signed communication

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when social interaction is analyzed. A “monolingual bias” (Gramling, 2016) points to the fact that use of multiple language varieties in everyday face-​ to-​ face spoken, signed, and written talk is frequently ignored in scholarly reporting. Recognizing this bias highlights the need to recognize that the dominating monolingual norm erases the fact that the majority of people in the world do employ multiple language varieties across different social contexts. Finally, while reported accounts, testing, and policy continue to dominate the methodological thrust in communication research, on the ground social practices and interactional patterns where multiple language varieties and modalities are used, and that shape identity at any point in time, remain marginally studied. Given that identity and language ideologies emerge within social practices and include links to broader historical ideas and cultural systems (Irvine, 1989; Kroskrity, 2010), a focus on social practices (rather than participants’ or institutions’ reports about their identity and language use) is therefore analytically significant. As soon as people language/​communicate, they display ideas about the nature of identity and language (Bagga-​Gupta, Fielberg, & Hansen, 2017; Bucholtz, 2011; Gal & Irvine, 1995; Kroskrity, 2010). When individuals talk about their own (or others’) identities or language use, they engage in the discourses of norms and ideologies related to identity and language. This suggests that the semiotic resources—​SSL, fingerspelling, mouthing, spoken or written language, and so on—​that they use to comment on their own or others’ languaging or identity positioning may in fact not map onto how they language/​communicate. Explicitly positioning an individual as deaf, hard of hearing, or hearing or a person’s communication in terms of “good/​poor/​correct SSL” or “good/​poor/​correct Swedish” builds upon ideological and monolithic norms regarding identity and named language. Thus, what is deaf is not hearing, what is Swedish is not English, or what is SSL is not Swedish. The premise here is that the occurrence of such boundary marking is related to the fact that an identity category or a language requires a border so that it can be demarcated from other identity categories or language varieties; such borders are invariably politically and ideologically framed (Bagga-​Gupta, 2010, 2013; Pietikäinen et al., 2016; Rosén & Bagga-​Gupta, 2013). Such differentiation is related to the politics of recognition and “the ideas with which participants and observers frame their understanding of linguistic varieties and map those understandings onto people, events, and activities that are significant to them” (Irvine & Gal, 2000, p.  35). Such an understanding allows for the naturalization of a connection wherein SSL gets mapped onto deaf children in terms of their “first language”—​despite the fact that the great majority are born into hearing families where SSL (at least initially) is not a communicative resource. Such mapping also gets extended to deaf children whose hearing parents are migrants and who

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have neither SSL nor Swedish as communicative resources in their home environments. A flip side of such framings is the erasure of identity positions and patterns of languaging, which “may be imagined as homogenous, its internal variation disregarded” with the result that the power of such ideologies means that “elements that do not fit its interpretative structure—​that cannot be seen to fit—​must be either ignored or transformed” (Irvine & Gal, 2000, p. 38). Named language varieties (for instance, SSL, American Sign Language [ASL], British Sign Language [BSL], Swedish, American English, and British English) are illustrative of how the social construction of a “standard” language variety becomes equated with an empirical linguistic fact (Woolard, 1998). Such an understanding builds upon the monolithic monolingual Eurocentric norm of the one-​language-​one-​ nation/​community ideology (Bagga-​Gupta, 2010, 2013, 2017a; Rosén & Bagga-​Gupta, 2013), including the mythical homogeneous nature of an identity category or community (Anderson, 1991). Such a stance allows for the construction of homogenous populations in nation-​states like Sweden or the homogeneity of people in Sweden who are deaf. Such boundary-​marked homogenous ideologies furthermore feed on to a “double monolingualism norm” which implicitly/​explicitly postulates that “persons who command two languages will at any given time use one and only one language, and they use each of their languages in a way that does not in principle differ from the way monolinguals use the same language” (Jørgensen & Holmen, 1997, p. 13; Grosjean, 1982). The third and fourth sections illustrate how such norms and ideologies illuminate students’ and teachers’ identity positioning in segregated and mainstream DH educational worlds. Boundaries between language varieties have been discussed in the literature on deaf education historically where a monolingual and monomodal spoken language norm has dominated (Bagga-​ Gupta, 2004a, 2017b; Gibson, Small, & Mason, 1997). The emergence of the concept “languaging” (including pluri/​ trans/​ multilanguaging) in the broader Language Studies scholarship is important here. The verb languaging both challenges the single/​double monolingual and monomodality norms, and how such norms relate to the nature of identity. Recent anthropological work in Deaf Studies attempts to illuminate the complexities of identity and communication nonnormatively, illustrating the fluid relationship between identity and language use, including the fluid nature of languaging, that is, the use of signed, spoken, and written language varieties and modalities in everyday communication. This recent research has illustrated the chained nature of meaning-​making within languaging where semiotic resources from two (or more) language varieties, including modalities, are used by members of DH worlds (Bagga-​Gupta, 1999/​2000, 2002, 2004b, 2010; Humphries & MacDougall, 1999/​2000).

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The verbs of identity positioning and languaging highlight a performative stance where the use of semiotic resources is key. The concept of languagers—​people who are users of language irrespective of whether this is signed, spoken, or written and irrespective of their hearing levels—​ highlights an identity position based upon their communication and participation in social contexts rather than a reified fixed identity based upon auditory levels. Both concepts, languagers and languaging, represent analytical attempts to highlight that language does not exist outside the context of users of language and that identity is strongly shaped by language use. A key theoretical idea that frames such a performative social perspective derives from the mediational role attributed to cultural/​discursive tools such as language and physical tools such as paper, pencil, and computers (Säljö, 2010; Vygotsky, 1978; Wertsch, 1998). All such tools emerge through peoples’ routine interactions. The irreducible interconnections of humans and cultural and physical tools (Wertsch, 1998)  build symbiotic relationships among them.3 The study of these irreducible interconnections requires a research methodology which focuses on people interacting with one another and with tools. Thus, a focus on languagers (rather than some fixed identity characteristic like gender, functional dis/​ability, or national allegiance), or a focus on naturally occurring languaging (instead of named language) or peoples’ actions (rather than their accounts, e.g., interview or survey data), becomes the irreducible unit of analysis when dealing with ethnographic data. Using this methodological point of departure, the analytical approach taken in this chapter recognizes the need to (re)conceptualize identity and language and understand boundaries and named language and identity in terms of heuristic structuring devices (Finnegan, 2015; Pietikäinen et al., 2016). This means that the conventional labels used for the language varieties and modalities in the datasets that I  draw upon include the visuospatial-​tactile/​haptic resources that constitute SSL and the spoken and written embodied resources of Swedish (and sometimes English).4 Herein lies a tension in that analysis of the fluid nature of both languagers and languaging is difficult without the use of categorical labels related to identity (deaf, hearing, students, teachers) and named language (SSL, Swedish, English), for instance (see also Pietikäinen et al., 2016). Thus, the analytical enterprise here points to meaning-​making in languaging but, trapped in the confines of the language used to describe this heuristically, draws upon named identity positions and named language varieties and modalities. The rich qualitative ethnographic data-​ driven study presented in this chapter builds specifically upon ethnographic projects in which I have been involved as part of the Communication, Culture, and Diversity (CCD) research group5 in Sweden since the 1990s:  (1) Learning and Languages in Deaf Schools; (2) Languages and Identities

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in School Arenas in the 21st century; (3)  Learning and Languages in Deaf High Schools; and (4)  Communication, Identity, and Technologies.6 The data in the first three projects are from classrooms for deaf students, who are primarily signers-​writers at segregated primary, secondary, and high school levels (the second project also studied hearing bilingual schools where no deaf students were present). The fourth project explores the everyday lives of deaf children with cochlear implants (CIs)7 who are speakers-​signers-​writers and whose classmates are speakers-​writers in mainstream schools. Data were generated during 1996–​2002 and 2008–​2011, periods that map onto different bilingual ideologies that frame deaf education in Sweden (see the third section for further explanation). The micro level, that is, the turn-​by-​turn interactional nature of everyday communication and the identity positioning presented in this chapter (and in my previous work) draws upon ethnography, socialization, and southern theories; the work illustrates how human behavior is organized and is accomplished in naturally occurring social life (Guba & Lincoln, 1994; Säljö, 2010; Wolcott, 1999). The datasets drawn upon include video recordings, photographs, texts used, fieldnotes, spontaneous conversations, directives, and policy documents related to the institutional settings.8 Ethnographic analysis of activities at the micro, meso, and macro levels, including policies that govern segregated and mainstream schools, is employed to illuminate the practiced policies and the routine ways in which signers and/​or speakers and writers use semiotic resources and how languaging patterns illuminate their identity positioning in segregated and mainstream DH educational worlds. Comparing and contrasting data analyses from across educational settings that are glossed in terms of segregation and integration—​both of which constitute DH spaces—​allows for understanding the patterned complexities of identity positioning. IDEOLOGICAL FRAMINGS: THE ORGANIZATION OF EDUCATION AND CONCEPTUALIZATIONS OF IDENTITY

Access to the curriculum for deaf (and hard-​of-​hearing) students is built upon the privileging of specific language varieties and modalities within educational settings. Furthermore, the language experiences of professionals, parents, and scholars who are involved in (or who study) these educational settings constitute factors related to power and identity positioning. While mainstreaming of almost all children with CIs in Sweden is a turn-​of-​the-​century phenomenon, segregated access to education has been a defining organizational strategy for children who are deaf for over 150 years (Bagga-​Gupta & Holmström, 2015; Domfors, 2000; Holmström, 2013).

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The five dövskolor (literally “deaf schools”; that is, “regional schools for the deaf”) in Sweden are unique in that their segregation has continued since their inception in the 19th century. These schools have continued to be segregated despite having witnessed major shifts related to communication ideologies that have replaced one another—​ oralism, total communication, bilingualism, signing (Domfors, 2000). Furthermore, despite the “one-​track model” that generally guides educational policy in Sweden, the inclusive movements of the 1970s did not impact dövskolor. The existence of segregated schools for deaf children across time and shifts in communication ideologies is accounted for in policy (and by professionals) in terms of students’ speaking needs, or SSL needs, or bilingual needs, or social needs (see Bagga-​Gupta, 2004a; Domfors, 2000; Holmström, 2013). More specifically, the identity position offered to students is related to the type of school setting—​ segregated or mainstreamed—​into which they are placed (see Box 8.1).

Box 8.1  Organizational Features of Educational Institutions in Sweden Across Time

1.

Segregated schools (for deaf students with or without CIs): a. Exist since the inception of deaf education in the 19th century b. Signing, spoken, or bilingual communicative ideology in place (during different phases) c. Resources like hearing enhancing technologies (CIs, behind-​the-​ear hearing aids, loops, mikes, etc.) primarily in the hard-​of-​hearing classes d. Interpreters present only at the high school level; RPs* are present throughout the school system

2.

Mainstream schools (for hearing and with individual/​few deaf students primarily with CIs): a. Exist primarily since the turn of the present century b. Spoken communicative ideology in place c. Deaf students have extra resources like hearing enhancing technologies (CIs, behind-​the-​ear hearing aids, loops, mikes, etc.) and RPs* d. RPs* are present throughout the school system

*Resource persons (RPs) are experienced in the use of Swedish Sign Language (SSL) and are expected to support pupils with cochlear implants (CIs) in their schoolwork, including communication with other members in the classrooms; RPs are not SSL interpreters or teachers.

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Thus, students are positioned as deaf in segregated settings despite the communication ideology in place at any given time. Another identity issue related to students (and professionals) who are positioned as being deaf concerns the shifts since the 1980s in how bilingualism is conceptualized in the segregated dövskolor (Bagga-​Gupta, 2010; Domfors, 2000; Holmström, 2013). The bilingualism of people who are deaf was viewed in the 1980s in terms of teaching them to use SSL and spoken-​written Swedish. Since the mid-​1990s (in the aftermath of the revised national curriculum Lpo 94, 1996), bilingualism became redefined as SSL and (only) written Swedish; here spoken language became marginalized in how bilingualism was viewed. Subsequently, and related to the significant rise of CI surgeries on very young deaf children in the 21st century, once again bilingualism became understood as SSL and spoken-​written Swedish. Additionally, the bilingual ideology in the dövskolor since the 1990s stressed separating Swedish and SSL (Bagga-​Gupta, 1999/​2000, 2002, 2004a, 2010; Heiling, 1994; Svartholm, 1994). Such shifts in communication ideologies erase or make invisible important languaging dimensions of “deaf bilingualism”—​for instance, the place of mouthing, fingerspelling, and spoken Swedish; and the close symbiosis of SSL and written-​spoken Swedish in routine communication. Also, such communication ideologies become intimately tied to a homogenous identity of being deaf. The micro-​and meso-​ level analyses presented in the fourth section illustrate how students and professionals in some of these segregated settings challenge these ideologies, allowing for understanding the heterogeinity of the “many ways of being deaf” (Leigh, 2009, 2017; Monaghan, Schmaling, Nakamura, & Turner, 2003). DH educational professionals in segregated settings, furthermore, tend to conceptualize one another’s linguistic repertoires in ways that contrast with the patterned nature of languaging in school settings (highlighted in the next section). One established narrative describes the marking of bounded language ownership and competencies—​one’s own and those of others (see particularly Bagga-​Gupta, 2010). Adults explicitly conceptualize a relational connection between hearing status and a numerical indexing of language varieties (for instance, SSL or Swedish in terms of “first/​second language” for students and adults who are deaf). Furthermore, bilingualism is indexed and reserved for “deaf” adults and children. Hearing adults working in segregated schools, who are signers-​speakers-​writers, are infrequently indexed as being bilingual in the accounting data. Identity positions of being deaf or being hearing are also (re)created when SSL or Swedish is identified as “not” being an individual’s “own” or “real” language. It is through the identification of “first/​second language” or an individual’s “own/​

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real” language that indexes hearing status and links language to identity. Specifically, it is the hearing status and students’ placement in segregated or mainstream educational settings, rather than their languaging or their SSL and Swedish socialization trajectories, that are seen as important markers of identity. Another salient issue related to identity can be discerned from an analysis of the national syllabi that have framed the Swedish one-​ school-​for-​all (for the segregated dövskolor and the hearing mainstream schools) since the late 1960s. Previous studies suggest that while the first three national syllabi (Lgr 60/​62, Lgr 69/​70, Lgr 80/​ 83) are oriented toward “language-​ learning,” the national syllabi from the mid-​1990s onward (Lpo 90/​94, Lgr 11) take on a “language-​ learner” (identity) orientation. In the latter, essentialized identity categories that focus upon hearing status become connected explicitly to bounded language codes (Bagga-​Gupta, 2012, 2017a, 2017c). Thus, while deaf students in the segregated dövskolor studied a “language block” where both SSL and (written-​spoken) Swedish were focused upon during the 1980s, from the mid-​1990s onward they were positioned as deaf students who had access to “SSL as a first language” and “(written) Swedish as a second language for the deaf.” In addition, the complex intersectional identity positions of deaf students who come from homes where the parents are deaf, or whose parents have migrated into Sweden become reduced to a specific auditory-​ related identity position. In other words, it is deafness per se that is made relevant, rather than the very different language socialization trajectories of students, for instance, having access to (as opposed to not having access to) SSL since birth when parents are signers (or not signers), or not having access to either SSL or Swedish when parents are migrants. It is in this manner that potential intersectional identity positions become erased in national policy. Furthermore, while SSL is a key subject that students in segregated dövskolor have had guaranteed access to (via national policy) since the 1980s, students in mainstream settings, for instance those with CIs, do not have access to SSL as a subject in their curricula. In contrast, and ironically, hearing students in the same mainstream settings have, since the 1990s at least, had access to SSL if they are children or siblings of individuals who are deaf (Bagga-​Gupta, 2017a, 2017b). What this means is that while placement in segregated or mainstream settings plays a key role in the access that deaf students have to SSL, hearing students in mainstream schools (who can claim a relationship identity with deaf parents or siblings) have access to SSL. It is in this manner that an implicit preconceived rationale regarding a language-​learner orientation, rather than a language-​learning one, is related to identity.

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DOING IDENTITY AND COMMUNICATION IN VISUALLY ORIENTED SETTINGS

Ideas regarding the static identity positions described earlier are at odds with the fluidity of languagers and languaging that emerge when routine social practices are analyzed. The presence and use of tools like smartphones and 3G/​4G networks occur earlier in the lives of deaf people as compared to the hearing majority in Sweden (Bagga-​Gupta & Holmström, 2015; Holmström & Bagga-​Gupta, 2013; Holmström, 2013). Similarly, examining DH spaces shows that a relatively larger range of physical-​discursive tools are present in both segregated and mainstream educational settings where signers-​speakers-​writers are members, as compared to mainstream settings where only speakers-​ writers participate.9 The subsection “Erasure and Chaining” highlights features of the languaging pattern “chaining” by contextualizing identity positions of DH signer-​speaker-​writer collaborations in segregated and mainstream settings. Analyses of micro-​interactional and meso-​lesson data in the subsection “Languagers and Languaging Patterns in Deaf-​ Hearing Classroom Interactions” illuminate signer-​ writer-​ speakers’ engagement with physical-​discursive tools and chaining by focusing upon SSL lessons and social/​natural-​science lessons in segregated dövskolor. Such attention to languaging analysis in DH educational spaces illustrates that communication is interlayered and mediated in and through the use of a range of semiotic resources. Here identity positions based upon audiological hearing levels become secondary. The relevance of this finding is that it is the complexity of the “ways-​of-​being-​ with-​words” (Bagga-​Gupta, 2014) that is important for understanding the fluidity of languagers’ identity. This complexity contrasts with (as we have already seen in the third section) ideological understandings of both essentialist identity and boundary marked language, including how educational spaces are (and have been) organized for students who are deaf or who receive CIs. Erasure and Chaining: Insights From Studies of Social Practices in Segregated and Mainstream Classrooms

The audiological status or specific hearing levels of individual students did not appear to be a pivotal issue in the segregated classroom data, even though the ideology in place (see the third section) during the 1990s and into the 21st century in the dövskolor framed bilingualism in terms of SSL and written Swedish and keeping the two languages apart. Students here have access to visual language through SSL and written language. Some students in the segregated classrooms use spoken language in their everyday communication. The use of spoken Swedish, which includes the work of Swedish-​SSL interpreters and resource

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persons (RPs), in addition to resources like mouthing and fingerspelling challenges the specific bilingual ideology in place (see earlier). The ideology erases the languaging richness of both SSL and Swedish. It also erases students’ and adults’ auditory resources that are used in DH (including all-​deaf) interactions, both inside and outside segregated educational settings. The meaning of being “deaf” here builds upon the erasure of complex, intersectional identity positions of students and adults. First, the differences and complexities of language socialization trajectories of students in home settings (having or not having access to SSL from birth, having or not having access to Swedish, etc.) are not privileged. Secondly, while visuality is privileged in the framing of deaf bilingualism where SSL and the use of written language are recognized, the use of spoken language resources, including mouthing, becomes marginalized. It is these that contribute to the richness of visual orientation10 in DH settings. In mainstream educational settings, the complex intersectional identity positions of students with CIs are also marked by language issues. Here the visual orientation of SSL is erased and spoken languaging is privileged. Thus, students with CIs are positioned with complex audiologically oriented “hearing” identities. A  visual orientation is nevertheless maintained in both segregated and mainstream settings through two arrangements: the work of interpreters or RPs and an oval classroom seating layout. While an oval seating arrangement potentially enables visual access to the richness of classroom communication, it is the primacy given to spoken languaging and hearing technologies in mainstream settings that confers a “hearing” identity on students with CIs; similarly it is the primacy accorded to SSL in segregated settings that positions students (with or without CIs) as deaf. Identity positions of students are, in this manner, contingent upon whether they receive their schooling in a segregated or a mainstream setting, which are framed by very different language policies, thus creating an essentialist identity in both. A specific type of languaging pattern—​chaining—​that has emerged in the analysis is also relevant here. Chaining highlights the patterned and fluid manner in which semiotic resources from different languages—​here SSL and spoken-​written Swedish—​are drawn upon in the course of routine social practices (for examples from all hearing situations, see Bagga-​Gupta, 1995; Gynne, 2016; Messina Dahlberg, 2015). While all languaging can be understood as being chained, the use of this empirically grounded notion offers an important lens to understand meaning-​ making and identity positioning in visually oriented communication. It specifically challenges the naturalization of ideologically created boundaries between audiologically framed essentialized identities and named language varieties and modalities like SSL and Swedish or speaking, writing, and signing. More

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specifically, chaining allows for going beyond the “monolingual, oral, or spoken-​language” biases and bilingual ideologies that give rise to essentialized identities. The deployment of resources from both SSL and spoken-​written Swedish, together with embodied resources like mouthing and fingerspelling, is a common dimension of different types of chaining. One languaging pattern—​identified as “synchronized chaining”—​has been observed at the micro (turn-​by-​turn interactional) level, the meso (interaction across lesson phases) level, and also when a teacher’s spoken talk or a student’s SSL talk is translated into spoken/​signed talk. Such communication means that students’ access to meaning-​making in everyday classroom communication is framed through the use of written and spoken Swedish and signed communication, including embodiment. Such visually oriented communication is a key dimension of languaging in DH spaces. But as we have already seen, it is the placement in segregated (not mainstream) settings that allows students to access communication that is primarily visually oriented. Being placed in a segregated setting thus implies that the student is assigned a deaf identity; and it is this placement that provides access to a visually oriented curriculum. The same student in a mainstream setting is positioned as hearing and where visually oriented access is not guaranteed. One can say that synchronized chained languaging accommodates the many ways of being deaf, allowing students and adults to experience and engage in the richness of meaning-​making where resources from both SSL and Swedish are in use. Such visually oriented languaging contrasts with essentialist strategies where only spoken Swedish, or only SSL, or only SSL and written Swedish are privileged. It is the privileging of different language varieties and modalities in segregated and mainstream settings that becomes connected to a pupil’s identity of being deaf or hearing. Significantly, the use of SSL or spoken Swedish does not map onto the audiological status of students or adults in the segregated classrooms. This means that all participants here use SSL and some also use spoken Swedish. However, data from the Communication, Identity, and Technology project—​where the RPs and students with CIs are speakers-​signers-​writers, and potentially have access to visually oriented languaging—​ shows that speech is privileged and tends to become framed in terms of sounds where lip movements or mouthings, gestures, and manual signs may be deliberately erased (for empirical examples, see Bagga-​Gupta & Holmström, 2015; Holmström & Bagga-​Gupta, 2017; Holmström, Bagga-​Gupta, & Jonsson, 2015). Here visual orientation is marginalized intentionally, and communication often becomes reduced to speaking where the hearing perception of students who have CIs is focused upon (Holmström, 2013). In mainstream classroom situations, this type of a formalistic

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approach “technifies” the heterogeneous modality richness of spoken languaging. Here students’ audiological status and their abilities to decode spoken language through either hearing resources and/​or lip movements constitute key issues. This means that while speech is modality complex, only its auditory perception and speech reproduction may become privileged. Representing a type of double monomodal communication where complexities of spoken language are erased, such a situation paradoxically cements an identity position for a pupil with CIs of not being a “regular” hearing pupil. Furthermore, a special identity position gets reinforced, given that boundaries between modalities of languaging are upheld; such boundaries build upon ideologies of keeping both language varieties and modalities apart. Students with CIs in these mainstream classrooms are typically left to guess what is being communicated in spoken Swedish. Such an identity position can be framed in terms of pretending to understand spoken languaging in order to fit in or what Kermit (2018, 2019)  describes as “passing for recognition” as normal students (my emphasis). The salient overarching point is that access to communication is not a static issue for participants in DH spaces; it is markedly different and not always related to the pupils’ hearing status or their prior experiences with communicative repertoires. Rather than the labels of educational settings—​segregated, mainstreamed, deaf class, hearing class—​it is the creation of access to as wide a range of communicative repertoires as possible, including visual and audiological orientations, that is significant for participants’ identity positions and for inclusive and/​or marginalization processes. Identity positionings are dependent upon access to a rich range of communicative repertoires, rather than hearing levels or school placements per se. Thus, it is language-​learning rather than language-​learner identity orientations that are salient. Languagers and Languaging Patterns in Deaf–​Hearing Classroom Interactions

Analyses of DH collaborations in segregated and mainstream settings enable illuminating identity positionings or the ways-​of-​being-​with-​ words in which chaining, including visual and/​or audiological orientation, can become erased or privileged. Such analyses contribute to an understanding of how ideologies play out and also how they are challenged by languagers. Three main types of instructional settings have been identified in previous analyses of the “interactional order” (Goffman, 1983) in both mainstream all-​hearing (Messina Dahlberg, 2015; Sahlström, 1999) and segregated deaf students and DH teachers/​ RP classroom lessons (Bagga-​Gupta, 1999/​2000, 2002):  teacher-​led, mixed, and individual

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desktop lessons. In addition to the languaging pattern called synchronized chaining introduced earlier, two other chaining patterns in DH educational spaces are illustrated in this section. The identity positions of languagers who are primarily signers and writers, but to some extent also speakers, are illustrated through the languaging patterns of “activity chaining” (see description in Table 8.1) and “local chaining” (see description later on). The significance of these languaging patterns, which have emerged primarily in some DH segregated settings, is that they override essentialist identities based on people’s hearing levels. This again highlights that students here have access to both visually oriented languaging and the identity positioning of visually oriented deaf students. SSL or social science and/​or natural science lessons display an interactional pattern of mixed lessons in segregated dövskolor. Table 8.1  Activity-​Chaining in SSL Lessons in Segregated Educational Settings Lesson Phase (space)

Language Used (participants)

Tools (primary user)

1. Introduction (main classroom) SSL dominates (T*)

Whiteboard (T*)

Written Swedish (T*)

Curricular texts (T*) Overhead (T*)

2. Lesson work/​explanation (main classroom) SSL dominates (T*, Ps**)

Whiteboard (T*)

Written Swedish (T*, Ps**)

Curricular texts (T*) Overhead (T*)

3a. Work: individual or pairs (main classroom) Written Swedish dominates

Paper/​pencils (Ps**)

(Ps**, T*, RP***)

Texts, curricular, popular (Ps**)

SSL (Ps**, RP***, T*)

Whiteboard (T*)

3b. Work: individual (Språk-​Box) Written Swedish (Ps**)

Paper (Ps**)

SSL (Ps**)

Video camera, TV (Ps**)

4. Lesson work/​discussion (main classroom)

5. Closing (main classroom)

SSL dominates (Ps**, RP***, T*)

TV, video-​player (T*, Ps**)

Written Swedish (T*)

Paper/​pencils (T*), Whiteboard (T*)

SSL only (T*)

*T: teacher; **Ps: 5–​10 pupils; ***RP: resource person.

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Here teacher-​led instructional phases alternate with small group or individual work and/​or whole class work phases (see Table 8.1). Lessons in SSL (as well as in social/​natural science) are often organized into theme units that are in focus across a couple of school days. Chaining or the patterned use of different language varieties and modalities in systematic and multilayered ways characterizes the languaging here. A composite ethnographic SSL lesson based upon analysis of approximately 30 lessons where 5–​10 students, a teacher,11 and an RP routinely work with and (re)produce written texts with the aim of structuring SSL narratives (i.e., video texts) represents the routine organization of life, participant constellations, and the patterned ways in which language varieties, modalities, and tools are used during the analytically identified phases (see Table  8.1).12 The creation of visually oriented video narratives (Phase 3b) allows the DH members to collectively analyze the narratives during the whole class discussion phase (Phase 4). The process of producing a visually oriented narrative, however, necessitates the creation of a narrative first on paper (Phase 3a). Students are required to (re)produce and (re)use a written text that circulates in the classroom activities during the SSL lesson (see Figure 8.1):

Figure 8.1  The cyclic nature of activity chaining.

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• Students individually author a written narrative in the main classroom and adults and/​or other students comment upon this during Phase 3a. • Once the written text has been approved by an adult, students (individually) create a list of written keywords, also in the main classroom during Phase 3a. • The keyword list is used as a (memory) resource for producing a coherent SSL narrative in small technology-​infused spaces called Språk-​Boxes (Sw-​En: Language-​Boxes)13 during Phase 3b. Preexisting, “authentic” published texts14 in Swedish are routinely used during SSL lessons. The written modality is used for pragmatic purposes, rather than for practicing literacy. SSL teachers commonly use discursive tools such as overhead projectors, whiteboards, smartboards, and existent literature during instructional work. Table 8.1 and Figure 8.1 highlight students’ production and recycling of written narratives and keyword lists in these lessons. The teacher-​led phases of the SSL lesson unit are interwoven with individual or small group work phases either in SSL or Swedish or a languaging pattern where both are synched. Such languaging over larger chunks of time constitutes “activity chaining” (or “cyclic chaining”).15 SSL usage dominates during specific phases (1, 2, 4, 5)  while the use of (primarily) written Swedish dominates other phases (3a, 3b); both modalities and varieties are intricately interwoven in most of the interactions during Phase 3a. In addition to the chaining of the two language varieties, different modalities and dimensions are layered: 1. the visually oriented signing modality on the hands (mediated via tools like TV, video-​ player, whiteboard, etc.), including the composite signing resources of fingerspelling, mouthing, and so on. 2. the written modality in textual tools like books, papers, whiteboard, etc., and 3. the speaking modality on the mouth. The languaging pattern wherein language varieties and modalities flow into one another in the social practices of everyday classroom life in segregated settings contrasts with the ways-​of-​being-​with-​words in mainstream settings where speech is privileged. This once again highlights how students in the two DH settings differ in terms of the access that they have to the school curriculum—​this access is intimately tied to the identity positions that they have access to: visually oriented deaf in the segregated settings and audiologically oriented “hearing” in the mainstream settings.16 Despite the common one-​ to-​ one interaction order of exchanges during some phases of SSL lessons, public visually oriented displays

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allow all signers-​writers to potentially access the languaging on the hands as well as on the boards or overhead screens. This languaging pattern at the micro-​interactional scale constitutes “local chaining.” Here concepts are elaborated through SSL signs, fingerspelling, and written and spoken Swedish. Going beyond the ideologies of bilingualism that either build upon a double monomodal or a keeping SSL and Swedish apart perspective, this routine languaging pattern fulfills important functions for meaning-​making and the many ways of being deaf in DH settings. Local chaining among linguistic resources and their meanings are supported pragmatically, semantically, and technologically. Pragmatic support can occur when teachers in the segregated settings (irrespective of their hearing levels) highlight—​ through pointing, underlining, fingerspelling, mouthing, and so on—​specific words or sentences from larger text materials. Support at the semantic level occurs when teachers (irrespective of their hearing levels) elaborate and explain concepts that students are unfamiliar with. Technological support occurs through the deployment of different literacy tools (overhead projectors, books, paper and pencils, whiteboards, smartphones, etc.) for highlighting written language visually in a range of situations. A group teaching interaction order is created in four of the five phases in mixed lessons (see Table 8.1 and Figure 8.1). Here adult signer-​ writer (-​speakers) routinely encourage pupil–​pupil and pupil–​group interactions within the public visually oriented classroom spaces.17 SSL lessons, together with some subject areas (e.g., social/​natural sciences, program profile subjects at the high schools), constitute spaces where these languaging patterns dominate. An example of local chaining from a segregated grade 4 social/​natural science lesson analytically illustrates these patterns at the microscale (Figure 8.2, Transcript 8.1).18 The teachers’ orientations to a Swedish text in this slice of interactional data is represented in both Transcript 8.1 (lines c, d) and in Figure 8.2 where parts of the picture are numbered to correspond with the lines in Transcript 8.1. Transcript 8.1 illustrates how resources from both SSL (lines b) and written Swedish (lines d) are woven together, 6 minutes into the group instructional phase of a mixed lesson. Lines a and c are English translations of original SSL (lines b) and written Swedish (lines d). Focusing on the content area of evolution, the 11-​ year-​ old signer-​ writer(-​speakers), the teacher, and the RP are discussing the text that the students have access to on their desktops as well as via an overhead-​ projected picture (Figure 8.2). The teacher actively uses SSL and Swedish. She points at words (line 2), points at pictures on the overhead-​projected page (line 5), underlines entire sentences (line 3), and looks down at the Swedish text on the projector (line 1). Such languaging chains resources from both Swedish and SSL. Here fingerspelling is used a number of times. While

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Figure 8.2  Fossil—​Overhead projected text in a segregated primary grade.

the teacher uses the composite sign I-​F (Sw/​SSL: O-​M; line 1), she uses fingerspelling to present a key concept “fossil” (lines 2, 3, 5), points to its written form (lines 2, 5), underlines it on the overhead picture (line 3), and explicates it via SSL (lines 3, 4). Line 1 also presents a framing that potentially creates an understanding for this central word. Such an explication is a central component of visual orientation that marks an important dimension of the many ways of being deaf. This means that doing identity in a visually oriented setting is contingent upon participating in these types of fluid languaging patterns. Such an illustration of local chaining highlights the subtleties of visual oriented languaging that languagers are socialized into and have the

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Transcript 8.1  Fossil—​Local Chaining in a Teacher’s Visually Oriented Languaging in a Primary Grade

_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​ 1a. if these animals and plants had hard skins/​exteriors they were preserved after they died (.) [looks down on paper] they sank to the bottom of the oceans where they were transformed to stone (.) and it is via these stones that we today know what they looked like previously 1b. O-​ M HAR HÅRD SKAL FINNS KVAR EFTER DÖD (.) HAPP DOD FALLA NER HAV BOTTEN SEDAN FÖRÄNDRA STEN (.) FÖRSTÅR IDAG HUR SMÅ DJUR VÄXT SER U-​T 1c. 1d. 2a. [fingerspelled word] fossil (.) [points with index finger to a bolded word on the OH picture] 2b. F-​O-​S-​S-​I-​L 2c. 2d. 3a. fossil is a bone that has changed into stone [the fingerspelled word] fossil [left hand index finger underlines third sentence on the OH picture] 3b. FOSSIL BEN ÄNDRA STEN F-​O-​S-​S-​I-​L 3c. 3d. 4a. when an animal changes its skeleton gradually becomes stone [right hands index finger marks time change] 4b. DJUR DÖD SKELETT BLI STEN SAKTA 4c. —​ 4d. —​ 5a. [this fingerspelled picture] means fossil [points to three different pictures on the OH picture] 5b. BETYDER F-​O-​S-​S-​I-​L 5c. —​ 5d. —​

182   Deaf Identities

_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​ Transcription key (conventions adapted from two domains—​Deaf Studies and Literacy Studies scholarship; see Bagga-​Gupta, 2002; Padden, 1996): Line a. SSL communication translated into English, including features of embodiment and clarifying information, e.g., pointing, graze direction. Line b. SSL TALK IN ORIGINAL, including fingerspelled terms, e.g., F-​O-​S-​S-​I-​L. Line c. Written Swedish translated to English, e.g., . Line d. Written Swedish in original explicitly oriented to or produced, e.g., , . (.) micropause Lady oral-​talk = simultaneous SSL and oral-​talk

possibilities to become adept at in some segregated DH settings. Such identity positions contrast with both the identity positions accorded to them by virtue of being in a segregated school and the languaging they can become members of in mainstream settings. LANGUAGERS AND THE MANY WAYS OF BEING DEAF

While an “imagined” and pure homogeneity (Anderson, 1991)  with regard to identity is privileged in how deaf students and adults are conceptualized in segregated and mainstream DH settings and how bilingualism for deaf people is understood in policy and in narratives about linguistic competencies and language ownership, analysis of identity positioning and languaging patterns makes visible very different phenomena. There exists a tension between ways-​of-​being-​with-​words, that is, the doing of identity and peoples’ actions in social practices, and their ways of understanding and conceptualizing identity. Identity becomes framed in terms of segregated/​mainstream school placement, including the ideologies of mono-​bilingualism and mono-​bimodality in these school settings. The more recent recognition that is being accorded to the fluidity of languaging in speaker-​writer communities where multiple named language varieties are used is interesting in the context of the study presented in this chapter. Neologisms in the domain of identity and language have come under fire for being ideologically “branded” (Bagga-​Gupta & Messina Dahlberg, 2017, 2018; Pavlenko, 2019). Here the work related to chaining and visual orientation from the Deaf Studies scholarship has the potential to present important insights vis-​à-​vis heterogenous ways-​of-​being-​with-​words in speaker-​writer settings as well. Approaching communication without attending to the fluidity of signed-​spoken-​written languaging downplays or erases the complex ways in which participants routinely chain language varieties and

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modalities in the meaning-​making enterprise of everyday interaction. Such patterned complexity can be surmised through the concept of visual orientation as well as the different types of chaining illustrated earlier. Thus, it is synchronized chaining, activity/​ cyclic chaining, and local chaining, rather than the audiological status of students or adults in educational settings that is relevant in the meaning-​making of mundane classroom activities. Comparative analysis has previously suggested that such languaging is less prevalent during some key subject lessons (Swedish, English, and Mathematics, for instance) in the datasets from segregated schools (see Bagga-​Gupta, 2002), and these complexities are further marginalized in mainstream schools (Bagga-​ Gupta & Holmström, 2015; Holmström, 2013). The condition of deafness or an identity of being deaf in itself thus does not predispose a student to be able to participate in classroom meaning-​ making processes. It is the visual orientation or a privileging of spoken languaging that positions students and adults as being able to participate as specific types of languagers. Identity positioning that builds upon visual orientation—​rather than audiological orientation (where spoken language is privileged)—​recognizes the fluidity of languaging where both SSL and written-​spoken Swedish are important in human meaning-​making. Important didactical implications can be accrued from this: Languaging where the use of resources across language varieties and modalities is routine and regular textual materials are used and produced (in comparison to specially designed materials for students) for multiple recipients (rather than solely for assessment by a teacher) enables participation in learning and teaching genres that differ substantially from settings where this is not the case (Bagga-​Gupta, 2002; Rockwell, 2000). In other words, the different types of chaining illustrated at the meso scale (Table 8.1 and Figure 8.1) and the microscale (Transcript 8.1) potentially create opportunities for students in some segregated classrooms to become socialized into ways-​of-​being-​with-​ words that are not only contingent upon hearing levels. Making visible such complexity allows for understanding identity positionings that can mediate and scaffold language socialization through multiple pathways where resources from both SSL and Swedish are used. These identity positionings and languaging patterns are not available for the same students across all lessons in segregated settings and are typically not available for students with CIs in mainstream settings. An important dimension of languaging in visually oriented learning environments where SSL is itself in focus, for instance the creation of SSL narratives in Språk-​Boxes (see Figure 8.1) and the use of SSL (video) texts in an SSL lesson, is the need for engaging with Swedish (Table 8.1 and Figure 8.1). Swedish texts are (re)used during almost all phases of SSL lessons. During specific phases when both the written

184   Deaf Identities

language on the board or on paper and the manual language on the hand overlap, participants are obliged to and adept at attending to and (re)producing the written signs on paper (or analog and digital media), or on their hands (or the other way around) in an intricate manner or request contributions from others who have experiences with the links between the signs on paper/​board and on the hands. None of this is contingent on the participants’ hearing levels; rather, it is contingent upon the languaging patterns that are privileged and that evolve in these settings. The DH adults’ experiences of both the language varieties and modalities that constitute SSL and Swedish and their ways-​of-​being-​with-​words are thus relevant issues for the identity positionings that are enabled for students in these settings. Making visible such complexities also highlights the fallacy of assigning SSL and Swedish as “first/​second languages” connected to deaf students in some automatic naturalized manner. Different types of chaining constitute the building blocks of meaning-​making and are, to borrow Rockwell’s (2000) term, significant “teaching genres” in visually oriented languaging. For instance, routine classroom discussion activities regarding meaning potentials of unfamiliar concepts like fossil (Transcript 8.1) illustrate how participants become apprenticed into different zones of proximal ways-​of-​being-​with-​ words (compared with Vygotsky’s concept of “zone of proximal development”). Such apprenticeship into different types of languaging experiences—​ relevant for the immediate ongoing discussion—​ contributes to becoming a member in a classroom community where many ways of being deaf are recognized and encouraged. What is interesting is that participants are, in these concrete ways, invited to engage with resources from across language varieties and modalities; this occurs in a complex manner, rather than in some instrumental ideologically framed fashion. Chaining is constituted by the utilization of a range of linguistic resources in everyday languaging by speakers, writers, and signers. The use of such resources does not map neatly or automatically onto audiologically framed identity categories like deaf/​hard of hearing or hearing. This means that the sociolinguistic profiles of communities where audiologically defined deaf and hearing individuals are members or where signed language varieties and modalities are used need to be recognized as complex (Leigh, 2017). While hearing status and technologies play a decisive role for the communicative repertoires of deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals, erasing and reducing access to either spoken language resources (as has been the case during the SSL-​ written Swedish phase; see earlier sections) or to signing resources (as is the current situation for students with CIs in mainstream settings) creates reductionist framings for participation and the meaning-​making potentials of communication.

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Given that chaining and visual orientation constitute significant dimensions of meaning-​making, accessibility issues for deaf students necessitate that a rich range of semiotic resources are recognized and privileged in both segregated and mainstream settings of which they are members. Aspects of the chained ecology of visually oriented ways-​ of-​being-​with-​words thus present a nuanced picture of what is marked as “being deaf” or as “deaf bilingualism.” In contrast, naturalizing categories like “first/​second language” nomenclature in the education of students’ risks normalizing “disabled group belongingness.” Such nomenclature is also problematic given the fact that most deaf children—​ with or without CIs—​ are members of hearing families where SSL is not used (initially, at least). Furthermore, such nomenclature is based on a monolingual norm where deaf students’ complex languaging repertoires are erased. Characteristics of “bilingual communication,” as illustrated analytically in this chapter, highlight the fallacy of conceptualizing Swedish and SSL as “in need” of being kept apart or being bounded to hearing status or in terms of the spoken or written modalities of Swedish. As the ideologies unpacked in the third section and the languaging patterns presented in the fourth section of this chapter illustrate, spoken language hegemonies embedded in such conceptualizations become curtailing for students in mainstream learning spaces, just as the policy call for their complete erasure during the 1990s was curtailing in segregated settings. Such erasure needs to be recognized in terms of a homogenizing ideological language-​ learner identity focus, rather than a heterogenous fluid language-​learner many-​ways-​of-​being-​deaf  focus. NOTES 1. Following recent theorizing regarding named languages as being problematic (May 2014; Pietikäinen, Kelly-​Holmes, Jaffe, & Coupland, 2016), all languages—​spoken, written, and signed—​need to be recognized as language varieties. Such theorizing emphasizes the meaning-​making capacity of language. In other words, languages need to be recognized as meaning-​ making tools rather than as separate codes. Hereafter, I use the term “language varieties” rather than the plural form “languages.” 2. Deaf-​ Hearing worlds or spaces highlight the close collaborations and interactions of deaf and hearing individuals in school settings. Compared to Lane, Hoffmeister, and Bahan’s (1996) focus in their classic volume, A Journey Into the Deaf World, this chapter constitutes peeping into DH worlds. 3. It is thus common for researchers inspired by this theoretical framework to hyphenate people and tools in various ways in their writings. 4. In contrast to the auditory-​ spoken and the visual-​ script modalities of (spoken-​ written) Swedish, SSL, like other signed language varieties, is dominated by visual, gestural, haptic/​tactile modalities. While the characteristics of auditory-​spoken, visual-​script, and signed language varieties

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differ, specific dimensions like “fingerspelling” and “mouthing” draw upon semiotic resources from both spoken and signed language varieties. Similar to other signed languages, SSL is a language variety where a special embodied manual system—​fingerspelling—​is used for representing the Swedish alphabets (or alphabets from other Latin-​based language varieties) in a visual-​manual modality (primarily) on the hands. Lip movements (often) without the production of sound that are resources of SSL, Swedish and languaging generally (primarily) on the mouth. This gloss includes other corporal aspects that contribute toward SSL. Similarly, SSL is not only on the hands but includes facial expressions, use of space, and so on. 5. See http://​www.ju.se/​ccd. 6. I  have studied the educational policies and social practices primarily in segregated school settings (projects 1, 2, and 3) and together with colleagues and students in mainstream educational settings (projects 2 and 4) in Sweden. 7. CIs are advanced hearing aids that are surgically placed in the inner ear. 8. I generated the classroom data in the first two projects and had access to the classroom interactional data in projects 3 and 4 primarily via video-​ recordings. I  also generated data regarding institutional home pages, policies, and archive materials in all the projects. 9. Parallel ethnographies in all-​hearing mainstream educational settings at CCD enable such a comparison. 10. In contrast to visual communication or auditory communication, visually oriented languaging acknowledges—​as the analysis presented in this section illustrates—​the complex use of resources across spoken, written, and signed modalities by individuals irrespective of their audiological status. 11. SSL teachers in the datasets are primarily deaf; social/​ natural-​ science teachers are primarily hearing. As highlighted earlier, interpreters are seldom deployed at the primary or secondary school levels in the segregated schools. 12. See Bagga-​Gupta (2002, 2004b, 2014, 2017d) for other examples of SSL lessons from the projects from which data are drawn. 13. See Bagga-​Gupta (2004b, 2014) for more on these spaces. 14. In contrast to teacher-​produced stencils and materials that appear to be more commonly deployed in subjects like Swedish and English (see also Bagga-​Gupta,  2002). 15. See Bagga-​ Gupta (1999/​ 2000, 2002, 2004b, 2010, 2012), Hansen (2005), Hansen and Bagga-​Gupta (2017), Gynne (2016), and Gynne and Bagga-​ Gupta (2013, 2015)  for other examples of these types of chaining in both speaker-​writer and speaker-​writer-​signer educational settings. 16. Having said this, it is important to recognize that embodiment, including gaze and pointing, constitutes a dominant resource in communication in instructional settings irrespective of whether it is speaker-​writers who participate or signer-​writers are members (see also Bagga-​Gupta & St John, 2017; Gynne, 2015). 17. As opposed to pupil–​adult interaction, which comprises a routine interaction order in Swedish, English, and Mathematics lessons in segregated (and some mainstream) settings (Bagga-​ Gupta, 2002; Bagga-​ Gupta & Holmström, 2015; Holmström et al., 2015). 18. See Bagga-​Gupta (2003) for in-​depth analyses from which this transcript has been adapted.

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REFERENCES Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism. London, UK: Verso. Bagga-​ Gupta, S. (1995). Human development and institutional practices. Women, child care and the mobile creches. Linköping Studies in Arts and Science 130. Linköping University, Sweden. Bagga-​Gupta, S. (1999/​2000). Visual language environments. Exploring everyday life and literacies in Swedish deaf bilingual schools. Visual Anthropology Review, 15(2), 95–​120. Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2002). Explorations in bilingual instructional interaction:  A sociocultural perspective on literacy. Learning and Instruction, 5(2), 557–​587. doi.org/​10.1016/​S0959-​4752(01)00032-​9 Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2003). Gränsdragning och gränsöverskridande. Identiteter och språkande i visuellt orienterade skolsammanhang i Sverige [Creating boundaries and crossing boundaries. Identities and language usage in visually oriented school contexts in Sweden]. In J. Cromdal & A-​C. Evaldsson (Eds.), Ett vardagsliv med flera språk:  Om barns och ungdomars samspel i flerspråkiga skolsammanhang [Everyday life with many languages. On children’s and young people’s interaction in multilingual school contexts] (pp. 154–​178). Stockholm, Sweden: Liber. Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2004a). Literacies and deaf education:  A theoretical analysis of the international and Swedish literature. Research in Focus nr 23. Stockholm, Sweden: The Swedish National School Board. Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2004b). Visually oriented bilingualism. Discursive and technological resources in Swedish deaf pedagogical arenas. In V. Herreweghe & M. Vermeerbergen (Eds.), To the lexicon and beyond: Sociolinguistics in European Deaf communities, Volume 10. The Sociolinguistics in Deaf Communities series. (pp. 171–​207). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2007). Going beyond the great divide. Reflections from deaf studies, Örebro, Sweden. Deaf Worlds. International Journal of Deaf Studies. Special theme issue:  The meaning and place of “Deaf Studies,” 23(2  & 3),  69–​87. Bagga-​Gupta (2010). Creating and (re)negotiating boundaries: Representations as mediation in visually oriented multilingual Swedish school settings. Language, Culture and Curriculum, 23 (3), 251–​276. doi/​abs/​10.1080/​ 07908318.2010.515997 Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2012). Privileging identity positions and multimodal communication in textual practices:  Intersectionality and the (re)negotiation of boundaries. In A. Pitkänen-​Huhta & L. Holm (Eds.), Literacy practices in transition:  Perspectives from the Nordic countries (pp. 75–​ 100). Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Bagga-​ Gupta, S. (2013). The boundary-​ turn:  Relocating language, culture and identity through the epistemological lenses of time, space and social interactions. In I. Husnain, S. Bagga-​Gupta, & S. Mohan (Eds.), Alternative voices: (Re)searching language, culture and identity (pp. 28–​ 49). Newcastle-​ upon-​Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars. Bagga-​Gupta, S. (2014). Languaging:  Ways-​of-​being-​with-​words across disciplinary boundaries and empirical sites. In H. Paulasto, H. Riionheimo, L.

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9    Minimizing the Impact of Language Deprivation and Limited Access to Role Models on Deaf Identity Development in Children and Young Adults: Global Perspectives for Positive Change Goedele A. M. De Clerck and Debbie Golos

INTRODUCTION

The concern regarding language deprivation and deaf children is worldwide, spanning across languages and cultures. Securing the rights of deaf people1 to use sign languages and access Deaf cultural resources continues to be a challenge in both Western and non-​Western contexts. Sign languages are the only languages that can be naturally and visually acquired by deaf people, so this challenge has far-​reaching effects on the development, educational achievement, well-​being, and general participation in society of deaf people (Bakken Jepsen, De Clerck, Lutalo-​Kiingi, & McGregor, 2015; De Clerck, 2016; Gulati, 2019; Humphries et al., 2013). The implications of language deprivation for identity development in deaf people are not frequently treated in the literature. In this chapter we examine the impact of language deprivation from a global perspective on two periods of the life course: early childhood and young adulthood. We present research-​based interventions that combine language and identity development using creative visual and digital approaches of storytelling and exposure to Deaf role models. The first section introduces some of the literature on language deprivation and explores a perspective that is compatible with notions of multilingualism and multiliteracies. The second section concentrates on the critical function of linguistic and cultural role models in early childhood, including the notion that identity development begins early in life. We discuss issues arising from the lack of language models in Goedele A. M. De Clerck and Debbie Golos, Minimizing the Impact of Language Deprivation and Limited Access to Role Models on Deaf Identity Development in Children and Young Adults In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0009

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early childhood education and introduce a research-​based multimodal and bilingual method that works with such models to support identity development in deaf young children. The third section discusses resources to equip teachers to provide cultural and linguistic role models, such as inviting adult role models into the classroom. It also suggests ways to incorporate children’s literature, media, drama, and art activities into identity development. In the fourth section, we introduce Deaf Life Story Work (DLSW), an intervention tailored to the visual orientation and unique experiences of deaf (young) people from diverse cultural and language backgrounds, who have often had minimal access to linguistic and cultural resources. This intervention may help them progress toward a better understanding of their lives. It aims to validate and strengthen their multiple cultural and linguistic competencies, with attention to multimodal skills and multiliteracies. We present a case study from a pilot project on “Deaf Life Narratives,” which illustrates some elements of DLSW, such as cross-​language and cross-​modal communication, multilingual awareness, and sensitivity to trauma stemming from language deprivation and/​or linguistic oppression. Finally, the fifth section offers several practical recommendations for resources, such as training for professionals and an app that enables deaf (young) adults to tell their story through signing and the arts. We conclude the chapter with directions for future research. LANGUAGE DEPRIVATION, MULTILINGUALISM, AND MULTILITERACIES

Access to a rich sign language environment is often related to contact with deaf peers and role models. This section specifically examines the juxtaposition of the experience of language deprivation and the dramatic impact this has had on the lives of deaf people and the array of multilingual skills and multiliteracies they have been able to develop to overcome this language deprivation. Although it is beyond the scope of the chapter to include an in-​depth discussion of how exactly deaf children, deaf young people, and deaf adults are language deprived or an exploration of all of the effects this has or could have on them, it is useful to look into a few related definitions and research perspectives. Language deprivation results in “a recognizable constellation of social, emotional, intellectual, and other consequences” (Gulati, 2019, p. 24). Gulati (pp. 24–​25) explains: “I term this constellation Language Deprivation Syndrome (LDS) to emphasize its internal coherence and its predictability. This name has the advantage of placing responsibility for a child’s language and associated outcomes on the surrounding environment. Poor language outcomes, though frequently tolerated, are not ‘normal’ for deaf people.” The “cluster of symptoms” that is

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characteristic for LDS and has been described by clinicians includes “language dysfluency, fund of knowledge deficits, and disruptions in thinking, mood, and/​or behavior” (Hall, Levin, & Anderson, 2017, n.p.). Since children differ in their neurodevelopment and linguistic history, LDS also manifests itself differently in each individual (Gulati, 2019). The origins of LDS are in the “chronic lack of full access to a natural language during the critical period of language acquisition (when there is an elevated neurological sensitivity for language development), approximately the first 5 years of a child’s life” (Hall, Levin & Anderson, 2017, n.p.). The impact of language deprivation on the overall development of deaf people (including cognitive and social development) has drawn scholarly attention for a long time (e.g., Glickman & Hall, 2019; Gulati, 2019; Marschark, Tang, & Knoors, 2014; Sacks, 1989). Language deprivation is a risk for all deaf children. For many deaf children and families in developing countries and migration contexts, it often stems from limited or no access to resources and services. In developed countries, the one-​sided emphasis on speech and technology may deny deaf children access to a rich sign language and impact their development. This has led scholars to argue for a bilingual approach to secure deaf children’s right to language and well-​being (e.g., Gulati, 2019; Humphries et al., 2012, 2013, 2014, 2016; Marschark, Tang, & Knoors, 2014). Hall, Levin, and Anderson (2017, n.p.) conclude that “language deprivation in deaf children is preventable.” In other words, “Rather than focusing on auditory deprivation and speech skills, developmental approaches for deaf children should prioritize the healthy, expected development of all developmental domains (e.g., cognitive, academic, socio-​emotional) that comes with the guaranteed full acquisition of a fully accessible first-​ language language foundation such as sign language” (Hall, 2017, p.  963). Deaf language-​deprived individuals benefit from specialized communication programs and mental health approaches (Anderson & Wolf Craig, 2019; Spitz & Kegl, 2019). The bio-​psycho-​social-​cultural model of well-​being also invites critical reflection of pathological approaches to deafness that do not take into account the lived experiences of deaf people. Gulati (2019) calls for a mind shift: Instead of viewing challenges of language deprivation as “language delays,” conceptualizing these challenges as “language emergencies” and “developmental or human emergencies” optimizes chances for individuals to access appropriate support services. It has been increasingly documented that deaf and hard-​of-​hearing children often come to preschool delayed in language, and researchers attribute this to language deprivation (e.g., Mayberry, 2010). While typically developing monolingual hearing children might have a vocabulary over 1,000 words by the time they are 3 years old (e.g., Hart & Risley, 2003)  and be able to minimally express words in two-​to

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three-​word sentences (Simms, Baker, & Clark, 2013), deaf children who have been linguistically deprived might only have a sign vocabulary of around 200 words (or less) at age 3 and still be at a one-​to two-​word utterance level (i.e., pointing plus object) (Simms, Baker, & Clark, 2013). In the absence of a fully accessible and consistent language model in early childhood, deaf children may resort to using gestures or home signs (i.e., the idiosyncratic gestures which deaf individuals tend to develop). However, home signs do not equip them with the full range of fluid communication that extends the “here and now” and the grammatical possibilities of a bona fide language (Gulati, 2019; Spitz & Kegl, 2019). The frustrations which children experience through limited communication may result in “acting out” or expressing their emotions or needs through sometimes inappropriate behavior. These early signs of language deprivation may develop into more severe symptoms or LDS as the child grows older and becomes an adult. Indeed, apart from having an influence on conceptual development, learning processes, and emotional regulation, language deprivation may also hinder the development of theory of mind (i.e., understanding that another person has his/​ her own feelings, experiences and thoughts, and the formation of healthy human relationships; Gulati, 2019). Situating our chapter in the recent multidisciplinary explorations and debates regarding language deprivation and well-​being, we highlight a complementary perspective through exploring themes of migration, multilingualism, and interculturalism. At first glance, there may appear to be a paradox between the terms “language deprivation” and “multilingualism.” For our purpose, multilingualism is defined as knowing and using one or more languages in some ways and to some extent (Grosjean, 2010a). Thus, it is actually possible for a person to be multilingual and language deprived, meaning having substantial delays in multiple languages. Taking into account a deaf signer’s use of the majority language (either in a spoken, signed, or written form), Grosjean (2010b) asserts that most deaf signers can be considered bilingual. Sign bilingualism or multilingualism encompasses “the knowledge and use of two or more different sign languages” (Grosjean, 2010b, p. 134). Similar to hearing bilinguals, deaf bilinguals use their languages to different extents and in different ways. They often exhibit diversity in their use of modalities (e.g., a deaf signer who only uses spoken language in a written form versus a deaf signer who uses spoken language in both written and spoken forms) (Grosjean, 2010b). It is also common for deaf children to use multiple languages, the languages spoken or signed in the home, in addition to the languages signed, spoken, or in written form in educational settings. As multilinguals, they learn to use a specific language for a specific domain; indeed, language use may vary depending on the domain, the person

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one is talking to, and the purpose of the conversation. (Other aspects of multilingualism, such as language contact and code-​switching, are discussed further in the chapter.) This perspective of multilingualism has proven valuable for examining language deprivation or disorders in relation to signed communication. Rather than concentrating on one of the multiple languages a child or young person is using, it is vital to examine overall language development in all of the languages (Quinto-​Pozos,  2014). Changes in the socio-​ cultural environment and attention to linguistic diversity arising from migration, technology, and multimodal communication have led scholars to broaden literacy into a new pedagogical approach called “multiliteracies” (The New London School, 1996). This reconceptualization disentangles another potential paradox between language deprivation and literacy by promoting the notion that deaf learners’ literate and critical thinking skills can be nurtured through nonprint modes such as signing, role playing, watching and discussing videos, and drawing (Golos & Moses, 2012; Paul, 2016; Paul & Wang, 2012). Children have the potential to begin to develop knowledge about themselves and others around age 3 or sometimes younger (Bishop, 1990; NAEYC, 2009). Because deaf children have multiple and intersecting identities (i.e., race, gender, hearing levels, cultures), it is important for them to be exposed to a variety of role models throughout early childhood (Cawthon, Johnson, Garberoglio, & Schoffstall, 2016; Garcia-​ Fernandez, 2014). These models can be provided “live,” through children’s literature or through media (Golos & Moses, 2011, 2013). Yet too often children are not provided such models. Without the foundation of understanding who they are at a young age, deaf children may struggle as they get older and not attain a strong sense of self. Focused attention and efforts around identity can complement and extend other work around prevention and intervention for deaf children. In this chapter, we concentrate on how language deprivation can be addressed by fostering deaf identity development. From an educational and social science perspective, we work with the sociocultural environment and the competencies of deaf children, deaf young people, and deaf adults who have experienced language deprivation. THE IMPACT OF LANGUAGE DEPRIVATION ON DEAF CHILDREN: EARLY CHILDHOOD IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT

If we were to ask you today, who are you? How would you describe your identity? You might list the gender with which you identify, your occupation, sexual orientation, marital status, family members and roles in that family, hobbies, and so on. But who you are now may not align with how you would have described yourself 5  years ago, and

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who you were 5 years ago may differ from who you were when you were a child. Still, your early years most likely helped to shape who you have become, that is, your identity now. Research has illuminated just these points—​(1) that each of us has an identity, in fact, multiple intersecting identities (Garcia-​Fernandez, 2014); (b) that our identities may change or adjust over time (Cawthon et al., 2016); (c) that identity development begins in early childhood (Bishop, 1990); and (d) that our identities are influenced by interactions we have with people and the environment as we grow (Derman-​Sparks & Edwards, 2010). Often, people think about early childhood as a time to develop foundational knowledge for reading, writing, and other academic skills. Although sharing and learning to read and write children’s names, where they live, and other “personal identity” details are thoroughly reinforced in early childhood, typically, much less time is devoted to sharing and learning about “social identities,” such as gender, race, culture, disability, and economic background (Cross, 1991). Some believe that children are too young for ideas and conversations related to social identities. Yet even before children enter formal schooling, as early as age 3, they begin to comment on, question, and consider aspects of identity, including gender, skin color, and family structure. This includes thinking and wondering about what makes them similar to and different from others. Children may express observations of how someone they see may differ, such as “Why is that man’s skin dark? Why is that lady getting pushed in a chair?” or be similar to them by saying, for example, “My skin looks like yours, Mommy” (Derman-​Sparks & Edwards, 2010, p. 12). As Doucet and Adair (2013) outline, when children pose questions or make comments about differences in “social identity,” such as race, teachers often respond in one of two ways. One way is to take the “colorblind approach:  we are all the same” (p.  89), focusing only on similarities among humans. The other way is to take the “celebration of differences: diversity rocks” approach (p. 90), with special events that often concentrate on “surface-​level differences,” such as food, clothing, and holiday. However, rather than focusing solely on similarities or a celebration of differences, some advocate for a third approach, a social justice approach (Ryan & Hyland, 2010) or anti-​bias education (ABE) approach (Derman-​ Sparks & Edwards, 2010). The ABE approach recognizes that identity develops over time and that many factors contribute to an individual’s sense of who they are. Because of this viewpoint, it is critical for those interacting with children during this developmental period to consider the potential impact of messages conveyed through words, images, and actions. A challenge is how to frame a response to questions, comments, and thinking about social identities of children through a positive, yet accurate lens. Sometimes adults are surprised

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or caught off guard by children’s observations. Sometimes they are concerned by the words or images children express related to identity, and sometimes adults’ own actions are inconsistent with what they say. A lack of or inappropriate responses might leave gaps or negative impressions about what children perceive and experience. In addition, observations by children are just that—​beginning thoughts and understandings about identity. As Derman-​Sparks and Edwards (2010) write, “Pre-​prejudice can usually be easily addressed at [an] early stage if adults are paying attention. But such ideas and feelings are also seeds that can grow into prejudice if a child’s family or other important people in the child’s life ignore or reinforce them” (p. 15). Think about the people who influenced your childhood: What about them was similar or different from you? What drew you to them? How did people respond to your noticing similarities or differences? Was there someone, other than a family member, that you really connected with or looked up to? A teacher perhaps, or friend of the family? Maybe you had a negative experience where what you saw or heard about social identities really bothered you. These interactions, even at a young age, can be memorable and have profound effects on our beliefs and perceptions about ourselves and others (Cawthon et al., 2016). To begin to understand ourselves, we need to be able to interact with others, ask questions and have discussions to help formulate not only a sense of self but others as well. What happens when children do not have sufficient language to engage in these kinds of interactions or discussions as they develop and change? What happens when they have experiences with others and/​or through other sources (books, media, etc.) to which they cannot attach language? Early childhood is the time to begin to share and discuss, in appropriate ways, accurate information about human similarities and differences that exist as well as the language to name, process, and solidify perceptions and feelings about social identities. To develop social identities, children need time to engage in play; interact with materials and others that present different people, cultures, and beliefs; and participate in conversations around these topics. They need to do this repeatedly in multiple contexts and through multiple modes. However, when children with language delays notice elements of social identities, they may not be able to express the questions or comments forming in their minds to help them process what they are seeing. This could lead to misunderstandings, confusion, or negative perceptions of themselves and others. As mentioned earlier, Derman-​Sparks and Edwards (2010) discuss common questions asked by younger children, such as: Why is her skin color different? Why do they sign? Why do they have two daddies? Think about how teachers may respond verbally to portray one attitude and nonverbally another attitude. What if children only encounter

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negative words and/​or images about a particular group of people or way of life? Here, too, Derman-​Sparks and Edwards (2010) present illustrative examples: “when the dolls in the classroom are all white or the pictures on the classroom walls show only White people, children may internalize that other colors of human skin are ‘less than or bad’ ” (p. 13). Indeed, “The lessons of societal visibility and invisibility come from many sources: what children see and do not see in movies, television, books, toys, learning materials, and what they observe in the people who teach them, provide medical care, lead religious rituals and so on. Children absorb these messages every day, often without adults in their lives even knowing what the children are learning” (p. 14). Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing children need opportunities to engage in conversations and resources to help them feel good about themselves. It is critical to provide these children with diverse adult role models, particularly those who are deaf and hard of hearing (Cawthon et al., 2016). Evidence from deaf adults’ lives demonstrates the lasting effects of not encountering people who share one’s own characteristics. Deaf children frequently do not encounter Deaf adults until later in life (Marschark, Lang, & Albertini, 2002; Weisel & Reichstein, 1990), and this can have an impact on their perceptions of deafness and Deaf people. For instance, some young deaf children may believe that they will become hearing when they are older, or they may even believe that they will not make it to adulthood because they have never seen a deaf adult. Not witnessing successful Deaf people can leave deaf children wondering and believing inaccurately about their future and potential success in varied careers, relationships, and overall happiness with who they are. A Deaf role model can make a positive impact by modeling successful and fluent communication in a visual language (Cawthon et al., 2016). Observing a positive role model can inspire deaf children to embrace their strengths as “visual beings,” to value themselves, to use their multilinguistic abilities to connect with other languages (including written language), and to seek their greatest potential academically and socially (Cawthon et al., 2016; Garcia-​Fernandez, 2014; Holcomb, 1997). Given their importance, role models should be provided frequently and represent diverse deaf populations. Yet recent evidence suggests that much work is needed in early childhood education around linguistic or cultural Deaf role models. In the United States, for example, few such models are being incorporated into early childhood classrooms with deaf children on a consistent and regular basis (Golos, Moses, Roemen, & Cregan, 2018). Schools can invite Deaf adults into classrooms regularly; they can also seek to increase the number of Deaf adults on staff and seek consultation from Deaf community leaders about curricular and co-​curricular initiatives. In addition to providing “live” role models in face-​to-​face settings, adults working with deaf children must also identify and evaluate the

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words and images in print and electronic media and other materials with which children regularly engage (Moses, Golos, & Holcomb, 2018). These representations can either foster or prohibit children from forming and appreciating knowledge about self and others depending on whether messages portrayed are negative or positive. Two studies examined types of cultural and pathological messages that children’s picture books portrayed about deaf characters (Golos & Moses, 2011; Golos, Moses, & Wolbers, 2012). We found that significantly more pathological messages (i.e., the character is depicted as needing to be fixed, being isolated, unable to function in society) were presented in the text and illustrations compared to cultural messages (i.e., mentioning aspects of Deaf culture, sign language, or the Deaf community) overall and that some books had an equal number of pathological and cultural messages. Results also suggested that the illustrations sometimes exhibited more messages than the text. For example, the book Oliver Gets a Hearing Aid contained only five pathological messages in the text but 17 in the illustrations. In addition, in this book there were no cultural messages portrayed in either the text or illustrations. Another book, My Heart Glow, depicted the same number of pathological messages in text and illustrations (four each), but there were five cultural messages in the text and none in the illustrations. These conflicting messages between the text and illustrations can be confusing for children without an adult mediating and helping to guide them through discussions (Golos, Moses, & Wolbers, 2012). What does this mean, though, for children who are delayed in language and rely heavily on images rather than text to understand a book’s content and who lack the language to participate in discussions to help clarify meaning? RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FACILITATING IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT IN EARLY CHILDHOOD

Rather than avoid discussions of social identities with young children, particularly those who are language deprived, educators and others can facilitate identity development in deaf children while also promoting language development. One way to accomplish both of these goals is to share high-​quality, culturally relevant resources, including electronic media (Golos, 2010a, 2011a, 2011b). Works of fiction can illustrate diverse characters, storylines, and settings that demonstrate how Deaf people live, work, and function positively in everyday life. Nonfiction works can showcase successes of real Deaf people and the Deaf culture and community. Engaging with such print and electronic media can foster language and literacy, the motivation to read, and a greater understanding of identity. Utilizing books and media requires a critical review of the material before sharing with children. Past studies have revealed a lack of

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quality or positive Deaf role models in children’s literature or media that includes Deaf characters (Golos & Moses, 2011; Golos, Moses, & Wolbers, 2012; Golos, 2010a, 2016). For example, in The Spelling Window, an elementary school boy gets stuck in an elevator because he does not know how to use it, and police have to be called to rescue him. In another book, Dina the Deaf Dinosaur, the dinosaur runs away from home because her parents do not sign. She struggles with feelings of sadness, loneliness, and being misunderstood. In the end, her parents arrive and say they are willing to learn sign, and the family reunites. However, Dina also includes messages aligned with a cultural perspective of deafness, such as tapping or waving to gain attention, waving for applauses, and using capital “D” to represent Deaf people and their community. Although sometimes stories have positive outcomes in the end, themes of isolation, sadness, inability to function, and feeling “less than” as a result of not being able to hear are common in the picture books containing deaf characters. Another example with themes of isolation and sadness is Oliver Gets Hearing Aids. In this story, Oliver the elephant does not have any friends until he gets hearing aids. With hearing aids, he is no longer alone or lonely, and he is able to enjoy music class. The illustrations in this story convey his isolation by showing him, for example, sitting at one end of a table during a birthday party, with a tear on his cheek, while the other children are all at the other end of the table singing. The messages in this story were identified as medical or pathological in nature, as they convey the common belief that deaf children feel separated from the world and are incapable of enjoying life’s pleasures, like friendship and music, because they cannot hear. Unlike Dina, results of our analyses indicated that Oliver did not contain culturally oriented messages about deaf individuals, the Deaf community, or Deaf culture (Golos & Moses, 2011; Golos, Moses, & Wolbers, 2012). Careful consideration to the messages that young children will encounter in books and other media is warranted as part of the planning needed around interactions and instruction using these materials. This does not necessarily mean that materials that portray pathological messages in text or images should be avoided; rather, adults should evaluate the materials to determine the best ways to engage in conversations around such messages. For instance, a deaf child might relate to feelings of loneliness and having peers or family members who do not understand them or do not attempt to learn sign. Rather than considering a quick fix option such as running away, adults can discuss with children how a child might feel if his or her parents do not sign. They could also help children find ways to address their feelings about this in appropriate ways. Reading Oliver with a class might allow a teacher to pose questions for the children: Can deaf people have friends if they do not have hearing

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aids? Have you ever felt lonely or isolated? What can you do? What can hearing friends do? Although picture books are generally aimed at younger readers, they can be used to facilitate discussion about these issues with children in elementary school and beyond, as they continue to explore their identity. Hearing children also benefit from having these books shared with them and by engaging in similar discussions. They, too, can learn about negative stereotypes and, in contrast, see more accurate depictions of people who may differ from them in terms of hearing level. Children who are severely language delayed and only able to get information from images can still benefit from being read books with diverse characters. However, resources that only portray pathological images of deaf people might not be the best choice to use with them. An alternative for deaf children who are language delayed is to select resources that showcase the positive attributes of deaf people, such as the Peter’s Picture Media series (available for free from www. peterspicture.com) that presents information through multiple modalities. Children can access information even if they have language delays. Media, such as videos and apps created with Deaf audiences in mind, can provide cultural and linguistic role models to supplement “live” models. For example, while it has been shown to benefit deaf and hard-​of-​hearing young children with diverse language levels, the Peter’s Picture media series (Golos, 2010b, 2011a; 2011b) in American Sign Language (ASL) is designed specifically for deaf children who are linguistically delayed. Golos, along with a collaborative team, developed the first video as part of her dissertation after observing deaf characters portrayed with pathological messages in several children’s programs designed for general audiences (Golos, 2010b). The team developed three subsequent videos (Golos, 2010b, 2011a, 2011b) with collaboration from Deaf consultants, Deaf actors, and ASL directors (see Moses, Golos, & Holcomb, 2018, for discussion on developing media with a cultural perspective of Deaf people). Throughout each episode, Deaf actors use strategies to reinforce key vocabulary and concepts related to the episode’s theme. Results from multiple studies indicate that children are able to learn targeted language and literacy skills and knowledge about Deaf people after viewing the videos multiple times (Golos & Moses, 2011, 2013); they learn even more when the teacher mediates interactions (Golos & Moses, 2013; Moses, Golos, & Bennett, 2015)  and provides supplemental materials and activities (Golos & Moses, 2015). (See Golos & Moses, 2013, and Moses, Golos, & Holcomb, 2018 for a summary of the studies.) Even children who have very minimal previous exposure to ASL or written English demonstrated significantly higher scores for targeted language and literacy skills after viewing these videos than before viewing them (Golos & Moses, 2011, 2013).

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Children with language delays are able to access Peter’s Picture because the media materials integrate strategies such as acting things out and using gestures as well as multimodal representations of key concepts (i.e., chaining, signing, fingerspelling, print on screen, and images of the concepts that vocabulary words represent; Ramsey & Padden, 1998) repeatedly throughout each episode in multiple contexts. Also, other research-​based techniques were utilized, such as having the main character, Peter, communicate directly to the viewing audience and wait for a response (Crawley, Anderson, Wilder, Williams, & Santomero, 1999). This allows children viewing the videos multiple opportunities to engage, think, and learn while interacting with the content. We are currently in the process of developing an app that aligns with the games already incorporated into each video (Golos et al., unpublished data). Although Peter’s Picture incorporates ASL specifically, videos and apps of this type could be developed in any language. Media can serve dual purposes: (1) modeling and promoting language and literacy acquisition and (2)  facilitating identity development. Children need to see both themselves and others, face to face, in print and electronically (Bishop, 1990). They need to see other deaf children and Deaf adults from diverse backgrounds (i.e., gender, racial, cultural) interacting with one another. In an effort to provide linguistic and cultural role models, most recently, Hands Land (www.handsland.com) developed media to expose deaf young children to the culturally rich use of rhythm and rhyme in ASL to target knowledge of ASL phonological awareness (ASLPA: see Moses, Golos, & Holcomb, 2018 for a description of the Hands Land videos and ASLPA). The videos, developed by an all-​Deaf team, provide both cultural and linguistic Deaf role models for deaf young children. The videos are currently being evaluated for their effectiveness in teaching ASL phonological awareness to young children (Holcomb, Golos, & Moses, unpublished data). Ultimately, media can provide the additional benefit of offering multiple modalities to convey information to children, particularly when their home, school, and community environments may not. Other possible modes can be used to facilitate identity development, especially for children with limited language. Some examples include drawing pictures, painting, engaging in role play, or acting out stories. In general, deaf young children should be provided with the space, materials, and time to be creative and tap into what they know and experience as well as all that they can imagine about themselves, others, and the world around them. In addition, during any of these activities, teachers can videotape both adult/​child and peer-​to-​peer interactions, and these videotapes can become a resource library for students to review previous experiences.

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Videotaped interactions of children can also provide teachers with evaluative information to supplement standardized assessments for the purpose of identifying children’s language skills and needs. To understand the extent to which increasing these conversations and access to resources can benefit identity development in early childhood, evaluative tools are needed that can identify and capture knowledge and understanding children have related to social identity development. Evaluating interactions related to identity development in young children with language deprivation is tricky because accurate evaluations might be clouded by a lack of understanding of the true language abilities of the children. The Visual Communication Sign Language Checklist (VCSL; Simms, Baker, & Clark, 2013) used in the United States is one assessment used to identify linguistic abilities in children. However, more early childhood educators who are fluent in sign language should be trained to use assessments such as VCSL to be able to accurately evaluate language skills in young children. Ultimately adults need to be aware of deaf children’s potential language delays. In order to foster children’s development and self-​ awareness, adults need to understand how to mitigate the impact of language deprivation and provide multiple opportunities for children to engage with diverse Deaf role models, literature, art, and media. THE IMPACT OF LANGUAGE DEPRIVATION ON THE IDENTITIES OF DEAF YOUNG ADULTS

Although young deaf people who were significantly deprived of appropriate language exposure in their early childhood may not be able to fully acquire a first language when they gain access to it later in life, immersion in a rich sign language environment is a priority in treatment. Participation in a sign language community and interaction with peers and role models not only supports their language acquisition, it also enables them to develop a culturally Deaf identity and a feeling of belonging, which is so vital for a person’s humanity and well-​being. Their newly acquired sense of identity and the opportunities for participation support these individuals in enhancing their fund of knowledge and their understanding of the world and in improving their social skills and emotional containment (Gulati, 2019). Although it is beyond the scope of this chapter to examine different forms of remediation and treatment of language deprivation and LDS, it is vital to understand that late learning of language will continue to have an impact on language and communication skills (Spitz & Kegl, 2019) and on mental well-​being: “Adults with language deprivation have typically endured a lifetime of frustration with communication. They can be flooded with feelings of rage, sadness, and shame. Their unheard and

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misunderstood stories deserve an attentive audience” (Gulati, 2019, p. 44). This section introduces Deaf Life Story Work (DLSW) (see also De Clerck, Chapter  11, this volume) as a narrative therapeutic intervention for supporting identity development in deaf young people and deaf adults, including migrants and refugees, who have experienced language deprivation. DSLW draws on the cultural resource of signed storytelling, which is a practice across deaf communities worldwide. A  crucial aspect of storytelling is its connection with our “relational neurobiology” (Perry, 2012, p. 9), that is, our growth and participation, and our needs and capacities of inclusion: “in the cortically mediated narrative of storytelling of how we belong and how we have come to this point comes a powerful regulating, anchoring, reassuring and rewarding neurophysiological effect” (Perry, 2012, p. 10). In therapeutic work with language-​deprived deaf young adults, it is beneficial to handle an open and creative notion of storytelling: “Elucidation often requires techniques beyond words:  acting scenes out, drawing, or searching for locations, references, or people on the internet” (Gulati, 2019, p.  44). The therapeutic process needs to be respectful and sensitive regarding the timely development of storytelling, identity development, and mental health in individuals:  “Very frequently, key stories—​such as memories of abusive or neglectful experience—​are recalled and assembled in small pieces over long periods of time” (Gulati, 2019, p. 44). After presenting a case study of a young Deaf migrant who was significantly language deprived when he came to the United Kingdom, this section expounds on three themes that emerge from this case study. The first theme is that of using contact signing and multilingualism to address trauma related to language deprivation and linguistic oppression; the second theme focuses on the use of visual and digital media in identity building; and the third theme describes the creation of a zone of proximal development. The section ends with an application of lifelong learning to the process of deaf identity development. DLSW was specifically designed for multilingual Deaf signers, including those who have experienced language deprivation. It is a multimodal and digital instrument for life storytelling that is tailored to the visual orientation of deaf people (Hauser, Lukomski, & Hillman, 2008). DLSW employs visual, digital, and other creative methods and draws on a wide range of techniques from narrative therapy, mental health and reminiscence, and therapeutic life story work. DLSW is a flexible approach for Deaf signers along a continuum of communication skills (ranging from language deprivation to fluent bilingualism or multilingualism); each DLSW trajectory is unique and can be flexibly matched to individual skills of communication and learning2 (for an overview of this methodology, see De Clerck, 2018).

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One of the core principles of narrative therapy is “double listening,” a term coined by Michael White (White & Epston, 1990; White, 2007). Drawing on Derrida’s deconstructionism and the notion of giving meaning to texts based on what is present (or privileged) and what is absent (or subjugated) in them, therapists can conceptualize clients’ stories as “multistoried” and work with “the absent but implicit.” When clients present a problem-​saturated story, there are subjugated meanings that hint at more agentive positioning, and these open up a range of possibilities to explore a “preferred” story instead of a “problem-​ saturated story” (White & Epston, 1990; see also Carey, Walther, & Russell, 2009). In an extended reasoning, “double listening” invites us to delve into the paradoxical juxtaposition of language deprivation as the problem-​saturated stance and implicit multilingualism as the preferred story. How this can be done is illustrated by a case study from the Deaf Life Narratives project, a European Union–​funded study at the University of Manchester (2015–​2017).3 The participant, Yusuf,4 was acquiring a signed language. A  young Asian participant in his early twenties, he joined the project almost a year after he had arrived in the United Kingdom. A few months earlier, his family had dropped him off at a local Deaf center, with a short note stating his address and the number of the bus that could take him home. He did not know BSL (British Sign Language) or English, and staff members had to be creative in communicating with him. One of them had a migration background and was familiar with gestures and transnational communication with users of other sign languages, and was able to establish a form of basic communication, although it was a challenge. Finding accessible support services for Yusuf was also challenging since most are tailored to BSL. Since the DLSW project was open to multilingual signers, they thought it might be a way to support him. During the first session, it was important for the researcher-​ practitioner to explore possibilities for communication. Yusuf had grown up without access to a signed language. He largely relied on gestures and home signs with his family. Although he had lived in a European country for a couple of years before migrating to the United Kingdom, it seemed that he had not had sufficient access to its signed language to be able to express himself fully. Because of this, he had few language skills to transfer to the acquisition of BSL. He was not very familiar with International Sign, a mode of communication that is commonly used by Deaf signers in transnational gatherings (Adam, 2012). Nonetheless, he was able to rely on the International Sign version of the project information, which the researcher-​practitioner supported through visual and gestural communication. Adam (2012, p.  854) comments on this kind of situational sign pidgin: “The more experience signers have in communicating with users of other sign languages, the

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greater their exposure to different visually-​ motivated lexicons will be. This in turn will result in an increased number of strategies and resources to create a situational pidgin.” This mode of communication is intimately tied to the situational context, and strings of action and descriptions are presented from an experiential perspective for interlocutors to understand context-​specific meanings. For the success of pretherapeutic and therapeutic work with language-​deprived individuals, it is crucial for the therapist to match the client’s communication and cognitive levels, think outside of the box, and make use of creative techniques (Anderson & Wolf Craig, 2019; Glickman, Heines, &Watson, 2019). To establish communication with Yusuf and develop a shared language during the sessions, it was vital for the researcher-​practitioner to draw both on her experience in communication with users of other sign languages and gestures and her linguistic background, and to learn the gestures and signs that Yusuf was using. Communication was also facilitated by pictures, objects, and puppets. Puppets are often used in therapeutic work with migrants and refugees and can be considered an “extra language” (Diekmann, 2003, p. 36). For example, the researcher-​practitioner and Yusuf used sheets of paper to represent the countries he had lived in, and puppets were placed on them to represent important people in his life. This enabled him to begin his narrative of migration, and even at that early stage he used gestures to talk about the violent conflicts in his country of origin and the deaths of loved ones. Yusuf had grown up and become comfortable with digital technologies. The “visual language” of pictures on his mobile phone, images and maps on Google, and sometimes translation apps were helpful to refer to people and places, and when gestures and signs failed. The puppets, images, and maps were helpful to bring experiences into the “here and now” and provide a specific context base for the creation of situational pidgin. From the beginning, it was clear that the use of Yusuf’s mobile phone was a key part of his identity and language use, and this was explored during the sessions and represented in his life book. This book, which was produced as a printed hard copy and a digital version, consisted mainly of pictures. There were some signed videos in the digital version, and he also wanted to include short, plain English sentences to summarize the videos. When the researcher-​practitioner wrote English words or short sentences, whether as notes for his timeline or as translations of his signing for his life book, she tried to make sure that the sentences were accessible. He always read and checked the text, which remained close to his signed story. This helped him to express himself in his multiple languages. The discussions on language were also included in the life book. The following excerpt is part of his story describing how he learned English through apps that he installed on his phone in the months after his arrival. Pictures from the apps illustrate the story:

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Before I  arrived [in the United Kingdom], I  didn’t know English. I also didn’t know BSL. Now I try to learn English through visual apps with pictures. [pictures of English words and images on visual apps] These apps have been very helpful. I learned English words for colors, fruits, vegetables, and animals. [image of an app item in the fruits series: image of an orange with the word orange] Later in the process, Yusuf showed how he used the “Spread the Sign” app to make the connection between his basic knowledge of English, BSL, the European written language he had learned, and the European signed language he had partially acquired. He also made use of the app during the DLSW. He wanted to explain how he had learned to make a cake in the youth club (see later), but could not remember the BSL sign or English word for “cake.” In this case, he looked up the word using the variant that he knew in another language and made connections between the different written and signed languages. A turning point in his life was when he met Deaf signers in the United Kingdom. His mobile phone was an important resource in his search for deaf people. Although he only met a few in Europe before he came to the United Kingdom and had not fully acquired a signed language, he was eager to come into contact with Deaf signers in the United Kingdom. He was frustrated that it took a while before he found any. Considering his limited knowledge of English, he must have been creative in the use of translation apps and Google to find the center. This is his life book version of how he showed up at the Deaf center one day: When I got to town, I wanted to meet deaf people. I searched on my phone. I failed three times. However, the fourth time, I finally found the Deaf organization! That made me very happy! The life story work encouraged Yusuf to explore who he is as a young Deaf migrant. While at the center, he was supported. Center personnel encouraged him to participate in activities and investigate educational and employment opportunities. He enrolled in a BSL course and became a Deaf youth club member. He gradually started to take part in British life through learning how to take the bus, getting involved in activities, and making friends. This was very exciting for him. For the first time he was able to join a Deaf group. This also provided more possibilities for becoming independent: I started learning BSL. I  love doing activities with the youth club. I made friends there. In the beginning, I didn’t know the town and how I could get to the Deaf center. Now I know how to take the bus and get home. . . .

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I love going to the youth club. We meet weekly. We talk and tell stories. We also cook. Every week a different person cooks. That was new for me! I have now learned how to make a cake! An important part of the life story work centered on strengthening Yusuf’s identity and enabling him to express what he likes and does not like, how he feels, what he thinks, what he values, and so on. In life story work practice, this is sometimes captured through the process of “All about me,” in which clients are invited to make pictures of important people and things. This is done at or near the beginning in standard life story work, and it helps to “anchor” the child or young person in the present and make him or her feel safe before looking into the past (Rose, 2012). A somewhat different approach is employed in DLSW, to work alongside the individual’s process of language acquisition, and to foster a developing sense of self. Since Yusuf had had very limited communication and few opportunities to express himself and participate in life (e.g., at school), this exploration helped him build his identity and communicate about things that matter to him. It was also vital to value his learning strategies and exploit his visual languages while being sensitive to traumatic experiences. For example, he told the researcher-​practitioner that he did not like drawing since it was connected with painful experiences in formal education, so other alternative visual methods were selected instead, such as photos and videos. When we discussed these difficult educational experiences again later, we worked with puppets, maps, and images to represent his school journey, including the schools he had attended, and his transport. Yusuf first attended formal education when he was 14 and had just moved to Europe. He had never gone to school in his home country. He was in a mainstream school in a new country, with only two other deaf students. He did not know the language and had no access to communication support. Although schools commonly forbid the use of mobile phones during class, this was extremely difficult for him as his phone helped him understand what was happening and feel safe. It was hard for him to follow the lessons, and he often fell asleep. He had to copy from the blackboard, without understanding anything. However, he managed to learn how to read and write the national language, and he also learned a second national language.5 Things improved when Yusuf went to secondary school. All the students were hearing, and it was still difficult, but three staff members provided sign language interpreting during some classes, and he was allowed to use his phone. Some of his classmates were from his country of origin and they became close friends. Occasionally he was punished for defending his friends when they were bullied, which he identified as an injustice. Yusuf disclosed this memory toward the end of the

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DSLW trajectory. Although he had acquired more BSL by that time, he was still heavily dependent on gestures for expressing what had happened at school and how he felt about it, which also reveals that he didn’t have many other options at the time for expressing himself than through acting out and fighting. Looking back on his school time, Yusuf concludes in his life book: I didn’t really learn much in my first European country. There were too many barriers. Now I  sign and I  understand what’s happening. It’s much better now. What is captured in a few sentences in his book is actually a large step for his identity development. His recognition of educational and language-​ related experiences that had harmed him is also illustrative of trauma processing. The aforementioned principle of “double listening” in narrative therapy refers to the process of listening to and acknowledging the problems, while also having an eye for what is going well, and for the client’s competencies and talents. From the dialogue between therapist and client, an alternative journey is created, which gives meaning to what has happened and makes room for future perspectives. Among the extremely difficult experiences, Yusuf and the therapist also acknowledged hope stemming from the communication support and his talent for sports, which he also discovered at secondary school. It was vital for the researcher-​practitioner therapist to continuously provide “stepping-​ stones” that enabled Yusuf to learn about himself through exploring preferred—​though subjugated—​narratives of agency (White, 2007; in Vygotskyan terms, this is called “scaffolding,” see also De Clerck, 2016; De Clerck, Chapter  11, this volume). When asked about valued objects (Kroger & Adair, 2008) for his life book, for example some precious things that he had kept with him during his migration to Europe, he brought a photo of all the medals that he had won in athletics, most of them gold. Although he only enrolled in formal education when he came to Europe and his daily experience of going to school was limited, he had run in mainstream school competitions all over the country of arrival. He said he could sense the starting shot. This story was later integrated into a broader timeline. Placing difficult experiences into a chronology, contextualizing them, and looking at them from a broader overview of life are elements that support trauma processing (Schauer & Elbert, 2016). During the work, Yusuf gradually learned how to use his phone to produce stories. During a holiday in Europe, he made many pictures and videos about where he lived before coming to the United Kingdom and favorite activities such as going to the fair, buying food at the market, going for bicycle rides, and watching fireworks. In the first session after his vacation, he recorded a short signed story about his holiday. He described how his family had had a good time but he was

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bored since he missed his new friends. Signed communication and peer interaction in BSL were becoming part of his identity. Yusuf was very pleased that 3 months after the difficult first sessions, he was skilled enough to turn his story into a signed video for his life book. In a chronological story and understandable BSL, he summarized the journey of his migration. His story ended with a reflection on how his understanding of BSL had improved, which made him happy. He also recorded a video detailing his future plans, which emphasizes his desire for autonomy and sense of agency: I have made a video of my plans for the future! A  friend I  met in Europe has moved and I hope that I will be able to visit him in his new city. I know how to take the plane alone and it would be so nice to see him again. I had hoped to be able to start college in September. Unfortunately, the tests in English and maths were difficult for me and I will need more time. The Deaf center is now helping me to enroll in adult education. They are also sorting interpreters. Yusuf’s view of himself as an ordinary young Deaf person—​that is, on a par with his deaf peers in the United Kingdom—​seems to be an effective survival strategy. DLSW strengthened the stance of lifelong learning employed by the Deaf center, which encouraged him to seek new experiences through participating in center activities. It also optimized the informal learning he does through interaction with deaf peers. This is a form of learning that he never previously had. DLSW was a safe way to discover his individual personality, in a way that fits in with British Deaf youth culture while validating his cultural heritage and the collective cultural background of his family. The next three subsections explore some of the themes that emerge from this case study. CROSS-​LANGUAGE AND CROSS-​MODAL COMMUNICATION, MULTILINGUAL AWARENESS, AND A TRAUMA-​INFORMED APPROACH

Cross-​ language communication with Yusuf included multilingual aspects that are common when working with deaf people who grew up in non-​Western contexts, such as the use of gestures and home signs, as well as code-​switching and contact signing. Home signs can be described as a system of gestures produced by deaf children who have not been able to access spoken language and have not come into contact with a signed language (Goldin-​Meadow & Brentari, 2017). These children may have learned co-​ speech gestures, which are gestures produced by hearing people that often accompany spoken language, such as gestures indicating directions when explaining how to get to a certain place.

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Unlike spoken languages, signed languages can use the shared visual-​spatial modality to incorporate gestures within actual linguistic structures (e.g., Brookes & Nyst, 2014; Van Loon, Pfau, & Steinbach, 2014). Language contact in communicating with Yusuf was based on “languages and communication systems within and across languages and communication modalities” (Quinto-​Pozos & Adam, 2015, p. 32). Contact signing is common in the transnational interactions of Deaf signers, for which they rely on their multimodal and bi-​/​multilingual competencies. Several structural commonalities and sociocultural features are salient in contact signing, such as iconicity (Quinto-​Pozos & Adam, 2015). As Yusuf made more and more use of BSL, communication with the researcher-​practitioner changed: While the researcher-​ practitioner initially learned gestures which Yusuf introduced through working with puppets and other visual resources and had to rely heavily on guesswork, gestural communication, and basic grammatical structures for communication in the first sessions, she eventually incorporated more signs and grammatical structures from international sign and BSL while Yusuf was being exposed to BSL and acquiring a signed language. When Yusuf wanted to discuss memories or topics for which he did not yet have the language, the researcher-​ practitioner was able to switch back to gestures to meet him on his communication level. Although DLSW can be entirely visual and carried out through signed languages, participants may communicate in other modalities, for example, writing. Written languages may also be used for completing a timeline with milestones of a person’s life, or a life book. Although Yusuf’s gestural communication was initially chaotic and he was unable to communicate linear stories, he had some notion of time and a basic knowledge of numbers and years. Building on these skills, it was possible to place key events in his life and his migration journey on a timeline. Yusuf was aware that the use of creative materials might trigger trauma related to being evaluated on his drawing at school. The context of multilingual awareness in DLSW, which validated his multilingual and multimodal competencies, as well as other skills that he had developed, did not enforce language hegemonies. A trauma-​ informed approach optimizes opportunities for participants to be in control of the process; they also need to be involved with the use of written language if they choose this method for any of their DLSW activities, for example, life books. Yusuf had a notion of a future self with knowledge of English. He wanted to be able to look back on his experiences later in life, and therefore, it was important for him to have a written life book. His book was highly visual and the language was basic and stayed close to his signing. This not only enabled him to access the language but also expanded his knowledge of English.

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USING DIGITAL AND VISUAL MEDIA

Double listening invited the therapist to study the multiliteracies and digital competencies that Yusuf had developed to facilitate communication, recognize these, and explore how to strengthen them by inviting him to document his story using digital devices. After having been forbidden to use his mobile phone at school, this was empowering. While using the project’s iPad or his mobile phone to take photos, he gained confidence in filming and started making videos of his own signed stories, revealing his increasing competence in BSL. Since digital communication is common among young Deaf people in the United Kingdom, learning to talk about himself in a signed video not only strengthened his identity and sense of belonging but also enhanced his social and cultural capital and equipped him with skills that he can transfer to other life domains in Britain. FACILITATING IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT THROUGH A ZONE OF PROXIMAL DEVELOPMENT

Yusuf and other participants in the Deaf Life Narratives project viewed the DLSW, the insights they gained about their own lives, and the changes in their identity and agency as a learning process (De Clerck, 2018). This corresponds with a sociocultural perspective of deaf identity, which conceptualizes identity formation as a continuous process of learning in interaction with cultural resources and significant others (De Clerck, 2016; see also De Clerck, Chapter 11, this volume). Indeed, in the combination of resources and peer interaction with a Deaf role model, DLSW creates a “zone of proximal development,” bridging “the distance between the actual developmental level as determined by independent problem solving and the level of potential development as determined through problem solving under adult guidance or in collaboration with more capable peers” (Vygotsky, 1978, p. 86). Looking back on the DLSW process, a number of elements can be identified that foster this continued development in young deaf people who have experienced language deprivation: • interaction with a multilingual DSLW therapist who is familiar with language variation (including gestures and home signs), migration, deaf identity, and cultural diversity, and who is able to facilitate communication using contact signing and code-​ switching and matching the learners’ communication and learning levels; • a language environment that recognizes their multilingual and multimodal competencies and strengthens their language use;

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• a wide range of creative, visual, and digital interventions to support multimodal and multilingual storytelling that can be tailored to individual preferences; • sensitivity to deaf-​specific trauma or oppression, for example, no communication access or interpreting at school (Anderson et al., 2016); • “scaffolding” or providing stepping-​stones to foster people’s understanding of who they are, the challenges they have faced (for example, in language development), and their personal agency, to guide them through the zone of proximal development (Vygotsky, 1978; see also De Clerck, 2016; De Clerck, Chapter 11, this volume); • identification and validation of personal skills and strengths (e.g., athletic talent, communication skills, digital skills) and mobilization of capital, including psychological (e.g., resilience), social (e.g., peer interaction), and cultural (e.g., digital skills that foster participation in the Deaf youth community) capital. These elements are in alignment with a stance of inclusive and lifelong learning, promoted in Article 24 of the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. Enabling deaf people to live up to their potential and fully participate in society requires the mobilization of sufficient resources to bolster their identity development. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FACILITATING DEAF IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT DURING YOUNG ADULTHOOD

The findings of the Deaf Life Narratives project, illustrated in the case study of Yusuf, highlight the potential of DLSW as an intervention for fostering identity development in deaf young people and adults who have experienced language deprivation. This section offers six recommendations for facilitating this identity development. These have been formulated by drawing on the study and the themes discussed earlier. These recommendations aim to assist life story work practitioners, mental health and social work providers, educators, and professionals working with young deaf people and deaf adults. Service providers should have opportunities to build their knowledge about fostering identity development in young deaf individuals who have experienced language deprivation. It is vital to work with the multilingual, multimodal, and multiliterate competencies that they may have been able to develop. These considerations need to be taken into account for informed decision making in arranging services and working with a deaf or signing life story work practitioner who can communicate directly with the client and/​or a qualified sign

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language interpreter and/​or Deaf interpreter who has specialized in mental health and has experience with linguistically and culturally diverse deaf clients.5 An information video on DLSW as a therapeutic approach that can be tailored to individuals is available at https://​bit. ly/​2N7AJof • For the purpose of DLSW, supported by an ESRC IAA grant,6 a Deaf Life Story Telling app was generated. Freely available on the App Store, it is an innovative digital tool that exploits the visual strengths of deaf service users, specifically those who are multilingual and/​or have experienced language deprivation. As a cost-​efficient instrument, it aims to enrich the daily lives of deaf people by enabling them to tell their life stories in signed and visual languages. The app is structured according to the building blocks of DLSW as discussed in the case study, such as “all about me,” “strengths and skills,” a timeline, a map, “my future,” and so on. • DLSW can be seen as a culturally affirmative therapeutic approach that positively validates deaf clients’ multiple emergent signed and written/​spoken languages, as well as myriad cultural environments and communities. Contact signing supports the creation of a zone of proximal development, which facilitates the learning process involved with DLSW and identity development. As a part of contact signing and the development of a shared language and working alliance, it is helpful for DLSW practitioners to become familiar with the client’s gestures and/​or home signs and provide enough time during the sessions to make sure that clients are able to express themselves and establish communication. Sharing information on linguistic diversity and signed languages (including sign language rights) may be empowering and enable clients to counter bias against signed or indigenous languages. DLSW aims to be a secure place for deaf migrants to use their languages, regardless of their proficiency. For example, they may code-​switch for certain parts of stories, use gestures or act when they share memories, write words they remember from their indigenous written language, or use emoticons to express how they feel on their timeline. Sharing their story of language development encourages them to integrate experiences from present and past into their identities. • Tailoring a trauma-​ informed therapeutic approach (Rose, 2012)  includes reflexivity on language use and sensitivity to trauma related to “being-​deaf-​in-​a-​hearing-​world” (Anderson et  al., 2016), language deprivation, and linguistic oppression. For example, a client who is still acquiring the majority or

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national sign language may experience an exclusive use of this language in DLSW as symbolic violence. A continued awareness of language hierarchies during the DLSW process, with involvement of clients on the use of their preferred language(s), is needed to secure safety. This begins with informed consent, and the practitioner continuously checks with the client during the sessions to be sure it is acceptable for the practitioner to make notes or use a particular creative technique. Clients are offered a wide range of ways to represent their story, including for example an entirely visual and digital life book, a book with short sentences, and a full written account illustrated by pictures or signed videos. • All the participants in the study experienced a great deal of stress in everyday life, especially when facing the challenges of migrating to a new country, trying to enroll in formal education, finding a job, and taking care of their families. It is empowering for them to combine a stance of lifelong learning with a constructivist narrative perspective (Meichenbaum, 1994; see also Glickman, 2013)  that connects learning skills with positive concepts and metaphors. Clients become interested in their own story, for which they find recognition during the DLSW. Gaining insight into their lives, including how they have been language deprived, or how they have built knowledge of multiple (visual) languages and other skills in spite of barriers in education, is vital for their sense of self and generates resilience for further learning. • Ideally, DLSW is embedded in a broader network that engages young deaf adults with Deaf peers and role models. These are not only language models but also social and cultural models, as they generate opportunities for deaf young adults to participate in community events and learn-​by-​doing in a community of practice. It is vital to sensitize Deaf communities and Deaf centers to ways of supporting deaf adults and deaf young people through participation in activities and informing them of possibilities for referral to specialized support. Specialized services can also support clients in finding their way to Deaf community networks. CONCLUSIONS AND DIRECTIONS FOR FUTURE RESEARCH

This chapter has concentrated on two parts of the life course:  early childhood and young adulthood. It has attempted to complement the literature on how language deprivation affects deaf individuals’ identity development and how identity development can be facilitated. Theoretically, the chapter employs a framework of language

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deprivation that is compatible with multilingual, multiliterate, and multimodal competencies and draws on this framework to introduce research-​based interventions that facilitate identity development while promoting language development. These interventions make use of visual, creative, digital, and storytelling methods. Understanding oneself is essential for a healthy and secure identity, the construction of which begins at a young age. Since deaf children are vulnerable to language deprivation, it is vital for educational settings to expose them to models of language and cultural role models through multiple interactions, contexts, and resources from early childhood education onward. This includes providing diverse and high-​ quality educational resources (children’s literature, media, technology, etc.). Importantly, children need to be provided with time to engage with and interact with such materials. For children who are language deprived, adults can use scaffolding during these interactions to facilitate their development through strategies such as asking open-​ended questions (e.g., What did you draw?). These children particularly need opportunities to engage and interact through art (painting, drawing, clay etc.), role play, shared reading, media, and so on. While we know that children are influenced by the types of and discussions related to social identities and benefit from exposure to cultural and linguistic role models, this is not happening as much as it should in early childhood education classrooms (Golos, Moses, Roemen, & Cregan, 2018). However, this research was limited to self-​ reported information from educators and only those in the United States. Additional observational data are needed, on a global scale, to examine the types and qualities of resources and interactions that children engage with in early childhood settings. This will provide a better understanding of the resources and professional development that may be needed to facilitate the development of social identities during the early years. One way to further examine early childhood settings both in homes and schools would be to use an environmental checklist of the settings to identity the types of activities and materials provided (e.g., books/​ media with diverse and Deaf characters, sign language). This could be followed by gathering more information by observations and interviews to determine the quality of interactions that are occurring. For example, one could ask not only which books with deaf characters are read aloud but also how often such books are read and what types of discussions are occurring during these shared reading experiences. What types of conversations related to building understanding social identities are taking place not only during shared reading but also during art time, drama time, and so on. Additional data should be gathered through multiple methods, including videotaping discussions

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and observations of young children interacting with materials as well as collecting artifacts of their work. Interviewing teachers and family members as they think and talk about topics of social identities can provide information about the types and qualities of experiences children are having. Combined, these data could clarify understandings children are forming about themselves and others. Exposure to cultural and language models, in addition to providing resources and interactions in support of identity development, is also vital for young deaf people and deaf adults who have not had full access to communication in a rich language environment during a critical period of their lives. Designed for multilingual signers, including those who have experienced language deprivation, DLSW is an innovative cross-​cultural therapeutic intervention that strengthens identity and supports individuals in telling their life stories. It approaches deaf identity development from a stance of lifelong learning which optimizes opportunities for participation in Deaf community networks and learning-​by-​doing in a community of practice (Lave & Wenger, 1999). Drawing on signed storytelling as a Deaf cultural resource, DLSW has the potential to respond to neurobiological human needs of belonging. Considering the impact of language deprivation on identity formation, it would be valuable to explore whether and how DLSW could be adjusted and offered as a school-​based service for primary and secondary education, and what benefits this might provide (see also Price, 2017 on life story work in school settings). The linguistic and cultural competencies of deaf professionals are vital for an adequate response to cross-​language issues and for facilitating deaf life storytelling; this deserves further investigation. Particularly in relation to language deprivation, it would be beneficial to situate DLSW in and investigate it from a multidisciplinary approach, which ideally also facilitates language and identity development in the home environment, educational settings, and leisure time. Strengthening the research base through case studies, as well as further research of deaf life story work in diverse cultural settings, and with deaf people of diverse ages is likely to be advantageous. Further research is also needed in the possible combination of DLSW and other therapeutic approaches in mental health services. Research and resources related to facilitating identity development are needed in this area to understand best practices for facilitating identity development in deaf children, young people, and adults across the life span and on a global level. Optimally, researchers and practitioners need to produce age-​appropriate, research-​based resources that are sensitive to identity and language development in deaf children and young people, such as apps, games, and stories. We also need to create mechanisms to share such resources so that we may adapt them into multiple sign languages and cultural settings around the world. Most

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importantly we must provide increasing opportunities for deaf children and young people to engage with these resources. FUNDING

The Deaf Life Story Work research presented in this chapter was supported by H2020 Marie Skłodowska-​Curie Actions [No 656285] and the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) Impact Acceleration Account. NOTES 1. In this chapter, the term deaf refers to children and (young) adults who are deaf with varying hearing levels (i.e., deaf and hard of hearing). The term Deaf refers to discussion about Deaf culture and/​or to those who consider themselves members of the Deaf community. 2. Readers who want to know more about DLSW or want to read another case study can see De Clerck, Chapter 11, this volume; see also De Clerck (2018). 3. Eight deaf people from diverse backgrounds in Europe, Asia, and Africa, aged 20–​50  years, participated in the study. One was born in the United Kingdom, while the others were migrants or refugees who arrived in the United Kingdom at various ages. Several participants experienced language deprivation during and beyond the critical period for language acquisition; this occurred either due to factors in their country of origin and/​or a global context of development and migration, or because of local (Western) barriers to sign language acquisition. All of the participants were multilingual and preferred sign language communication; one participant used gestures as a first language. 4. The name of the participant has been replaced by a pseudonym to ensure confidentiality; details of the story have also been modified. 5. Since Yusuf had never been in school before or had individual support or bilingual education, it is likely that he only acquired basic knowledge of these languages. The sign language skills that he had acquired were not sufficient to allow for code-​switching to International Sign or a relatively quick acquisition of BSL. (Fluent deaf signers are commonly able to acquire a second sign language relatively quickly.) 6. Proof of concept for the Deaf Life Story Telling app was developed during the first stage of the Deaf Life Narratives project. During the project’s second stage, which was supported by an ESRC IAA (Economic and Social Research Council, Impact Acceleration Account) grant, the proof of concept was advanced beyond the prototype and into a fully functioning app suitable for sign language users. The app was fine-​tuned through engagement and demo feedback from culturally and linguistically diverse service users as consultants. Other stakeholders, including providers, also offered their views (e.g., on privacy settings and protected content sharing in mental health settings) during a national DLSW workshop. This supported the app’s finalization. The app is currently available for the iOS platform, and development for other platforms is under consideration.

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REFERENCES Adam, R. (2012). Language contact and borrowing. In R. Pfau, M. Steinbach, & B. Woll (Eds.), Sign language: An international handbook (pp. 841–​862). Berlin, Germany: Mouton de Gruyter. Anderson, M. L., & Wolf Craig, K. S. (2019). Developing therapy approaches for deaf clients impacted by language deprivation. In N. Glickman & W. Hall (Eds.), Language deprivation and deaf mental health (pp. 83–​100). New  York, NY: Routledge. Anderson, M. L., Wolf Craig, K. S., Hall, W. C., & Ziedonis, D. M. (2016). A pilot study of deaf trauma survivors’ experiences: Early traumas unique to being deaf in a hearing world. Journal of Child & Adolescent Trauma, 9, 353–​358. Bakken Jepsen, J., De Clerck, G., Lutalo-​Kiingi, S., & McGregor, B. (Eds.). (2015). Sign languages of the world:  A comparative handbook. Berlin, Germany:  De Gruyter Mouton. Bishop, R. S. (1990). Mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors. Perspectives: Choosing and Using Books for the Classroom, 6(3),  ix–​xi. Brookes, H., & Nyst, V. (2014). Gestures in the Sub-​Saharan region. In C. Müller, A. Cienki, E. Fricke, S. Ladewig, D. McNeill, & J. Bressem (Eds.), Body—​ language—​communication: An international handbook on multimodality in human interaction (pp. 1154–​1160). Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter Mouton. Carey, M., Walther, S., & Russell, S. (2009). The absent but implicit: A map to support therapeutic inquiry. Family Process, 48(3), 319–​331. Cawthon, S. W., Johnson, P. M., Garberoglio, C. L., & Schoffstall, S. J. (2016). Role models as facilitators of social capital for Deaf individuals:  A research synthesis. American Annals of the Deaf, 161(2), 115–​127. doi:10.1353/​ aad.2016.0021. Crawley, A.  M., Anderson, D.  R., Wilder, A., Williams, M., & Santomero, A. (1999). Effects of repeated exposures to a single episode of the television program Blue’s Clues on the viewing behaviors and comprehension of preschool children. Journal of Educational Psychology, 91(4), 630–​637. http://​ dx.doi.org/​10.1037/​0022-​0663.91.4.630. Cross, W. E. (1991). Shades of Black:  Diversity in African-​ American identity. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. De Clerck, G. (2016). Exploring deaf epistemologies: Comparative studies in identity, empowerment and learning. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. De Clerck, G. (2018). Creative biographical responses to epistemological and methodological challenges in generating a deaf life story telling instrument. Journal of Contemporary Social Science. https://​doi.org/​10.1080/​ 21582041.2018.1448940 Derman-​Sparks, L., & Edwards, L. O. (2010). Anti-​bias education for young children and ourselves. Washington, DC: National Association for the Education of Young Children. Diekmann, M. (2003). An extra language in counselling and training. Intervention, 1(2),  36–​39. Doucet, F., & Adair, J. K. (2013). Addressing race and inequity in the classroom. Young Children, 68(5),  88–​97. García-​Fernández, C.  (2014). Deaf-​Latina/​Latino critical theory in education:  The lived experiences and multiple intersecting identities of Deaf-​Latina/​o high school

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Hall, W. C. (2017). What you don’t know can hurt you: The risk of language deprivation by impairing sign language development in deaf children. Maternity and Child Health Journal, 21, 961–​965. Hall, W. C., Levin, L. L., & Anderson, M. L. (2017). Language deprivation syndrome: A possible neurodevelopmental disorder with sociocultural origins. Social Psychiatry and Psychiatric Epidemiology, 52(6), 761–​776. doi:10.1007/​ s00127-​017-​1351-​7 Hart, B., & Risley, T. R. (2003). The early catastrophe. The 30 million word gap. American Educator, 27,  4–​9. Hauser, P. C., Lukomski, J., & Hillman, T. (2008). Development of deaf and hard-​ of-​hearing students’ executive functioning. In M. Marschark & P. Hauser (Eds.), Deaf cognition:  Foundations and outcomes (pp. 286–​308). New  York, NY: Oxford University Press. Holcomb, T. K. (1997). Development of deaf bicultural identity. American Annals of the Deaf, 142(2),  89–​93. Humphries, T., Kushalnagar, R., Mathur, G., Napoli, D. J., Padden, C., Rathmann, C., & Smith, S. (2012). Language acquisition for deaf children: Reducing the harms of zero tolerance to the use of alternative approaches. Harm Reduction Journal, 9(16),  2–​9. Humphries, T., Kushalnagar, R., Mathur, G., Napoli, D. J., Padden, C., Rathmann, C., & Smith, S. (2013). The right to language. Journal of Law, Medicine, & Ethics, Winter, 41(4), 872–​884. Humphries, T., Kushalnagar, R., Mathur, G., Napoli, D. J., Padden, C., Rathmann, C., & Smith, S. (2014). Avoiding linguistic neglect of deaf children. Social Service Review, December, 90(4), 589–​619. Humphries, T., Kushalnagar, P., Mathur, G., Napoli, D. J., Padden, C., Rathmann, C., & Smith, S. (2016). Language choices for deaf infants: Advice for parents regarding sign languages. Clinical Pediatrics, 55, 513–​517. Kroger, J., & Adair, V. (2008). Symbolic meanings of valued personal objects in identity transitions of late adulthood. Identity, 8(1),  5–​24. Lave, J., & Wenger, E. (1999). Learning and pedagogy in communities of practice. In J. Leach & B. Moon (Eds.), Learning and pedagogy (pp. 21–​33). London, UK: Chapman. Marschark, M., Lang, H. G., & Albertini, J. A. (2002). Educating deaf students: From research to practice. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Marschark, M., Tang, G., & Knoors, H. (2014). (Eds.). Bilingualism and bilingual deaf education. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Mayberry, R. I. (2010). Early language acquisition and adult language ability:  What sign language reveals about the critical period for language. In M. Marschark & P. Spencer (Eds.), Oxford handbook of deaf studies, language, and education (Vol. 2, pp. 281–​291). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Meichenbaum, D. (1994). A clinical handbook/​ practical therapist manual for assessing and treating adults with post-​ traumatic stress disorder. Waterloo, Canada: Institute Press. Moses, A. M., Golos, D. B., & Bennett, C. M. (2015). An alternative approach to early literacy: The effects of ASL in educational media on literacy skills acquisition for hearing children. Early Childhood Education Journal, 43, 485–​494.

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Moses, A. M., Golos, D. B., & Holcomb, L. (2018). Perspectives on practice:  Creating and using educational media with a cultural perspective of Deaf people. Language Arts, 96 (1), 67–​71. National Association for the Education of Young Children. (2009). Developmentally appropriate practice in early childhood programs serving children from birth to age 8 [Position paper]. Retrieved from https://​www.naeyc.org/​ sites/​default/​files/​globally-​shared/​downloads/​PDFs/​resources/​position-​ statements/​PSDAP.pdf The New London Group. (1996). A pedagogy of multiliteracies:  Designing social futures. Harvard Educational Review, 66(1), 60–​ 93. doi:10.17763/​ haer.66.1.17370n67v22j160u Paul, P. V. (2016). Literacy, literate thought, and deafness. In G. De Clerck & P. V. Paul (Eds.), Sign language, sustainable development and equal opportunities . Envisioning the future for deaf students (pp. 118–​ 133). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Paul, P. V., & Wang, A. (2012). Literate thought: Understanding comprehension and literacy. Sudbury, MA: Jones & Bartlett Learning. Perry, B. (2012). Foreword. In R. Rose, Life story therapy with traumatized children: A model for practice (pp. 9–​11). London, UK: Jessica Kingsley. Price, P. (2017). Life story therapy in a school setting. In R. Rose (Ed.), Innovative therapeutic life story work (pp. 223–​253). London, UK: Jessica Kingsley. Quinto-​Pozos, D. (2014). Multilingual aspects of signed language communication and disorder. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Quinto-​Pozos, D., & Adam, R. (2015). Sign languages in contact. In A. Schembri & C. Lucas (Eds.), Sociolinguistics and Deaf communities (pp. 29–​60). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Ramsey, C., & Padden, C. (1998). Natives and newcomers: Gaining access to literacy in a classroom for deaf children. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 29,  5–​24. Rose, R. (2012). Life story therapy with traumatized children: A model for practice. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Ryan, S., & Hyland, N. (2010). Preparing early childhood teachers to enact social justice pedagogies. In O. N. Saracho & B. Spodek (Eds.), Contemporary perspectives on language and cultural diversity in early childhood education (pp. 235–​249). Charlotte, NC: Information Age. Sacks, O. (1989). Seeing voices:  A journey into the world of the deaf. Berkeley: University of California Press. Schauer, M., & Elbert, T. (2016). Voorwoord [Foreword]. In R. A. Jongedijk (Ed.), Levensverhalen en psychotrauma. Narratieve exposure therapie in theorie en praktijk [Life stories and psychotrauma. Narrative exposure therapy in theory and practice] (pp. 13–​15). Amsterdam, the Netherlands: Boom. Simms, L., Baker, S., & Clark, D. M. (2013). The standardized visual communication and sign language checklist for signing children. Sign Language Studies, 14(1), 101–​124. Spitz, R., & Kegl, J. (2019). Enhancing communication skills in persons with severe language deprivation. In N. Glickman & W. Hall (Eds.), Language deprivation and deaf mental health (pp. 185–​209). New York, NY: Routledge. Van Loon, E., Pfau, R., & Steinbach, M. (2014). The grammaticalization of gestures in sign languages. In C. Müller, A. Cienki, E. Fricke, S. Ladewig,

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10    Intersectionality—​Beyond the Individual: A Look Into Cultural Identity Development of Deaf and Hard-​of-​Hearing Children of Multicultural “Hearing” Families Cheryl L. Wu and Nancy C. Grant

INTRODUCTION

This chapter focuses on intersectionality as it manifests in multicultural issues arising from the multiple complex social identities of deaf children whose families are hearing.1 It particularly addresses children from racially, ethnically, linguistically, and culturally diverse backgrounds. Environments and cultures shape children’s identities. Each of those environments/​cultures has power in relation to the child and to each other in differing ways. Conscious and integrated intersectionality for the child might be seen as a complex process that engages multiple aspects of identity development in multiple environments. The child needs to identify and negotiate his or her “diversity within” and then express that complex multicultural identity with clarity and confidence appropriately in different environments. In this chapter, we examine the literature about intersectionality and identity development, and offer observations and examples of how these two aspects play out with multicultural deaf children. We propose an institute to continue the research and create concrete strategies for many situations. In many discussions we have seen in the Deaf community, intersectionality seems to be thought of as located only within the individual who contains multiple and simultaneously distinct layers or sections of identity—​one for gender/​sexual identity, one for age, one for racial/​ethnic identity, one for D/​deaf identity—​the list goes on. Sue’s Tripartite Model (2001) presents a framework of personal identity development that illustrates the multiple and simultaneous identities an individual has on individual, group, and universal levels. Each of us is a unique individual while simultaneously sharing life experiences and Cheryl L. Wu and Nancy C. Grant, Intersectionality— Beyond the Individual In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0010

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characteristics with certain others that unite us in a particular group (group level), and simultaneously possess characteristics that connect us to all others as human beings (universal level). An individual has a unique set of personal characteristics and life experiences. Groups can be racial, ethnic, gender, age, and other categorizations. Universal refers to the human condition of having a body, thoughts, emotions, communication and social needs, and more. Furthermore, we experience a developmental process that shapes who we are individually, and a developmental process for each aspect of our group or social identity dimension. It takes time for individuals to fully identify, define, understand, embrace and learn how to negotiate and integrate all aspects of their cultural identities. Various significant others as well as groups and institutions invested in any one person profoundly influence how that individual negotiates and integrates multiple aspects of his or her identity. Typical environments include home, school, work, spiritual/​religious group, cultural and geographic community, and national and international contexts. The length, degree, and kinds of struggle/​integration that occur during this process rely on what supports, barriers, and power struggles exist within and among any individual’s multicultural environments. Conscious awareness and understanding of the multicultural deaf child’s intersectionality are shaped by both (1) exploring cultural contexts/​environments and influences of the life span, and the interaction of those influences, and (2) applying individual identity development models. Adults, communities, and institutions represent multiple contexts and influences for children, including educational, mental health, and social service practitioners and families. In order to work in ways that are both culturally responsive to concerns and culturally affirming of identities, influential adults require first a recognition and understanding of cultural similarities/​differences, potential disconnects, and relevant influences on the deaf child. Then those influences must actively address intersectionality within the context of both deaf and multicultural environments, with children and adults, within and across professions and systems. Unfortunately, there is as yet no dedicated “space” or established structure created that explains, encourages, and develops this kind of exploration, much less develops best practices. We believe there is a need to examine this disconnect: a multicultural deaf research, practice, and training institute, which we discuss at the end of the chapter. Important influences over an individual’s lifetime teach conscious and unconscious awareness and positive/​negative biases toward specific identity groups. Figure 10.1 illustrates these influences. American deaf and home cultures impact children’s individual identities, influencing physical, emotional, social, cognitive, and moral aspects of child development, recognizing and reinforcing or

Figure 10.1  Cultural contexts, environments, and influences.

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discouraging interests, preferences, talents, behaviors, and activities. Identities are also shaped by intersectional conflicts that come up at home, between and within school and services, deaf, and hearing communities. American Culture and Individualism

Significant across many cultures is the concept of individualism versus collectivism. Most non-​Western cultures and almost all racial/​ethnic minority groups in the United States tend toward collectivism in which one’s identity is part of the group orientation. Interdependence and preservation of one’s relationship to one’s group represent core values. Thus, cultural practices and communication styles are relationally oriented. Contrary to this is individualism in which the psychosocial unit of operation is the individual, not the family, group, or collective society. In an individualistic culture, independence and autonomy represent core values that are practiced, emphasized, reinforced, and rewarded in every aspect of life and across settings (home, work, community). Individuals have primary responsibility for and control of their own lives and actions (Sue & Sue, 2016). American cultural understanding and practices relating to deaf people are reflected in how services, supports, and systems for deaf people in the United States have evolved. Legislation affecting education, employment, and civil rights has been enacted by educating policymakers, legally advocating for social change, and fighting for implementation. There is American Deaf strength in seeking to “educate,” and then “fight for access.” This adversarial approach carries a strong individualistic value orientation which has the potential to clash with approaches that are more relational in nature and rooted in collectivism. American professionals create an environment in which providers set goals, and develop implementation and evaluation plans that emphasize moving toward independence in a very individualistic way for the child/​client. Medical professionals and mainstream educators hold power in American society. Their priority is on improving hearing and speech to whatever extent possible. Without opportunities to actually experience and build interpersonal relationships with deaf people and community, hearing parents and families, especially multicultural families, fall back on what they know from their own cultural communities and try to combine it with the rules and supports implicit in these American systems. INDIVIDUAL IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT AND MODELS

Individual identity development depends on individual experiences and how the individual is supported in recognizing, understanding, and embracing being a member of the group. Without negotiating the

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process of identity development, intersections become confusing, often conflicting. Over the past 50 years, identity development models have evolved, becoming increasingly specific to particular group identities. The current interest in multiple identities and intersectionality is a further development of that process. As mentioned in Chapter  1, psychologist Erik Erikson (1968) articulated a life span theory of development in which an individual navigates a series of eight psychosocial stages from infancy through late adulthood. In each stage there is a particular psychosocial “crisis” of two conflicting forces which an individual negotiates and successfully reconciles in order to move healthily into the next “stage” of development. According to Erikson, adolescence is the time when the primary developmental task concerns identity development. During this period, adolescents discover and examine the many dimensions of who they are, including but not limited to gender, religion, career, and occupational identities, and who they are as cultural, racial, and ethnic beings. Consequently, many models of racial and ethnic identity development were generated based on this adolescent stage of development that emphasized the importance of identity development relative to one’s sense of health and well-​being. Models of Identity Development in Oppressed Communities

Dr.  Wade Boykin (1986) researched the challenges faced by African American youth who have to cope with oppressive minority experiences in America while living in a mainstream White society and trying to maintain their Black identity along with their culture’s legacy and traditions. Boykin and Toms (1985) described this complex situation for African American youth as a “quandary,” representing a dilemma, predicament, or sticky situation. They developed their “Triple Quandary” theory to describe how three different and competing racial socialization agendas impact the identity development of these young people. Specifically, they live in three worlds simultaneously:  (1) as members of an oppressed, culturally diverse minority group; (2)  as gifted members of that group; and (3)  as participants in mainstream society (Boykin, 1986). We perceive this concept of “triple quandary” to be the same condition our multicultural deaf/​hard-​of-​hearing students face in terms of their cultural identity development and the challenges of their intersectionalities. The acculturative stress related to navigating (1) as a cultural or racial/​ethnic “minority,” (2) as Deaf, and (3) as an American is overwhelmingly great and presents a tremendous challenge to the individual child. Developmental psychologist Jean Phinney (1966) developed one of the most well-​known and widely researched models of ethnic identity. Her model intentionally considered the influence of race and ethnicity

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on adolescent identity development, factors that Erikson’s model had not specifically taken into consideration. Phinney’s model proposed that adolescents engage in a process of discovery as they construct their ethnic identity along the dimensions of “exploration” and “commitment.” The extent to which adolescents intentionally seek to learn the language, cultural beliefs, and practices known as the “content” of their ethnic heritage is referred to as “Exploration.” “Commitment” refers to how strongly ethnicity is embraced and valued as a part of their personal identity. We see our work with deaf graduate students as encouraging, structuring, and supporting such “exploration” and helping them to move in the direction of “commitment” in appreciating and identifying with their racial/​ethnic home cultures and deaf identities. William Cross (1971), a leading theorist and researcher in the field of ethnic identity development, proposed a five-​stage model of Black identity development entitled “the Psychology of Nigrescence.” Cross’s (1971) model became a foundation for many other racial-​cultural identity models. One influential model that followed Cross’s (1971) model was the Minority Identity Development Model (MID), developed by psychologists Atkinson, Morten, and Sue (1998). This five-​stage cultural and racial identity model was further refined and renamed as the Racial/​Cultural Identity Development Model (R-​CID) by Sue and Sue (1990, 1999). While the content and specific experiences of each separate identity stage are different, there is an overall arc describing how the identity development models noted earlier proceed. The initial state is that of not noticing anything different from one’s immediate surroundings. Then, proceeding to the next stage, there is some awareness of differences from what one is used to, which then in stage 3 becomes dissonant when conflict or tension arises. The conflict may be a personal experience, observed (in person, in the media), or vicariously (how friends or family are treated). In stage 4, salience (importance, interest, and emotion) then tends to move toward the “different” (minority or target group identity); individuals start to connect strongly with their sense of “otherness.” This stage can be emotionally charged and oppositional to previous assumptions about identity or connection with the dominant group. Subsequently, in stage 5, there is increased appreciation for different identities, with the individual becoming less emotional, more flexible, and more introspective. Finally, in the last stage, there is an integration of multiple identities, formation and engagement with multiple communities, allies/​ co-​ allies, and social action. “Target” identities (especially deaf and racial minority) often remain most salient in many ways, with other identities (gender, sexuality, age, class, etc.) incorporated with more balance and skill (Maxwell-​McCaw & Zea, 2011; McIlroy & Storbeck, 2011; Nelson Schmitt & Leigh, 2015; Root, 2003).

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The Stages of Racial and Cultural Identity Development of Children (Bay Area Network for Diversity Training in Early Childhood, 2003; Fleming, 2003)  was developed for early interventionists/​educators. This model considers five dimensions of racial identity: (1) how a child self-​identifies with regard to race (racial self-​identification); (2)  what a child understands about race/​skin color at each stage (racial constancy); (3)  what a child believes about race/​skin color and where it comes from at each stage (origins of racial identity); (4)  how well or accurately a child can classify/​identify race at each stage (racial classification); (5)  what racial attitudes and beliefs are held at each stage (racial attitudes). Such dimensions could be modified to address deaf identities and how these connect with racial identities. The stages move from seeing people simply as individuals, to being able to group people by skin color, and then to that of adopting skin color prejudices of family, friends, and those seen in media. Children may begin to express preferences for light or dark color skin as associated with positive or negative stereotypes to which they have been exposed. They may adopt full-​fledged racial stereotypes common in the culture and society and within their own racial group if exposed and reinforced by others; or they can be taught not to prejudge people based on their race. In this process, both white and children of color are engaged. If the same model were adapted to look at hearing status and ways of communicating for both deaf and hearing children, early awareness and exploration of this aspect of identity could be encouraged. Psychologist Maria Root was significant in moving the field of identity study from linear stage models of development to a more multidimensional, multifaceted understanding of bi-​and multiracial/​ multiheritage identity development. Root’s (2003) ecological model emphasized the importance of being less focused on labeling and categorizing individuals, particularly those from multiheritage/​ multiracial backgrounds; and more focused on an understanding of and appreciation for the complexity of the numerous inherited, environmental, and social influences that interact with each other and shape the development of individual identity for those coming from diverse racial and cultural backgrounds. Root’s ecological framework identified both “visible” and “invisible” factors such as physical traits, gender identity, sexual orientation, generational, socioeconomic, and geographic backgrounds that influence the complex identity development process unique to each multiracial individual. Deaf Identity Development Models

Identity development models have been developed specifically in relation to deaf experiences. Neil Glickman (1993, 1996)  based his deaf identity development model on the logic of R-​CID models (described earlier). Glickman’s model incorporates shared experiences of

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oppression and progresses from a “hearing identified” or marginal status and over time and life experience moves toward a more Deaf orientation and then an integrated bicultural stance that involves introspection and integration of both deaf and hearing cultural values and a balanced perspective on deaf identity, deaf culture, and community. See Chapter 1 in this volume for further discussion. Following Glickman’s work, Deborah Maxwell-​McCaw and Maria Cecilia Zea (2011) created the Deaf Acculturation Scale (DAS), a multidimensional acculturation scale designed to measure deaf people’s acculturation to (not necessarily identification with) both deaf and hearing cultures. (See Chapter 1 in this volume for a brief discussion of theoretical background.) This scale emphasizes how one negotiates acculturation to both worlds, including shifting identities depending on setting, situation, and when encountering prejudice and discrimination based on hearing status. It consists of two scales: acculturation to Deaf culture and acculturation to hearing culture across five domains: (1) cultural identification (psychological identification with deaf or hearing people), (2)  cultural involvement (degree to which deaf and hard-​of-​ hearing persons participate in various cultural activities), (3)  cultural preferences (for friends, lovers, spouses, and educational and work colleagues to be either deaf or hearing), (4) language competence (expressive and receptive competence in American Sign Language (ASL), as well as spoken and written English), and (5)  cultural knowledge (of the Deaf and hearing cultures). Respondents can be categorized in four ways that parallel Glickman’s (1993, 1996) categories: Hearing Acculturated (high scores in Hearing acculturation and low scores in Deaf acculturation), Marginal Deaf (low scores in both Hearing and Deaf acculturation), Acculturated (high scores in Deaf acculturation and low scores in Hearing acculturation), and Bicultural (high scores in both Hearing and Deaf acculturation). Leigh (2009, 2012)  developed thinking about deaf identity development further, looking at multiple deaf identities that incorporate variability of deaf identities and intersections, and the importance of resilience in affirming positive internalized deaf identity rather than internalizing negative perceptions of self. She considered the interface between deafness and disability, juxtaposition of ethnic identity and Deaf identity, multiple minority status including a mix of DeafBlind, deaf people of color, deaf plus, deaf plus of color, and so on. She noted how this mix of deaf identities increased the complexity in achieving self-​ actualization in the form of an integrated identity. As with Root (2003), Leigh moved from dichotomous types of deaf identity categorizations to a more hybrid, multidimensional and multifaceted type of self-​labeling with the emphasis on intersections of numerous and diverse influences that impact a deaf person’s identity development over time, different situations, and different settings.

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McIlroy and Storbeck’s (2011) model incorporated a Bicultural Deaf identity framework. They used ethnographic methods, including critical self-​reflection and dialogue, to explore the identity development of nine South African deaf participants based on their narratives of their educational experiences in either mainstream or special schools for the Deaf. “The findings suggest that deaf identity is not a static concept but a complex ongoing quest for belonging, a quest that is bound up with the acceptance of being deaf while ‘finding one’s voice’ in a hearing-​dominant society” (p.  494). This study challenged educators, parents, and researchers to broaden their understanding of how deaf identity and the dignity associated with being a deaf person is constructed. The authors also recommended further development of a process for exploring and working with deaf identity development. IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT AND WELL-​BEING

Long-​standing research links racial-​cultural and ethnic identity development with psychological well-​being in that the development of a positive cultural identity helps to promote positive mental health (Phinney, 1996; Phinney, Lochner, & Murphy, 1990; Rogers-​ Sirin & Gupta, 2012; Wakefield & Hudley, 2007; Wilson, Sellers, Solomon, & Holsey-​Hyman, 2017). For children to understand their identity implies that they learn their cultural histories, traditions, rituals and practices, values, and beliefs. This provides them with a strong sense of who they are, and a group where they are valued and accepted, and to which they belong. Having a positive sense of well-​being then enables them to engage in meaningful social and interpersonal relationships with others different from themselves outside of their home and cultural communities, while still maintaining a strong sense of self. This can carry them into adulthood and enhance their relationships at work, home, and social settings (Phinney, 1996; Phinney, Lochner, & Murphy, 1990; Rogers-​Sirin & Gupta, 2012; Wakefield & Hudley, 2007; Wilson, Sellers, Solomon, & Holsey-​Hyman, 2017). Campinha-​Bacote (2002) described multicultural competency as ongoing work in four areas: developing awareness, seeking knowledge, learning relevant skills, and continuing “encounters” with others. When children—​deaf and hearing—​are taught directly about their own identity groups, they can then reflect on their own ways of thinking, feeling, communicating, and behaving. Given intentional opportunities to meet and engage with people from other groups, and then encouraged to reflect on these cultural encounters, children (and adults) can develop awareness about how their own multiple mix of cultural communication and behaviors might be different from others. With further training, they can develop deeper knowledge of self and others and learn skills

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enabling them to negotiate differences across different settings and diverse cultural communities. The confidence of knowing themselves and where they come from and belong can with guidance help them to identify difference as just different—​not “wrong” or “bad.” Having the capacity for curiosity about difference (rather than threat or fear) reinforces and strengthens self-​esteem, confidence, and the ability to connect with others. Such curiosity and confidence, along with support, can help to develop interpersonal, relational, flexibility, and communication skills. The impact is likely to be greater achievement in educational, social, and work settings and less likelihood of developing depression, anxiety. or other mental health issues. Without this curiosity, confidence, and support, the child likely will choose unconsciously from one identity group or another and reject those not chosen, leaving inner conflict and confusion unresolved. Our experience includes providing counseling and social services for multicultural deaf children, youth, and families in the San Francisco Bay Area for over 20  years and teaching at Gallaudet University. Over the past 15  years, we have seen this process of intersectional confusion and inner conflict occurring even in deaf graduate students. Most deaf youth from deaf or hearing families have not had overt, clear, and substantial cultural information, training, or history from their families because of the lack of substantive communication. The families also do not have multicultural competence with regard to deaf identity, community, and communication. They lack in-​depth awareness, knowledge, and skills, as well as encounters with deaf people other than their child. That lack of multicultural competence with regard to deaf communities leads to their minimizing direct communication with their child and in turn to lack of inclusion in family group settings. IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT OVER THE LIFESPAN

Identity development starts within one context:  the racial and ethnic culture of the family. When the child has a “different” identity group from the family, the family must learn about that identity group. The hearing family needs to come to terms with what “deaf” means, in their own cultural terms, and in the context of American society. (Seldom do they incorporate looking into what “hearing” identity means.) Choices about the child’s language, education, general care, health, and medical interventions are made through the family’s lens, including family and extended family values, beliefs, education, socioeconomic status, acculturation, and access to medical care. There are sociopolitical power dynamics between the different group and systems levels that impact the family, of which they may not be fully aware.

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Context: Early Childhood Education

Every child’s family and community are important as cultural teachers and brokers. Children are implicitly and explicitly influenced, taught, trained, and become practiced in how to be members of their family, their culture, and their community at home. Early childhood educators recognize that the young child is most assisted by assisting the family (Sass-​ Lehrer, 2016). Intentional focus on multiple identities occurs in early childhood education with outreach and home visits from educators who connect with families, often in the families’ home language. In these early stages, there is a focus on relationship building with the nuclear family, family education about deafness, and help with sorting out what medical/​audiological professionals are saying. The emphasis is on early child development and modeling communication. Professionals often work with families within their home context on practical ways to negotiate early milestones in order to support the child’s development and parents’ education and skills. Sometimes play groups are offered that can allow parents to connect with peer parents with deaf children. This is a time when many families learn some basics about visual/​tactile communication and learn some signs. Hearing families go through their own process of understanding what it means to parent a deaf child and how it might be similar to and different from parenting their hearing children. The practitioner determines how much emphasis there is on the family’s cultural values, language, and cultural understanding of parenting and child development. Context: School

By the time the child is ready for school, the focus becomes the child’s educational placement and “success” generally as defined by academics and behavior according to school culture. At this time, families often lose the guidance and relationships they might have had with providers. They also lose control over the values and culture their child is learning at school, where education is provided through its own American lens. Families might be encouraged to go to a sign language class that may or may not be accessible in terms of time, cost, location, child care availability, and “inclusion” of those whose first language might not be English. (Wu & Grant, 2017). With young deaf children in hearing families, this multicultural, multifaceted process of identity development can be lost as the family focuses on the child’s physical needs and deals with their own reactions to the child’s being deaf. Professionals—​audiologists, medical providers, early educators—​are typically focused on the child being “not hearing,” being different in this way, or alternatively being defined as being “Deaf,” one of “ours.” Families are faced with negotiating deaf/​ hearing issues and decisions about audiological and medical

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choices, speech and language, technology, and educational placement. With the American focus on individual achievement, the attention of professionals is at the individual level—​individual “fixes” and individual “access.” The process of building relationships, embracing multiple identities, and connecting with mentors and allies who are knowledgeable about and embody multiple cultures is too often overlooked. There are guides for building multicultural relationships focused on hearing schools (Ponterotto, Utsey, & Pedersen, 2006), but nothing specifically adapted for deaf students or deaf educational environments. The school context is critical in the ways it influences child identity development. For deaf children in the United States, there are essentially three choices: (1) a residential state school for the Deaf (Deaf is capitalized to indicate the importance of the language, culture and history of the ASL-​using Deaf community in the United States); (2) a program within a hearing school—​there are fewer and fewer deaf “special day programs”—​and more environments where the individual deaf child is “included” in hearing classrooms; and (3) oral school programs. These school contexts have different influences and effects on the identity development of the deaf child. In state residential schools for the Deaf, children are welcomed and taught to be American Deaf people, members of that complex community of Deaf as culturally and socially perceived, understood, and organized in the United States. Residential Deaf schools provide exposure to the ideal of American Deafhood, offer relationships with Deaf adults as well as peers, exposure to American Deaf culture and history, and provide ASL and a community that uses it over hearing and speech. These schools can feel like a second family, even a sense of home, especially for residential students who live away from their families. The impact on the child’s identity includes internalization of both American and Deaf identities (although there is not an awareness necessarily of the culture being “Euro-​American-​White” as it is more simply “Deaf”), culture, values, ways of communicating, and expectations about how they should be treated. These values focus on individual rights, advocacy, and expectations that “access” is a right and will be provided. Focus on the individual takes precedence over more collectivist, relational values and practices of families of color and of immigrants. Children learn about “audism” and may become antagonistic toward hearing people, including their families. Deaf children are socialized to be part of this American Deaf group, and it is powerful for them to be part of this community. The models of deaf identity development reflect this process. However, it can have the effect of distancing children from their families, especially those who are hearing and not typically/​traditionally “American” in culture. When families and schools are not in the same community, there

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tends to be little focus on affirmation of families’ cultures or building relationships between family and school. In terms of intersectionality, there can be diminishing value and connection with family culture, history, and language. In the authors’ experience, home and deaf cultures are seldom brought together in more than a surface level, in early childhood education, or when conflicts arise. When home and school values and expectations conflict, it causes confusion for the child. In some deaf environments, the child (even our graduate students) are still being asked “which are you first—​Deaf or . . .,” forcing them at least overtly to claim or prioritize one identity. Currently, this happens more typically in rural, small town, or midwestern areas of the United States. In other areas, the “What are you first” question is no longer politically correct. Instead, Deaf and most recently Deafhood (Bauman, 2008a; Ladd, 2003) is promoted as the dominant Deaf identity in the Deaf educational setting. This can minimize or even denigrate the child’s home cultural, racial, and ethnic identities, particularly when home cultural practices differ from those of the school. Very recently, Ruiz and her colleagues (Ruiz-​ Williams, Burke, Chong, & Chainarong, 2016)  examined the importance of intentional intersectionality in their own development: we felt that we had shattered a dominant, Deaf studies binary of Deaf-​hearing that defined Deaf only in opposition to hearing, with the category Deaf containing narrow cultural paradigms that deny multiplicity. Deaf could no longer erase all other differentials; Deaf was a source of connection but not a totalizing one. By presenting ourselves as multifaceted, we moved toward multiple representations, away from DEAF SAME. (p. 263) In an effort to recognize diversity, some deaf elementary, middle, and high schools utilize the “Mix-​It-​Up” Lunch curriculum developed by Teaching Tolerance (https://​www.tolerance.org/​mix-​it-​up/​activities/​ activities-​ during-​ mix-​ it-​ up). In this lunchtime activity, students are assigned to sit with peers they do not know well. They are given activities to do or a list of questions to ask each other. However, there is often limited or no facilitation or guided reflection on this process, nor is there any intentional follow-​up to apply key insights learned from this experience to their day-​to-​day cultural interactions with their peers across diverse settings and situations. They have a shared experience, but without reflection and dialogue, the meaning can be lost (Wu & Grant, 2017). Nitza Hidalgo (1993) described three levels of culture: concrete, behavioral, and symbolic. Most current diversity curricula in schools for the deaf teach culture by identifying where people come from and how they dress and act on a very concrete level. It includes little or nothing

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on relationship building or the values and beliefs that are the foundation for the more visible levels. In partnership with the American School Counselor Association (ASCA), issues of multiculturalism and social justice in schools are actively being discussed by school counseling professionals led by the Department of Counseling at Gallaudet University (2015–​ present), who are developing a Deaf/​Hard of Hearing (DHH) adaptation of the ASCA national model (American School Counselor Association, 2012). School counseling for social justice is defined and addressed in the literature (Bemak & Chung 2008; Holcomb-​McCoy, 2007; Singh, Urbano, Haston, & McMahon 2018). Yet it has not directly addressed these concerns for deaf students. Reflection and dialogue about multicultural and intersectional issues is happening among educators and counselors of deaf students. There are expressions of need, questions, experiences, and sharing of what has worked in specific places (Christensen, 2017; Folsé & Berke, 2017). After all the experiences and issues raised by her contributors, Kathee Christensen (2017) closes her book by making a wide range of suggestions for creating “a (culturally) welcoming school environment” (p.  404), including staff and interpreter hiring and training; culturally unbiased educational assessment and programming; legislative change focusing on ability, not disability; and legitimizing ASL as a heritage language. She also includes ism’s as well as building a “culture of inquiry through research and teaching” (p.  413). It is also important to note that there is currently no formal statistical collection and analysis of the demographics of deaf students. Gallaudet University’s Research Institute tracked deaf student data from 1968, but it last published this information for the 2009–​2010 school year (Davila & Cohen, 2017; https://​www.gallaudet. edu/​research-​support-​and-​international-​affairs/​research-​support/​ research-​resources/​demographics). Our experience working in schools, training counseling interns, and consultation with colleagues working in varying school environments across the United States has led to the following observations. When peer-​to-​peer discrimination happens in residential schools for the deaf, the response is generally reactive to that specific situation and students involved, rather than working with the system. In primary and secondary deaf education, there are actually efforts to avoid direct engagement with the more difficult conversations and complexities of diversity and multiculturalism. This is done by addressing differences from a behavioral perspective, restricting conversation of difference or conflict to bullying curricula. Conflicts center on bullying behavior as the key issue, and framing roles and coping strategies are contextualized in this way. This significantly narrows the possibility of framing conflicts as differences potentially due to multicultural diversity—​that is, how differences in cultural values, beliefs, structure, roles, and training

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might underlie conflict, and how individuals and groups might build relationships across such differences. The context of mainstream schools is much different from residential schools. There are usually more hard-​of-​hearing children together with more focus on speech/​hearing. Inclusion uses individual access strategies that focus on the child and specialist providers (itinerant teachers, speech/​ language therapists, interpreters, etc.). Training hearing peers to become aware of and practice communication and behavior that builds relationship with their deaf classmate is lacking. Teachers may get some initial training, but they often rely on aides or interpreters to be sure the deaf child is truly following the discourse (Oliva & Lytle, 2014). (And interpreters are likely seen as being there “for the deaf child,” rather than an important shared resource for all those who want to communicate with that child.) Often the result is fewer peers and adults with whom the deaf child has full and direct communication, fewer Deaf language and cultural models, and fewer deaf relationships. Without exposure to deaf people and spaces, these children internalize being deaf in a different way, not so much as being part of a group, but as being “different” from peers. Parent/​teacher focus has more to do with acceptable behavior in school and academics. Mainstream schools tend to reflect the racial, ethnic, and cultural make-​up, values, and social systems of their community. We have observed that many deaf children in mainstream programs, especially those from immigrant families, experience stronger identity with their home cultures and members from their local/​cultural communities than with the American Deaf community. While they may not understand all that they experience (lacking shared communication), they do feel the connection, loyalty, and often respect and appreciation for the sacrifices the family has made on their behalf. In educational settings focusing on spoken language, each child is not the “only one” who is deaf. They have peers and a social group with shared communication strategies. They are not “different” in the ways their education is approached and are supported in learning in the same way as other students. Identity development is likely to be more aligned with “hearing” culture. In their home and home communities, deaf children, adolescents, and even our graduate students, like their hearing siblings, are expected to behave “appropriately” for their age and role within their family/​culture. Many hearing families, especially those with limited sign language, are often able to nonverbally encourage their deaf child to behave as the family culture expects. However, because of lack of a shared language, the child is not necessarily able to receive and internalize family culture, including family cultural values, what cultural symbols and rituals stand for, family history, and stories. Also, with a

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lack of shared language, parents and extended family may not be able to converse easily with the child, helping the child to understand himself or herself as a member of the family and culture. Hearing families are often not connected enough with Deaf society to be aware of and skilled at identifying and negotiating differences between family and school cultures and values. Neither is there any standard structural educational or counseling form or process for developing and supporting meaningful, equitable relationships and alliances between home and school adults that address these intersections of identity within the child. Without family adult to Deaf adult connections, there is no formal or informal forum for exploration of these intersections in order to support the child’s development in both Deaf and racial/​cultural identities. In this way, the deaf child is left with incomplete information on both sides, and neither the adults nor the child have ways to negotiate the differences. NOT JUST ABOUT CHILDREN OF COLOR

The focus of attention among educators and counselors tends to be on the conundrum of d/​Deaf children from racial/​cultural “minority” backgrounds. We believe that White children and hearing children (and adults) need the same intentional racial/​ethnic developmental support to engage their own intersections of cultural identities in order to become effective allies for deaf peers, students, and clients of color. There is also a need to help hearing people look at their own hearing identity, hearing culture, and hearing privilege in relation to deaf people, which can help them/​us be more effective parents, peers, and allies. Working with diversity within, and with diverse systems, requires examination of dominant groups, not only “target” groups. Only when we look at the relationships at levels of groups and systems as well as individuals, will we be able to approach the whole person (Creighton & Kivel, 2011). Earlier, we noted that identity development models address people who are from “minority” or target groups. We believe it is also important for people from “majority” or dominant groups—​ particularly White and hearing people—​to examine their identities, and how it impacts relationships with others. Janet Helms’s White Identity Model (1990a, 1990b 1995, 2008)  looks at two phases of development:  (A) Abandonment of Racism and (B)  Development of a Non-​Racist Identity, with the process involving six statuses, which we have adapted to look at the development of “Hearing” identity, with a parallel abandonment of “audism” (referring to the notion of hearing superiority) and moving to the development of a “nonaudist” hearing identity. This Hearing Identity model moves from (1) initial ignorance about deaf people or about what it means to be hearing, to (2)  some

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experience and awareness of deaf versus hearing characterized by ambivalence and appreciation of medical “treatment,” and then to (3) an assumption of all deaf people being the same and “less than.” During the fourth stage, which involves moving toward a nonaudist hearing identity, the hearing person moves to affirming and wanting to “help” deaf people, then to (5) a more inner focused stage of introspection, and finally in the sixth stage to affirmation of both deaf and hearing, rich with relationships with both deaf and hearing, awareness of hearing privilege but with less guilt and more sense of how to become an ally (Grant & Wu, 2008). Keith E.  Edwards (2006) looked at “ally” development in parallel to Helms’s White Identity Model. He sees that different motivations can lead to differences in ally effectiveness, consistency, quality of outcomes, and sustainability. This model can be utilized to consider White deaf people as allies to deaf people of color and hearing people as allies to deaf people. Edwards posits that blended motivations of enlightened self-​interest and altruism lead one to be an ally for social justice to end oppression for all; this process incorporates working with issues of power. ASPECTS OF POWER

The relative power of each context identified in Figure 10.2 is an important part of how identity development happens for the child in that environment. Some aspects of identity (e.g., White race in relation to people of color; or hearing in relation to deaf) are associated with power, privilege, opportunity, ease of access to information, resources, and supports. Understanding power is an integral part of identity development. In early childhood, family members and culture tend to be the most powerful and salient influence for the child. Medical and educational systems have the power to present, provide access to, and either promote or not promote particular approaches to being deaf. The family’s cultural background, connection with resources, education, and socioeconomic status come into play in terms of the power they have to enforce their choices on behalf of their deaf child. The school’s approach becomes more powerful in terms of socializing and evaluating the deaf child within its own system of beliefs, values, and resources. Peer pressure and social, educational, and work environments become powerful in young adult and adult development. Other aspects of identity (e.g., being a child in relation to adults; being LGBTQ in relation to heterosexuals) are associated with less power, privilege, opportunity, and ease of access to information, resources, and supports. All these factors (community, type of school, oppression, and ethnicity) play out over a person’s life.

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Figure 10.2  An ecological framework of cultural identity intersections in multicultural deaf children of hearing parents, adapted from Root (2003) by the authors (Wu &Grant, 2004).

It can be helpful to look at some examples of how power dynamics shape conflicts and how they are handled. In the following paragraphs, we present some conflicts that we have observed. When Chinese deaf children from both deaf and hearing families came to the United States, they had their own Chinese names which symbolized the child’s position and relationships within the family. At school, deaf peers and adults wanted them to change their name to something that was more Western and easier for Americans to spell. Even their Chinese name-​signs were “too hard” to sign because the hand-​shapes and movements were different. The ethnocentric power of the American Deaf educational and social systems influenced these students to change their names. Recognizing the cultural importance of names, they would not tell their parents. A sixth-​grade Hispanic boy with special learning needs lived 20 minutes from the Deaf school. Having no car, a parent walked him to school every day, and he typically arrived late. School staff recommended that he live in the dorm during the week to avoid missing so much class time. They felt that this would support the student in improving his ASL, develop independence skills, and provide greater access to deaf

244   Deaf Identities

peers. The school’s culture saw the family as overprotective, “spoiling” the boy; which countered the school’s priority of mastering the age-​ appropriate life skills, independence, self-​reliance, and advocacy skills expected of male students his age/​grade. The school convinced the parents to allow the student to try living in the dorm. In the dorm, things were reported to have gone smoothly with no apparent conflicts or serious concerns. The student was reported to have gotten along with his peers, although he was considered to be “passive,” not as “socially outgoing” as his peers, and in need of being “stronger” and “assertive” like other boys. After a holiday break, the student expressed that he did not want to live in the dorm; he preferred to commute so he could be with his family. The school’s reaction was exasperation and frustration with the parents, and dismissal of the student’s feelings about this. They felt they had “bent over backwards to be accommodating and supportive” and the family was not “cooperative.” School staff persisted in trying to convince the parents to change their decision. The parents felt they had to repeatedly defend their position of putting his needs first, because they knew and loved their son. Cross-​cultural work around Hispanic values and practices relating to parenting, child development, and collectivism versus American values of independence and individuality could have been helpful to the boy, his family, and the school. Work with his deaf peers could have broadened their view of gender roles and cultural contexts. Strategies to strengthen language (ASL, Spanish and English for the boy; ASL for the family; Spanish for the school) could have built a common set of goals. Critical cultural differences in communication patterns, child development, and parenting between home (parents) and school (staff) cultures often go unrecognized, but ultimately they have a significant impact on relationships and power struggles between family and school. Sociopolitical facets of nonverbal communication involve value judgments attached to cultural communication styles, which in turn reflect unconscious biases about racial-​ethnic and cultural minority groups (Sue & Sue, 2016). There are still racial/​ethnic and other cultural stereotypical beliefs and attitudes held in our deaf schools that impact how school staff receive and understand communication from, and express themselves to, families of color and those from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds. Some school staff describe certain Black parents as “typically loud and angry,” when in the parents’ view, they are asking for clarification, or directly expressing their concerns. Additionally, school staff often view Asian parents as “too quiet, compliant, passive, nonassertive, lacking follow-​through,” “emotionally unexpressive and cold,” “not praising their child as they should,” or “not showing their child the love she or he needs.” These Asian parents have not expressed compliance; in their view, they are being polite. Their cultural values

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and expressions of love and praise are not explicitly verbal; they are expressed in nonverbal communication, through their actions. Families and schools can get caught up in no-​win situations. Schools demand parent involvement to support student success; yet if parent involvement does not match school expectations, problems can develop. When parent involvement and communication differ from school expectations regarding child development and parenting, families are blamed for being inappropriate or ineffective. How schools shape their values and practices, and how parents get involved, are both culturally bound. The quality and depth of relationship between parents and school staff ultimately trickle down and are felt by the student. YOUNG ADULTS

As they gain life experience and develop individually, deaf youth gain a sense of personal power, individuality, and capacity to push back against American Deaf-​centric school and social pressures. For deaf youth of color, this growing confidence and need to express and define themselves in a more complex way is a stage of development that tends to happen later in their lives than for White Deaf youth. It is not until the late teens, even the late 20s, that they become curious and motivated to engage their families. They often feel they have been denied connection with that part of themselves and feel “cheated” or treated “unfairly.” They long to understand family history, culture, and language, which they did not get earlier because of communication limitations. They want to connect with family; but families may still have limitations in understanding their own hearing identity and what their deaf child is looking for. Young deaf adults from most racial/​ethnic backgrounds who are educated in more hearing-​centric settings want to connect with their deaf identity. These adolescents and young adults can become upset and emotional during this process, and it can take a few years before they find a way to make those connections. By the time they are adults, they may be stuck with that dissonance, or manage to gain capacity, language, and power to be flexible, “code switch” in different environments, and make conscious choices. We provide examples in the following paragraphs. A young Vietnamese woman was educated in ASL and acculturated to American Deaf culture. As a college student, she developed a desire to learn Vietnamese and travel to her home village with her mother. Many immigrant or adopted young deaf adults long for “heritage” trips to their roots in China, Vietnam, and Latin America. They want to know their family history and want communication and increased relationship with their elders. They reframe language barriers as “difference” rather than “refusal to learn ASL.” Many change their American names back to their family names. As they begin to understand adult roles and

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responsibilities, they appreciate what their families have experienced to support their deaf child and start feeling reciprocal responsibility to family. They begin to have more sense of what families did do, rather than what they didn’t do. In our experience, interpreters and/​or cross-​ cultural guides and mentors, working with both the family’s home language and ASL, can help strengthen communication, negotiate new roles and responsibilities, and encourage ongoing shared strategies for relationship development. Deaf Hispanic young men from working class families particularly want deeper relationships and communication with parents, especially their fathers. From childhood, they were accustomed to and appreciated their mothers as caretakers; however, they were not well connected with their fathers and uncles. As young men, they develop appreciation for their father’s role in the family, often wanting to participate in the family business and engage as a contributing adult. Intersections of deaf, American, and Hispanic cultures and socioeconomic class impact the strategies and supports needed for these men to communicate and engage with each other. The Department of Counseling at Gallaudet University has the nation’s only Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs (CACREP) accredited school counseling program with specialization in training counselors to work with deaf and hard-​of-​hearing K-​12 student populations. In our relationships with deaf education programs across the country, we are increasingly seeing requests for consultation regarding transracial adoptions of deaf youth, primarily from China and Latin America, who are typically adopted into White deaf and hearing families. There is a systemic need for adoption-​aware environments and supports that address the intersections of deaf, American, racial/​cultural roots and identity, and adoption-​related health/​mental health issues. Context: Higher Education

Higher education settings such as Gallaudet University, the National Technical Institute for the Deaf at Rochester Institute of Technology, and California State University at Northridge operate more intentionally to recognize multiple identities across the spectrum. There are students of color organizations, international student organizations and services, LGBTQ organizations, cultural mentoring programs, staff and faculty of color groups, multicultural curriculum transformation efforts within and across academic departments, and academic courses addressing multicultural topics. Until recently, these identity groups were separate entities. Intersectionality, cross-​cultural development and ally development all are just beginning to be addressed. Active consciousness about the importance and relevance of cultural identity affirmation beyond a single social identity dimension

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(Deaf) did not occur until the early 2000s at Gallaudet University as part of the protests around the appointment of the university president (Bauman, 2008b). Students, faculty, and staff of color clearly raised issues of race in the appointment process and on campus; this concern was overshadowed by the “deaf/​Deaf” identity of the proposed leadership. Since then, especially for students of color and the spectrum of sexual/​gender identities, there has been a social awakening with regard to diversity, multiculturalism, social justice and educational equity. There is a growing curiosity and hunger among college-​aged deaf students to honor racial/​ethnic identity, Deaf identity, and to adopt a framework of intersectionality. There is an emerging recognition of the systems that impact identities and groups. Additionally, there is a growing sense of the importance of multiple identities, supporting identity development across different groups, and understanding intersectionality as it refers to intersecting social identities and their related systems of oppression and domination, paralleling what Crenshaw (1991) describes. Our graduate students believe diversity is a good thing, but their capacity to identify, explore, and negotiate multicultural conflicts is limited. We have found that a semester of experiential learning activities, coupled with academic learning, is tremendously helpful in looking at all of their identities and understanding intersections (Wu & Grant, 2017). The students look at diversity, differences, and multiculturalism within the deaf world and in the larger world. They explore intersections within themselves as individuals (e.g., what does it mean to be White, gay, deaf, and male?), and within their student cohort (building relationships by directly exploring differences) both personally and academically. Our students ask us why they were not getting these guided opportunities for analyzing and working with differences internally and externally earlier in their lives. SUMMARY AND RECOMMENDATION

We recognize the lack of a forum or structure for intentional multicultural encounter and relationship building, and for a way for family and professionals to support a deaf child’s development in all aspects of identity. We see a need for a deaf multicultural institute for research, practice, and training, an intentional space to become allies on behalf of the child. Rarely is there a space for those adults who care about the child to come together for their own “intentional intersections,” to explore together where they (1)  have similar worldviews, expectations, and practices; (2)  have potential or actual conflicts, and (3)  can intentionally negotiate how to identify and address both support and conflicts, becoming allies.

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When adults who have power in relation to the child have not worked through these issues themselves individually and together, there is an unsettled environment. Differences are not clearly identified from all sides; areas of connection or conflicts are not defined and clarified. The deaf child is left with confusion and pressure from all sides. This can be overwhelming, and all too often causes much dissonance for the young person who either eventually gives in to whichever “side” exerts the most “power” or influence in the moment and consequently “chooses” the particular identity that holds the dominant power, even if it is framed as the child’s individual choice. Neither the adults who care for the child nor the child has the awareness, knowledge, skills, and capacity to be effective allies and co-​allies. Supporting deaf children from diverse backgrounds requires us to recognize that intersectionality is not about dealing with the development of a bunch of separate “parts” of an individual but rather how these parts interact within the child. The experience of that child, and the way she or he develops, is strongly a function of the child’s environment—​the influences, training, and pressures coming from different directions. To support the “whole child’s” development, to have adults who skillfully love, support, teach, and mentor, requires that those adult influences engage one another. There are models from other social groups/​struggles such as gay/​ straight alliances, affinity groups, cultural brokers or facilitators, homeroom situations that engage mentors and allies, community arts projects, service projects, and opportunities for cultural encounters with mindful engagement and reflection. There needs to be systemic support to connect deaf people, deaf and hearing cultural experts, community members, families, and professionals—​educators, audiological/​medical professionals, social workers, and counselors. There is a need for resources to support these connections, as the nature and impacts of intersections changes over time. Recommendation

Intersections raise many questions! How are deaf or hard-​of-​hearing children individually to identify, define, understand, embrace, and learn how to negotiate and integrate their deaf identity into their whole identity? How is a family introduced to “deafness” and what it means for their child physically, cognitively (especially in terms of language development), emotionally, socially, and morally? Most especially, how can the family grow in their relationship to their child? How do early interventionists (medical, educational, psychological) become culturally competent in relation to the family? What does their cross-​ cultural communication look like? How do the child’s home and educational environments teach and influence children? What do their multiple environments feel, believe, and value about deaf identity—​do

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they agree or disagree, support or deny? How do these multiple environments and individual members of these multiple groups engage with one another? What models and supports are there for the child’s intersectionalities? As society changes, so do issues of intersectionality for everyone. We propose the development of a robust multicultural deaf project that includes several phases and incorporates Paulo Freire’s (1970) praxis model, with each stage involving individual and group reflection and dialogue, taking collective action, then continuing this process of reflection, dialogue, and collective action. We need not just research and information; we also need to build our human and institutional capacity for this multicultural work. The proposed multicultural deaf project can be thought of in five stages: 1. Establish a think tank not only to research and identify stakeholders and issues but also to work through and document potential conflicts, shared values, and ways of developing relationships with each other where there are multicultural intersections within the Deaf community. This institute should address what hearing identity looks like in order to work more effectively with issues related to hearing/​ deaf power and conflicts, especially in relation to hearing professionals and multicultural hearing families of deaf children. This should include exploration of allyship—​what it means, where it is needed, what it might look like, and strategies for collaboration. 2. Stakeholders should develop a pilot program that incorporates a process for identifying and bringing them together in such a way that encourages self and other awareness and relationship building. American culture defines a specific role for interpreters:  to translate information, not necessarily facilitate communication, much less cross-​cultural differences or relationships. Therefore, exploring interpreter roles and developing cross-​cultural brokers is needed. Any existing deaf multicultural curricula, programming, and projects that may already be in operation in diverse educational and community settings should be included. The authors recognize that although multicultural deaf resources may be few and far between, it is critical to promote greater alliance building among those already engaged in diversity and social justice work within this community. 3. Once a process is formulated, develop a team that will take the process “on the road” to local communities, with enough resources and time to help individuals in local communities and deaf educational programs identify their own potential intersections, including potential conflicts, allies, and co-​allies,

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and establish their own blended group and process to explore and honor both the parts and the whole. The institute team would support the local group in formulating its own goals, methods, and resources for supporting the development of deaf children and their peers. In this way, intersectionality becomes infused with all those “sections,” “parts,” and “layers,” and has direct connections at individual, group, and systems levels. 4. Over time, this multicultural deaf research, education, training, and practice institute will continue to collectively reflect on, dialogue, document, research, and practice what happens in the pilot project, and build on what has been learned. Eventually the institute should expand to include programs supporting the intersections of all ages from children to elders, creating developmentally appropriate materials, experiential engagement/​ encounter situations, and training for trainers while infusing multicultural identity development support into all environments and contexts. Examples include mentoring programs for deaf children and their families; acculturation support programming; cultural affinity groups in deaf schools and programs; leadership training for deaf students of color; training and implementation of restorative justice practices throughout K-​higher education settings; community alliance building and organizing between deaf educational settings and their surrounding communities; and establishing collaborative partnerships with cultural communities. 5. Such an institute should be a support, partner, and advocate for programs such as the DHH ASCA (Deaf and Hard-​of-​Hearing American School Counselor Association) model (mentioned earlier in this chapter), a comprehensive school counseling program model designed especially for school counselors working with deaf and hard of hearing students in K–​12 deaf educational settings. The framework identifies critical components for the development of diversity and social justice–​ related curricula across all deaf educational settings (residential, mainstream, oral, etc.) from early childhood through higher education; multicultural curriculum transformation training and mentoring for teaching staff; and multicultural organizational development training and mentoring for administrative and school staff in order to impact school-​wide systemic changes. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The authors welcome you to contact them if you are involved in deaf multicultural identity development and relationship building: cheryl. [email protected] and [email protected].

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The authors would like to thank David Hsu, our dear friend and colleague, for his assistance in designing our graphic images. NOTE 1. In this chapter we use the term “deaf” inclusively to include all related definitions of this group. How a deaf person identifies himself or herself often connects with intersectionality itself! In terms of this chapter, “deaf” includes culturally Deaf, hard-​ of-​hearing, DeafBlind, DeafDisabled, and other “deaf” identified groups.

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Davila, R. R., & Cohen, O. P. (2017). From Barrio boy to American dream: An interview with Dr. Robert R. Davila. In K. Christensen (Ed.), Educating Deaf students in a multicultural world (pp. 21–​56). San Diego, CA:  Dawn Sign  Press. Edwards, K. E. (2006). Aspiring social justice ally identity development. NASPA Journal, 43(4),  39–​60. Erikson, E. (1968). Identity: Youth and crisis. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Fleming, T. (2003). Serving biracial and multiethnic children and their families: An early childhood educator’s guide. Adapted from I’m chocolate, you’re vanilla by Marguerite Wright. Berkley, CA: The Childcare Health Program. Folsé D., & Berke, M. (2017). Reframing social justice for all deaf learners. In K. Christensen (Ed.), Educating Deaf students in a multicultural world (pp. 373–​ 402). San Diego, CA: Dawn Sign Press. Freire, P. (1970) Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Seabury Press. Glickman, N. S. (1993). Deaf identity development:  Construction and validation of a theoretical model (Doctoral dissertation). Available from Proquest:  AAI9329612. https://​scholarworks.umass.edu/​dissertations/​ AAI9329612 Glickman, N. (1996). The development of culturally deaf identities. In N. Glickman & M. Harvey (Eds.), Culturally affirmative psychotherapy with deaf persons (pp. 115–​153). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Grant, N. C., & Wu, C. L. (2008) What it means to be hearing: A framework for understanding hearing identity development and how to develop an anti-​audist identity. Unpublished manuscript. Helms, J. E. (1990a). Toward a model of White racial identity development. In J. E. Helms (Ed.), Black and White racial identity: Theory, research and practice (pp. 49–​66). Westport, CT: Greenwood. Helms, J. E. (1990b). Black and White racial identity: Theory, research, and practice. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Helms, J. E. (1995). An update of Helms’s White and people of color racial identity models. In J. G. Ponterotto, J. M. Casas, L. A. Suzuki, & C. M. Alexander (Eds.), Handbook of multicultural counseling (pp. 181–​191). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Helms, J. E. (2008). A race is a nice thing to have: A guide to being a White person or understanding the White persons in your life. Hanover, MA:  Microtraining Associates. Hidalgo, N. (1993). Multicultural teacher introspection. In T. Perry & J. Fraser (Eds.), Freedom’s plow:  Teaching in the multicultural classroom. New  York, NY: Routledge. Holcomb-​McCoy, S. (2007). School counseling to close the achievement gap: A social justice framework for success. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Ladd, P. (2003). Understanding Deaf culture. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Leigh, I. W. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University  Press. Leigh, I. W. (2012). Not just deaf: Multiple intersections. In R. Nettles & R. Balter (Eds.), Multiple minority identities: Applications for practice, research, and training (pp. 59–​80). New York, NY: Springer. Maxwell-​ McCaw, D., & Zea, M. C. (2011). The Deaf acculturation scale (DAS):  Development and validation of a 58-​item measure. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16, 325–​342.

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McIlroy, G., & Storbeck, C. (2011). Development of Deaf identity:  An ethnographic study. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16(4), 494–​511. Nelson Schmitt, S., & Leigh, I. W. (2015) Examining a sample of Black deaf individuals on the Deaf acculturation scale. The Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 20(3), 283–​295. https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​deafed/​env017 Oliva, G. A., & Lytle, L. R. (2014). Turning the tide: Making life better for Deaf and hard of hearing school children. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Phinney, J. (1996). Understanding ethnic diversity: The role of ethnic identity. American Behavioral Scientist, 40, 143–​152. Phinney, J., Lochner, B., & Murphy, R. (1990). Ethnic identity and psychological adjustment. In A. Stiffman & L. Davis (Eds.), Ethnic issues in adolescent mental health (pp. 53–​72). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Ponterotto, J. G., Utsey, S. O., & Pedersen, P. B. (2006). Preventing prejudice: A guide for counselors, educators, and parents. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Rogers-​Sirin, L., & Gupta, T. (2012). Cultural identity and mental health: Differing trajectories among Asian and Latino youth. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 30(4), 555–​566. Root, M. P. P. (2003). Racial identity development and persons of mixed race heritage. In M. P.  P Root, & M. Kelly (Eds.), The multiracial child resource book: Living complex identities (pp. 34–​41). Seattle, WA: Mavin Foundation. Ruiz-​Williams, E., Burke, M., Chong, V. Y., & Chainarong, N. (2016). My Deaf is not your Deaf: Realizing intersectional realities at Gallaudet university. In M. Friedner & A. Kusters (Eds.), It’s a small world: International Deaf spaces and encounters (pp. 263–​273). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Sass-​Lehrer, M. (2016). Early intervention for deaf and hard-​of-​hearing infants, toddlers, and their families. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Singh, A. A., Urbano, A., Haston, M., & McMahon, E. (2010). School counselors’ strategies for social justice change: A grounded theory for what works in the real world. Professional School Counseling, 13(3), 135–​145. Sue, D. (2001). Multidimensional facets of cultural competence. Counseling Psychologist, 29, 790–​821. Sue, D. W., & Sue, D. (1990). Counseling the culturally different. Theory and practice. New York, NY: Wiley. Sue, D. W., & Sue, D. (1999). Counseling the culturally different: Theory and practice. (3rd ed.). New York, NY: Wiley. Sue, D. W., & Sue, D. (2016). Counseling the culturally diverse: Theory and practice. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Wakefield, D., & Hudley, C. (2007). Ethnic and racial identity and adolescence well-​being. Adolescent Mental Health, 46(2), 147–​154. Wilson, S. L., Sellers, S., Solomon, C., & Holsey-​Hyman, M. (2017). Exploring the link between black racial identity and mental health. Journal of Depression and Anxiety, 6(3),  1–​4. Wu, C. L., & Grant, N. C. (2004). An ecological framework of cultural identity development with multicultural deaf/​hard of hearing children (of hearing parents): A model based on Maria Root’s ecological framework of racial identity development. Unpublished manuscript. Wu, C. L., & Grant, N. C. (2017). Experiential learning and the importance of reflection. In K. Christiansen (Ed.), Educating deaf students in a multicultural world (pp. 129–​158). San Diego, CA: Dawn Sign Press.

11    Stories in the Building of Deaf Identity: The Potential of Life Storytelling to Enhance Deaf Flourishing and Well-​Being Goedele A. M. De Clerck

This chapter looks at the role of storytelling in the formation of deaf identities, aided by the process of exploring metaphors and cultural practices of “deaf flourishing,” that is, well-​being and empowerment as they are expressed in a variety of deaf cultural settings.1 The first and second parts of the chapter focus on the relationships between flourishing, identity, and storytelling, encompassing insights from the book Deaf Epistemologies, Identity, and Learning (De Clerck, 2016). These insights inspired the development of a multimodal and cross-​cultural instrument for deaf life storytelling, which is the topic of the third part. The first section explores the notion of “flourishing” as a metaphor for self-​ realization and human development by deaf communities in Western Europe, Africa, and the United States. This cross-​cultural framework of deaf identity, which emerged through ethnographic research, is described as an “anthropology of deaf flourishing.” Metaphors of deaf flourishing are salient in the life stories of deaf individuals and the collective stories and performances of sign language communities. The second part of the chapter looks into their signed storytelling as a cultural resource and tool for transformation, which enables them to generate agency, position themselves contextually, and creatively alter their stories to increase their potential. Extending this research base, the third part of the chapter delves into how life story work can enhance deaf people’s well-​being, that is, strengthen their identity and generate resilience. It presents findings from a seminal study with deaf signers in the United Kingdom, including deaf migrants and refugees who use British Sign Language (BSL) and/​or other signed languages. This study produced a cross-​ cultural intervention that draws on storytelling and employs creative and narrative methods tailored to the visual orientation and unique Goedele A. M. De Clerck, Stories in the Building of Deaf Identity In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0011

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cultural-​linguistic experiences of deaf migrants. The chapter presents excerpts from a life story work trajectory, illuminating how making a life story book enables deaf adults to gain a better understanding of their lives; connect past, present, and future; discover the capabilities they have developed during their journey; build resilience; and empower future perspectives. The chapter concludes with a discussion of storytelling and deaf flourishing, including some consideration of intersectionality in deaf identities and practical suggestions for implementing these findings within education and well-​being. AN ANTHROPOLOGY OF DEAF FLOURISHING AND A CROSS-​CULTURAL FRAMEWORK FOR DEAF IDENTITY

Although my work is cross-​and interdisciplinary, I have drawn most strongly from anthropology and cross-​cultural psychology to develop a catenation of case studies on deaf identity and empowerment in Flanders, Cameroon, and Uganda, and at Gallaudet University. Anthropological understanding grows from the in-​depth documentation of processes of human learning, including diverse responses to changing life circumstances. Looking into the creative responses of deaf people to challenging circumstances in which they have nonetheless been able to thrive or flourish has enabled me to understand the dynamics of deaf identity and empowerment. The phenomenon of “deaf awakening” (De Clerck, 2007; Soto, 2003) refers to an emancipatory process of consciousness raising that is characterized by a transition in one’s life when coming into contact with a positive cultural appreciation, modeling of sign language use, and being deaf. For the sake of this chapter, I  focus chiefly on the relationships between identity, storytelling, and flourishing that arose in the diverse cultural contexts of the research.2 At the end of this section, I explore the connections between flourishing, positive psychology and existential well-​being. The first case study involves the life stories of Flemish deaf role models who looked back on their lives and reflected on key moments of empowerment. It is actually the exchange of signed stories among these deaf club members that inspired me to study this phenomenon of identity transformation, which was symbolized in Flemish Sign Language by the WAKE UP sign. The stories were characterized by a turning point, a point that was preceded by a period in which they were “sleeping,” that is, perceiving deafness and sign language negatively, feeling ashamed and unable to do things, and experiencing barriers without being aware of alternatives3: My parents are deaf and when I was a kid, nothing was ever said about what it meant to be deaf, who you are as a deaf person, a deaf

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identity, deaf awareness. Really nothing. . . . I knew that deafness is a disability; that is the way it is. (Filip in De Clerck, 2016, p. 64) Imagery used by members to describe this period include the following: “blocked,” “not being able to bloom,” and “seed that could not sprout.” This contrasts with the dynamics of empowerment, which can be expressed through the images of “germinating” and “blossoming,” which refer to a person’s capabilities to live up to his or her potential. The catalytic converters for this change were found through contact with empowered deaf peers, visual (e.g., signed) learning through peer interaction, and visits to barrier-​free environments or “deaf dream worlds” (De Clerck, 2016). Gaby recalled her awakening when visiting Gallaudet in 1994: There were many things that I absorbed with my eyes. First, when we entered, there were a lot of posters: deaf history, and so on. Then there was the reception: The secretary signed while she was on the phone! Deaf people could follow the conversation, like hearing people could hear it! . . . Hearing and deaf people, they all signed. I met a person, and I didn’t know whether s/​he was hearing or deaf. That was the first thing that woke me up:  Hearing people signed, too! . . . . Oh, I felt at home, [it was] really a dream world. (De Clerck, 2016, p. 73) These experiences of empowerment were mostly tied to transnational contact and “deaf ways of education” (De Clerck, 2007), that is, exploiting visually accessible information and signed interaction with deaf peers. This included discovering what can be captured by the notion of “deaf cultural rhetoric” (De Clerck, 2007), a combination of three convictions that have been identified as empowering in the US deaf movement: sign language is a bona fide language; practices of deaf communities comprise a unique culture; and deaf people “can” (Jankowski, 1997). Members often described these moments of transformation as life-​changing. The valorization of their deaf experiences and worldviews enabled them to adopt positive notions of identity and reconstruct their life stories. In the narratives, this was commonly recounted in terms of the deaf identity emerging along with a sense of “strength” to take up a more equal position in society. Xander, a young Flemish deaf person who “woke up” in the 2000s when he joined a deaf program in northern Europe, shared his experiences: That was where most of my waking up happened. I was in a group of international deaf people, and most of them, their parents had learned and used sign language. I could finally experience life to the fullest, and get to know myself. That boosted my self-​esteem. Many deaf signers have become role models for me; they have rich lives and are independent. (De Clerck, 2016, p. 136)

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The expression of “finally” being able to live up to his potential can be understood based on the marginalization of deaf cultural knowledge and the limiting identity constructs that were available. Or as it was formulated by another person:  “I often felt inside:  that is not right” (De Clerck, 2016, p. 133). From this perspective, empowerment can be reconstructed as the “insurrection of subjugated [deaf] knowledge” (Pease, 2002). Paolo Freire (2005, p. 75) writes about a searching or “ontological vocation” of “humanization.” This inner change drives an outward agency and orientation toward deaf peers, who should also have access to this knowledge, which results in a “circle of deaf empowerment” (De Clerck, 2007). When I was a visiting scholar at Gallaudet University and exchanged experiences with international deaf people there, I  noticed that the theme of awakening returned. This fascinated me, especially the creative combination of cultural diversity and commonality in experiences of deaf students and professionals from across the globe. This inspired me to do a second case study on transnational deaf empowerment, which improved my understanding of international deaf people’s constant comparison of here, that is, Gallaudet’s “figured world” (Holland et al., 1998), and there, that is, life-​worlds from their countries of origin. Here and there both also had their own disparate identity constructs. Sociocultural theory enabled me to conceptualize deaf identity as a learning process: Deaf people participate in multiple communities, and deaf identities are learned in interaction with these cultural settings and the resources available. Gallaudet’s identity constructs and narratives, deaf cultural rhetoric, and emphasis on capabilities were “cultural artefacts” (Cole, 1996). These cultural artifacts circulated among peers and, when individuals adopted them, they facilitated the development of identities as “strong” deaf people. As described by a participant from Chile: “When I came here, I developed a stronger identity. . . . It is like I am able to define in a good way who I am” (De Clerck, 2016, p. 92). International deaf people found a “zone of proximal development” (Vygotsky, 1978)  in peer interaction and practice, supported by their involvement in Gallaudet’s “deaf space” and modeling. This fueled their learning and empowerment, as illustrated by a deaf woman from Barbados: When I was home, I moved back and forth between work and home. I didn’t socialize much, and I didn’t know what people’s behaviors or attitudes were like. My parents were quite strict and overprotective. Now that I am at Gallaudet, I am much more independent. [  .  .  .  ] I  learned a lot about myself through being involved in the International Student Club. It is a good challenge to try and encourage other people. [ . . . ] I learned how to work with finances, how to work in different positions, how to sell things, how to have

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a successful organization, and how to draw people to events. I have also learned during meetings how to disagree or agree with people, how conflicts arise and how to solve problems. (TS in De Clerck, 2016, p. 93) However, I  also wondered how these newly constructed identities and notions of empowerment might inspire international deaf people’s agency when they returned to their geographical homes. The stories of their return experiences illuminate another learning process: intercultural negotiation. Bakhtin’s notion of “the authoring self” (Holland et al., 1998, p. 32) not only emphasizes that cultural resources are tied to social positions but also highlights how individuals can creatively rearrange their positions and the available cultural tools. The notion helps to show how international deaf people move between different culturally situated constructs of identity or, to formulate it in Bakthinian terms, engage in a dialogue between different “voices” or perspectives of the self. Changing relations with others in multiple communities challenges them to formulate adequate new responses. For example, one deaf participant from Botswana saw deaf people drive for the first time upon his arrival at Gallaudet. While there, he got his driver’s license and his own car, and wanted to continue driving when he returned to Botswana, but he was ignored when he went to the licensing office: I wondered: Why are hearing people there in line, whereas deaf can’t be? Why are they different? I  remembered that before I  arrived in America [ . . . ] I didn’t know about deaf rights. All people have, must have rights and [we] can do the same things as hearing people do. This inspired him to try again and explain to the licensing officials that “deaf people are human beings and deserve equal rights and treatment as normal people,” which became a successful strategy that enabled him to drive (JM, in De Clerck, 2016, p. 98). This explanation and the driving itself have the potential to become cultural artifacts that may inspire action and cultural change, as they may open the door for other deaf people to drive. A cross-​cultural and contextualized “can do” approach, which resonates with Nussbaum’s (2011) capability approach, seems to be a useful resource for translocal agency. Awakening can then be seen as a moment in the situated learning process of a dynamic and multilayered identity formation. (The role of self-​authoring for the strengthening of deaf identity in complex understandings of emancipation and participation in multiple communities is explored further as an aspect of deaf life story work in the third section.) My understanding of contextualized and hybrid notions of human development and deaf well-​being was deepened through studying metaphors of deaf flourishing in spontaneous interactions in Uganda

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and Cameroon.4 Cameroonian deaf leaders shared stories of awakening after a human rights training course provided by the World Federation of the Deaf, which I observed in Yaoundé in 2012: Cameroon has a lot of problems. Until now, I didn’t know whether we would ever be okay, but now I know that we will. I see all of you, and I  would like to tell you, brothers and sisters, please be strong and work hard to have the fruit tree of Cameroon grow. We need to be strong and unite! (De Clerck, 2016, pp. 219–​220) This storytelling was tied to a sharp-​witted performance around the figure of the “African mama” that encapsulated their view of a flourishing deaf community. In Uganda, planting a tree is often part of a ritual during open days or deaf awareness weeks at deaf schools. Alumni and visitors are invited to plant the tree, and the idea is that as it grows, students are able to pick fruit from it, which mirrors the generational process of students learning from deaf elders and alumni. This bottom-​up approach, which starts from the concepts used by individuals and communities, illuminates not only the production and co-​production of deaf knowledge but also the unique cultural resources and diversity of worldviews that reside in sign language communities. Methodologically, the documentation of the different angles and aspects of deaf flourishing can be seen as a naturalized epistemological stance. It can also be seen as a form of strength-​centered ethnography: “Identifying deaf people’s worldviews, ways of learning, linguistic and cultural practices, and sources of strength in their environments [and their personal lives] may help increase [their] psychological, cultural, and social capital” (De Clerck, 2016, p. 209). (The formation of the “flourishing” concept in Cameroon and Uganda is explored further in the second section.) This cross-​cultural comparative research has attempted to provide insight into the metaphors of “deaf awakening” and “deaf flourishing.” These metaphors seem to manifest in myriad contexts as open-​ended and culturally situated notions of deaf identity and well-​being. It is common for human beings to express their aspiration for a good life and well-​being through these kinds of nature metaphors. The flourishing concept runs through theories of philosophy and ethics (e.g., Sandel, 2009)  and social justice and development (e.g., Nussbaum, 2011), although it is not always well defined. The question “What does it mean for deaf people and deaf communities to flourish?” [.  .  .  .] relates to broader ethical questions of “what ways of living would this individual and community want to design for themselves, and how can individuals and communities be respected and supported in this process in terms of who they are?” (De Clerck, 2017, p.  210). Looking at this question from a naturalized and critical epistemological stance not only allows one to reflect on the production of scientific knowledge

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but also permits insight into how knowledge is produced by deaf communities in culturally diverse ways. Documenting and valorizing these often marginalized worldviews contributes to epistemological equity and social justice, and it potentially mobilizes resources for well-​ being. Nussbaum understands flourishing in connection with a “capability approach” that emphasizes people’s potential and their basic requirements for dignity and quality of life. Indeed, as is illustrated by the experience from Botswana, freedom is not about being able to dream of driving, but about realizing the possibility of actually being able to drive.5 The use of flourishing in theories of positive psychology and well-​ being provides another angle. Positive psychology challenges humans to confront negative perspectives and work with their talents to give the best of themselves. This is what Xander means when he discusses the strength-​centered perspective that he only became aware of in young adulthood; he wants this to be more immediately available for future generations: I think all deaf children should be immersed in deaf culture. Then, when they have questions about life, their existence, they can find answers right away. They don’t have to wait until they are older and have developed their oral skills. Deaf children need their identity as roots to grow and develop. (De Clerck, 2016, p. 136) By researching practical strengths and virtues, positive psychology provides evidence for old sources of wisdom and guidance that have been employed in spiritual and cultural traditions (Leijssen, 2013). In his book Flourish, Martin Seligman (2011) refers to the criteria of positive emotions, engagement, and meaning, which occur in authentic happiness theory and additional features of self-​ esteem, optimism, resilience, vitality, self-​determination and positive relations that as a whole relate to well-​being theory. Indeed, Carol Ryff’s scales of psychological well-​being (e.g., Ryff & Singer, 1996, 2006), which have been the subject of cross-​cultural empirical research, identify six categories of well-​being:  self-​acceptance, positive relations with others, autonomy, environmental mastery, purpose in life, and personal growth. These categories can be articulated differently depending on the cultural setting. Indeed, subjective experiences of well-​being are influenced by life circumstances and the interaction of personal qualities and the environment (for a contextual perspective, see McNulty & Fincham, 2012). The experiences of deaf awakening and the circle of deaf empowerment described earlier are characterized by aspects of these categories: being able to positively define who you are refers to self-​acceptance; living your own life and managing a student club refer to autonomy; driving in a context where deaf people had not previously been able to do so refers to a

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sense of environmental mastery; Xander’s wish for deaf people to have early access to emancipatory information reflects a life purpose. This transcendent motion to contribute to one’s peers also arises in the Cameroonian and Ugandan deaf communities when they grow a fruit tree to support future generations, both literally and figuratively. While the impulse for self-​actualization and personal growth is at the core of all the narratives, the interaction between the environment and personal experiences also highlights variation in how aspects of well-​being are emphasized. For example, autonomy was realized differently for the international deaf student in Barbados compared to the United States and Gallaudet, and, as illustrated by the driving example, a negotiation process may be needed to sensitively adjust one’s new identity and personal experience of well-​ being to the context when returning to one’s country of origin. The orientation toward values in positive psychology also corresponds with Aristotle’s ethics of existence. For Aristotle, a flourishing life is a life with “a continuous reflection on the quality of your personal functioning and on what is valuable in your daily life” (Leijssen, 2013, p. 56 [translation by De Clerck]). This capability to take care of yourself includes optimal functioning, friendship with yourself, and aspiring to a flourishing life (Leijssen, 2013, p. 59 [translation by De Clerck]). The latter refers to the sense of awareness and reflection that is emphasized in deaf people’s life stories. The experience of living life to the fullest, as expressed in the stories of deaf role models, refers to an ethics of citizenship that encourages citizens to develop their talents and contribute to the community (Verhaeghe, 2012). Human beings want to give meaning to their “being-​in-​the-​world.” In existential philosophy, well-​being has four dimensions: the physical or material; the social, which looks at the relationships between the self and the other; the psychological dimension of our inner life; and the spiritual or transcendent dimension. In the next part, I explore the role of signed storytelling as a cultural resource, which has the potential to connect these dimensions of existential well-​being from a deaf cultural perspective. STORYTELLING AS A DEAF CULTURAL RESOURCE

Signed storytelling is at the core of the case study methodologies. Along with studying deaf individuals’ life stories, I  looked into collective storytelling in deaf community meetings, citizenship platforms, and performances. Studying deaf cultural practices of storytelling enabled me to exploit a bottom-​up approach and generate a theoretical framework of identity formation and flourishing that is grounded in deaf perspectives. Moreover, it gave me a better understanding of the role of signed storytelling in deaf well-​being.

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This section describes the relationship between storytelling and well-​ being in the Ugandan deaf community as they congregated to create a community profile. Then it looks into the desire to tell one’s story and form an emancipatory identity, which is exemplified by participants in the Flemish Deaf Parliament, a deaf citizenship platform. In Uganda, deaf community members of diverse ages gathered in Kampala (the capital) and Mbale (in the eastern region) to develop a community profile through dramatic performance and dance as well as by sharing memories, pictures, and stories. In Kampala the members met for 4 days in the shadow of a tree at the grounds of the Uganda Deaf Society, which had formerly hosted the Uganda School for the Deaf, established in 1962 as the country’s first deaf school.6 Older deaf members recalled playing football there and planting the tree. Other trees nearby were also part of their history, and these members shared with young people their memories of eating delicious mangoes from the tree at the school’s entrance, picking berries from another tree, and boiling them to bring out their sweet taste. As described by anthropologist Tim Ingold (1993, p. 152): “the landscape is constituted as an enduring record of—​and testimony to—​the lives and the works of past generations who have dwelt with it, and in so doing, have left something of themselves.” Trees are markers for history and identity; Uganda’s 1962 independence was the result of weekly meetings in the preceding decade held under what became known as the independence tree. People’s histories are represented in the growth of trees, so much so that the community seems to be “as much bound up in the life of the tree as is the tree in the lives of the people” (Ingold, 1993, p. 168). In the video snapshot7 called “A fruitful future,” which captures the community storytelling, young members adopt the tree’s image to connect their collective history with challenges of the present and future. As signed by Emma, a former Uganda Deaf Youth president: We have had a group of deaf people, for example Mr Ssendagire who established the Uganda National Association of the Deaf (UNAD), Sam’s work and the development of Ugandan Sign Language (UgSL), and Mr Ssentongo’s work. This is information I didn’t know before; I have learned this now from their stories. This means that Mr Ssendagire and his colleagues planted a seed from which a tree has grown that now bears fruit. The youth, like me, Ms Agatha, and Ms Olivia, are the fruit. . . . We are young, and we can gradually take the reins from our older leaders like Ms Constance and use our strength to mobilize our fellow deaf people to advocate for education and UgSL. I believe that many will join us and that the tree will bear more and more fruit and that we will achieve our vision for 2050.

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The community meetings illustrate the intergenerational transmission of deaf cultural heritage through storytelling. As for the spiritual dimension, the meetings highlight how collective stories of flourishing can become a transcendent resource of meaning, which supports identity formation individually and collectively. As for the social dimension, there is the bonding of community members as significant others and images of them as a family, like the deaf Cameroonians calling each other “brothers and sisters,” as illustrated in the quote earlier. As for the physical dimension, the signed storytelling of members sitting in a circle is appropriate for the visual orientation of deaf signers (Hauser, Lukomski, & Hillman, 2008), optimizes learning, and is connected with the Ugandan deaf landscape. In Kampala, they meet in the shade of the tree at the first deaf school (see earlier); in Mbale they sit around a tree near the site of a building that was intended to become a deaf church. Due to cuts in funding, the building was never finished.8 This physical dimension also includes the neurobiological effects of storytelling, which is connected with our “relational neurobiology” (Perry, 2012, p. 9), that is, our capacities and needs to participate and belong: “in the cortically mediated narrative of storytelling of how we belong and how we have come to this point comes a powerful regulating, anchoring, reassuring and rewarding neurophysiological effect” (Perry, 2012, p. 9). As for the psychological dimension, there is variation in the activities at community meetings. Members share photographs, personal experiences, and collective memories; beat the drum and create signed songs; participate in drama related to their history; and provide opportunities to discover and use their strengths. Starting from members’ life experiences, the performances organically grow as they choose and experiment with roles. They critically challenge themes of sustainable development, such as the aforementioned funding gaps or the need for deaf youth to be educated about their ethnicity and be prepared for cultural practices of engagement and marriage.9 The performances enable them to participate freely and learn about each other’s experiences. Through playing their roles and receiving responses from the “audience,” they can contribute to the future of their community and peers. When the meetings started in Mbale, several participants mentioned feeling ill or stressed because of overwhelming life challenges and financial concerns. They kept attending the meetings and, as the project progressed, they reported feeling better and gaining a sense of joy and pride. At a spiritual level, the members generate meaning through creating a community profile that consists of video snapshots with signed stories, performances, and an exhibition. The process of bringing their stories into the light and giving them a place in Ugandan deaf history improves their existential well-​being while making collective resources available for future generations.

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The role of peer interaction and storytelling in the formation of deaf identity is also illustrated by the Flemish Deaf Parliament, a deaf citizenship platform that was organized through regional deaf community meetings (see De Clerck, 2017a). As the platform encouraged deaf people to share their views and enabled vulnerable members such as community newcomers, elders, and migrants to bring their tales into the public sphere, it illustrates how “public” storytelling or storytelling among a peer group may be vital for emancipation and personal growth. This hearkens to Hannah Arendt’s argument that we are metaphorically born for the second time when we enter the public sphere and can show who we are in relation to other people. In The Human Condition (1989), she makes a distinction between our whatness, that is, our physical birth, and our “physical passport” that consists of the qualities of gender, ethnicity, and so on, and the constantly changing process of interpreting these qualities in shaping who we are. Through presenting ourselves to the world, we not only manifest who we are as unique human beings, but we can also change community narratives: The disclosure of the “who” through speech, and the setting of a new beginning through action, always fall into an already existing web where their immediate consequences can be felt. Together they start a new process which eventually emerges as the unique life story of the newcomer, affecting uniquely the life stories of all of those with whom he comes into contact. (Arendt, 1989, p. 184) According to Hannah Arendt, the question, “Who are you?” can best be answered by telling a story (also see Hermsen, 2016). This can be illustrated by the story of Agnes, a young deaf Flemish Deaf Parliament participant. She decided to break her silence and share her story at the end of one of the regional meetings, challenging dominant forms of representation through the signed narrative of her life and thereby also practicing an alternative way of citizenship: I sometimes felt that I had lost myself through my oral educational background and failures in advanced education. I  have become part of the deaf community, yes, but I  had to advocate for it, because I had grown up orally and deaf community members who had grown up together saw me as someone with an oral background, an outsider. So I  decided to leave and travel for a few months to think about what I wanted. I also socialized with international deaf people. We had insightful conversations, and I realized that I do not need to “prove” that I am deaf. I have a deaf identity and they need to accept me as I am. [ . . . ] Then there was a nice coincidence: I went to the Deaflympics in Germany, and my friends noticed that I had totally changed. [ . . . ] I felt so good, freer, stronger, and much richer

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in experience. When there are problems now, I say, “You don’t know my story.” (De Clerck, 2016, p. 129) It is Agnes’s human desire for telling her story, having it seen, and for belonging, that pushed her toward disclosure, to moving beyond the boundaries of her whatness. Through telling her story, she transformed fear into an affirmative stance of a “between space” of identity (Brueggeman, 2009, p. 3), making space for who she is as a unique person. As captured by Cavarero on the narrative self: “What exactly is desired by this desire? Obviously, this tale is desired—​but above all [it desires] the unity, in the form of story, which the tale confers to identity” (Cavarero, 2000, p. 37; on desire, silence, and citizenship, also see De Clerck & Hoegaerts, 2016). This personal new beginning, or narrative self, is told in interaction with others and draws on the stories of others. As it is told, it becomes a new cultural resource and beginning, as it opens up the collective basis of community narratives. The signed dialogue of the Flemish Deaf Parliament and the interplay between personal experiences and different views of being deaf can be seen as a “community of practice” (Lave & Wenger, 1999) for deaf storytelling and identity development. It particularly models the aforementioned dialogical process of self-​authoring, that is, the (re)organization and negotiation of deaf identities and dialogic selves in interaction with cultural tools and agents (Holland et al., 1998; Holland & Lachicotte, 2007). As such, this deaf citizenship platform can be seen as visual space of learning for deaf identity: Perspective (“the eye”) really matters; the personal (the “I”) experience really matters, as well. This little between eye/​I space can be, in fact, rather expansive. It is a space of potent possibilities, contained and yet kaleidoscopic in its perspectives. (Brueggeman, 2009, p. 24) Through telling her story, Agnes generates affirmative power or “potentia” (Braidotti, 2011) through taking a new subject position. This requires courage and the transformation of fear, especially in the light of her experiences of not being respectfully listened to and the cultural marginalization of her story. She exploits the plurality of deaf identity in relation to what Donna McDonald (2010, p.  463) calls “competing representations of deaf people and deafness” and “the comforts of a standard tool kit of deaf knowledge.” Both the Ugandan meetings and Flemish Deaf Parliament can be seen as settings of a liminal time/​space, in which daily routines and common social structures are broken, and in which participants experience a community spirit and sense of equality (Turner, 2017). This is a temporary and transformative space that breaks with the everyday order in which diverse deaf life stories often remain hidden (De Clerck, in press). This is also the case in the transnational encounters described

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in the first section. From a different angle, liminality is also in play in deaf life story work, a cross-​cultural intervention that exploits narrative learning to target well-​being, as described in the following section. DEAF LIFE STORY WORK AS A MULTIMODAL AND CROSS-​CULTURAL INTERVENTION IN SUPPORT OF DEAF WELL-​BEING

Research has begun to consider the potential of deaf life storytelling for supporting identity development and resilience (e.g., Sheridan, 2001, 2008). Although there is more attention being paid to culturally sensitive approaches and storytelling in counseling and psychotherapy with deaf clients (e.g., Leigh, 2010), there have been few initiatives to create therapies that are based on the cultural practices of signed storytelling. Reflecting on the uncertainty and transitions of contemporary times, psychologists and social scientists have argued that autobiography has become the basis of the “reflexive project of the self”:  “The narrative of self-​identity has to be shaped, altered, and reflexively sustained, in relation to rapidly changing circumstances of social life, on a local and global scale” (Giddens, 1991, p. 215). We are invited to take risks, make choices, and shape the adventurous journey of the human life course: “Our responsibility and grip are found in our personal journey, the report that we construct of this trajectory at any time: our life story” (Bohlmeijer, 2007, p.  32 [translation by De Clerck]). Therapeutic life story work supports people in telling coherent life narratives, finding new or alternative perspectives, and making connections between the past, present, and future. These connections may be lost in crises, when autobiographies become fragmented (Bohlmeijer, 2007; Rose, 2012). This is the first attempt at specifically tailoring this type of intervention for deaf clients. At the crossroads of narrative inquiry and narrative therapy, which are both concerned with the capacities of human beings to tell stories (e.g., Bruner, 1990; White & Epston, 1990), the study Deaf life narratives in times of transition piloted a cross-​cultural instrument for life storytelling. This instrument aims to allow deaf adults to look at turning points in their lives and generate integrated life stories, potentially with alternative perspectives and counternarratives. It targets identity development and resilience in deaf signers who use multiple languages and participate in multiple communities, including migrants and refugees. Therefore, the instrument combines their strengths in signed storytelling with digital media and technology in a way that exploits their visual orientation and learning (Hauser, Lukomski, & Hillman, 2008; on digital life story work also see Hammond & Cooper, 2013). This resulted in an intervention that is called deaf life story work (DLSW). Eight deaf adults (three women and five men) aged between 20 and 50  years and living in Greater Manchester, Birmingham, or London,

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participated in a set of individualized DLSW sessions. The life story trajectories were developed across four to eight sessions lasting 3 hours each. Some of the sessions were held at the University of Manchester, and others were held at a deaf charity or advocacy organization. The participants were also encouraged to continue working on their life narratives at home. One of the participants was born in the United Kingdom, while the others moved to the United Kingdom from Europe, Africa, or Asia. Four participants arrived fewer than 5 years ago; one arrived around 2010; and the others arrived at young ages in the 1970s and 1980s. All of the participants used one or more signed languages as their preferred mode of communication; one participant was acquiring BSL and predominantly communicated in gestures. This section aims to look into moments of transition in deaf life story work through excerpts from the trajectory of Caroline, an Asian deaf woman in her 30s, who participated in eight 3-​hour sessions across a period of 10 months.10 The scope of this chapter does not facilitate an in-​depth overview of all the techniques used within the sessions; however, this case study is presented in order to briefly illustrate the intervention. Apart from practices related to deaf culture, sign language and deaf ways of learning, the sessions integrated techniques from narrative therapy, reminiscence, creative therapy, therapeutic life story work, and positive psychology (for further discussion of the methodology and an overview of techniques, see De Clerck, 2018). The section first describes how the project was introduced to Caroline, and how a client-​centered perspective inspires the deaf life story work approach. A description of the first three sessions provides insight into the process, illuminating how creative and play therapy fostered a transitional space that not only enabled her to express and understand her life world and its themes but also generated agency and resilience to help her face challenges relating to migration. Techniques from narrative therapy are employed, such as positive exposure and memories of childhood and youth in her country of origin. Working with a timeline and signed and digital storytelling support the reconnection of fragmented moments before and after migration and the redefining of personal relationships. This allows her to give meaning to traumatic experiences. The section concludes with a video fragment in which she looks back on the trajectory and how it has freed energy for future initiatives. I meet Caroline for the first time when I introduce my project to a small group of potential participants selected by a deaf organization. The session invites a lot of questions and discussion. Caroline’s husband also attends and thinks she would benefit from the project. However, she is feverish and unwell and finds it difficult to concentrate. A few weeks later, she comes to see me and is interested in participating. We make arrangements for the first session, which starts with the briefing and

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consent. It is difficult for her to access written English, and she prefers the BSL translation on video, with extra clarifications from me in both BSL and International Sign. I repeat the information in a conversational style, using code-​switching and making the information accessible for a person with a very basic education and no previous experience with research (For language contact, see Quinto-​Pozos & Adam, 2015). She is assertive, asks questions, and verifies that she understands. In future sessions, she expresses relief that we can communicate well, which suggests that she rarely has access to smooth communication. As Caroline’s experience indicates, language and communication barriers in childhood and later life may be a risk for secure identity development (Young, 2016). From a client-​centered perspective, it is vital that clients can experience safety and acceptance in the working alliance (Rogers, 2004). I argue that safe communication in a preferred signed language is an essential element of the working alliance.11 Deaf signers, especially migrants, may have scarce opportunities for sharing their experiences, thoughts, and inner feelings, and for developing agency. This also motivates me to work, alongside Caroline, with the themes she brings into the sessions. At the end of the first session, I  ask Caroline whether she would like to do some creative work to make a start with her life book. She gets to work with colored paper, craft materials, and felt pens to make a Christmas card. The creative work elicits positive remembrances of going to school and growing up in her country of origin:  “I haven’t done this at all since then; it feels good to be creative.” She has been in the United Kingdom for more than 10 years and now wants to celebrate Christmas for the first time, since she thought it would be important for her daughter. In the second session, she talks more about her family. To support her storytelling and help her to visually and symbolically explore themes in her life, I introduce a culturally sensitive play therapy method of working with Duplo puppets, which are often used with multilingual and migrant populations (Diekmann Schoemaker & van der Veer, 2003; Gil & Drewes, 2015; McMahon, 2009). We talk about the people who will attend her Christmas party. She enjoys manipulating the puppets’ hands to represent who is communicating in signed language (adults) and spoken language (children and their friends). Caroline and her husband, a deaf migrant, are Muslim but want to have a home where everyone is welcome, including her children’s friends, regardless of religion, culture, or hearing status. She shares an early memory of when she was invited by a Catholic friend to attend a Christmas celebration in her country of origin. She felt very welcome, and it was a significant memory of friendship. However, her parents were angry with her when they found out she had attended a Christian event, and this made it important to her to have a home where she is able to invite people. She has never celebrated Christmas

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in the United Kingdom, and she explains that she is looking on the Internet for examples of Christmas trees, cards, and presents to help her with the preparations. When her husband picks her up after the session, she is enthusiastic and proud: “I thought that it would be difficult to tell my story, but I found that it was easy.” Although there are still a lot of open questions, it now becomes more clear what deaf life story work could mean for Caroline and her desire to develop a narrative about her life in both countries. The techniques of creative therapy and play therapy create a transitional space between the inner and outer world (Winnicott, 2005, p. xiii), which enables her to safely explore and gain insights about her life. In the next session, I gain a better understanding of the sense of despondency that I had noticed when I first met Caroline. She starts the session with a flow of signing: She doesn’t feel well, she has been very sick with an infectious disease, and she is tired of it. She wants to be active and do all the things that she did with her family before her disease. She has been in treatment for a year, which has affected her sight. It took a while before she found a good sign language interpreter and communication with her doctor became accessible.12 I ask how she would feel about looking for pictures in magazines that would help her to express her feelings. She is curious. Looking at the pictures seems to give her a sense of calm. After a while, she concludes that she can’t find any sad pictures, but she is interested in two sewing magazines that evoke memories of the small sewing shop that her mother owned. Cutting pictures of sewing materials that have a special meaning for her, and carefully choosing paper that matches the colors of the pictures, she makes a collage about the sewing theme. She learned to sew at an early age and explains to me how to make a handbag. Thinking about the Halloween-​themed handbag in the magazine, she combines a British cultural event with her home country’s practice of sewing. It is a challenge for her to integrate these different parts of her life and life worlds in her identity. She mentions that it was not her choice to move to the United Kingdom and that it is strange for her not to work. She sometimes dreams about opening a shop where deaf women can sew, do creative work, and have a meal. This was a transitional moment and turning point. In the next session, she said she had attended a creative workshop and started to sew on Wednesday afternoons at her daughter’s school. She also enjoys making signed videos during the sessions, and in one of them, she discusses her new sewing experience: I love sewing, and also embroidery. I have now used a sewing machine for the first time. It was new for me, but it is actually easy. I sew flowers. They were all surprised that I  became skilled so quickly, even though I am deaf and doing this for the first time. I helped the

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hearing students and explained how they should do the flowers and embroidery, watching the zigzagging carefully to stay on the pattern. In my home country, we had a lot of materials for sewing, such as needles and embroidery rings. We did embroidery whenever there was a free moment. I learned that I become very relaxed when sewing. My muscles release their tension. Caroline had understood that it was important for her to be enterprising, and the session had awakened a sense of agency that would remain and manifest further. I  was aware of possible experiences of trauma and possible effects on mental well-​ being stemming from migration-​ related loss (Yakushko et  al., 2008). She brought a few pictures and we also searched the Internet to help her describe her country and the places where she grew up. Although her country was in violent turmoil after she left, it was safe during her childhood. Caroline loved talking about her life there. The pictures on the Internet and the drawings evoked sensorial memories and reconnected her with a sense of safety that she had lost in the traumatic experience of migration. It made her very happy to talk about the freedom and confidence that she enjoyed with her friends as a child, which also helped her to deal with her mother’s overprotectiveness: We played hide and seek in the forest, which looked like the picture below. Sometimes it was hot, so we would sleep in the forest and wake up when we felt refreshed and it was cooler. . . . Later, my mum would always be angry with me for staying out with my friends. “You are deaf, and it is dangerous outside.” It was easy to ignore her because I couldn’t hear her anyway. My friends were all hearing and we communicated very well. They knew to look at me and keep eye contact so I could lip-​read. We had a lot of fun together. Completing a timeline as a part of narrative therapy and positive exposure can (re)connect moments in life that have become fragmented and help rebuild coherent narrative identities (Métraux, 2011; Papadopoulos, 2002; White, 2007). White (2003) uses the term “double listening” for a therapeutic process that not only listens to pain but also looks for resilience and how a person faced challenges. This acknowledges alternative stories that generate hope. “Re-​membering” [sic] is not only about looking back on relationships with significant others, but also about repositioning oneself and redefining the ties (White, 2007). It was particularly useful for Caroline to develop a multisided perspective on the relationship with her parents and siblings, especially regarding their roles in her migration. Telling stories along a timeline enables Caroline to chart the migration process in her

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life journey and to mourn about what she lost when she was forced to be married and leave her country. This is an excerpt from her life book: I had to stop working because my mum and relatives had decided that it was time for me to get married to a man who lived in the UK. The man had flown over for a visit, but I didn’t want to meet him. My siblings said I had to get married. But I worked, earned a salary, and was very happy with my life. I was free. I was not ready to get married. I told my family I might want to marry when I was 35 or so, but they said: “No, that is too old.” The man wanted to marry me now. I cried a lot and even thought about killing myself. A picture of the airport captures the day of departure in her life book: My husband made small talk about the planes. I  just nodded. My mum and sisters were happy:  “It’s so great that you can go, hurrah!” But it was just oppression and everything went wrong afterwards. Caroline suffered from domestic violence after her arrival in the United Kingdom. Although it still upsets her to talk about it, she wants the experience to be part of her life book. Fortunately, she was able to escape, receive judicial support, and meet a loving and supportive deaf man who helped her learn BSL and make a new life. She read newspaper articles about child trafficking, which enabled her to recognize her story and place it in a broader cultural context. She also found the strength to confront her family: “I told them about the abuse over the webcam. They said they were very sorry. They were happy that I had met another man and that he was deaf.” Caroline’s life book is a compilation of a printed hard copy with pictures and plain English text, and a digital version that also includes the signed videos. Because Caroline’s passport had been taken away from her when she arrived in the United Kingdom, and she had not only literally lost her “physical passport” or her whatness (Arendt; see the second section), but also who she was, the documentation of her life in a (digital) book (with signed stories) was particularly meaningful for her. It was important to look into how she had been able to keep her spirits up. During the development of her life story trajectory, her health improved. She started making plans for the future. In the terms of Hannah Arendt, acquiring BSL had marked her second birth. Throughout the sessions, she would often revisit the videos she had made, commenting on how her signing had improved and how she was looking much better. She had gained confidence in her digital storytelling skills. At the end of the sessions, she made a signed video message that she wanted to pass on to the university to share her experiences:

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I have been coming here for about 10 months now, to talk privately about different things, news and what’s happening, but also about my problems, my experiences of oppression, and my struggles with low self-​esteem. [ . . . ] I was ill, felt confused, and had low confidence. In the beginning I also was a little afraid and concerned about the communication, but communication was fine and I became more confident. I understood that it was normal that I felt confused sometimes and that I didn’t need to worry about it. [ . . . ] I’d always had to hide my story. I was very happy that I was now finally able to express this in a confidential setting. Everything has now come out and I feel much more relaxed. I  was encouraged to do things that I  like—​at first this felt strange, but then I really enjoyed doing all these things that I hadn’t done for a very long time, like cooking food, going out with my husband, or playing with my children. Before it was like I was frozen. Now I feel strong and confident. I am going out and visiting friends, and I am also interested in encouraging friends in what they are doing. I have registered for college. In ideal circumstances, it would have been beneficial to combine this intervention with work therapy or collaboration with an organization that could enable Caroline to develop her competences further and realize some of the workshop vision that she shared during the process. Unfortunately, it was not possible to arrange this within the scope of the project, as its aim was preliminary, that is, to develop and explore the intervention of deaf life story work. The findings have implications for deaf mental health and social work services in terms of making such services more sensitive regarding the cultural and language specificities of working with deaf migrants. These findings also highlight how deaf migrants may not be able to immediately focus on the outcomes of either education and employment, or well-​being, which is how services are generally oriented in the United Kingdom (i.e., outcome-​focused with sometimes insufficient scope for lead-​up or foundational work). Deaf life story work contributes toward this fundamental initial strengthening and recognition/​harnessing of personal resources that enable deaf migrants or refugees to access services more effectively. Placing this intervention into the cross-​cultural framework of deaf identity as discussed in the first and second sections, and reflecting on the like-​minded interaction between the deaf migrant and researcher-​ practitioner, deaf life story work is a “zone of proximal development” (Vygotsky, 1978, p. 86) in which deaf identity formation is supported through learning-​by-​doing (also see De Clerck, in press). Therapeutic techniques can be seen as “scaffolding,” that is, supporting the participant through the zone of proximal development (also see White, 2007). Signed storytelling is a cultural artifact (Cole, 1996) in this process of

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identity formation, which enables deaf adults to create a “mastering self” or “authoring self” amongst multiple life worlds and perspectives. In terms of Turner’s (2017) phases of life transitions, rerooting in Caroline’s original environment has strengthened her enough so that she can leave the liminal stage of migration and take her place in society. Caroline mobilizes her cultural knowledge, strengths, and resources in the telling of her life story (also see Denborough, 2008). This generates resilience and agency, thus enabling her to give meaning to what has happened in relation to important people in her life and to the cultural settings in which she participates. Caroline now “see[s]‌[her] journey with new eyes” (De Clerck, 2017b, p. 174). Drawing on Arendt, Hermsen (2016, para. 12) argues that understanding who you are is a fundamental human entitlement: “Being able to and being allowed to tell ‘who you are’ instead of only being able to show ‘what you are’, belong to the core of human existence and should be the right of each person, regardless of the facts on his or her passport” [translation by De Clerck]. Being able to tell individual and collective stories is a vital component of democracy (Hermsen, 2016). Concentrating on deaf people, this corresponds to a human rights approach and a perspective of lifelong learning as formulated in Article 24 on education in the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (United Nations, n.d.), which promotes “the development by persons with disabilities of their personality, talents and creativity, as well as their mental and physical abilities, to their fullest potential.” (see also Jokinen, 2016). As suggested by the study and cases presented in this chapter, deaf life story work not only has the potential to facilitate deaf people’s learning and identity development but also supports deaf people in other aspects of deaf flourishing and human rights such as “full and equal participation in education and as members of the community.” This intervention is based on the idea that each deaf person has the right to tell his or her own story as a fundamental aspect of inclusive education and lifelong learning. CONCLUSION

With a focus on the role of storytelling in deaf identity, this chapter has presented highlights from the book Deaf Epistemologies, Identity, and Learning (De Clerck, 2016). Through excerpts from the signed life stories of deaf community members in Flanders, Cameroon, and Uganda, and at Gallaudet University in the United States, the first and second sections of the chapter have endeavored to illustrate a cross-​ cultural and interdisciplinary theoretical framework of deaf identity, which draws on cross-​cultural psychology and sociocultural learning theories. An “anthropology of deaf flourishing” illuminates how deaf identities are formed in interaction with cultural resources and agents.

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Through excerpts from case studies, the chapter has concentrated on the role of signed storytelling and peer interaction in identity development and well-​being. The third section built on this to explore how well-​being can be enhanced through an intervention that facilitates the life storytelling of deaf signers, including migrants and refugees. The intervention, therapeutic deaf life story work, exploits their visual orientation and storytelling strengths, and creates a zone of proximal development that supports them in moving from the known parts in their identity constructs to the challenges and unknown parts. The section illustrates findings from a UK-​based pilot study, which was undertaken to explore this intervention, by presenting excerpts from the life trajectory of a deaf migrant participant. While the first and second sections of the chapter add to the expanding research on deaf identity formation, there have been few attempts to develop therapies based on deaf cultural practices of storytelling. Illustrated through this life story work trajectory, the third section discusses how deaf cultural resources, and techniques of narrative therapy, client-​centered therapy, and creative therapy have been integrated into a therapeutic intervention. The making of (digital) life books may enable deaf signers to understand who they are, build a coherent story that integrates difficulties of the past, and generate strength to face challenges in the present. By (re)positioning themselves in relation to important people in their lives and multiple social and cultural perspectives, deaf individuals can generate the self-​authoring and self-​mastery that is needed to participate in multiple communities and navigate through adulthood. The chapter concludes that being able to tell one’s life story is essential for understanding one’s own humanity and identity, and coping with life transitions. Although this can be seen as a human right, due to insufficient access to education and communication, deaf signers may not have had opportunities to nurture this ability. Deaf life story work is a possible means of addressing this need and fostering greater strength, confidence, and quality of life among this target group. This is a therapeutic model that can be harnessed for health and social care to improve outcomes by integrating deaf signers’ unique cultural-​linguistic experiences and multiple signed languages with visual, creative, and digital methods to bolster identity formation and well-​being. Further research with deaf signers of various ages and backgrounds, in culturally diverse settings, is likely to advance our understanding of the relationship between signed storytelling, deaf identity, and well-​being. It also may have considerable potential for the generation and refinement of new therapies or strategies that support identity development.

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NOTES 1. Sections of this chapter are adapted from my book, Deaf Epistemologies, Identity, and Learning: A Comparative Perspective (Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, 2016). 2. The book Deaf epistemologies, identity, and learning: a comparative perspective (De Clerck, 2016, Gallaudet University Press) features a more in-​depth description of the case studies and a discussion of diversity in deaf ways of learning. 3. Names of participants have mostly been replaced by pseudonyms to ensure confidentiality; in some studies, participants had an option to choose to be anonymous or to identify themselves by their name or initials. 4. While the Ugandan deaf community has had opportunities for partnering in development cooperation, transnational exposure in Cameroon has been limited. I was able to observe daily interaction in the communities and participate in north-​south and south-​south development cooperation. 5. For this understanding of freedom, see Sen (2001); for a reflection on deaf children’s quality of life in different parts of the world, also see Blume (2012). 6. The video snapshot is in UgSL with English subtitles, and can be viewed on http://​www.signlanguageprojects.com/​en/​ugandan-​deaf-​heritage-​ through-​community-​derived-​multimedia-​storytelling 7. This building had also contained the first offices of the Ugandan Deaf Association, built under the development partnership with the Danish Deaf Association in 1992. Further information is available at http://​www. signlanguageprojects.com/​pdf/​poster_​1.html. 8. The building was constructed near the St. Andrew’s Cathedral in Mbale, with the aim of hosting a deaf church. As funding ceased, the construction was never finished. The deaf church in Mbale, which is a branch of the Immanuel Church for the Deaf, currently organizes its masses in a small room in the cathedral. During the community storytelling, the members shared their memories of establishing the Mbale Deaf Association, which was part of the 14-​year partnership between the Danish Deaf Association and the Uganda National Association of the Deaf (UNAD). After the project ended, the members faced financial and organizational challenges in running their organization. In the video snapshot “A fruitful future,” they talk about their experiences and call for the UNAD and international bodies to support their development. 9. In the video snapshot “Ugandan deaf culture:  Taught as our drum,” deaf community members explain that it is important for young deaf people to learn about their family background and the tribe to which they belong. They also learn that they cannot date someone from the same group, as this is like dating their brother or sister. It is important that young deaf people are sensitized on formal processes of engagement and marriage, which occur in the family sphere. It is possible and usual for deaf members to be involved in these processes, which are led by the family. The video talks about misunderstandings and painful situations in the past when young deaf people were unintentionally violating cultural norms of which they were not aware. The snapshot is in UgSL with English subtitles, and available at http://​www.signlanguageprojects.com/​en/​ugandan-​deaf-​heritage-​ through-​community-​derived-​multimedia-​storytelling.

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REFERENCES Arendt, H. (1989). The human condition. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Blume, S. (2012). Hoe beïnvloedt de technologie de levenskwaliteit van dove kinderen? [How does technology influence the quality of life of deaf children?] In G. De Clerck & R. Pinxten (Eds.), Gebarentaal zegt alles [Sign language says it all] (pp. 19–​30). Leuven, Belgium: Acco. Bohlmeijer, E. (2007). Herinneringen, levensverhalen en gezondheid [Reminiscence, life stories, and health]. In E. Bohlmeijer, L. Mies, & G. Westerhof (Eds.), De betekenis van Levensverhalen. Theoretische beschouwingen en toepassingen in onderzoek en praktijk [The meaning of life stories. Theoretical reflections and applications in research and practice] (pp. 29–​40). Houten, the Netherlands: Bohn Stafleu van Loghum. Braidotti, R.  (2011). Nomadic theory:  The portable Rosi Braidotti. New  York, NY: Columbia Universwity Press. Brueggeman, B. (2009). Deaf subjects:  Between identity and places. New  York, NY: New York University Press. Bruner, J. (1990). Acts of meaning. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cavarero, A. (2000). Relating narratives:  Storytelling and selfhood. London, UK: Routledge. Cole, M. (1996). Cultural psychology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. De Clerck, G. (2007). Meeting global deaf peers, visiting ideal deaf places: Deaf ways of education leading to empowerment, an exploratory case study. American Annals of the Deaf, 152(1),  5–​9. De Clerck, G. A. M. (2016). Deaf epistemologies, identity, and learning: A comparative perspective. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. De Clerck, G. A. M. (2017a). Debating futures in Flemish deaf parliament. Deaf epistemologies, participatory citizenship, and sustainable development. American Annals of the Deaf, 162(4), 350–​359. De Clerck, G. A. M. (2017b). Seeing my journey with new eyes: Therapeutic Life Story Work with Deaf People. In R. Rose (Ed.). Innovative therapeutic life story work. Developing trauma-​informed practice for working with children, adolescents and young adults (pp. 174–​189). London, UK: Jessica Kingsley. De Clerck, G. A.  M. (2018). Creative biographical responses to epistemological and methodological challenges in generating a deaf life story telling instrument. Journal of Contemporary Social Science. https://​doi.org/​10.1080/​ 21582041.2018.1448940 De Clerck, G., & Hoegaerts, J. (2016). Intercession, emancipation and a space in between: Silence as a mode of deaf citizenship in the nineteenth century and today. Journal for Diversity and Gender Studies (DiGeST), 3(2),  23–​42. Denborough, D. (2008). Collective narrative practice:  Responding to individuals, groups and communities who have experienced trauma. Adelaide, Australia: Dulwich Centre Publications. Diekmann Schoemaker, M., & van der Veer, G. (2003). An extra language in counseling and training. Intervention, 1,  36–​39. Freire, P. (2005). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Basic Books. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and self-​identity. Self and society in the late modern age. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

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Gil, E., & Drewes, A. (2015). Cultural issues in play therapy. New  York, NY: Guilford Press. Hammond, S. P., & Cooper, N. J. (2013). Digital life story work. London, UK: British Association for Adoption and Fostering (BAAF). Hauser, P. C., Lukomski, J., & Hillman, T. (2008). Development of deaf and hard-​ of-​hearing students’ executive functioning. In M. Marschark & P. Hauser (Eds.), Deaf cognition:  Foundations and outcomes (pp. 286–​308). New  York, NY: Oxford University Press. Hermsen, J. (2016). Zoeken naar wie je bent is een grondrecht. [Looking for who you are is a fundamental right]. Retrieved from http://​www.standaard.be/​ cnt/​dmf20160812_​02422942 Holland, D., & Lachicotte, W. (2007). In H. Daniels, M. Cole, & J. Wertsch (Eds.), The Cambridge companion to Vygotsky (pp. 101–​ 135). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Holland, D., Lachicotte, W., Skinner, D., & Cain, C. (1998). Identity and agency in cultural worlds. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ingold, T. (1993). The temporality of the landscape. World Archaeology, 25(2), 152–​173. Jankowski, K. A. (1997). Deaf empowerment:  Emergence, struggle and rhetoric. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Jokinen, M. (2016). Inclusive education—​A sustainable approach? In G. De Clerck & P. V. Paul (Eds.) Sign language, sustainable development, and equal opportunities (pp. 105–​117). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Lave, J., & Wenger, E. (1999). Learning and pedagogy in communities of practice. In J. Leach & B. Moon (Eds.), Learning and pedagogy (pp. 21–​33). London, UK: Chapman. Leigh, I. (Ed.). (2010). Psychotherapy with deaf clients from diverse groups. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Leijssen, M. (2013). Leven vanuit liefde. Een pad naar existentieel welzijn [Living from a perspective of love. A  pathway to existential well-​being]. Tielt, Belgium:  Lannoo. McDonald, D. (2010). Not silent, invisible. Literature’s chance encounters with deaf heroes and heroines. American Annals of the Deaf, 154, 463–​470. McMahon, L. (2009). The handbook of play therapy and therapeutic play. London, UK: Routledge. McNulty, J. K., & Fincham, F. D. (2012). Beyond positive psychology? Toward a contextual view of psychological process and well-​ being. American Psychologist, 67(2), 101–​110. Métraux, J. (2011). Deuils collectifs et création sociale [Collective mourning and social creation]. Paris, France: La Dispute. Nussbaum, M. (2011). Creating capabilities:  The human development approach. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Papadopoulos, R. K. (Ed.). (2002). Therapeutic care for refugees. No place like home. The Tavistock Clinic Series. London, UK: Karnac. Pease, B. (2002). Rethinking empowerment:  A postmodern reappraisal for emancipation practice. Sociale Interventie, 11(3),  29–​37. Perry, B. (2012). Foreword. In R. Rose (Ed.), Life story therapy with traumatized children. A model for practice (pp. 9–​11). London, UK: Jessica Kingsley.

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Quinto-​ Pozos, D., & Adam, R. (2015) Sign languages in contact. In A. Schembri & C. Lucas (Eds.), Sociolinguistics and deaf communities. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Rogers, C. (2004). On becoming a person:  A therapist’s view of psychotherapy. London, UK: Constable. Rose, R. (2012). Life story therapy with traumatized children: A model for practice. London, UK: Jessica Kingsley. Ryff, C. D., & Singer, B. H. (1996). Psychological well-​being:  Meaning, measurement, and implications for psychotherapy research. Psychotherapy and Psychosomatics, 65,  14–​23. Ryff, C. D., & Singer, B. H. (2006). Best news yet on the six factor model of well-​ being. Social Science Research, 35(4), 1103–​1119. Sandel, M. (2009). The case against perfection: Ethics in the age of genetic engineering. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Seligman, M. (2011). Flourish. A  new understanding of happiness and well-​being. London, UK: Nicholas Brealey. Sen, A. (2001). Capability and well-​being. In M. Nussbaum & A. Sen (Eds.), The quality of life (pp. 30–​53). Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press. Sheridan, M. (2001). Inner lives of deaf children: Interviews and analysis. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Sheridan, M. (2008). Deaf adolescents:  Inner lives and lifeworld development. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Soto, A. M. (2003). The awakening. In G. Taylor & A. Darby (Eds.), Deaf identities (pp. 258–​267). Coleford, UK: Douglas McLean. Turner, V. (2017). The ritual process:  Structure and anti-​ structure. New  York, NY: Routledge. United Nations. (n.d.) Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities and Optional Protocol (CRPD, United Nations). Available at http://​www.un.org/​ disabilities/​documents/​convention/​convoptprot-​e.pdf Verhaeghe, P. (2012). Identiteit [Identity]. Amsterdam, the Netherlands:  De Bezige Bij. Vygotsky, L. (1978). Mind in society. The development of higher psychological process. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. White, M., & Epston, D. (1990). Narrative means to therapeutic ends. New York, NY: Norton. White, M. (2003). Narrative practice and community assignments. The International Journal of Narrative Therapy and Community Work, 3(4),  10–​21. White, M. (2007). Maps of narrative practice. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Winnicott, D. (2005). Playing and reality. London, UK: Jessica Kingsley. Yakushko, O., Watson, M., & Thompson, S. (2008). Stress and coping in the lives of recent immigrants and refugees. Considerations for counselling. International Journal for the Advancement of Counselling, 30(3), 167–​178. Young, A. (2016). Deaf children and their families: Sustainability, sign language and equality. In G. De Clerck & P.V. Paul (Eds.), Sign language, sustainable development, and equal opportunities (pp. 32–​48). Washington, DC:  Gallaudet University Press.

12    Examining the Intersectionality of Deaf Identity, Race/​Ethnicity, and Diversity Through a Black Deaf Lens Lindsay Moeletsi Dunn and Glenn B. Anderson

INTRODUCTION

This chapter examines recent, albeit limited, scholarship on identity, race/​ethnicity, and diversity.1,2 We highlight the intersectionality of individual, situational, social, and societal factors that are relevant for Black Deaf people. Insight into the Black Deaf experience is also provided through a review of the literature on the Black Deaf presence in Deaf history and recent research focusing on the identity of Deaf persons from diverse racial/​ethnic backgrounds. Suggestions for further research to broaden the understanding of what Black Deaf identity entails are offered. We note that more than at any time in recent history, the current generation of Black Deaf people is comprised of individuals with multiple intersecting life experiences and spoken, written, and signed languages. The chapter concludes with our own personal examples that reflect the intersectionality of American and African Deaf life experiences. DIVERSITY AND MULTICULTURALISM

When then Senator Barack Obama spoke in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on March 18, 2008, it marked the first time in history that a U.S. Presidential candidate had chosen to give a major speech on the subject of race in America. The speech was a powerful testimony of diversity and multiculturalism. It addressed a number of dimensions that influence how we individually as Americans think about ourselves and our place in the world. These dimensions included a constellation of personal, cultural, experiential, and environmental perspectives. The intersection of these dimensions, depending on the situation and point Lindsay Moeletsi Dunn and Glenn B. Anderson, Examining the Intersectionality of Deaf Identity, Race/ Ethnicity, and Diversity Through a Black Deaf Lens In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0012

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in time of our life journeys, offers the opportunity to reflect on and exemplify our multicultural identities. In his remarks, Barack Obama provided personal insight regarding the intersection of these dimensions on his identity and life journey. Selected quotes from the speech that encompassed his parental, grandparents’, and spouse’s parental heritages, and his global, multicultural kinship bonds follow: I am the son of a Black man from Kenya and a White woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a White grandfather who survived the Depression [and served in the army during World War II] and a White grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth (Kansas). I am married to a Black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slave owners—​an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts, and cousins of every race and hue scattered across three continents. (Obama, March 18, 2008, p. 2) Barack Obama’s remarks reminded the second author of a national conference of school counselors he attended at Gallaudet University several years ago. The conference theme was “Making Connections and Understanding Diverse Intersections.” An overriding question within the conference theme was “How can we make social justice—​inclusion, equity, and transparency [more of a reality] within our American deaf community?” (Cheryl Wu, Roger Beach, & Nancy Grant, personal communication, January 15, 2008). Clearly, to this day, the question raised by the conference organizers continues to be one that cannot be readily answered or easily resolved. We continue to note, particularly on social media commentary, ongoing concern regarding issues related to racism, audism, sexism, and xenophobia within the American Deaf community (Gallego, 2016; Monroe, 2015). We make a distinction between diversity and multiculturalism. Diversity is an essential aspect of our existence and cannot be easily altered or changed. It is present across personal and cultural dimensions, including aspects such as skin color, age, gender, language, and nationality. On the other hand, multiculturalism, which reflects the view that races, cultures, and ethnicities need to be acknowledged within dominant societies, is associated with values. It encompasses the values of respect, harmony, equity, and unity (Duan & Brown, 2016). These values have long been a part of many cultural traditions all over the world, even if at times they have not been acknowledged or realized. In Barack Obama’s Philadelphia speech, he stated that examples of the values embodying social justice, equity, and unity permeate the

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U.S. Constitution, “a Constitution that promised its people liberty and justice and a union that could be and should be perfected over time” (Obama, 2008, n.p.). Another example of a cultural tradition reflecting the values of social justice, equity, and unity can be noted in the African concept of ubuntu. During the 1990s, it was adapted by postapartheid South Africa as a vehicle to foster harmony and cooperation among its many racial and ethnic groups. Among the values associated with ubuntu are respect for others, helpfulness, community, sharing, caring, trust, and unselfishness (New World Encyclopedia, 2016). RACIAL/​ETHNIC IDENTITY

Within our culturally diverse society, one of the ways an individual’s racial/​ethnic identity is formed and exhibited is through interactions with others from the same as well as different cultural backgrounds. Through these everyday interactions, one’s sense of self, social position, and social relationships is manifested. In addition, we would be remiss if we did not also note the existence of power differentials that have historically persisted among majority and minority groups, both in the United States and internationally. Those who are in high social power positions may consciously or unconsciously exhibit attitudes and beliefs that influence their perceptions, negatively or positively, of others who are in lower social power positions and are racially or culturally different from the majority group (Duan & Brown, 2016). As a result, those who are part of the majority and are culturally similar to each other tend to comprise an in-​group with access to certain social privileges (e.g., White privilege) and those who are culturally different comprise an out-​group that is unlikely to have access to the same social privileges available to those who are part of the in-​groups. Within the Deaf community, it is not uncommon to note the formation of in-​groups and out-​groups due to power differentials between those who are hearing and those who are Deaf as well as when both parties are Deaf (e.g., White Deaf and Black Deaf). Two illustrative examples are provided next. Dunn’s (2008) narrative was organized around a dialogue between a Black Deaf male from South Africa and a White American hearing male. Dunn stated that the use of a dialogue approach for this narrative was based in part on conversations with hearing and Deaf friends regarding issues involving racism and audism (e.g., sense of entitlement and superiority attributed to being White and hearing). A brief excerpt from Dunn’s narrative (p. 235) is included next: White Hearing Male (WHM): Well, actually since you and I have been in conflict over our views regarding the status of black people

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and minorities in this country as well as the status of deaf and disabled people, I have given great thought about the possibilities of medicine and technology as possible solutions. L. Dunn (LD): You are definitely kidding, right? WHM: Well, actually no. I would assume you would agree with me. Don’t you? LD: Please elaborate; I think I’m losing you here. WHM: I mean, let’s look at it this way; it is definitely an advantage to be a normal hearing white person in society today, wouldn’t you agree? LD: Meaning that it is a disadvantage to be black and deaf, is that what you mean? WHM: Absolutely my friend; so you get the gist of my thinking? LD: Actually, the isms, racism and audism, appear to be the first words entering my mind right now and frankly I hope I am exaggerating. Padden and Humphries (2005) noted that from the 1940s through the 1970s, Deaf clubs were the quintessential places for social gatherings in the Deaf community. Deaf clubs served as meeting places, entertainment venues, and sponsors of sports teams such as basketball, softball, and bowling. In several urban communities throughout the United States, including Chicago, Cleveland, New  York City, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and the District of Columbia, however, separate White and Black Deaf clubs existed (Smith & Hairston, 1983). The second author recalls that a Black Deaf club known as the Lincoln Club was located in the predominantly Black community situated in the South Side of Chicago, not far from his home (Anderson, 2005). The White Deaf club, known as the Chicago Club of the Deaf (CCD), was located in the predominantly White community on the North Side. When CCD hosted social events, more often than not, several Lincoln club members would travel to the North Side to attend. On the other hand, when Lincoln Club hosted social events, it was rare for CCD members to travel to the South Side to participate along with Lincoln Club attendees. Evidently, the commonalities of being Deaf and having a preference for using American Sign Language (ASL) were not sufficient to overcome the social/​racial barriers between the Black and White Deaf communities. One possible explanation could be the history of segregated schooling for White and Black Deaf students in the United States, primarily in the southern states from the late 1850s to the 1970s. A  second possible explanation could be the perception of Black Deaf persons as less prominent and influential (i.e., of lower social power status). We encourage further research to examine how the intersections of personal, cultural, experiential, and environmental factors impact Deaf identity and contribute to social divisions among White and

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Black Deaf communities. To gain further insight regarding factors that contributed to the maintenance of racial and social barriers within the Deaf community, we next examine the historical antecedents of the Black Deaf community. HISTORICAL ANTECEDENTS OF THE BLACK DEAF COMMUNITY If you believe that people have no history worth mentioning, [then] it’s easy to believe they [also] have no humanity worth defending. —​William Loren Katz (Boston, 2006, p. 45)

In order to address how best to describe the Black Deaf community, it is helpful to have an understanding of its historical antecedents. Despite our efforts in attempting to examine sources about Black Deaf people from a historical perspective, we came up short. While there is a growing body of literature about the nature and historical antecedents of the Deaf community in the United States, the focus, generally, has been on the White Deaf community (Gertz & Boudrealt, 2016; Holcomb, 2013; Lane, Pillard, & Hedberg, 2011; Padden & Humphries, 1988, 2005). Unfortunately, it can be readily noted that Black Deaf people have not been prominently featured in Deaf history, at least not until recently. As a result, descriptions of the Black Deaf community and the Black Deaf experience have generally not been widely evident in Deaf history literature. What follows is our attempt, albeit briefly, to summarize some of the available literature on the Black Deaf presence in Deaf history. Dr. Andrew Foster, who entered Gallaudet University in 1951 and is recognized as the first Black Deaf (African American) person to graduate from the University in 1954, has often been used as representative of the Black Deaf presence in Deaf history (Carroll & Mather, 1997). Following Dr. Foster, the first deaf African to graduate from Gallaudet University was Ludwig Ahwere Bafo in 1959 (Miles, 2005). According to Miles, Mr. Bafo was a deaf Ghanaian teacher who had made early efforts to identify deaf children needing education. Unfortunately, there has been minimal subsequent information about Mr. Bafo’s life apart from a brief publication on ethics. Though we acknowledge Dr. Andrew Foster as a revered figure in Deaf history, we understand that it is not possible for a single individual to fully represent the complexity of the Black Deaf community or the full spectrum of Black Deaf history. Going further back in history, a starting point for literature on the Black Deaf presence in Deaf history, particularly American Deaf history, has generally centered on the education of Black Deaf students beginning with the founding of the first school for the Deaf, the American School for the Deaf (ASD), established in 1817 in Hartford, Connecticut. Though the literature, at least for the most part, has tended to focus on the founders, Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet and Laurent Clerc, rather

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than on either the alumni, students, or teachers (Gannon, 1981; Van Cleve & Crouch, 1989), the chapter authors were able to identify brief literature indicating the presence of Black Deaf children at ASD shortly after it was founded. The scant information we found about the presence of Black Deaf students at ASD is from Edna Sayers’s (2018) book on the life and times of T.  H. Gallaudet, who is revered as the founder of deaf education in the United States. According to Sayers, at least three Black students were known to have attended ASD between 1824 and 1833. Charles Hiller was born in Nantucket, Massachusetts, in 1810 and studied at ASD from 1824 to 1828. Ruben Jones, from Maine, attended ASD from 1829 to 1832. Horace Way of Massachusetts attended ASD between 1830 and 1833. We were unable to ascertain from the literature whether other Black Deaf students attended ASD between 1824 and 1833 and thereafter nor were we able to find information about how the Black students identified themselves. For example, Charles Hiller was from Nantucket, which is part of Martha’s Vineyard, where a significant proportion of the island population during the 18th and 19th centuries was comprised of Deaf individuals who used sign language (Groce, 1988). Did Hiller use the sign language used on Martha’s Vineyard prior to learning the sign language introduced by Laurent Clerc at ASD? How did Hiller identify himself? Were his parents Deaf? Regarding whether other Black Deaf students attended ASD between 1824 and 1833, we noted that according to Sayers (2018), “no other children of color were admitted until the 1840’s, years after the so-​called Black Law was rescinded” (p. 213). This so-​called Black Law referred to a law passed in the state of Connecticut in 1833 explicitly stating that no person could set up any kind of school for instructing colored persons who were not inhabitants of Connecticut, nor harbor nor board them. The encyclopedic volume Deaf Heritage (Gannon, 1981) identified the P. H. Skinner School for Colored children as the first school in America to offer education for Black Deaf children during the slavery era. A brief history about the school is summarized in Boles and Boston (2010). What we know is that the P. H. Skinner School was initially established in Washington, DC, with the assistance of Amos Kendall, originally as the Columbia Institution for the Deaf and Dumb. We did not find information on the year the school was founded; however, it was evidently prior to 1858. Boles and Boston stated that the school was not segregated. After allegations of impropriety and a rift with the founders of the Columbia Institution for the Deaf and Dumb in Washington, DC, Skinner moved to Niagara Falls, where he founded the P. H. Skinner School for the Colored Deaf and Blind in 1858. Of note is that Boles and Boston include the names of the first nine students admitted to the school, six of whom were deaf.

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The North Carolina School for Colored Deaf and Dumb and Blind in Raleigh, North Carolina, was the first state-​supported school in the United States founded to educate Black Deaf children (Gannon, 1981; McCaskill, Lucas, Bayley, & Hill, 2011). It was established in 1867, shortly after the end of the Civil War and 3 years after Gallaudet College was founded by an act of Congress. The school’s establishment in the capital city of Raleigh indicates that there was a large enough population of Black Deaf children in the state to warrant the establishment of a state-​supported school for them. Though scant information is available regarding the school’s alumni during the 19th century, a notable exception was Roger Desmothenes O’Kelly. He had the distinction of being the second Black student (and to this day, the only Black Deaf student) to graduate from Yale Law School, graduating in 1912. Additional information found in Gannon (1981) indicates that O’Kelly was an alumnus of the North Carolina School for Colored Deaf and Blind (Raleigh, NC) and an alumnus of the law school at Shaw University, a historically Black College located in North Carolina. According to Smith (1993), O’Kelly passed the North Carolina bar exam a year before completing his law studies at Shaw but proceeded with his enrollment at Yale. After obtaining his law degree from Yale, O’Kelly returned to Raleigh and established a private law practice focused on performing legal services in the North Carolina Black community related to domestic relations, real estate, and abstracts of title (Stanton, 2011). Smith (1993) further states, “O’Kelly’s corporate client base was significant. The Eagle Insurance Company, for which he was general counsel, and the Progressive Real Estate Company, both domestic white corporations, were among his clients” (p. 207). Stanton also mentioned that O’Kelly was “practically mute” (e.g., did not use speech) and communicated with hearing persons through writing notes. O’Kelly, according to Smith, overcame his handicap through sheer determination. In his words, “. . . my pencil and pad; they carried me through Shaw and Yale and they carried me through many important business deals” (Smith, 1993, p. 207). Since O’Kelly attended the North Carolina School for the Colored Deaf and Blind, he must have attended classes with other Deaf schoolmates. Consequently, we wondered if he used a form of Black ASL (see McCaskill et  al., 2011, for further discussion of Black ASL). Also, since the North Carolina School for Colored Deaf and Blind was located in Raleigh, we wondered if he also provided legal services to Black Deaf persons living in the community. Given his remarkable achievements, including earning a law degree and maintaining a successful law practice, we wondered about his self-​identity and how he perceived himself. Our presumption is that he had strong self-​esteem and a positive self-​identity that enabled him to forge ahead (Parasnis, 2012). Given the questions we have noted about his self-​identity, it

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seems timely to encourage scholarly research and compilation of biographical data regarding O’Kelly. We also found in the literature an example of how one’s multiethnicity can result in confusion about one’s actual identity. In their book, Smith and Hairston (1983) raised the question of whether Hume LePrince Battiste was the first Black Deaf person to graduate from Gallaudet (class of 1913). At the time Battiste attended Gallaudet, segregation was in force and Black Deaf students could not be admitted to the college. A researcher at the college’s learning center identified Battiste as Black. Some said he was Indian and others said he was Creole. The Gallaudet University Library Guide to Deaf Biographies and Index to Deaf Periodicals identified him as Native American. The first author, however, had the privilege of meeting Battiste’s grandson, Major Andre Battiste (USA-​Ret.), who along with Meredith Perruzzi, manager and curator of the Gallaudet Museum, presented a poster session at the Deaf Studies Conference (November 1–​3, 2018), held at Gallaudet University. Major Battiste and Perruzzi’s poster session provided evidence based on family records that Hume was indeed Black. Part of their abstract reads as follows: One student is due special attention: Hume LePrince Battiste, who graduated in 1913. Originally from South Carolina, he attended the Pennsylvania School for the Deaf. In 1908, a letter from Edward Miner Gallaudet said that although Battiste had been admitted to Gallaudet, A.C. Manning of the Pennsylvania school informed the] College [that he] “is considered a Negro” and would experience discrimination if he attended. Since the early 1900s, references to Battiste at Gallaudet have identified him as Native American. Records kept by the Battiste family, including census data, indicate that the family has always identified themselves as Black. Maj. Battiste has tried to present these records to Gallaudet in recent years, but to date the nature of Battiste’s identity remains unresolved. Furthermore, between the years 1858 and 1938, as many as 17 states established and maintained separate educational programs for Black Deaf children (McCaskill et al., 2011). Given the presence of such a large number of separate schools for Black Deaf children during the latter 19th and early 20th centuries, the authors wonder what documentary evidence and historical records are available to provide more information and insight on the “roots” and legacy of the present-​day Black Deaf community. The earliest recorded efforts to provide education to Deaf Africans appear to have begun in Cape Town, South Africa, in 1863. Irish nuns brought Irish Sign language and taught it at a school that originally educated both White and non-​White deaf children until apartheid

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laws ushered in an era of legal segregation (Storbeck & Martin, 2010). It is relevant to note that the experience of colonialism, slavery, Jim Crow and apartheid affected Black Deaf people in ways unique to the geographical locations from which they originated. Hence, Black Deaf people bring complex identities, multiple cultures, and languages (spoken, written, and signed) to the American Deaf community. We discuss the intersection of language and identity in the next section. INTERSECTION OF LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY

There has long been talk in both the Black and White Deaf communities about “a Black way of signing” in America (Lewis, 1998; Smith & Hairston, 1983), but evidence of its structure and usage has only been recently documented and described by McCaskill et  al. (2011). There are many other questions that merit further research and investigation, for example including the following: Were forms of African sign language brought to America by slaves from countries in Western Africa? Assuming forms of African sign language were brought to America, how did the languages persist and evolve as a result of the slavery and postslavery experiences in America? How did forms of Black Deaf signing evolve and persist as a result of the experience of school segregation in the United States during the 19th and 20th centuries? In what ways was Black ASL transmitted from one generation to another? We note that one of the ways Black ASL persisted was through the maintenance of segregated schools for Black Deaf students, especially in the southern states (McCaskill et al., 2011). In describing Black Deaf identity from a British perspective, James and Woll (2004) have argued that Black Deaf people are multilingual and multicultural. They make specific reference to the fact that the British Black Deaf community is complex and comprises multiple Black ethnicities with ancestral origins from the Caribbean and Africa. They note that this in turn has resulted in the formation of a Black variant of British Sign Language (BSL) forming in much the same way as noted in the emergence of Black ASL in the United States. They also describe three types of Black Deaf People and their characteristics as Aspirers, In-​Betweeners, and Drifters. They suggest that Aspirers are potential Black Deaf leaders who have a strong racial awareness and have a clear understanding of politics within the deaf community. The In-​Betweeners are those who tend to support the Aspirers and have a well-​developed sense of their racial identity but also occasionally align with the Drifters. The Drifters are those who generally have a weak sense of their racial identity and are more immersed in White deaf cultural and social activities. Conclusions reached by James and Woll (2004) are similar to the findings in Aramburo (1989) in that experiences

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in both the Deaf and hearing worlds have an impact on the identities of Black Deaf people. With regard to sign language used in Western Africa, Kusters (2012) discussed the sign language used among villagers, both Deaf and hearing, in the Adamarobe village of Ghana. The use of sign language among the Adamarobe deaf can be traced as far back as the 1700s and lends credence to the possibility that Deaf Africans who were enslaved may have brought a form of African sign language to the United States. Thomas Harrington, a former Gallaudet University librarian, had a deep interest in this history and attempted to trace and verify the presence of Deaf African and African American slaves during and after the slave era in the United States (Harrington, 2006). One of the most extensive ethnobiographies tracing the existence of signing people in Africa was done by M.  Miles (2005), who noted the presence of Deaf people in Africa in earlier centuries, as indicated in documents such as legal and missionary records, religious narratives, and accounts of trades and public performances. He also included a brief account from one of the earliest found records documenting sign language communication between deaf people and between hearing and deaf people. The account, written during the 5th century by a North African theologian, Augustine, stated as follows: “have you ever noticed how men converse . . . with deaf people by gestures and how the deaf themselves in turn use gestures to ask and answer questions, to teach, and make known either all of their wishes or at least a good many of them?” Miles also described the presence of Deaf people in public events: A possible early glimpse of deaf people occurs in a description of the royal procession in the Kingdom of Benin [travelers have reported] that many dwarf’s and deaf people were in the processions, serving as entertainers. Court service provided a reason to trade deaf servants to Istanbul from parts of northern Nigeria, Chad and Sudan, for the centuries-​old custom of deaf attendants serving the Ottoman Sultans, who used a well-​developed SL with them. (Miles, 2005, p. 536) Upon reading this, would it be reasonable to believe that deaf people and sign language among Black people existed in antiquity? Would it be reasonable to also believe that, given the regions mentioned in these excerpts were part of the slave trade, that deaf slaves might have been part of slave cargos brought to the Americas? The deaf history that is taught at schools for the deaf and at Gallaudet does not include Miles’s (2005) work nor any relevant histories of Black deaf people other than the accomplishments of Dr. Andrew Foster, as mentioned earlier. Black deaf people deprived of such histories are instead fed the histories of European deaf both in Europe and in the

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United States, starting with Martha’s Vineyard and the beginning of the American School for the Deaf. These histories do not mention Charles Hiller or the two other Black deaf students who attended the American School for the Deaf or the six Black deaf students named in the 1858 Report of the PH Skinner School for Colored Deaf and Blind (Boles & Boston, 2010). What effect does this have on Deaf identity development among Black deaf individuals who may or may not even have a rudimentary knowledge of Deaf history, let alone Black Deaf history? What is the impact on their self-​perception as deaf individuals and as a community? Currently there is a Facebook forum where Black Deaf people are engaging in discourses on a Black Deaf way of using ASL similar to what Meredith Doran (2004) refers to as Verlan. According to Doran, Verlan provides a way of using French that fits the cultures of large urban communities in much the same way Ebonics (Lewis, 1998) does for African Americans. This “Africanization of French” came out of French neighborhoods populated predominantly by Francophone sub-​ Saharan Africans and North Africans in much the same way modern versions of African American English (AAE) incorporated the ethnic cultures and languages of Black people in America who have roots in slavery, Africa and its diaspora (Blake, 2016). It provided an identity and a sense of belonging among the youth who used it in much the same way the language of hip-​hop is used among Black Americans. We contend that the Black Deaf use of ASL is similar to Verlan in that it incorporates vocabulary usage and stylistic expressions unique to particular ethnic groups. In other words, Black ASL will take on a different variant when used among Deaf Haitians than when used among Deaf Nigerians. As Blake (2016) notes, ethnic cultures are a significant contributor to how language is used among people from the same ethnic group. Black Deaf people are in constant cultural negotiations and linguistic transitions when moving among different groups of Deaf people within and beyond the Black Deaf community (James & Woll, 2004). The first author is a resident of the Washington, DC, Maryland, and Virginia region, which is home to one of the largest concentrations of Black Deaf people in the United States. In his social interactions, he has noted that Deaf Nigerians, Jamaicans, and Ethiopians, for example, use ASL with variations common to their home country’s languages and culture. These ways of signing serve the purpose of connecting people to certain geographical locations. In many African cultures, as well as within American Deaf culture, the school one attended, where one resides, or where one is from matters. These questions seek to establish connections and facilitate the development of social and cultural bonds. Alim (2016) offers examples that resonate for the first author, who comes from a country where it is normal for people to interact with

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each other and fluently move in and out of different languages. South Africa is a multilingual nation whose constitution recognizes 11 official languages, including Signed Languages that are recognized and protected by the Pan African Language Board. Given that there are multiple signed languages used in the country, Deaf people move in and out of different sign languages with equal ease. Afrikaans and the various forms of South African slang incorporate multiple languages, and even South African Sign Language (SASL) is actually created from the various sign languages, both imported and native to the country (based on tribal sign languages). In the poem Wittebome ‘72 (Dunn, 1995), the first author demonstrates the multicultural/​multilingual reality of South African roots. The poem describes the sign language used at his school for the deaf in Cape Town using imagery that resonates with Afrikaans, English, and Zulu language users. THE BLACK DEAF EXPERIENCE AT GALLAUDET UNIVERSITY

When the second author arrived at Gallaudet University (then Gallaudet College) in 1965, there were only a small handful of African, African American, and students of color from other countries around the world on campus. His arrival at Gallaudet coincided with the second wave of Black students. The first wave included the first group of Black students who enrolled at Gallaudet during the 1950s following the Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka Supreme Court decision mandating the integration of Black and White students in schools in the United States. Some of the White students enrolled at Gallaudet at the time were from schools and communities where they had little if any exposure to Black Deaf culture or associations with Black Deaf individuals. As one of the few Black students on campus, the second author was at times viewed as a “curiosity.” From time to time he would be asked, “Do Black people use shaving cream?” “Why do Black women use hot combs for their hair?” “Why do the African male students dress differently from us Americans on Sundays?” Having grown up in a predominantly Black community on Chicago’s South Side that had numerous cultural venues, businesses, and attractions, the second author’s sense of racial pride and identity helped make it possible to view the “curiosity” questions as opportunities for teachable moments rather than as racial slurs. Furthermore, the second author attended Gallaudet during the heyday of the civil rights movement when racial animosity was prevalent across the United States. Racial animosity was prevalent on the Gallaudet campus as well and was often disguised in the form of micro-​ aggressions. As an athlete and student organization leader, he was a visible figure on the Gallaudet campus and a target for expressions of micro-​aggression from White students. An example of

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micro-​aggressive statements was the following:  “Dr.  King is nothing but a trouble-​ maker!.” As Black communities erupted all over the country following Dr. King’s assassination, students entered the second author’s dorm room and stated, “I’ve lost all respect for Negros!.” The micro-​aggressions were hurtful. It would have been helpful to have had access to some form of social support—​either from a student organization or from supportive faculty. Again, the second author’s sense of racial pride and identity was helpful in recognizing that the micro-​ aggressions were essentially expressions of fear that students had while riots were taking place in Black communities in several major urban cities. When the first author studied at Gallaudet University in the 1980s, there were students from Ethiopia, Eritrea, Nigeria, Ghana, Cameroon, Sierra Leone, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Liberia, Zambia, Jamaica, Bermuda, and Haiti on campus. Along with African Americans from the southern, northern, eastern, and western parts of the United States, they comprised what may be identified as the fourth wave of Black Deaf students. They enrolled at Gallaudet in larger cohorts than the second wave of the 1960s and the third wave of the 1970s. Many of the fourth wave of Black Deaf students were Africans who came from countries that were experiencing political and/​or environmental turmoil. The first author had lived his formative years in South Africa during which resistance to apartheid had basically shaped his identity and worldview. International isolation had also handicapped him in that he was deprived of much knowledge of the world beyond South Africa save for banned publications that would have resulted in his incarceration if found in his possession. A  two-​part autobiography by Dr.  Madan Vasishta, “Deaf in Delhi” (2006) and “Deaf in DC” (2010) resonates with the experiences of the first author as it is the only written account of the transnational experience of deaf people of color who came to the United States as students and ended up becoming expatriates. “Deaf in DC,” in particular, while taking an often-​humorous look at the cultural adjustments international students experience, resonates more among international deaf people of color in that Dr.  Vasishta, who is South Asian (Indian), experiences the same racial micro-​aggressions and stereotypes experienced by students who come to Gallaudet from Africa, the Caribbean, and Latin America. These experiences in turn contributed to the development of a new identity that might not have been experienced in the country of birth. This process of transitioning, during which we shed certain cultural norms and replaced them with new versions adopted in our new countries, provide opportunities for scholars to explore intersectionality within the Black Deaf community with new and potentially dynamic lenses that can provide insight into Africans from the African continent and those living in the diaspora. Vasishta was certainly prescient in mentioning that while most students

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arrived in America with the firm resolve that they would graduate and immediately return to their home nations, with no initial intention of seeking the “American Dream,” instead, as he puts it, “The American Dream gets you” (p. 78). Various geopolitical and economic forces conspire to derail the best laid plans and, yes, the American Dream engulfs these students in its mythical powers and many, including the first author, have gone on to live the majority of their lives as American Africans. On the other hand, the second author lived his formative years on the South Side of Chicago during the eras of the civil rights and black power movements and the emergence of black music entities such as Motown and the Sound of Philadelphia. Chicago’s South Side had numerous Black cultural venues and attractions that helped shape his identity and sense of racial pride. His identity as a Deaf person was shaped through attendance at a self-​contained elementary class for Deaf students. Though students were taught using the oral/​spoken language approach, they used ASL among themselves. He also had access to Black Deaf schoolmates who lived in the same area as he did. Together, they formed a basketball team that played pick-​up games at various playgrounds. The experience competing against and, more often than not, beating many hearing teams shaped his identity and sense of pride as a Black Deaf person (Anderson, 2012). Many of the students who were from Africa and the Caribbean as well as the United States had emotional scars of different forms. Many were just a decade or two removed from either the civil rights era in America or colonialism in Africa. Some were from regions torn by civil wars, intertribal conflicts, or apartheid. For African Americans, many were from cities that had experienced arson, vandalism, violence, and looting in Black neighborhoods following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King. But unlike the first wave of Black students who came to Gallaudet University in the 1950s, the second wave that came in the 1960s, or even the third wave of the 1970s, the fourth wave (1980s) that included the first author could count on support systems that enabled Black students to survive on and off campus. For instance, some upper-​class and graduate students had apartments off campus and could provide entertainment outlets where Black undergraduate students felt safe. Other Black upperclassmen lived on campus in a dormitory that accommodated international students. At the time, there were no formal policy-​level protections against racism, discrimination, or xenophobia for students on campus. Nevertheless, a vibrant and thriving Pan African community existed on campus that came together to form Ebony Harambee, the first student organization for Black students at Gallaudet University. What was the significance of the Ebony Harambee student organization for Black students? It provided incoming freshmen with role

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models and “big brothers and sisters” who protected and guided them when they encountered academic, social, and personal obstacles or demoralizing attitudes and behaviors that made it tempting to give up and quit. Ebony Harambee helped foster a sense of resilience and pride grounded in the shared experience of racism and a common identity as Black Deaf students. This shared experience and common identity enabled a diverse collection of Black students to overcome differences that existed among them. For example, the first author’s South African cultural experiences and upbringing had little in common with those of a Deaf Nigerian student other than that both of their countries of origins were former British colonies. The same was true for the Kenyan, Jamaican, Bermudan, and Ghanaian contingents. The shared experiences of racism and oppression in addition to their common identities as Black Deaf students and social support from the Ebony Harambee student organization helped unite them. A  decade later Gallaudet experienced a notable increase in the enrollment of students from Francophone Africa and from Haiti or from Haitian-​born parents. And again, students overcame their linguistic and cultural differences and bonded. For some students these bonds became permanent via interracial, intertribal, cross-​ethnic, and transnational marriages. RESEARCH ON BLACK DEAF IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT

Given that one’s cultural identity is generally formed through life experiences and interactions with others from the same as well as from different cultural backgrounds, the understanding of Black Deaf identity development has been hampered by a dearth of research into the multifaceted, multicultural, and multilingual backgrounds of members of the Black Deaf community. This lack of research, at least in part, has been due to the historically monolithic nature of research about Deaf people and the lack of representation of racially diverse Deaf individuals in the research area. We do applaud the efforts of scholars such as Leigh (2009, 2012), Christensen (2000), Cohen (1997), and Padden and Humphries (1988, 2005), who dared to provide scholarship that went beyond just “Deaf” and demonstrated the courage to delve into what may be deemed as “uncomfortable spaces.” While these scholars are White, we do not assume that White scholars should not be doing scholarship on Black bodies. We are conscious of the fact that this scholarship is needed and also cognizant of the expectation that scholarship in general will face criticism in various forms and therefore it requires courageous scholars to delve into the deepest crevices in their search for new knowledge of the human body in its various forms. Hence, we appreciate those who write about us, those who write about us with us, and those who ask us to write about ourselves. As observed by Parasnis in Stapleton (2015), “The experiences of white American

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Deaf ASL users has created a perception of Deaf culture as a monolithic overarching trait of all deaf people and has suppressed recognition of the demographic diversity of individuals within the Deaf community itself” (p. 571). Looking at the emergence of research reports in the literature on identity development of racially diverse Deaf individuals such as those reported by Leigh (2009, 2012), Foster and Kinuthia (2003), Maxwell-​ McCaw and Zea (2011), Chapple (2012), Stapleton (2015), and Nelson Schmitt and Leigh (2015), we note that only two of the researchers listed here focused specifically on Black Deaf identity. However, taken together, their work attempted to offer insights regarding how racially diverse Deaf individuals think about and describe their identities, particularly the intersections between their Deaf and their racial/​ethnic identities. In so doing, the findings from each study have applicability for understanding Black Deaf identity since the focus was on persons from racial/​ethnic minority groups that also include Black Deaf persons. Foster and Kinuthia (2003) examined the ways in which a sample of Deaf college students of color think about and describe their identities and experiences at a predominantly White, hearing college. Based on an interactive model involving interaction between the individual and his or her environment or surrounding social structure, the data were organized and analyzed based on four factors: (1) individual; (2) situational; (3) social; and (4) societal. Individual factors included physical characteristics such as gender, race, and hearing status. Also included as individual factors were cultural characteristics, roles (e.g., student, son, and daughter), beliefs (e.g., religious and political), and character (e.g., proud, courageous, and leader). Situational factors included citizenship status (e.g., American-​born or immigrant), type of K–​12 educational program (e.g., residential school or mainstream program), and geographical location such as local or out-​of-​state residency. Social factors were described as comprising reactions and feelings as a result of one’s associations with others. These included feelings of alienation and rejection or, conversely, feelings of identification, acceptance, and comfort. Societal factors included societal trends, institutionalized forms of behavior, and activist or political movements such as racism, audism, and xenophobia, and the civil rights, disability rights, and LGBTQ movements. The respondents in the Foster and Kinuthia (2003) study were Deaf students from diverse racial/​ethnic backgrounds who had attended mainstream K–​12 educational programs and were from families that relied more on gestures and note writing than ASL for communication. A common issue mentioned by several of the respondents involved conflict and tension between the cultural heritage of their predominantly hearing families and their identity as culturally Deaf individuals. The respondents indicated that the lack of easy communication access with

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their families hampered their opportunities to acquire an in-​depth understanding of and connection to their racial/​ethnic culture. Some of the respondents stated that they relied on the media and pop culture to learn about their racial/​ethnic culture. Chapple’s (2012) study involved focus groups and semistructured interviews with 25 Black Deaf female students attending the National Technical Institute of the Deaf (NTID) at Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT). The study examined the students’ perceptions of their intersecting identities and their daily lives on a predominantly White college campus. In general, the interviewees were able to describe positive aspects as well as the challenges associated with their intersecting identities. However, due to the complexities of their intersecting identities, they were not always able to delineate the ways in which each identity (e.g., gender, race, deafness, sexual orientation, or social class status) influenced their interactions with others in various social situations, particularly those whose backgrounds were different from their own. Several indicated that they often felt like “outsiders” in either Black hearing or White Deaf social situations. Stapleton’s (2015) study also involved the use of interviews with a sample of eight Deaf female students of color attending a predominantly White hearing institution of higher education identified as West Coast University (WCU). The students were from diverse racial/​ ethnic backgrounds (e.g., Black, Asian, and Mexican). The study sought to obtain data on the types of experiences Deaf women of color were having in relation to their racial/​ethnic and Deaf identities. Most of the interviewees were the only Deaf persons in their families. Most of their parents did not use ASL. However, for those who used either ASL or Signed English, it was usually the mother who used these languages. Similar to the Chapple (2012) sample, all the interviewees attended K–​ 12 mainstream educational programs. Most of the interviewees appeared to be more attuned to their Deaf identities than to their racial/​ ethnic identities. One reason could be because the interviewees, when at home within their family environs or on the campus of a predominantly White, hearing university, are likely to encounter issues related to audism and dominance by hearing persons more often than those related to racism and/​or discrimination due to their race or ethnicity. There have also been efforts to develop models and measures to assess racial/​ethnic identity as well as Deaf identity formation. An example is the Cross Black Identity Development model by Cross (1995) and Carter (1996), which have served as the foundation or forerunner for the development of several other racial and ethnic identity models. The original model was based on five stages. Subsequently, the fourth and fifth stages were combined, thus resulting in a four-​stage model (Cross, 1995). The model presumes that one’s racial/​ethnic identity development progresses through a series of stages: (1) pre-​encounter—​that

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of initially identifying with the dominant or White culture and having no awareness or understanding of one’s own racial/​cultural identity; (2) encounter—​experiencing a life-​changing event that alters how one views his or her identity; (3)  immersion/​emersion—​transformation toward embracing one’s racial/​ethnic or cultural identity through immersion activities such as attending cultural events and surrounding oneself with visible symbols of one’s racial/​ cultural identity; and (4)  internalization/​commitment—​becoming secure with one’s racial/​ cultural identity and developing a capacity to embrace other cultures, including the dominant culture. Maxwell-​McCaw and Zea (2011) developed the Deaf Acculturation Scale (DAS), which consists of two scales, acculturation to Deaf culture and acculturation to hearing culture. The DAS can be used to describe a Deaf individual’s degree of Deaf and hearing acculturation in one of four ways:  (1) hearing acculturated—​high scores in hearing acculturation and low scores in Deaf acculturation; (2)  marginal—​low scores in both Deaf and hearing acculturation; (3)  Deaf acculturated—​high scores in Deaf acculturation and low scores in hearing acculturation; and (4) bicultural—​high scores in both Deaf and hearing acculturation. The DAS model does not involve describing a Deaf individual’s identity formation as progressing from one stage to another, nor does it take into consideration a Deaf individual’s specific racial/​ethnic identity. Building on Maxwell-​ McCaw and Zea’s (2011) research, Nelson Schmitt and Leigh (2015) sought to investigate the degree of Deaf and hearing acculturation among Black Deaf persons using the DAS. Though the Maxwell-​McCaw and Zea (2011) study was comprised of a relatively large sample of 3,070 Deaf participants, slightly less than 10% self-​identitifed as individuals from racial/​ethnic minority groups (i.e., Black, Hispanic/​Latino, or Asian). As a result, the Nelson Schmitt and Leigh (2015) study sought to address issues related to the generalizability and applicability of the DAS to Deaf persons from racial/​ethnic groups. Using a sample of 106 deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals who self-​identitified as Black, African American, African, Caribbean, Haitian, or Jamacian, their findings indicated that the extent to which Black Deaf persons reflect their Deaf and hearing acculturation varied, especially in comparison to the overall, predominantly White sample in the Maxwell-​McCaw and Zea (2011) study. A larger percentage of the original sample (52%) scored higher for Deaf Acculturation than the Nelson Schmitt and Leigh (2015) sample (16%). On the other hand, a larger percentage of the Nelson Schmitt and Leigh sample scored higher for Hearing Acculturated (34%) than the original sample (8%). For the Bicultural category, the scores were more comparable and less varied (i.e., 39% for the original sample and 31% for the Nelson Schmitt and Leigh sample). It is apparent that the identities of Black Deaf persons in this sample may be more fluid in nature (i.e., moving on a continuum

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between Deaf and hearing acculturative styles), based on differences in their life experiences. The researchers also note that Deaf identities for their sample may differ from the Deaf identities of the original sample, as suggested by factor analysis of the results. To gain further insight and understanding of Black Deaf identity, they encouraged future researchers to consider incorporating multidimensional measures such as racial identity development and racial attitude scales along with those that assess Deaf Identity. In sum, as the Deaf community becomes increasingly diverse, researchers will be challenged to ascertain how to be more inclusive of racial and ethnic diversity in future research assessing Deaf identity. INTERSECTIONALITY OF DEAF IDENTITY, RACE/​ETHNICITY, AND DIVERSITY

With the two biographical excerpts that follow, we attempt to highlight aspects of the intersectionality of Deaf identity, race/​ethnicity, and diversity. The first author uses the Cross Black Identity Development model from Cross (1995) and Carter (1996) to describe the transformation of his identity resulting from the occurrence of a significant life event. As mentioned earlier, the Cross model of racial identity development is based on four stages: pre-​encounter, encounter, immersion/​ emersion, and internalization/​commitment. The illustrative excerpt that follows is based on excerpts from Dunn (2008). The second author uses the four-​factor model developed by Foster and Kinuthia (2003), specifically individual, situational, social, and societal factors. His rendition is based on Anderson (2012). First Author

Reflecting the pre-​encounter stage, I became deafened at age 11 and had had no prior encounter with deaf people. My pre-​encounter experience was one of apprehension, confusion, and fear as I entered a new world without sound. When I first encountered deaf people at the Dominican School for the Deaf in Cape Town, South Africa, I  transitioned from apprehension to awe, excitement, and determination to master sign language as it would enable me to enter this new world. My attitudes toward hearing people changed somewhat in that I was less dependent on them and my internalized assumptions of hearing people, similar to my assumptions of White people based on my experience living in a segregated environment, changed drastically. The Irish Sign Language, which was used at my school, allowed me to participate in dialogues regarding racism and audism and how both “isms” affected my life. My immersion into this new consciousness almost paralleled the Black Consciousness movement of my generation, which culminated in our rejecting the perceived inferiority of Black people as a race. I was now

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rejecting this perceived inferiority of myself as a deaf person and no longer viewed myself as deficient in comparison to my hearing peers. I went on to attend a hearing high school without interpreters or note-​ taking support and did exceptionally well, thanks to the changes in my consciousness. As part of my internalization/​commitment stage, rather than internalizing negative stereotypes of my experiences under a brutal apartheid regime and an ignorant hearing world, I felt liberated and could entertain the hope that there was a very important place for me in this world as a free human being. Second Author

In this example, the second author’s identity, based on the framework used by Foster and Kinuthia (2003), reflected the following individual characteristics:  Black American, male, Deaf. His individual characteristics intersected with the following situational factors:  the only Black Deaf student on a predominantly White hearing campus, living arrangement in the “Black” section of a nearby town requiring daily commutes to his college classes, and covert obstacles to his goal of majoring in physical education (P.E.) due to his academic advisor’s presumption that he would not be able to meet the public speaking course requirement for P.E. majors. His individual characteristics and situational factors also resulted in his experiencing the following social factors: alienation on a predominantly White campus and rejection by his academic degree advisor and other professional staff on campus. Furthermore, the following societal situations were prevalent during the time he was attending college:  the Black power and civil rights movements. Additionally, it is apparent that his identity as a Black male was prominently manifested in response to his living arrangements at Northern Illinois University (NIU). On the other hand, his identity as a Deaf person was more prominently manifested in response to the academic advisement he received regarding whether or not he could meet the public speaking requirements for P.E. majors. To further elaborate, the second author chose to attend NIU because it was close to his hometown of Chicago. At that time, he was not aware of Gallaudet. All newly admitted students were required to come to NIU for new student orientation in early June, 2 weeks before he was to graduate from high school. After the orientation program, he and his father asked for dormitory applications, only to be told the dormitories were full and no space was available. They were given a list of “university-​approved” apartments in DeKalb (the town where the university was located). Despite calls to many of these apartments, they were told none were available. One of the staff provided the address of a boarding house in Sycamore, a nearby town. Upon arrival, it became apparent that the boarding house was located across the railroad tracks in the “Black

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section” of the town. The only way to get to NIU was to commute by bus. This bus service consisted of a single bus that departed Sycamore every hour beginning at 7:30 a.m. each weekday, but it had no evening or weekend hours. The author experienced cultural shock after beginning classes, as he was one of only about 100 Black students on a campus of 15,000 students. All the Black male students he met lived in off-​ campus boarding houses or rooms. Not only that, he was the only Deaf student enrolled in the undergraduate program. About a month into the semester, his advisor in the P.E. program suggested that he either change his major or transfer to another college because all P.E.  majors were required to obtain at least a “C” in a required public speaking course prior to their junior year to be eligible for practice teaching assignments and his speech would not pass muster. It was apparent that the advisor had already predetermined that attaining a grade of “C” in this course was not feasible. Despite being informed that his goal was to teach Deaf students, the advisor’s response was, “We do not prepare our students to teach the Deaf.” The next step was a referral to the director of the counseling center who suggested withdrawing from the school and getting a partial tuition refund. This suggestion was turned down and Anderson returned to his advisor to express his disappointment with the advice from the counseling center. The advisor then referred him to several professional staff on campus, one of whom finally came through. The chairperson of the Department of Special Education told him about Gallaudet. He took the admissions exam and transferred to Gallaudet after completing the fall semester at NIU. Anderson stated that transferring to Gallaudet was one of the best things that ever happened for him academically, personally, and professionally. In sum, as highlighted in the two examples, Black Deaf identity can be conceptualized as an interaction between a Black Deaf individual and his or her surrounding social structures. The resulting proposition is that each individual is a constellation of many characteristics, some of which are stronger than others, but any of which can be drawn out in response to a particular set of situational and/​or societal conditions (Foster & Kinuthia, 2003). CONCLUDING COMMENTS

As we have attempted to demonstrate in this chapter, Black Deaf identity is impacted by the intersection of a variety of individual, situational, social, and societal factors. Furthermore, we note the growing population of Black Deaf individuals who have emigrated to the United States from other nations throughout the world. The individual, situational, social, and societal factors that impact their identities are likely to be different from those factors that impact Black Deaf individuals

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born and raised in the United States. For example, current literature from South Africa (Morgan, 2008), the United States ((Dunn, 2008), and the United Kingdom (James & Woll, 2004) indicates that while the experiences of audism, heterosexism, and religious exclusion are relatively comparable in the United States and in other parts of the world, the experiences of racism are not. We believe the notion that the shared experiences of being Deaf supersede other identities is inadequate and does not sufficiently take into consideration the myriad of intersecting factors that comprise the life experiences of Black Deaf people. For example, based on the first author’s personal experience as an immigrant, he is comfortable in his interactions with his American White Deaf of Deaf friends without losing any sense of his Black identity, specifically his South African identity and even more specifically his Scottish/​ Zanzibari/​ Zulu/​ Sotho heritage. These intersecting identities are not in competition with one another. They are all fluid and negotiable depending on the spaces he occupies and the people who share these spaces with him. The current generation of Black Deaf people, more than at any other time in recent history, is comprised of individuals with multiple intersecting life experiences and spoken, written, and signed languages. How do Black Deaf people use these multiple intersecting identities to navigate and succeed in today’s complex and increasingly global world? We believe this is a question worthy of further research. While the use of our own personal examples reflects the American and African Deaf experiences, these might not be representative, given that while most African nations experienced colonialism, only South Africa and the United States experienced the legalized and institutionalized enforcement of racism. Evidently, more research is also needed to more fully understand how Black Deaf individuals, particularly those from predominantly hearing families that do not use ASL, acquire an understanding and appreciation of their racial/​ethnic culture. The impact of racism in the Deaf community on Black Deaf and other Deaf People of Color with regard to its psychological effect and as an indicator of academic and career success is also an area that would be of potential interest. Research is also needed to understand the ways in which Black Deaf individuals navigate between their Deaf and racial/​ethnic identities. For example, in a predominantly hearing, nonsigning environment, a Black Deaf individual’s Deaf identity may stand out as more salient than his or her Black identity. On the other hand, in a predominantly White environment, a Black Deaf individual’s Black identity may stand out as more salient than his or her Deaf identity. This attests to the salience of situational factors in determining one’s identity at any point in time.

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NOTES 1. The terms “Black” and “African American” are used interchangeably and in a generic sense to refer to those of African descent whose origins may have occurred in America, Africa, Canada, the Caribbean, South America, or other parts of the world. The term “people of color” is used to refer persons from diverse racial/​ethnic communities who are not Caucasian or White. 2. The first author is a native of South Africa. He lived his formative years in South Africa during the apartheid era. He later immigrated to the United States, graduated from Gallaudet University, and became a US citizen. The second author is a native of Chicago, Illinois. He grew up in the predominantly Black community of the South Side of Chicago. He lived his formative years during the Black power movement and civil rights eras. He also graduated from Gallaudet. The authors’ life journeys and experiences are germane to their identities as Black Deaf men and serve as a lens for their discussion of Deaf identity, race/​ethnicity, and diversity in this chapter.

REFERENCES Alim, S. H. (2016). Who’s afraid of the transracial subject? In S. H. Alim, J. R. Rickford, & A. F. Ball, Raciolinguistics (pp. 33–​50). Philadelphia, PA: Oxford University Press. Anderson, G. B. (2005). Lincoln club of the deaf [B. Paul, Producer]. Retrieved from 20th century Chicago stories:  Deaf lives and experiences:  www. ChicagoDeafStories.com Anderson, G. B. (2012). From the windy city to the academia to the boardroom. In V. L. Farmer & E. Sheperd-​Wynn (Eds.), Voices of contemporary black American pioneers (Vol. 4). Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-​CLIO. Aramburo, A. (1989). Sociolinguistic aspects of the Black Deaf community. In C. Lucas (Ed.), The sociolinguistics of the deaf community. New  York, NY: Academic Press. Battiste, M., & Perruzzi, M. (2018, November 1–​ 3). Transforming the narrative: Battiste, Foster and the status quo. Poster session, Deaf studies conference, Gallaudet University. Blake, R. (2016). Toward heterogeneity:  A sociolinguistic perspective on the classification of black people in the twenty-​first century. In S. H. Alim, J. R. Rickford, & A. F. Ball, Raciolinguistics: How language shapes our ideas about race. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Boles, J. M., & Boston, M. (2010). Dr.  Skinner’s Remarkable School for Colored Deaf, Dumb, and Blind 1857–​ 1860. Buffalo, NY:  Museum of Disability History. Boston, M. (2006). Dr. P.H. Skinner: Controversial educator of the deaf, blind and mute, and Niagara Falls, New  York, Abolitionist Afro-​Americans and New  York Life and History. Journal of American History, 92(4), 1542–​1594. Retrieved from https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​jahist/​92.4.1542 Carroll, C., & Mather, S. M. (1997). Movers and shakers: Deaf people who changed the world. San Diego, CA: Dawn Sign Press.

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Carter, R. T. (1996). Exploring the complexity of racial identity attitude measures. Retrieved from Multicultural assessment in counseling and clinical psychology. http://​digitalcommons.uni.edu/​burosbookmulticutural/​9 Chapple, R. (2012). Being a deaf woman in college is hard. Being black just adds: Understanding the complexities of intersecting the margins. Tempe, AZ. Christensen, K. (Ed). (2000). Deaf Plus:  A multicultural perspective. San Diego, CA: Dawn Sign Press. Cohen, O. P. (1997). Giving all children a chance: Advantages of an antiracist approach to the education of deaf children. American Annals of the Deaf, 142(2),  80–​82. Cross, W. E. (1995). The psychology of negrisence: Revising the Cross model. In J. G. Ponterotto, J. M. Casas, L. A. Suzuki, & C. M. Alexander (Eds.), Handbook of multicultural counseling (pp. 93–​122). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Doran, M. (2004). Negotiating between Bourgie and Racalle:  Verlan as youth identity practice in suburban Paris. In A. Pavlenko & A. Blackledge (Eds.), Negotiation of identities in multilingual contexts (Vol. 45, pp. 93–​124). Multilingual Matters. Duan, C., & Brown, C. (2016). Becoming a multiculturally competent counselor. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Dunn, L. (1995). Wittebome ’72. In M, Garretson (Ed.), Deafness:  Life and culture:  A Deaf American monograph (p. 24). Silver Springs, MD:  National Association of the Deaf. Dunn, L. (2008). Burden of racism and audism. In H.-​D. L. Bauman (Ed.), Open your eyes:  Deaf studies talking. Minneapolis:  University of Minnesota  Press. Foster, S., & Kinuthia, W. (2003). Deaf persons of Asian American, Hispanic American and African American backgrounds:  A study of intraindividual diversity and identity. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 8, 271–​290. Gallego, A. (2016, January 27). Hearing privilege. Retrieved from https://​www. youtube.com/​watch?v=hhzuEeOTln0 Gannon, J. (1981). Deaf heritage:  A narrative history of Deaf America. In J. Butler & L.-​J. Gilbert, An illustrated history of Deaf culture, history and education in America (p. 483). Silver Spring, MD: National Association of the Deaf. Gertz, G., & Boudrealt, P. (Eds.). (2016). The deaf studies encyclopedia. Los Angeles, CA: Sage. Groce, N. (1988). Everyone here spoke sign language: Hereditary deafness on Martha’s Vineyard. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Harrington, T. (2006, October). Library guides:  Deaf African and African-​ American slaves. Retrieved from http://​ libguides.gallaudet.edu/​ content. php?pid=352126&sid=2880871 Holcomb, T. K. (2013). Introduction to American Deaf culture. New  York, NY: Oxford University Press. James, M., & Woll, B. (2004). Black Deaf or Deaf Black? Being Black and Deaf in Britain. In A. Pavlenko & A. Blackledge (Eds.), Negotiating identities in multicultural contexts (Vol. 45, pp. 125–​160). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Kusters, A. (2012). Adamarobe: A demographic, sociolinguistic and sociocultural profile. Village Sign Languages: Anthropological and Linguistic Insights, 347–​351. Lane, H., Pillard, R., & Hedberg, U. (2011). The people of the eye: Deaf ethnicity and ancestry. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

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Leigh, I. W. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University  Press. Leigh, I. W. (2012). Not just Deaf:  Multiple intersections. In R. Nettles & R. Balter (Eds.), Multiple minority identities: Applications for practice, research, and training (pp. 59–​80). New York, NY: Springer. Lewis, J. G. (1998). Ebonics in American Sign Language: Stylistic variation in African American signers. In Deaf Studies V: Towards 2000—​Unity and diversity (pp. 229–​240). Washington, C: College for Continuing Education, Gallaudet University. Maxwell-​ McCaw, D., & Zea, M. (2011). The Deaf Acculturation Scale (DAS):  Development of a 58-​item measure. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16,  1–​18. McCaskill, C., Lucas, C., Bayley, R., & Hill, J. (2011). The hidden treasure of Black ASL: Its history and structure. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Miles, M. (2005). Deaf people living and communicating in African histories, c.  960s—​1960s. United Kingdom:  Independent Living Institute (ILI). www. independentliving.org/​docs7/​miles2005a.html Monroe, V. (2015, December 13). Racism is still alive at Gallaudet. Retrieved from https://​www.facebook.com/​hitodiamond/​ Morgan, R. (Ed.). (2008). Deaf me normal: Deaf South Africans tell their life stories. Pretoria, Gauteng, South Africa: University of South Africa. Nelson Schmitt, S., & Leigh, I. W. (2015). Examining a sample of Black Deaf individuals on the Deaf Acculturation Scale. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education. Retrieved from https://​academic.oup.com/​jdsde/​article/​20/​3/​ 283/​340079 New World Encyclopedia. (2016). Retrieved from (http://​ www. newworldencyclopedia.org/​entry/​Ubuntu_​(philosophy). Obama, B. (2008, March 18). A more perfect union. Retrieved from https://​ www.nytimes.com/​2008/​03/​18/​us/​politics/​18text-​obama.ht Padden, C., & Humphries, T. (1988). Deaf in America:  Voices from a culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Padden, C., & Humphries, T. (2005). Inside Deaf culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Parasnis, I. (2012). Diversity and Deaf identity. In P. V. Paul & D. F. Moores (Eds.), Deaf epistemologies multiple perspectives on the acquisition of knowledge (pp. 63–​80). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Sayers, E. E. (2018). The life and times of T.H. Gallaudet. Lebanon, NH: University Press of New England. Smith, J. C. (1993). Emancipation:  The making of the black lawyer 1844–​ 1944. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. Smith, L., & Hairston, E. (1983). Black and Deaf in America: Are we that different? Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Stanton, J. F. (2011). Breaking the sound barriers:  How the Americans with Disabilities Act and technology has enabled deaf lawyers to succeed. Valparaiso Law Review, 45, 1185–​1245. Stapleton, L. (2015, September). When being deaf is centered:d/​Deaf women of color’s experience with racial/​ethnic and d/​Deaf identities in college. Journal of College Student Development, 56(6), 570–​586.

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Storbeck, C., & Martin, D. (2010, September). Deaf education in South Africa. Retrieved from https://​www.researchgate.net/​publication/​49821848_​ South_​African_​Deaf_​Education_​and_​the_​Deaf_​Community Van Cleve, J. V., & Crouch, B. A. (1989). A place of their own: Creating the Deaf community in America. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Vasishta, M. (2006). Deaf in Delhi. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Vasishta, M. (2010). Deaf in DC. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press.

13    Deaf and Queer at the  Intersections: Deaf LGBTQ People and Communities Cara A. Miller and Kyle Amber Clark

INTRODUCTION: FROM WHENCE WE COME

In this chapter, we utilize a critical, analytical, and intersectional lens to engage with the identities and lived experiences of Deaf lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) people. As negotiated by an increasing number of youth and adults around the world, these identities have manifested a wealth of perspectives and cultural funds of knowledge (González, Moll, & Amanti, 2005). In turn, the complex experiences of this population are slowly but increasingly seen in scholarship, media, and personal accounts at the intersections of sexuality, gender, race, Deaf identities, and multiple other identities. While the terms “Deaf” and “LGBTQ” are often used discretely in interdisciplinary scholarship, we acknowledge their limitations in inadvertently including or excluding other fluid, variant, and/​or specific identities. In essence, this is in part a problem of representation: to define is to automatically exclude. We use this chapter to disrupt and expand on current states of knowledge regarding the intersections of gender, sexuality, and Deaf identities (Muñoz, 1999). Thus, in discussing Deaf LGBTQ people, we have chosen to refer to these minoritized identities as “queer” (though not all Deaf LGBTQ people would describe themselves as such) because these identities frequently transgress against oppressive social norms and assumptions that privilege cisgender, heterosexual, hearing ways of being in the world (Kimball et al., 2018; Muñoz, 1999). By naming “Deaf queer” people, we acknowledge the widely varied communities of Deaf, deaf, hard of hearing, DeafBlind, Deaf Disabled, and Late-​Deafened individuals whose sexual orientations and gender identities and expressions are encapsulated in or affiliated with LGBTQ identities. We do this in part for succinctness but also to respect and uplift the agentic power of marginalized individuals and communities. “Deaf queer” is used throughout the Cara A. Miller and Kyle Amber Clark, Deaf and Queer at the Intersections In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0013

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chapter except when referring to people or communities by their chosen labels and terms if they are known. Through this choice, we hope to help shift future scholarship toward using critical inquiry to examine intersections of gender, sexual orientation, race, Deaf identities, and more. Inspired by our professions and interdisciplinary perspectives within Deaf queer communities, we examine the power of language to understand identities and lived experiences. We then briefly review and acknowledge the limitations of terms currently and frequently used to describe the members of these social groups whose lives, stories, and experiences have largely been overlooked, forgotten, or underrecognized. We broadly look to existing Deaf queer scholarship and note strengths and shortcomings in how complex Deaf queer identities have been recognized to date. Additionally, we consider Deaf queer communities and movements today as connected to a larger tapestry of rich identities. Finally, we close with a call to action for Deaf queer community members and allies to continue building upon what Yosso (2005) describes as community cultural wealth. We hope readers will emerge with a fuller picture of complex Deaf queer identities and a greater appreciation for the lived experiences, joys, and challenges of this varied population of people and communities. Positionality: Who Are We, and How Does This Influence Our Perspectives?

Our social identities,1 including race, gender, sexual orientation, D/​ deaf identities, and other aspects, are indicators of our social positions, bearing as they do on our subjectivity—​or lack thereof—​as we engage in this critical exploration. Indeed, “experience may be regarded as evidence of distinctive forms of social life and integral to our everyday encounters and relations,” notes culture studies scholar Pickering (2008), “but understanding how it is so is never straightforward” (p. 19). Borrowing from Freire’s (1972) framework of “critical consciousness,” we attempt to center the stories and experiences of Deaf queer individuals of all backgrounds, in particular those with marginalized intersectional identities. Through reflective praxis and practice, we attempt to shine a light on power and privilege dynamics that further reproduce social and structural inequities among Deaf queer individuals from the varying social identity groups whose experiences we try to encapsulate in this chapter. THE COMPLEXITIES OF NAMING: HOW SHALL WE DISCUSS THESE MULTIPLE IDENTITIES?

We recognize the rapidly evolving nomenclature used, both within and beyond our communities of study, to convey personal and social

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group labels preferred by many to describe individual and collective experiences relevant to sexual orientation and gender identity. The increased proliferation and complexity of available—​and innovatively generated—​terms to denote widely varying lived experiences has been nothing short of dizzying. The acronym “LGBTQ” is popularly, but not exclusively, used around the world to collectively describe lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people and communities. While the history of LGBTQ, for example, queer movements, seminal events, and key terms, are fascinating, they far exceed the scope of this chapter. Thus, we give only a brief treatment here to the evolution of the acronym in the United States, beginning with the widespread use of “homosexual,” “homophile,” and “gay” in the 1940s and 1950s in underground reference to men and women with same-​sex desires (Bronski, 2012). The subsequent addition and increasing use of “lesbian” in the 1960s and 1970s is largely owed to the gay liberation and feminist movements led by lesbian feminist activists who provided instrumental support for gay men during the AIDS pandemic of the early 1980s and 1990s (Faderman, 2016). Reflecting the increase in representation of bisexual and transgender people in the late 1990s, “GLBT” was commonly recognized in the United States by the early 2000s (Morris, 2018). However, the evolving sociopolitical climate led to the reordering of the initialism to “LGBT” to indicate a growing commitment to lesbian visibility and gender equality within broader social and historical contexts (Morris, 2018). Finally, popularized by young people and social activists, “LGBTQ” came into wide usage in the mid-​2000s (Bronski, 2012; Faderman, 2016; Morris, 2018; Stryker, 2017). For many who identify as such, adopting a “queer” identity involves reclaiming once-​derogatory perspectives and labels through subverting normative gender and sexual binaries and participating in a broader social movement to acknowledge and condemn the impact of intersecting systems of oppression on vulnerable communities (deLauretis, 1991; Gossett, Gossett, & Lewis, 2018; Moges, 2017; Morris, 2018). Today, “queer” is a term increasingly popular with LGBTQ people—​ particularly young adults and especially young people of color—​as an umbrella term to encompass the wide and colorful spectrum of varied identities with relation to sexual orientation and gender identity and expression. A significant contribution of queer theory is an increased understanding and acceptance of fluidity in spectra of sexuality as well as in gender identities (deLauretis, 1991). Nonmonosexual and other fluid identities, popularly termed the “middle sexualities” (i.e., in-​between binaries of straight and gay), may be understood as the potential to experience sexual and/​or romantic attraction, behavior, and relationships with people of more than one sex or gender, “not necessarily at the

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same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree” (Galupo et al., 2017; Ochs, 2018, para. 1). Many Deaf queer people identify with and use multiple labels, such as bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual, polysexual, or queer, interchangeably and variably in different contexts, to encapsulate the complexity of their lived experiences, attractions, desires, and relationships (Galupo et al., 2017). Some may be puzzled by the inclusion of gender identity in the LGBTQ acronym otherwise assumed by many to refer solely to spectrums of sexual orientation, inclusive of emotional, physical, sexual, and romantic attraction. Sexual orientation is distinct from gender identity, a person’s internal sense of gender experience regardless of their sex assigned at birth (Irvine, 2010). Sexual orientation is also distinct from gender expression, the manner in which someone expresses gender identity such as through clothing, chosen name, and personal gender pronouns (Irvine, 2010). Importantly, the term “transgender” or “trans” does not indicate a person’s gender expression, physical anatomy, genetic makeup, or sexual orientation, but it may be understood as a descriptor of a person’s relationship to one’s gender (Price, 2018). Encompassing persons who do not exclusively identify with their sex assigned at birth, “transgender” is often used to refer to various gender identities and lived experiences that diverge from cisgender identities, those aligning with a person’s sex assigned at birth (Beemyn, 2014; Stryker, 2017). Today, “trans” is used by many as an umbrella term for a variety of culturally bound identity signifiers that may include transsexual, genderqueer, genderfluid, nonbinary, two-​spirit, and numerous other identities that transcend traditional Western gender norms (Beemyn, 2014; Beemyn & Rankin, 2011; Feinberg, 1998; Stryker, 2017). These terms remain the subject of much discussion among individuals, communities, and theorists (Meier & Labuski, 2013). Some scholars have called for improving distinctions between gender identity and sexual orientation, as understood, for example, in the context of legal and political matters such as same-​sex marriage legislation (often considered an issue of sexual orientation) and inclusive bathroom bills (conversely, considered relevant to gender identity). However, others have pointed to the widespread and shared experiences of marginalization, micro-​ aggressions, and other social inequities encountered by those to whom these acronyms refer; reasons, they suggest, why these disparate and sometimes overlapping communities should harness their collective power to effect change (Alexander & Yescavage, 2004). Other notable variants of the LGBTQ acronym sometimes include “I” for intersex, as in naturally occurring conditions of variation in chromosomal genotype, sexual phenotype, and genitalia that complicate doctors’ ability to label a person as distinctly male or female at

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birth (InterACT, 2016). Additionally, a growing number of people add an “A” to denote asexual and aromantic identities and experiences (Scherrer & Pfeffer, 2017; Steinmetz, 2014; Szuba, 2018). Scholars and activists have called for greater attention to asexuality as a sexual orientation, similarly to other romantic and sexual orientations that describe how one feels, distinctly from how one behaves (MacNeela & Murphy, 2015; Robbins, Low, & Query, 2016). Asexual activists, scholars, and writers have advanced the discourse on popular understandings of love, attraction, and desire through discussion of this aptly termed “fourth orientation” that is characterized by a persistent lack of sexual attraction toward people of any gender; such individuals are often subject to marginalization, erasure, and misunderstanding (Canning, 2015; Scherrer, 2008). In sum, the acronym “LGBTQ” weaves in multiple, ever-​evolving histories of affiliate identities and communities, as Morris (2018) suggests. However, as with any variation on these initials, a resulting challenge is in imperfections of representation, inclusion, and communication insufficient to convey the complexity of identities. Indeed, acronyms in other fields of scholarship, meant similarly to reflect an array of heterogeneous identities, have also been criticized for being lengthy, confusing, and exclusionary. IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT: THEORY, NARRATIVE, AND LIVED EXPERIENCES

The scant existing scholarship on Deaf queer identity development is assembled from a Rubik’s cube of academic disciplines ranging from developmental psychology to sociology. Psychosocially, identity development is the composite of varying developmental states and cumulative experiences that we as individuals encounter throughout our lives (Evans, Forney, Guido, Patton, & Renn, 2010). Culturally, identity development denotes acculturation processes by which we interpret and align ourselves within cultural contexts to achieve self-​ realization (Kim, 2012). By contrast, social identity theories focus on how individuals identify themselves in terms of social and personal dimensions of membership in groups (Tajfel & Turner, 1986). We understand identity to include complex social constructions that incorporate self-​perceptions (Baumeister, 1997). Each of us sits at the intersections of different identities and we recognize the interrelation of our identities within varying social locations, spaces, and time periods. The ability to function with intersecting identities is to recognize how some social identities may function at one point in time, whereas other identities may function differently. These identities are inextricable from how we understand and navigate our experiences within the world daily, and generate, facilitate, or curtail the types of opportunities

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and challenges to which we are exposed. The aforementioned understanding forms the foundation for better understanding the complexity of what may be termed “Deaf queer” people and communities. Understanding Deaf Identity Development

Theoretical bases for Deaf identity development models to date have varied, and they have largely been informed by racial and ethnic identity development models. More recently, newer models have incorporated bicultural/​acculturation theories that recognize how differing self-​labels may connotate experiences of cultural affiliation or alienation and attendant beliefs and attitudes on the phenomenology of one’s experience. Glickman’s (1996) theory of deaf identity development (see Chapter  1) sought to parallel theories of racial identity development in response to experiences of cultural oppression. Subsequently, in expanding Deaf identity theories, Bat-​ Chava (2000), Hintermair (2008), and Maxwell-​McCaw and Zea (2011) were guided by theories of social identity development that consider experiences of marginalization as well as the impact of positive community identification on self-​esteem, self-​evaluation, social relations, and life satisfaction. These theories and other evolving models are emblematic of a developing critical consciousness that has emerged along with postmodernist and postcolonialist perspectives by challenging prior understandings and reconceptualizing identities as fluidly constructed ontologies (Geertsema, 2004; Leigh, 2009; McIlroy & Storbeck, 2011; Wildman & Davis, 2002). In recent years, newer Deaf identity ontologies have expanded from individual and psychosocial experiences to acculturative and sociological perspectives that honor funds of knowledge and community cultural wealth (Yosso, 2005). Importantly, McIlroy and Storbeck (2011) argue that “deaf identity is not a static concept but a complex ongoing quest for belonging” (p. 494). They propose the term “DeaF” to encompass multicultural experiences, multimodal forms of communication, and “fluidity and flexibility” in individual and community exchange between and within what they deem “the proverbial divide between the Deaf and culturally hearing identities/​communities” (2011, p. 494). For example, the acronym “DHHDBDD” has been suggested by some scholars to denote communities of Deaf, Hard-​of-​Hearing, DeafBlind, and Deaf-​Disabled people (Dallman, Holcomb, & McMillan, 2016; Ruiz-​ Williams et al., 2015). Still others have used “D/​deaf” (Eckert, 2010). Friedner (2017) and others warn against “frozen epistemologies” in Deaf Studies fields that have thus far curtailed the development of fresh discourse on the construction of diverse Deaf identities. Perhaps unsurprisingly, following a period of widespread popularity of the use of a capitalized “D” to denote culturally “Deaf” people and identities, some Deaf studies scholars are now returning to a lowercase “d” to

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encompass the array of lived experiences between hearing “loss” and Deaf gain (Moges, 2017; Paul & Moores, 2012). Higgins (1980) employs the term “master status” to denote the main characteristic for which individuals may experience stigmatization at the expense of their other identities. Among White Deaf individuals, one’s Deaf experience and identity often attains “master status;” among Deaf individuals of color, race may frequently attain master status as an evident factor while Deaf identity is often invisible. Higgins’s (1980) theorization reflects early attempts to untangle interlocking systems of power to best illuminate how varying forms of social stratification are interwoven. This is seen in James’s (2000) study of British Black Deaf adult subjects who report the continual negotiation of forming and shifting racial and deaf identities. In another study, Nelson Schmitt and Leigh (2015) explored Deaf Acculturation Scale scores among Black Deaf people relative to how these participants conceptualized their deaf and hard-​of-​hearing identity. Findings indicated that possibly because of racial and hearing minority status, scale scores reflecting hearing and deaf acculturation differed between Black Deaf and White Deaf people. The authors proposed that further research, using other measures, must address the intersections of racial identity and Deaf cultural identity. In other words, intersectional analysis is a necessary research tool to examine the multiply intersecting identities that are lacking in academic research about Deaf people. Why Intersectionality Is Inextricable to Our Understanding of Deaf Queer Identities

A review of the published literature suggests that a Deaf queer identity development model has not yet been posed to date: this is a task we strongly encourage future scholars to undertake. Furthermore, Schaad (2016) observes that Deaf identity development scholarship to date has been predominantly normed on White, male, cisgender heterosexual American Deaf individuals and communities. She calls for newer theoretical identity models “that can incorporate multiple identity formation so that there is better understanding as to the shifting saliency of identity variables across time and environments, and how intersectionality of identity variables can hinder the development of one or multiple minority identities” in addition to generational influences on saliency of identity variables (p.  40). Schaad’s suggestion echoes McIlroy and Storbeck’s earlier (2011) recommendation that identity models should ideally reflect “a multiplicity of identities in which [people] may coexist,” p.  496). Indeed, Schaad (2016), along with Vaccaro (2009), Robinson (2017), Moges (2017), and others call for a more comprehensive model of Deaf queer identity development; here we argue for the inextricability of intersectional analysis in order for such a model to be developed.

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Intersectionality studies gained traction in the early 1990s as Critical Race theory scholars explored active negotiation of multiple identities. In particular, Critical Race theory scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw (1991) introduced the analytic framework of “intersectionality” as the dynamic understanding of identity constructs relative to the interactive, multidimensional influences of race, gender, social class, and disability. Additionally, Chicana lesbian feminist author Gloria Anzaldúa (1987) and members of the Black lesbian feminist Combahee River Collective (River, 1983) argued the need for intersectional frameworks to recognize the social inequities inherent in dominant cultures. Root’s (1990) study of racial and ethnic identity development among individuals of mixed race and ethnic background yielded several dimensions of active intersectional identity negotiation such as identification with multiple groups; simultaneous experience of multiple perspectives; identity shifting; and “mestiza” consciousness, or localizing one’s identity on a borderland among other articulated identities (Anzaldúa, 1987; Root, 1990). Intersectionality has continued to gain ground as a favored framework, including a following of Deaf Studies scholars. For example, Foster and Kinuthia (2003) proposed an “intraindividual” model of deaf racial identity among deaf people of color. Echoing Root’s (1990) scholarship, the deaf racial identity model comprises four main factors: individual characteristics, situational conditions, social conditions, and societal conditions as reflected over time. Despite the omission of queer identities from this model, we begin to see an emerging postmodernist treatment of racialized deaf identities as fluid, multidimensional, and reflective of personal and sociohistoric contexts (Howard, 2000). Regrettably, even as newer scholarship emerges with keen interest in racialized and gendered deaf identity experiences, there remains a significant gap in the literature on racialized Deaf queer identity development. For example, in attempting to understand the experiences of a Black Deaf bisexual woman, existing models heretofore discussed would omit all three of these inextricable, intersectional identity factors and thus miss the fullness, richness, and complexity of identities within a single individual. LGBTQ AND QUEER IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT

To further underscore the importance of a well-​rounded Deaf queer identity scholarship, we briefly introduce lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, asexual, and affiliated identities in the broader historical context of sexuality studies (Kaplan, 1997) and queer theory (de Lauretis, 1991). Importantly, such identities historically as well as today are shaped in dynamic relationship to internalized oppressions that result from repeated individual and systemic encounters with negative

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attitudes, beliefs, and messages about one’s own identities and social groups (Sue et al., 2007; Szymanski & Kashubeck-​West, 2008). As Levy (2009) succinctly notes, queer identities have been “damned, criminalized, medicated, and reformed throughout history” (p.  9). Indeed, “homosexuality” was removed from the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) only in 1973, with further pertinent conditions not removed until 1983. A new category of dysfunction, “gender identity disorder,” was added in 2000 and supplanted by “gender dysphoria” in 2013 in the latest version of the DSM, the DSM-​5 (Fraser, Karasic, Meyer, & Wylie, 2010; Van Wormer, Wells, & Boes, 2000). Today, Deaf queer youth and young adults come of age and arrive at the rite of identity development in a time not only of “compulsory heterosexuality,” as coined by lesbian poet Adrienne Rich (1980) but also “compulsory hearing . . . the insistence that the deaf person ‘pass’ for hearing” (Harmon, 2017, p. 32). Such socially normed expectancies for heterosexual identity development are tied to heteronormativity, or principle systems that “position heterosexuality at the cornerstone of the American sex/​gender system and obligate the personal construction of sexuality and gender in terms of heterosexual norms” (Lovaas & Jenkins, 2007, p. 98). Such norms, in turn, reinforce binary systems of gender and sexuality that also prize and reinforce cisnormativity, the assumption that cisgender identities are normal and preferred. An understanding of the ways in which homophobia, heterosexism, heteronormativity, compulsory heterosexuality, and cisnormativity are woven into the backdrop of evolving social histories and contexts is critical to our understanding of Deaf queer identities. Widely acclaimed models of sexual orientation development have included the Kinsey continuum (Kinsey et al., 1948); identity confusion/​ synthesis (Cass, 1979); sociopolitical identity development (Epstein, 1987); information managing/​ stigma mediating (Cain, 1991); social constructionist lesbian and bisexual identity (Rust, 1993); life span development (D’Augelli, 1994); lesbian recognition/​ negotiation/​ interpretation (Kitzinger & Wilkinson, 1995); sexual identity profile (Holden & Holden, 1995); and the gay and lesbian identity development model, including personal and group dimensions in the context of cultural influences (McCarn-​Fassinger, 1996). Additionally, in more recent years, gender identity theories have gained greater complexity as scholars postulate on the identity formation of transgender, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming people. For example, Lev’s (2004) transgender emergence model considers how transgender people come to understand their identities in stages. However, criticisms of sexual orientation and gender identity development models have included accusations of prescriptivism (that is, such models dictate how one should be or feel in order to achieve a healthy state of identity); essentializing “normative” processes of identity development; omitting various named sexual and

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gender identities; and failing to explain identity formation, shifts, and reformation across the life span, to name a few (Rust, 2003). WHO ARE DEAF QUEER PEOPLE?

Reliable statistics on the population of Deaf queer youth and adults are difficult to find, in part because such numbers rely on self-​disclosure by individuals who may have understandable concerns or fears about reprisal, alienation, or ostracism. Similarly, many surveys and other data collection methods have not solicited such information. Here, we briefly look at notable findings and themes in the scant published literature to date to begin understanding who comprises the population of Deaf queer people. Well-​Being of Deaf Queer Youth and Young Adults

In a study of nearly 300 Deaf LGBTQ adults aged 18+, Miller, Kushalnagar, and Biskupiak (2018) found that the average age of coming out as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or queer to be ages 19–​20, with those identifying as transgender coming out as trans at around age 29 on average. In the same study, young Deaf LGBTQ participants were more likely to describe their sexual orientation as bisexual or queer than were older Deaf LGBTQ participants, who more often self-​identified as gay or lesbian. Of those identifying as bisexual or queer, a significantly large percentage self-​reported their gender identity as female, transgender, or genderqueer. These findings are in line with hearing-​normed population health research, suggesting an increased rate of youth identifying as LGBTQ, with women significantly more likely than men to identify as bisexual (Gates, 2011; Newport, 2018). Recent Gallup estimates suggest a 40% increase in the number of millennial-​aged youth (born between 1980 and 1989) identifying as “lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender” from 2012 to the most recent polling in 2017. In the United States, it is suggested that this rising number is a primary factor in the overall LGBTQ population percentage growth (to 4.5% of the total U.S. population in 2017). Additionally, those aged 18–​34 were “more likely to identify in terminology that falls outside  .  .  .  previously traditional binaries of gay/​ lesbian and man/​woman,” a finding attributed in part to “increased cultural acceptance” and “media visibility” (GLAAD, 2017). Rosario et al. (2006) examined consistency and changes in the self-​ reported identities of hearing gay, lesbian, and bisexual youth over a longitudinal period. A  majority of gay and lesbian youth reported consistent sexual orientation self-​labeling over time, with a subset reporting shifts from one category to another or multiple transitions between categories over time. Those who consistently identified as gay or lesbian were also more likely to report consistent same-​sex-​centered

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sexual orientation and sexual behaviors over time; such youth were also found to score higher on aspects of identity integration processes such as being involved in gay-​related social activities, being comfortable with others knowing about their sexuality, and possessing more positive attitudes about gay, lesbian, and bisexual orientations compared with youth who consistently identified as bisexual or those who later came to identify as gay or lesbian. Based on these findings, Rosario et al. (2006) suggest that identity integration continues even after self-​ identification as LGBTQ. It is unclear in what ways this process may be mirrored or complicated among Deaf queer young adults, as briefly noted by Hecht and Gutman in their 1997 article on Deaf lesbian identity formation and self-​esteem. For example, Deaf model Nyle DiMarco, who self-​identifies as sexually fluid, suggests: “Since I was confident as a Deaf person in my community, then I had to find my own community within the LGBT world. I  started living, eating and breathing LGBT community, and that’s when I realized who I am” (Man, 2018b, para. 2). However, global experiences of stigma and oppression as well as lack of access to culturally inclusive information may pose health challenges for hearing queer youth and adults when compared with heterosexual, cisgender peers (Gutman, 1999). Past studies have found higher risks for illicit drug use (Heck et  al., 2014), rates of dating violence (Dank et al., 2014), high-​risk sexual behavior (Burwick, Oddo, Durso, Friend, & Gates, 2014); higher risks for depression and anxiety disorders, and higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts. Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing LGBTQ adults were significantly more likely than non-​LGBTQ Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing counterparts to report having been diagnosed with depression and/​or anxiety, as well as chronic lung disease and/​or cancer (Miller, Kushalnagar, & Biskupiak, 2019). In the same study, Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing LGBTQ adults were somewhat more likely to report a history of smoking, compared with non-​LGBTQ Deaf and hard-​of-​ hearing adults. Such health disparities are best understood in the context of societal stigmas, stressors impacting physical and mental health, and barriers to accessible health knowledge among Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing LGBTQ people (Miller, Kushalnagar, & Biskupiak, 2019; Gutman, 1999). Importantly, research suggests that youth and young adults with minoritized gender and sexual identities may be more likely than nonminority youth to have survived childhood sexual, verbal, and physical abuse (Friedman et  al., 2011). Himmelstein and Brückner (2011) found that as many as 30% of hearing LGBTQ youth reported experiences of family violence after coming out to family members. Similarly, higher rates of family rejection in reaction to sexual orientation and gender identity disclosure are significantly associated with poorer health outcomes (Ryan et al., 2009). To date, little research has examined the experiences of families with Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing children or youth who come to identify as LGBTQ.

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In general, hearing LGBTQA youth and young adults may face struggles in adapting to threatening or unwelcoming climates at home, in school, or in their communities. Compared with heterosexual and cisgender classmates and peers, they may be more likely to experience bullying in school environments (Mitchum & Moodie-​Mills, 2014), rejection or victimization by parents or caregivers (Herrick et al., 2014), homelessness (Burwick et. al. 2014), arrests and detainment for status and nonviolent offenses (Irvine, 2010), and overrepresentation in the juvenile justice system (Hunt & Moodie-​Mills, 2012). Such findings may potentially apply to Deaf queer youth and young adults as well. Educational environments may present particular challenges. While on the decline from previous years, nearly 85% of LGBTQ students reported experiencing verbal harassment, 40% physical harassment, and 18.8% physical assault at school because of their known or perceived sexual orientation (GLSEN, 2017). This subject was explored in a 2016 Gallaudet University Honors Capstone research project that described Deaf gay and lesbian students’ experiences with homophobic bullying at mainstream schools and schools for the Deaf (Biskupiak, 2016). Bullying of Deaf youth, particularly in relation to perceived sexual orientation and gender identity, continues to increase nationwide (Singleton, 2018). Simultaneously, however, there are emerging accounts of identity exploration, relationships, dating, and coming out among Deaf youth, including those identifying as LGBTQ (DeafPeople, 2011; Singleton, 2018). Schools that promote awareness and acceptance, offer support and resources, and ensure student safety can promote positive outcomes (Kosciw, Greytak, Giga, Villenas, & Danischewski, 2015). This was demonstrated in April 2018 when, in partnership with the national Deaf Queer Resource Center, elementary school students at the California School for the Deaf, Fremont assembled a widely shared ASL poem, “Deaf LGBTQ Community,” about valuing diversity, inclusion, and pride. Additionally, students at the Texas School for the Deaf have long enjoyed a vibrant Gay-​Straight Alliance. Heck, Flentje, and Cochran (2013) found that hearing youth who attend a high school with a Gay-​ Straight Alliance report “significantly more favorable outcomes related to school experiences, alcohol use, and psychological distress” (p. 161). Family acceptance is a long-​known protective factor for hearing LGBTQ youth, although as previously mentioned, the dearth of research on Deaf and hearing families with Deaf or hard-​ of-​ hearing LGBTQ children limits generalizability. According to Ryan et al. (2009), LGBTQ hearing young adults reporting high levels of family acceptance during adolescence scored significantly higher on measures of self-​esteem, social support, and general health as well as significantly lower on measures of depression, substance abuse, risky sexual behavior, and suicidal attempts in comparison with LGBTQ youth reporting low levels of family acceptance.

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Younger generations are sharing their stories. Raising Ryland is a CNN Films documentary about a young deaf transgender child; the film’s website features an excerpt from a taped interview with its subject, 6-​year-​old Ryland Whittington. When asked, “What do you want the world to know about you?” Ryland responds, “That it’s cool that I  have two different kinds of things. My cochlear implants and that I’m transgender.” Similarly, the documentary film Austin Unbound, in production and development since 2004, features a young Deaf transgender man’s life experiences in Portland, Oregon, and his journey toward his transgender identity, family, relationships, and sense of self. And finally, the news media has increasingly written about Indiana School for the Deaf student Dominice Denney, a Deaf transgender girl who with her family’s support successfully petitioned to participate in a local girls’ youth basketball league (Andrade-​Rhoades, 2015; Stearns, 2015). Much psychosocial identity scholarship, including examination of young people’s experiences, has typically focused on two coexisting, typically both subordinated identities, such as intersections of race-​ ethnicity and gender; sexual orientation and ethnic identities; class and gender; and so on (Howard, 2000). Howard notes, “analyses of identities based on single social positions have given way to a chorus of calls for analyses on how identities intersect” (p.  381). Indeed, Vaccaro (2009) suggests that Millennials actively manage multiple, fluid, intersecting identities and describe these in “comparatively more complex” terms compared with Baby Boomers and Generation Xers. But how are such identities discovered and integrated? Coming Out and Letting In

The term “coming out” has long been used as a metaphor for LGBTQ individuals’ recognition and/​or disclosure of sexual orientation or gender identity to self and/​or others. Increasingly, some are substituting and subverting the phrase “coming out,” with the line “letting in,” connoting the invitation of others into their lives to know them more fully. Thomas (2010) suggests that the process of LGBTQ identity adoption involves recognizing and disclosing one’s difference from heterosexual and/​or cisgender norms, before integrating that sense of difference into self-​perception in a positive way. Leigh (2009) posits that challenges to positive integration of LGBTQ identities by D/​ deaf persons include shifts in sexual identities and behavior over time in an interactive dialectic between individuals and their social contexts. She further contrasts the processes of gender and ethnic identity development with coming to identify sexual orientation, suggesting that the former may be incorporated into one’s self-​schema early in life while the latter may not be fully integrated into one’s identity until later in life.

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Swartz (1995) suggests that hard-​of-​hearing youth may identify their sexual orientation at somewhat later ages than their hearing or deaf same-​age peers, a finding attributed to potentially greater social isolation and comparatively fewer opportunities for sexual experimentation and relationship exploration (Gutman & Zangas, 2010). In the absence of support from caring and empathetic peers, family members, mentors, educators, and others in the communities of which one is part, positive resolution around one’s sexual orientation or gender identity may be complicated or delayed. As Deaf gay actor and screenwriter Josh Feldman notes, “I grew up deaf but didn’t come out [until] much later, because it was especially frightening to consider myself a double minority: deaf and gay, it felt overwhelming” (Cheves, 2015, para. 8). Conversely, however, cultural mores prizing closeness and information sharing could also serve as a protective factor, according to Langholtz and Rendon (1991), given that “the typically close-​knit nature of small deaf communities may mitigate tendencies to reject one who has come out, particularly when members have known each other for years.” In exploring social support systems of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and queer (LGBQ) Deaf persons, Leblanc and Tully (2001) found that a majority of LGBQ-​identified Deaf participants reported seeking support from lesbian or gay friends in times of crisis. Although it is unclear from reporting whether these friends were D/​deaf or hard of hearing as well, Schaad (2016) notes that the salience of Deaf identities within predominantly hearing LGBTQ-​dominant spaces may foster a Deaf lesbian’s sense of disengagement from hearing LGBTQ communities. With regard to friendship and dating opportunities, Gutman and Zangas (2010) suggest that Deaf youth from Deaf families may grapple with a limited sense of privacy around their sexual orientation. This challenge, along with internalizing and experiencing homophobic stigma, may delay or complicate coming-​out processes and disclosures. Kane (1994) suggests that Deaf community cultural values around transparency and information sharing, along with homophobic stigma, may prompt Deaf gay men to seek out socializing and dating opportunities with hearing gay men in greater numbers. In comparison, Glickman (1996) suggests that heterosexual Deaf adults are more likely to seek out opposite-​sex partners who are Deaf. INTERSECTIONAL DEAF QUEER PEOPLE AND COMMUNITY CULTURAL WEALTH Intersectional Deaf Queer Identities Among People of Color

Moges (2017) has noted the predominance of Deaf (and Deaf queer) literature normed on White Deaf and White Deaf queer experiences. This brings to attention the need for more scholarship grounded in

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intersectional frameworks to transcend whiteness-​centering narratives that, even if unintentionally, exclude and marginalize Deaf queer persons of color. As Moges states, “many authors claim that Deaf gay people watch out for one another and consider the group to be a family—​implying a kind of shared bloodline/​kinship of people with a Deaf queer identity. They typically do not mention racial differences, however, so it is uncertain if the sentiments also apply to Intersectional Deaf queer people, including people of color” (Moges, 2017, p. 91). Deaf queer people of color often must negotiate numerous inequities linked simultaneously to race, gender, sexuality, and Deaf identities, as well as other social identities, including nationality, immigration status, religion, and so on. As Collins and Bilge (2016) explain, understanding such experiences entails intersectional analysis that “treats oppression as resulting from the joint operations of major systems of oppression that form a complex social structure of inequality” (p. 70). Queer Studies optimistically prioritizes analyses that surpass and transcend identity and representational politics, and recent scholarship in Deaf Studies has borrowed from Queer Studies and vice versa to the benefit of each. However, scholars of Queer Ethnic and Indigenous studies like Andrea Smith (2010) caution that “subjectless critique” effectively “disappears” the experiences of those who encounter intersectional oppressions and inequities. As Moges (2017) points out, there is no “coming out” into a racial identity for Deaf queer people of color, as oppressions and micro-​ aggressions encountered daily provide an alternative existence to that of White Deaf queer people who may be privileged by race. Cuban American scholar José Esteban Muñoz (1999) coined the term “disidentification” to describe how queer people of color and others with multiple marginalized identities relate to and negotiate their identities within mainstream spaces normed on dominant ideologies. Muñoz describes disidentification as simultaneously a performative act and an authentic rendering of self, a liminal third space between identification within and against mainstream identities and ideologies. Disidentification therefore is useful as a survival strategy that entails repurposing White, heterosexual, cisgender normativity for the purposes of surviving historical traumas and systemic violence (Muñoz, 1999; Schalk, 2013). We posit that Deaf queer people of color are expanding this practice of “disidentification” to navigate and negotiate political, social, and educational spaces. Daily negotiation of threats to safety, erasure, and marginalization are thus in part more bearable because of disidentification practices from exclusionary spaces and (re)generative performance of new, inclusive, welcoming communities. For example, in 2017, the Deaf Queer Resource Center announced the formation of a new San Francisco Bay Area–​based organization for Deaf Queer and Transgender People of Color (DQRC, 2017).

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In one of the few scholarly works focusing on Deaf queer people of color, Dunne (2013) explores the experiences of three Deaf Lesbian students of color who negotiate their intersectional identities as students at a predominantly White Deaf residential school. Although the students describe their school environment as “safe and supportive” (p.  130), they also report wishing that their school better addressed “language and discourse around issues of difference and normalcy” (Dunne, 2013, p.  136). In pointing out such intersectional invisibility (Purdie-​Vaughns & Eibach, 2008), Dunne underscores the importance of fostering anti-​oppressive environments for Deaf queer students of color within schools for the Deaf. However innocently, the centering of whiteness to the exclusion of other racial identities and experiences may manifest in the “ways in which it becomes transformed into social, political, economic, and cultural behaviour” (Henry & Tator, 2006), as White “culture, norms and values in all these areas become normative natural” (pp.  46–​47). Hitchcock and Flint (2015) further describe this phenomenon of racial omnipresence as “centrality,” felt by White people as customary, normative, and so familiar as to entail a state of relative unawareness. In Deaf queer communities, centrality lends itself to, and may perpetuate, a lack of self-​knowledge and understanding of difference, which often furthers oppressive systems (hooks, 1994). When whiteness, or maleness, is assumed and therefore centered in media and scholarship on Deaf queer individuals, an opportunity is missed to recognize raced and gendered Deaf queer identities. For example, in a 2018 paper titled “Deaf Queer World Making,” hearing Communication Studies scholars Moreman and Briones (2018) apply Crenshaw’s (1991) intersectional framework to light-​skinned, Deaf, sexually fluid male model Nyle DiMarco. At the intersection of DiMarco’s sexuality and Deaf identity, they argue, his “mediated cultural body” lends itself to “discursive, non-​ normative Deaf queer possibilities” (p. 218). Moreman and Briones thus use Bauman and Murray’s (2014) Deaf Gain construct within a Queer theoretical framework to illustrate DiMarco’s “intersectional” identities—​without naming his whiteness or maleness. The resulting analysis may effectively omit, overlook, and as such unintentionally “disappear” the factors of race and gender so critical to Crenshaw’s original definition of “intersectionality.” Another misconception about the term intersectionality is demonstrated in Wong’s (2018) review of Sundance Now streaming series This Close, which has deservedly met with great enthusiasm and acclaim by deaf and hearing viewers alike. White Deaf gay actor and screenwriter Josh Feldman (also co-​creator and co-​writer with Shoshanna Stern) currently portrays twenty-​something Deaf gay character Michael—​one of the relatively few Deaf queer characters depicted on screen (Ascher, 2018). Wong (2018) writes, “Feldman felt a queer

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protagonist with intersectional identities like himself—​someone who would embrace both his sexuality and hearing loss—​was missing from the TV landscape” (para. 2). Indeed, such representation has been sparse in film and television to date, and every opportunity for increased representation is greatly needed and therefore wholeheartedly welcomed. However, as with the example of DiMarco earlier, we also strongly suggest that future application of intersectional analyses include unremitting examination of racial and gendered aspects of identity formation and evolution. There is a small but increasingly recognized representation of Deaf queer people of color in media, literature, and scholarship. We have named some notable contributors next, although for purposes of conciseness this is far from a full account. A self-​identified Intersectional Deaf Lesbian of Color scholar currently based at California State University Long Beach, Rezenet Moges (2017), has pioneered Deaf queer scholarship. She writes of a hunger for more Deaf queer literature, and in her twenties, of discovering Terry Galloway’s (2009) groundbreaking book Mean Little Deaf Queer in a bookstore. “Reading Galloway’s book, a first of its kind as a full-​ fledged autobiography of a Deaf Queer person . . . partially filled some of the voids I feel in my experience as an intersectionally Black, Deaf Queer woman” (Moges, 2017, p. 223). She also writes of the power of later meeting other Black Deaf lesbians: “I could not believe that I was socializing with a group of three women  .  .  .  with almost identical identities as mine in regards [sic] to gender, sexual orientation, deafness, racial background, class, education, and signing levels.” She also writes of the “multiplicity of involuntary struggles of loneliness and unfair treatment for being female, Black, Deaf, and Queer” (Moges, 2017, p. 223). Borrowing from Crip theory (McRuer, 2006), Moges challenges able-​bodied heteronormative narratives in seminal written English and ASL texts about Deaf lives and experiences, thereby “queering” these texts. In so doing, Moges’s work (2017) embodies Fotopoulou’s (2012) description of intersecting identities through “interrelation—​but not conflation—​of differences . . . as central in how subordination is experienced and lived” (p. 19), illustrating the gap in narratives about Deaf queer people of color. Similarly, Deaf Chicanx queer activist and scholar Socorro Garcia (2018) works at the intersection of multiple identities to initiate and cultivate Muxeristas spaces through disrupting heterosexual patriarchal practices. In October 2017, she helped to organize a Deaf Muxeres retreat in California to provide opportunities for participants to “build their self-​love and ability to self-​advocate against various oppressions (including audism, sexism, racism, and heterosexism),” which she experiences daily because of her Deaf, queer, and female identities (Garcia, 2018). Examination of such community building may be best

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understood through Queer of Color Critiques, used today to explore and describe Latinx, Chicanx, and Indigenous identities and communities through a queer, feminist, intentionally decolonial lens (Bañalez, 2014; Ferguson, 2004). In 2017, Garcia, with co-​creator Melissa Yingst, announced the newly formed Alma de Muxeristas, a community-​building, awareness-​raising, and informative space for Deaf, DeafBlind, DeafDisabled, Hard-​ of-​ Hearing, and Late-​Deafened Muxeristas that centers the needs, growth, and transformative understanding of “Chicanas, Latinas, Feminists, and Queers.” The new organization was announced in a November 2017 vlog published on the Alma de Muxeristas Facebook page. In the vlog, Garcia and Yingst recount their leadership experiences with national Deaf, Women’s, and Peoples of Color interest organizations, including Deaf Women United and Council de Manos. In such sites, and at national conferences for organizations like National Deaf People of Color and Deaf Women of Color, Yingst explains, “we have realized that there may be space for us to identify as Deaf Women and another space to identify as Deaf Latinx, but no space for us to explore both identities together, as Deaf Muxeristas.” Garcia indicates that such spaces are usually imbued with patriarchal perspectives and normed on Eurocentric values, often resulting in tokenization or “othering” Deaf Queer People of Color. Similarly powerful community-​building work has been done by Najma Johnson, who identifies as BlackDeafBlindDisabled, gender nonconforming, and panqueer (Intersectional Souls, 2018). Johnson is an advocate for intersectionality and queer DeafBlind representation. Johnson has helmed numerous empowerment initiatives including S.U.R.V.I.V.E. (Sistahs Ultimately Regaining Victory in Voicing Equality), serving Black Deaf queer people in Atlanta, Georgia, as well as Together All In Solidarity, a social justice community collaborative (Intersectional Souls, n.d.). Long-​time activist Drago Renteria, a self-​described Deaf Chicano transman, is a photojournalist documenting the changing history of the Mission District in San Francisco (Karlsoon, 2018). In 1995, Renteria founded the internationally renowned Deaf Queer Resource Center, a national nonprofit resource and information center that continues to be at the forefront of advocacy for, by, and about Deaf queer communities (Deaf Queer Resource Center, 2018). Deaf Transgender, Nonbinary, and Gender Nonconforming People

Representation is increasing by, for, and among Deaf transgender, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming people, who are coming forth with their stories and experiences as shared through media. Examples include Blake Culley, a D.C.-​based nonbinary trans masculine individual

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who uses the pronouns they/​them/​theirs (Forman, 2018). In a vlog interview for the website Ai-​Media, Culley shares, “I realized that I am transgender at a late age—​I am 28  years old. Why so late? I  had no access to that kind of information and that kind of information is limited” (Wardle, 2018, para. 2). The information to which Culley refers is a wealth of online and personal social media information sharing by transgender youth and adults, who online can share their journeys and solicit support from others through the instantaneous, seamless modes of electronic communication. Frustrated with inaccurate online captioning and limited communication access to hearing, spoken trans-​centered media, Culley created their own Instagram vlog in order to share regular updates about their gender transition journey and daily experiences. In June 2017, Culley was invited to provide cultural competency-​building and awareness-​ raising training around sex and gender identity for the National Association of the Deaf (NAD). The NAD commended Culley’s activism and showcased their efforts to increase the visibility of resources for deaf trans individuals (NAD, 2017). Subsequently, at the NAD’s annual conference in Hartford, Connecticut in the summer of 2018, multistall gender-​inclusive restrooms were debuted for the first time. The inclusive restrooms, and attendees’ varied reactions, were subsequently featured in an ASL vlog by Melissa Yingst through her Facebook platform, MELMIRA. Viewed over 45,000 times, the video has sparked significant discussion and commentary among Deaf individuals and communities online. Opportunities for agentic transgender self-​ advocacy increase as schools, business, organizations, and communities seek to better understand, include, and meet the needs of Deaf trans people. In the spirit of “nothing about us without us!” Deaf transgender individuals are blazing trails and leading awareness-​raising efforts. For example, Josie Krueger, a Deaf transgender woman, has for many years served as a workshop presenter and speaker on topics related to Deaf transgender individuals, identities, and language use. Notably, she indicated that she came out as transgender later in her life, which she attributes to family and societal oppressions. Together, she and others have harnessed the availability of existing technologies and social media to generate awareness through informative ASL vlogs for signing audiences. Asteria Summers, a 2017 Gallaudet University alumna, is a self-​ identified Black hard-​of-​hearing trans woman. She utilized vlogs and written articles to advocate for increased intersectional understanding of race, gender, and Deaf trans identities on campus during her tenure as the only openly female transgender student of color. While serving as the Student Body Government (SBG) Social Justice Director, Summers used her platform to lead an awareness-​raising campaign,

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#TransIsBeautiful, to counter anti-​ trans ideologies and substantiate and validate the rich experiences of transgender students at Gallaudet (Summers, 2015). Canadian American artist and illustrator Carlisle Robinson is a deaf trans masculine genderqueer person with a passion for “educating the public with rarely told stories by minority groups, especially deaf people” (Robinson, 2018, para. 1). As the director of the Toronto-​based Deaf Outreach Program (DOP), Robinson educates Deaf Canadian communities about HIV and sexually transmitted infection prevention. Robinson also serves as president of the Ontario Rainbow Alliance of the Deaf and is the author of an autobiographical comic about queer love and growing up trans (Robinson, 2018). Chella Man is a deaf genderqueer Chinese/​Jewish artist and model who has garnered acclaim for his prolific and artistic documentation of his transition experiences. Using his artwork and social media (including a TEDx talk on self-​acceptance and authenticity) as a platform for justice, Man explores themes of representation in contemporary society and advocates for dismantling and disrupting oppressive power structures (Man, 2018a). In a February 2018 written piece for the online publication them, titled “Man-​Made:  Why I’m Proud to Be Deaf (and Queer) AF,” Man recalls a liberating taste of authenticity experienced in the busy streets of New York City. “I sit in coffee shops for hours at a time, watching New  Yorkers run around me—​” he writes, invoking disidentification through simultaneous sound and silence. “I hear nothing; I see everything,” a resonating echo of the subversive survival strategy of which Muñoz (1999) writes, as enacted by a Deaf Queer Person of Color (Man, 2018a, para. 10). In a guest blog post on underwear brand TomBoyX’s website, Man states, “I think the greatest gift my body gives me is its ability to adapt, to understand why I do certain things. Why I inject testosterone, get top surgery, get cochlear implants. Society could easily be more inclusive to deaf people by simply thinking about the fact that we exist” (Man, 2018b, para. 3). Man, age 19 continues, “I never had deaf, genderqueer, person of color, young artist—​I wanted to be that representation for myself because there’s no major movies out there with someone like that starring. And so when I look in the mirror, I see my representation and that’s valid” (para. 5). DEAF QUEER SOCIAL MOVEMENTS TODAY

Deaf queer people are pioneering, trailblazing, and making positive contributions in their communities. Deaf queer artists are generating discussion and inspiring audiences through digital media, poetry, short stories, and more. Books, plays, television shows, and music videos increasingly feature Deaf queer people, characters, and storylines. Deaf

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queer youth and adults are engaging in identity-​related activism beginning in high school, college, and beyond. Colleges and universities with significant numbers of Deaf students have also seen a growing LGBTQ presence. Gallaudet University’s LGBTQA Resource Center was implemented in 2011 at the insistence of Deaf Queer students and campus community members, along with Rochester Institute of Technology’s Q Center (in tandem with Spectrum, the LGBTQA student organization of the National Technical Institute for the Deaf). Both promote Deaf queer spaces on their respective campuses through programs, events, education, and advocacy efforts. Annually, the two schools alternate hosting ColorFEST, a Deaf and signing LGBTQ youth conference that promotes community and campus organizing. ColorFEST has grown to include audiences of approximately 150–​200 Deaf LGBTQ and ally students, staff, and community members who gather for two full days of workshops and social events that facilitate leadership skills development, awareness raising, and capacity building. In October 2015, the Gallaudet University Board of Trustees selected Roberta “Bobbi” J. Cordano as the University’s 11th President, and its first Deaf female president. A self-​identified lesbian, Cordano has quietly but consistently moved the needle on visibility of diverse sexual orientations and gender identities on campus and in the wider Deaf community. CONCLUSION

In this chapter, we have surveyed existing literature on Deaf queer people and communities, emphasizing emerging trailblazers and evolving social movements in heretofore overlooked areas, including seminal transgender and Deaf Queer People of Color. We have endeavored to showcase community-​based forms of knowledge and understanding, advocating for future scholarship that utilizes intersectional analysis to more fully encapsulate and understand the richness of multifaceted personal and social identities. Deaf queer scholarship is still emerging within and outside of Deaf literature and scholarship; because of this there is still a need to understand how to discover, engage, and share multiple and complex Deaf queer identities and experiences. Further research is needed to gain a deeper understanding of Deaf queer communities and lived experiences to uncover underrepresented cultural groups within the Deaf queer population. We have introduced current terms of LGBTQ identity and their widespread use and discussed Deaf queer identities as well as how Deaf queer-​ identified activists provide space for marginalized groups. However, there are many more identities that were not discussed in this chapter; these demonstrate gaps in the research and the limitation of the scholarly research to date. We encourage readers to recognize that the research context of this chapter examined

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most available literature, which is largely based on White Deaf LGBTQ and Deaf queer experiences with limited historical perspective. As existing research and literature is typically normed around Eurocentric, White, cisgender, middle-​class males (Moradi & Grzanka, 2017; Nadal, 2018), we have attempted to underline the ways in which Deaf queer narratives have historically privileged White Deaf cisgender queer male ways of moving through the world. As stated earlier, there is a dearth of literature on Deaf queer identity development. Furthermore, a critical perspective that is missing from the Deaf queer research to date is the intersectional lens that simultaneously examines race, gender, disability, and queer identity of LGBTQ populations and the interrelated impact on social identities (Rivera, 2017). The use of multiple lenses will not only underscore the complexities of Deaf queer identities but also highlight other identities such as Deaf Queer People of Color, Deaf-​Blind, and Deaf Disabled queer people, Deaf ethnic queer cultures, and more. As Higgins (1980) and Savage and Stets (2016a, b) discuss, a “master” status or identity is the essence of how persons see themselves in any social location or setting. Multiple identities can change over time to correlate in any particular social setting (Leigh, 2009; Moradi & Grzanka, 2017). With this concept in mind, as Kyle Amber Clark identifies herself at the moment as a Deaf multiracial queer female, she will not in all situations identify herself Deaf first, because the social location or setting in which she is situated influences how she represents herself. Doing so indeed would entail another chapter in order to examine the intersections of race, gender, ability, and sexuality. Sometimes she may refer to herself as multiracial, or a woman of color, and at other times queer female. Accordingly, we propose the use of intersectional analysis framework as a theoretical lens to highlight the Deaf, queer, and multiple identity experience. Additionally, intersectional analysis will advance sociopolitical activism and contribute to Deaf academic spaces. We need to take an in-​depth look at the “hidden” intersections of Deaf queer people’s identities. Understanding and appreciating the multidirectional influences of Deaf intercultural queer populations may be the site at which expansion of knowledge and research can occur. With the research knowledge that we now have, future research should look at how we can expand on the work from an intersectional lens to better understand Deaf queer people and communities. NOTE 1. Both authors are faculty members at Gallaudet University in Washington, DC; Kyle Amber Clark identifies as a Deaf multiracial queer female; Cara Miller, as a White, Jewish American cisgender deaf/​hard-​of-​hearing LGBTQ woman.

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14    On (Always) Passing Brenda Jo Brueggemann

Let me revise an earlier statement. Around 20 years ago, I published one of my first academic essays, “On (Almost) Passing,” in my field’s primary journal, College English (Brueggemann, 1997). I wrote the piece—​a kind of lyric personal essay vacillating with identity manifesto—​while distracted and struggling to complete a chapter in my first book about deaf students at Gallaudet University who were struggling to “pass” their basic English writing classes. One student in particular had poignantly proclaimed to me in my dissertation study interviews that after two previous failed attempts to pass the basic English composition test there, she was now “ready to roll up and pass.” Yet in wrangling the metaphor (“ready to roll up my sleeves and pass the test”) she had started me thinking, rhetorically and deeply, about all the resonances of “passing” in my own life experiences and educational encounters. I had always been a good student—​good at passing tests, especially if they involved reading and writing (not so good at multiple choice), and good at always completing my work (often above and beyond what was asked for). Academically, I had passed very well. My writing skills (and reading, along with it) had served as my passage into the mainstream. Writing was also my (sometimes secret, always wondrous) passageway; through writing I  could immerse myself and communicate best. I had also learned to pass by acting hearing, employing W. E. B.  Dubois’s (1967) “double-​consciousness” long before I  knew what that remarkable concept was about. And on the flip side of that identity coin, I knew well how to act deaf when good opportunities presented themselves:  ducking out of long, boring family conversations at the Thanksgiving dinner table, ignoring what my mother said as a teenager; fading off to what my family called “Brenda’s La-​Land” as needed; happily unannoyed by “cricket season” every year. Passing worked in so many ways! Somewhat writer-​ blocked from completing the difficult chapter I  had started on “the violence of literacy” (a term and text advanced by J.  Elspeth Stuckey [1991]) in these deaf students’ lives, I  turned aside one Sunday afternoon and started this personal essay as a kind of passage around (and then, through) this hard academic work about Brenda Jo Brueggemann, On (Always) Passing Intersections In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0014

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others’ lives. Eventually “On (Almost) Passing” also appeared as an “interlude” essay after that chapter in my first book, Lend Me Your Ear: Rhetorical Constructions of Deafness (Brueggemann, 1999). And it has also become the most often cited, multiply anthologized, and well-​read contribution of my academic career. The interlude essay requires some revision now, I think. In that 1997 version, I  position myself as someone who is always almost passing, placed always a little on the margins of either/​both deaf and hearing identities, shuffling in the between space, caught in the hyphen of both “hearing-​impaired” and “hard-​of-​hearing.” The story seems a little sad now when I reread it. I feel the shade of stigma, struggle, scorn; I lean into the victim wind. And while I don’t doubt that it’s a “true story” (for its time)—​and I still acknowledge and even celebrate the raw necessity of that shade and wind—​I’ve now become much more engaged with the weathering potential of claiming the power in attentively, agentively, and always, passing. I believe such attentive and agentive always passing can tally up in “deaf gain” (not hearing loss, but deaf gain as Bauman and Murray’s 2014 collection articulates well). I also believe that the toggling, active identity work of always passing isn’t necessarily unique to deaf identities (or disabled ones either); rather this active, relational, between, attentive, agentive, space might well just be human. NEWS FLASH: RURAL KANSAS FARM GIRL (“HARD-​OF-​HEARING”) GOES TO COLLEGE

I am a first-​ generation college student—​ the first (of few) of my grandmother’s nine grandchildren—​to go to college. I grew up in a tiny rural western Kansas farm community on the Kansas-​Colorado border. My grandparents were immigrants—​Volga Germans, Mennonites—​ who came to the United States in the late 1910s to farm wheat. And there’s this too:  For all intents and purposes, medically and socially, I am deaf. “Hard of hearing,” however, was the hushed-​up term that swirled around me growing up. I entered college in 1976 at the University of Kansas, at the dawn of P.L. 94–​ 142 (the Education for All Handicapped Children Act). Entering college with this new federal legislation at my back, however, I had no idea what it meant—​not at large, not in principle, and definitely not even more specifically for me in my educational and public life. I  have often said that I  was naturally “mainstreamed” growing up in a tiny western Kansas farming community with just 16 peers in my graduating class and only 100 students in my entire high school. We played eight-​man football and everyone pretty much had to participate in everything at the school or that thing didn’t exist. So, no one raised questions then when the deaf girl played in the band

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(a saxophone) or tried out for the junior play (and got a part) or even joined (or rather faked her way through) the high school choir. Always passing, I played along. I have also often narrated that I  really didn’t know I  was “deaf” until I went to college, on a scholarship and 7 hours across the entire state at the flagship research institution, the (then seemingly immense) University of Kansas. And then, I was terrifyingly “deaf”—​my difference clanged loud in my freshman psyche. Panicked over what I was sure I was missing in my Introduction to Psychology lecture class (with 200 other students in a dark cavernous auditorium), I arrived half an hour early so that I could get the front row and center seat right in front of the professor’s lectern. (I soon realized, however, that no student ever took those seats anyway—​of their own will—​and so I slept in the extra 30 minutes.) I bought two other used Introduction to Psychology textbooks, different from the one my professor required for our class; I  read all three textbooks and kept an elaborate cross-​referenced and color-​coded notebook (three colors, three textbooks) as my substitute for “the lecture notes” I  largely missed. And yes, I  aced the class (I was always good at passing in this way, too.) As I  worked my way through college in the late 1970s, I was part of the first generation of “mainstreamed” deaf students, making up our survival and success as we went along. And then too: I finished my PhD and took my first faculty position (at The Ohio State University) in 1992. Of course, another major piece of legislation had also just dawned on the horizon in 1992: The Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA) of 1990 had just been passed. And once again, as I set out on my new faculty life, I had no idea what that significant piece of legislation meant—​not at large, not in principle, and definitely not more specifically for me in my daily work and public life. So I was, yet again, making it up as I went along. Passing, always. ON THE ACADEMIC FACULTY STARTING BLOCK

When I  went on the academic job market (in 1991), I  did not use interpreters or captioners for my interviews. I  would like to say that this is because I didn’t really need them (I did). Or because they weren’t yet really available (they were, although not at all very common, especially for advanced-​degree students). It was really only because I knew better (or thought I  did). The sheer stigma of asking for such access for such a high-​stakes event was just potentially too crushing to risk bearing that additional weight. Better then to bear my own exhaustion and (literally) blinding tension headaches at the end of the day. But several of my 14 different sets of interviewers in those MLA (Modern Language Association) hotel suites and bedrooms guessed at the truth. Because my dissertation had been an ethnographically oriented study

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of (deaf) freshmen writers in their first college composition course at Gallaudet University—​and because I do have the lateral lisp and somewhat hollow monotone characteristic of someone long deaf—​the speculation was there, I know. Yet no one asked, of course. And I’d like to imagine this was because they were all already completely knowledgeable about the ADA and my rights around disclosure (they weren’t). Mostly it was because the stigma was likely too crushing for all of us. Stony deaf silences—​they are part and parcel of always passing. Once Ohio State University hired a full-​time ADA coordinator (a hire I was partially responsible for making happen) a decade after the ADA had passed (2000), I started filing every email sent to, or received by, me that was related to gaining, securing, leveraging for, and making my access in the mainstreamed academy. Every request for CART (real-​ time captioning), every request for CART + interpreting (for invited speakers or events I helped host), every query about whether or not a film or event I wanted to attend would have captioning, every query sent to me local and far-​flung (sometimes even from somewhere else on the globe) asking for my advice about accommodating (another) deaf/​ hard-​of-​hearing faculty member or student. (I usually began my reply to such email queries by suggesting that the person inquiring of me might start by asking the person “in question” himself or herself.) The records I kept there for a decade (2000–​2010) totaled just over 2,000 additional emails in order to make my deaf/​disabled way trying to do the things that we faculty members are supposed to do. That’s 200 extra emails per year; 22 extra missives per month for the average 9 months of the thickest part of our academic calendar. I  won’t count the lines written—​or begin to imagine totaling the time I  spent in composing those additional emails—​if only because the additional irony of the time spent doing that counting would only further increase the time and effort count spent addressing my “needs.” Before there was an ADA coordinator (who was also the one who advised me to keep a record of all of my own access requests, for numerous reasons), my access was somewhat like swimming the backstroke in open water with 300 other swimmers—​there was “progress” and I was swimming (at least), but it wasn’t pretty and not very likely to win the race. Having someone to run the guide boat beside me and sometimes help divert or bait the sharks, well, that made all the difference. Passing in the mainstream works better when I’m not doing it alone. ACCESS GAIN

Getting by with a little help from my friends and colleagues is a tune I’ve been humming a lot more lately at my current institution. In part because I occupy an administrative position over a very large academic

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program and play national field leadership roles as well, I really can’t afford the stony silences over access (and my “differences”), and there just isn’t enough of me to do it all for/​by myself. Still, it takes some education, acclimation, and “training” to help one’s colleagues understand not only how to take charge of some of the access components themselves but why they should do so. “Access” is relational, I  remind them: that captioner or interpreter isn’t just here for me; this person is working for you, too, as he or she brings my skills and participation to the table to share in our work together. You never know: You might also learn something from me! A pointed example. At my university’s General Education oversight committee meeting recently the topic (topping!) of the day seemed to be students “double-​dipping” on their Gen Ed courses. (As if double-​ dips are a bad thing!) The frequency of the term alone on my streamtext captioning screen was almost comical. (I thought, but only briefly, of saving the entire captioning transcript in order to create a kind of found poem around academic double-​dipping and the melting fears surrounding it.) I’m quite sure the remote captioner on the teleconference line had quickly coded this new term in her system dictionary so she only needed to hit one keystroke to make the clunky, odd phrase appear. But the live interpreter in the room with me was having a hard time coming up with sign phrasings that turned us away from licking ice cream cones (oh!) and other comical repetitions of the phrase, again and again. We exchanged a quick sign-​on-​the-​side conversation about what signs might work best . . . smiling widely . . . and then suddenly the other dozen faculty bodies around the conference room table froze, stopped conversation, and turned to watch us. Of course, they wanted to know what we were up to. So I explained our “double-​dipping” linguistic dilemmas and, moral of the story, I think they mostly then came to realize how slightly silly the whole double-​dipping conversation had been anyway. It ceased. There was deaf gain, deaf insight, power in passing in that everyday academic moment. INTERDEPENDENCY AND COLLABORATION

We are always passing, together. One of the most powerful insights gained from deafness and disability is the deep knowledge of collaboration, community, and interdependence. My academic resume even makes this evident as roughly two-​thirds of my academic publications (and conference presentations) have been collaborative. Disability—​in function and in concept—​is really never a singular experience, identity, or way of being and interacting in the world. (And, yes, I understand deafness as a disability. And I don’t take that identity to be a negative thing either. I have written about this at greater length in “Between: A Commonplace Book for the Modern Deaf Subject,” my opening chapter

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in Deaf Subjects:  Between Identities and Places [Brueggemann,  2009].) Even among the designation of a singular kind of “disability condition”—​whether that’s cerebral palsy (CP), deafness, multiple sclerosis (MS), spina bifida, autism, Down syndrome, blindness, paraplegia, or quadriplegia (and on and on and on)—​there is often more diversity and difference of both “function” and socialized experience than we can barely begin to imagine. Think kaleidoscope. Disability identity prisms kaleidoscopic possibilities. Disability, I am always saying and teaching, is relational; it is how you position your perspective in the kaleidoscope and then make sense of the experiences encountered in that unfixed prism as these keep shifting. In both medicalized and functional “condition” and manifestation as well as socialized interactions in public and private spheres, disability morphs and shapes and makes meaning through relationships across and between people. The academy—​and the academic life—​is just one of those relationships and spaces. My acts of passing in the academic mainstream always dance in relational beats—​ rhythmically or discordantly—​with others. DEAF, SHE TAUGHT

The relational dance beats especially vibrantly in the classroom. Throughout my quarter-​century career now as a university faculty member—​a period that aligns almost directly with the passage of the ADA in 1990—​I have written, many times over and often in collaboration with others, about my deaf (and female) body in front of a classroom (“Becoming Visible,” 2001; “An Enabling Pedagogy,” 2002; “Coming Out Pedagogy,” 2002; “Gently Down the Stream,” 2003; “What Her Body Taught,” 2005; “Disability:  Representation, Disclosure, Access, and Interdependence,” 2015; “Deafness Creates Certain Preconceived (and Rather Shallow) Notions Even to This Day,” 2017.) In each of these essays, and in real classrooms too, I’ve been trying to keep the act of passing palpable, provocative, positive. Rather than aiming to be an inspiration (or present that restricted kind of narrative about my identity or history), or rather than letting myself and my story be wrangled and recreated into the “narrative normalcy” of the disability overcoming story, I  have endeavored to explore—​and educate about—​disability (and deafness, too) as insight. I enact “deaf gain” rather than “hearing loss” and I work to demonstrate how disability can enable insight. How so? I’ll be direct then. Directly: though I was nominated and awarded as an “innovative” educator, I  didn’t necessarily set out to be an “innovative” college teacher. I  set out merely to survive. As I’ve already mentioned, the deaf farm girl from rural western Kansas became a new tenure-​track faculty member at The Ohio State University in 1992, just two short years after the ADA was passed.

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At the time, I had no idea what that law meant or how to make use of it, and so I became my own best strategist and activist for access and inclusion in those early days at Ohio State. With restless curiosity and a dash of serious whimsy, I took my three primary strategic and activist ideas (and ideals)—​for advancing access and inclusion in higher education, for modeling creative and mutually shared communication processes in the classroom, and for making use of technology as not just a “tool” but a process and way of thinking (epistemology) and being (ontology)—​and I  made those ideas into whole academic programs, redesigned curricula, and new courses. That is, I used what I knew about all the ways of passing and passageways to shape the way forward. I worked this way for 21 years at Ohio State, building a large and successful undergraduate Disability Studies program (and a graduate certificate too); mapping out an American Sign Language (ASL) program shared by three different colleges at my immense university; and hiring, nationally, a cohort of full-​time visiting assistant professors for that unique language program; creating a “visual rhetorics” approach to the First-​Year Writing Program; co-​founding DISCO, the interdisciplinary Diversity and Identity Studies Collective-​Ohio; connecting academic and community projects around disability and deafness together; winning a few teaching awards; speaking at Ohio State’s convocation (and teaching all the new freshmen to sign—​not sing!—​along with me). I wrote and presented/​published a good bit about teaching—​ especially teaching from an inclusive, identity-​based, Universal Design for Learning (UDL-​driven) approach—​during those years as well. Access, Inclusion, Active: over a 32-​year span of teaching (5 in a public high school and 27 as a university faculty member), this has become my Teaching Triumvirate. Access, Inclusion, and Active triangulate my day-​to-​day classroom interaction with students as much as they also motivate the work I  have done (and still do) in curriculum and program development and oversight. Every fall, for some 18  years now, I  have asked the new graduate students I mentor who are beginning their academic teaching careers in First-​Year Writing, to close out their first semester by composing a Teaching Philosophy Statement. It’s just a draft, I emphasize. I also make the same assignment/​request with summer graduate students at the Bread Loaf School of English who are typically middle and high school English teachers the rest of their year. No matter the audience or the occasion, the response is usually the same: They groan, they gnash, they swoon, they resist. And then they do it. It often helps when I  put my vulnerable teaching philosopher-​self out there as a model and too—​in keeping it active and fresh—​I demonstrate a draft that usually first takes a nonconventional and multimodal approach. In summer/​fall 2016, it was a Spotify playlist of songs that

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harmonized with elements of my teaching approach, accompanied by a “found poem” of mashed-​up lines and phrases from those songs; I included a footnote about the Deaf Girl Doing Music, too! For summer/​ fall 2017, I  went with a more visual approach, sequencing gifs and memes to narrate elements, acts, and aspirations for my teaching. And recently, this summer/​fall 2018, I  honored one of my favorite American poets (recently deceased), John Ashbery, by remixing one of his signature poems, “My Philosophy of Life,” to my own cover of “My Philosophy of Teaching.” (In honor of Ashbery himself, serious whimsy was the working theme for my 2018 draft.) My point in the teaching philosophy examples I’ve offered here presses on making this hard academic work more accessible (less daunting, at least for the first draft and generative engagement), more inclusive (of forms and possibilities for the otherwise rather dyed-​in-​ the-​wool teaching statement), and more active and engaged (at least in the first draft) by both challenging myself to do it differently every time and also challenging students/​teachers to bring serious whimsy and studious play to the task. For me, access functions as the fairy godmother of meaningful education—​she wields her magical powers to make the glass slippers of learning fit best and to shape the learning story toward the best possible endings. Less metaphorically, more directly: I believe that access aims to make passing (in the many senses of that word) a place of potential and power rather than the shadowy space of stigma and shame. Access grounds my teaching—​much as it has also grounded my own long learning and educational history. I came to understand the intuitive ways I  had been practicing access in my classrooms (long before I  had a name for it) when a colleague introduced me to UDL almost 20 years ago. Though UDL was conceptualized around bodily and intellectual “abilities” and differences, I have always understood its potentialities for a culturally open, diversely dynamic, and inclusive classroom. We can’t, I believe, truly “universalize” everything we do in a classroom; universal does not equal inclusive. Yet I also believe that if we work to proactively imagine how we can design a curriculum, construct a course, craft an assignment, create an activity, set up a discussion, and respond to student work in ways that could optimize and realize access for as many students as we might imagine, then we’ve reached far—​and stretched hard—​toward inclusion. I often work to extend this inclusive reach through active—​and deeply valued—​collaboration, asking students in my classes to not just talk together, but do and create and be together. I  also direct academic programs and carry out most of my own research projects these days with collaboration at the center, making the studious play of our work—​together—​active, inclusive, accessible.

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LIVE BOLD AND PROSPER

Over the years, many deaf/​hard-​of-​hearing academics have written to me; there’s collaboration in our exchanges. More often than not, they mostly want to know how best to go about creating an active, inclusive, accessible work environment for their own academic futures (or current realities). I’m offering here a slightly altered reply I wrote to one of those new colleagues recently; she found herself somewhat daunted by—​and fearful of—​having to now negotiate for, and even demand, some elements of her access and accommodations in ways she hadn’t been challenged to as a stellar student. I didn’t know how else to represent this material than to offer it as a relational exchange, a letter. Dear S ~ You asked me about my strategies for self-​advocacy and disclosure as a (female) deaf faculty member. I can tell you, forthright, that self-​ advocacy—​in perpetuity—​is the one very large part of my job that doesn’t often appear on my CV. In addition to working to ensure my own access and accommodations, I have also spent almost every day of my faculty life engaged in a larger project of advocacy and education around disability more generally. Every. Damn. Day. Here’s just one (very significant) example. I have always dealt with tinnitus—​a phantom ringing, buzzing, booming that comes from inside my own ear and that is, in fact, fairly common for people with my kind of sensorineural hearing loss. While there is still no clear consensus on what (physiologically) causes tinnitus, what is known is that lack of sleep, stress, and too much ibuprofen are all quite likely to increase it. And I was definitely checking all those boxes in my third year on the tenure track (and my fourth year as the mother of two very young children as well). This tinnitus was having quite an impact on my teaching. I would be in front of a class and a roar of bell-​ringing tinnitus would overtake me midsentence. I  would either completely forget what I  was saying (and become further distressed about that) or my voice would apparently fade to almost nothing as I was internally washed over by unpleasant sound. These struggles were abundantly reflected in my student course evaluations at the end of that difficult fall quarter of my third year on the tenure track. I began to think that although I had certainly learned well how to accommodate myself and strategize my way around the classroom as a student, it could well be that I really had no business “passing” on the other side of the desk or, additionally, on the academic tenure track. Who had I been fooling, I asked myself? Four days before the start of winter term, in the new year, I  went to see my department chair and—​in a shaking and tearful conversation—​I asked for official Leave of Absence for that coming

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quarter and to give up (or bank back) the one course I was assigned for that term while I worked to sort out whether or not I would resign my position entirely at the end of the year. My chair was shocked, and he simply refused to let me consider resignation without some further thought about what “we” could do to better meet my needs and situation. He said “we”—​and he meant it. Keep in mind, this was 1995, only 5 years after the ADA had passed; none of us really had any idea how to better—​let alone, best—​make this work for me as a faculty member. But “we” worked on it. Together. We strategized. New elements of my work life were put in place. Significant among those was that I would try out a new pair of (very expensive) digital hearing aids (with an additional FM feature on them for optimizing conversations in different kinds of classroom and meeting settings). But these hearing aids were not covered (not a single penny) by my university’s health plan. As a new faculty member with two toddlers and a fair amount of student loan debt, I didn’t have the cash on hand to buy what amounted to two good used cars to place in my ears. And that’s when I got feisty. I knew that without the hearing aids, I  would really need to use a sign language interpreter in all of my classes and at all university meetings and events which I  needed to be a part of, especially as someone on the tenure track. I  didn’t really prefer this solution because my own ASL skills are only middling—​much like my German skills. And too, while having access to an interpreter is a wonderful thing, they do, quite simply, shift authority dynamics—​especially for a young female professor. I also knew that, by letter and law of the ADA, the university would have to give me that interpreter (and once again, I thanked whatever spirit had made me think to put a full audiological assessment in my personnel file the moment I began the job in 1992). Feistily then, I pulled out my calculator and I added up the cost of having such an interpreter by my side. I kept the duties basic and the hours minimal. But whoa . . . the total cost for 1 year of an interpreter was anything but basic and minimal. I compared that cost to the two hearing aids I needed. Well then:  The University’s Human Resources Director got the calculated point. Now, I  hadn’t wanted to use the “cost” and “burden” argument; I  would have preferred to have an appeal to “social justice” matter more, but I knew where the bottom line was. (My PhD—​in rhetoric—​had acculturated me to understand such rhetorical bottom lines.) What mattered most was first getting the change to happen—​getting the university to actually cover the cost of the hearing aids on our employee health plan—​and then, second, changing the attitudes and thinking of others more fully later. I’m also very happy to add further to this happy-​leaning ending:  The

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very next year the university rolled out a new health plan that included coverage for hearing aids (a basic sum, but still a sum) plus the option to cover further costs related to hearing aids through the use of a Flexible Spending Account. My own university clinic audiologist told me a number of years ago that literally thousands of university employees had since been able to make good use of that altered coverage plan. My point:  Your self-​advocacy matters—​for yourself and probably for others too—​and your own disclosure can open more doors. Always be passing. Always be feisty. FAMILY MATTERS

But, then, there’s family. Possibly at the core and substrate of all identity is family—​for better or worse, in absence or presence. I’m not sure I’ve always been as much in control of the identity narrative as I’d like to be with my family. Though it’s not a letter I’ll likely ever send, I also had to take this on in epistolary exchange: Dear lil’ sis ~ Thank you for doing a rare thing for you—​posting on Facebook—​ and then, even more rarely, doing so in honor of your sisters and their shared birthday. Beyond making your lists, you don’t write much, I know. Imagine my surprise then when I saw your post (with my name tagged so it also appeared on my own Facebook timeline) on my recent 60th birthday: I have two sisters, both born on this very day . . . 1 year apart. They are two of the strongest women in the world today! Yet two of the most delicate. Both in a good way! The oldest has a disability—​and because of that, she is the overachiever in the family. Proving herself every chance she gets. She has numerous published books, has been a professor of English and Disability Studies at three esteemed universities, curated a museum display, and is sought by many other universities to “teach their teachers.” The list goes on. My head went swimming when I saw your post, sister. Robotically and politely, I pushed the “like” thumb at your own page and then promptly deleted the post from appearing on my own timeline. I felt split, yes. I looked up the definition of “well-​meaning person.” I know you meant well, sister. And you really did believe you were honoring me. I need to tell you then of a way of telling stories (featuring disability) that I  often teach my students about. I  call it “narrative normalcy”—​plotting the ways in which we’ve all learned to tell a disability story so it eclipses itself with overcoming and points always in the direction of inspiration. I simply won’t let myself believe that

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you really do think that everything I’ve done in my life is an act of overachieving and “because of my disability.” You are yourself perhaps overcome with “narrative normalcy” about how to tell a story about me, how to explain my life outside of this long-​established framework. How to tell a story about Little Red Riding Hood without the Big Bad Wolf? How to write about Jack without the beanstalk? Or, say, how to narrate Cinderella without evil stepsisters? You aren’t my evil stepsister, though. You are just an extremely good-​hearted woman (always) who is trying to finally (60 years!) see the positive in my deafness, my difference—​to openly and proudly acknowledge and even celebrate it on Facebook with all of your friends there (most of whom I  don’t know but some of whom are mutual high school classmates from long ago). You are speaking “out loud” now about a thing that was largely silenced, ignored, set aside while growing up with you in a rural Kansas farming community in the 1970s. Yet in full disclosure to you: I’m struggling to accept your story. I’m inclined to break it instead. Let me tell my own? Sister, I  posted your Birthday Honor Comment on the Deaf Academics Facebook Group. Their reactions moved in a largely negative space between “sad” and “horrified”—​but positively, the conversation that followed also opened up many narratives about their own family members’ narrative “boxes” for their own deaf lives. I think we can all thank you then for that! Your birthday acknowledgment, there at the outset of my sixth decade, dear sister, offered a negotiation—​ always relational—​ between what you (rather fixedly) understand or believe about my deafness and its place in my life and what I  myself understand about it as I slip, I slide, I am unfixed: I am not almost—​but always—​passing. REFERENCES Bauman, H. L., & Murray, J. J. (2014). Deaf gain: Raising the stakes for human diversity. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Brueggemann, B. J. (1997). On (almost) passing. College English, 59(6), 647–​660. Brueggemann, B. J. (1999). Lend me your ear: Rhetorical constructions of deafness. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Brueggemann, B. J. (2009). Deaf subjects: Between identities and places. New York, NY: New York University Press. Brueggemann, B. J. (2017, May 17). Disability on campus: “Deafness creates certain preconceived notions . . .” Times Higher Education. Retrieved from https://​ www.timeshighereducation.com/​blog/​disability-​campus-​deafness-​creates-​ certain-​preconceived-​and-​rather-​shallow-​notions-​even-​day

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Brueggemann, B. J., Garland-​Thomson, R., & Kleege, G. (2005). What her body taught (or, teaching about and with a disability):  A conversation. Feminist Studies, 31(1),  13–​33. Brueggemann, B.  J., & Kerschbaum, S.  K. (2015). “Disability:  representation, disclosure, access, and interdependence.” In G. C. Semenza & G. Sullivan, Jr. (Eds.), How to build a life in the humanities: Meditations on the work-​life balance (pp. 183–​192). New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Brueggemann, B. J., & Kleege, G. (2003). Gently down the stream: Reflections on mainstreaming. Rhetoric Review, 22(2), 174–​183. Brueggemann, B. J., & Moddelmog, D. A. (2002). Coming-​out pedagogy: Risking identity in language and literature classrooms. Pedagogy: Critical Approaches to Teaching Literature, Language, Composition, and Culture, 2(3), 311–​336. Brueggemann, B. J., White, L. F., Dunn, P. A., Heifferon, B. A., & Cheu, J. (2001). Becoming visible:  Lessons in disability. College Composition and Communication, 52(3), 368. DuBois, W. E. B. (1967). The souls of Black folks: Essays and sketches. Greenwich, CT: Fawcett. Snyder, S. L., Brueggemann, B. J., & Thomson, R. G. (2002). An enabling pedagogy. In Disability Studies: Enabling the humanities (pp. 317–​326). New York, NY: Modern Language Association. Stuckey, J. E. (1991). The violence of literacy. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/​Cook.

15    In Between Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk: Crises of Collage, Mutating Identities, and Collective Subjectivities Joseph Michael Valente Collage pieces fragments of different worlds together in an episodic structure allowing the thesis and main points to be present in the subtext; this is the crisis of collage. This crisis allows the reader to wonder and play in the reading process, to make spirals and re-​dos. As Kilgard (2009) writes “Collage is the process of becoming” (p. 4). —​Cosenza (2014, p. 158)

AN EXCERPT FROM MY MEMOIR D/​DEAF AND  D/​DUMB

Mom loads me, my baby sister, Jill and older brother, John into the car for 5 o’clock Mass at Our Lady of the Snow. It’s a quiet ride because we all know church is boring and Mom likes boring. But that doesn’t stop John from making his funny, goofball faces at me. He wants to make me giggle and break the silence. That way, I’m the troublemaker. John makes faces the whole way to church, during Mass behind Mom’s back, and on the car ride home. Mom’s too busy talking to the windshield in the car and God in church. She doesn’t catch on that John is clowning around. When we pull up into the driveway, Mom tells John and me to “disappear” until Nanny and Poppy come and she calls on us to eat cake. I go straight to my bedroom and close the door behind me. From my pocket, I  pull out a gold key and unlock my closet door. I  get inside the closet and curl up in my dark, secret hiding place. Beside me are some crumpled comic books, an orange plastic flashlight, a linty blue blanket, and a black Bible I’d stolen from the church pew a few weeks ago. The comic books remind me that I forgot my cape. I need my cape. I’ll get it first thing tomorrow morning, before Mom wakes up and gets Sunday bagels. I sit in the closet and pull the blanket over my head. Shining the flashlight from the comic books to the Bible and back again, I’m unsure what to look at first. I pick up the Bible, it feels heavy. I judge how thick it is and rub my fingers over the raised words: King James and Holy Bible. Thumbing through the pages, I notice it doesn’t have any pictures. I’m about to lose interest. But at random, I open the Bible and see the name Joseph Michael Valente, In Between Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0015

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Moses. I  know something about Moses from Mrs. Murphy’s religion class and a show on television. Curious, I look at a few sentences at the bottom of the page. It reads: And Moses said unto the LORD, O my Lord, I am not eloquent . . . but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue. I’m not sure what “eloquent” means. Sounds fancy. My mind wonders: Is Moses deaf like me? Can I be like Moses? Is Moses a superhero? Can I have superpowers, too? My imagination wanders: Like Moses, like Spiderman, or Superman, I too have a mission in life. I will be a Saver. Father Michael always talks about The Saver, so I’ll be one, too. Moses saves the Jews; Spiderman saves Mary Jane; Superman saves Lois Lane. I’m going to be a superhero with superpowers like them. I’m going to fight against evil like Commander. This is my destiny. Strategic Liminality Joseph Michael Valente’s . . . memoir focuses on his experiences as a deaf boy who grows up wanting to be a superhero, and who later finds himself using the power of the pen to fight for his own standing and identity in a world of oppression. I argue that Turner’s analysis of liminality in terms of performances of Self and Other can be used to characterize the experiences of someone who, like Valente, is caught between two selfhoods, with his identity split and fractured into multiple points of view. Valente describes himself as someone who does not live fully in either the hearing or deaf worlds, and . . . he employs strategic liminality to transgress the boundaries of Otherness—​in part through his own narrative performance of Self. More specifically . . . Valente’s diction, his use of fluctuations in the distance between the narrating-​I and the experiencing-​I, and repetitions of themes and motifs in his life story . . . show how Valente stages his development of an identity over time—​a mode of self-​performance that emerges from a rejection of audism and ableism, complemented by a reclaiming of deafness as a positive identity. (Kristen Johnson, Ohio State University Colloquium Panel “Storied Truths: Ideology, Identity, and History”1)

AN IN-​BETWEENER DOING DEAFCRIT

When I  was a child, like many children, I  wanted to be a superhero and have superpowers. However, unlike most children, I  was deaf.2 I  was the only deaf person I  knew, that is, until I  met Moses. It was not until college when I finally had any sort of meaningful interactions with deaf signing peers or adults. For most of my life I have been somewhere between the version of myself that my surrounding world saw as the “deaf kid” and the version I  saw from within that alternated between a “deaf kid” and “superhero.” It seems I have always been in between these two polarizing external and internal frames of reference. As an in-​betweener, I live and work in the liminal spaces in between the signing deaf world and larger speaking and hearing world. I identify myself as culturally “big D” deaf but, because I  more often read lips and speak rather than sign, I identify as linguistically “little d” deaf. In

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a perfect world, everyone would sign to me and I would speak. This way, I  could rely on my eyes for understanding, while retaining my eloquence as a speaker—​my gift of gab, as Mom always reminded me (Valente, 2014, 2016). There are many different kinds of in-​betweens that an in-​betweener can be within. In my early thirties, I  published d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, a genre-​ bender equal parts autobiography, autoethnography, and autobiographical-​novel made up of literary and autoethnographic accounts of my experiences navigating hearing, deaf, and liminal spaces from childhood to early adulthood (Valente, 2011a). Each chapter in d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb (2011a) alternated between a portrait of my life as a “deaf kid” who becomes a “young superhero” and a poststructural/​ postmodern treatment of these accounts as a form of what I called “therapy by theory” (p. 18). For most of my life, I attempted to “pass” as a normal, hearing person. All through my formative years as a mainstreamed special education student and as the “deaf kid” in my neighborhood, I  unquestionably interiorized my own family and outside world’s desire for me to be “hearing” and “normal.” I  also internalized anger, fear, confusion, and my deaf communicative difference, which lorded over my young life and shaped my inner world. These are also some of the salient features and psychological costs of difference and navigating cultural identities that are stigmatized, especially minority identities that are visible (Nabors, 2012; Nettles & Balter, 2011; Valente, 2011a, citing Foucault, 1992). In many ways, these affects still do shape my existence, psyche, and identities. Through this reparative writing project using “therapy by theory,” I  became more attuned to how I  internalized the normalizing and disciplining of my failing, unruly ears and gained insights into the ways I interpellated or rather policed myself in order to abide by prevailing constructions of what it means to be “hearing” and “normal” (Althusser, 1972; Ladd, 2003; Valente, 2011a, citing Foucault, 1992). In writing d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I started to become gradually more aware of and began to question whether this unrelenting desire to be a hearing person was worth the psychological toll. Eventually I  made the decision to take on my big “D” deaf cultural identity. In the conclusion of d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I portrayed myself “going native” in Frederick, Maryland, known as a “deaf city” with locals and shopkeepers conversant in American Sign Language (ASL), and the outset of my journey becoming acculturated into deaf cultural membership as a 30-​plus-​ year-​old (Valente, 2011a). Typically, I use stories to narratively demonstrate my life as an in-​ betweener and to illustrate my “in-​betweener identity” as a way to frame and address my often very hurtful, limiting, and sometimes infuriating everyday experiences navigating our larger, nondeaf world. Since I  was a child, and to this day, I  work to get some control over

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my own life’s narrative by storytelling or rather counterstorytelling in order to disrupt mainstream, pathologizing narratives of deaf communicative difference. I also use counterstorytelling personally as a reparative project to disrupt the internalizing of these ableist and audist narratives that work to effectively perpetuate the subjectification of deaf people like me, whose sense of self is always already shaped in relations with nondeaf others. This chapter builds on my earlier development of DeafCrit (Critical Deaf Theory) in d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb (2011a) and the postscript “Monster’s Analysis” (2014) by arguing for a shift from a politics of identity (Valente, 2011b) to a politics of vitalism via a vitalist materialist take on deaf communicative difference (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987; Roets & Braidotti, 2012). Such a politics urges us to reject a focus on individual bodies and differences and instead focus on flow of vitality that inevitably and productively emerges through difference and movement across multiple bodies and identities. This offers a less dualistic “us-​ them” view that is important to me for conceptualizing the richness of the in-​between and points to the generative force of moving beyond the subject’s struggle for a unified identity, instead seeking to connect with multiple bodies. A key feature of the genre of “DeafCrit” is that it uses theoretical and methodological “weapons of the weak” as tactics to counter, resist, and destabilize grand narratives about deaf ways of knowing and being (Valente, 2011b). Drawing from the allied fields of Critical Race Theory (CRT), DisCrit, TribalCrit, AsianCrit, or LatCrit—​“DeafCrit” is grounded in the traditions of countertheorizing—​methodologizing and storytelling used by marginalized communities. In this chapter, I experiment by combining DeafCrit with Cosenza’s performative collage in order to simultaneously “juxtapose bits and pieces of performative scripts” (Cosenza, 2014, p.  155) through the collaging of “fragmented, messy texts” in order to offer a performance of the communicatively fragmented and liminal spaces that I  live in, work in, and transverse (Clifford, 1983; Marcus, 1994; Valente, 2014). Borrowing from Cosenza’s (2014) crisis of collage, I explore the subject as a catalyst of vital forces that express themselves through becomings and mutations (Puar, 2005; Valente, 2014; Zingsheim, 2010, 2011). AUDISM Valente recognized the oppressive nature of those in his school who were against learning sign language . . . Valente mentions Foucault’s (1992) observation that our bodies are a battlefield that forces us to navigate the binary fields determined by normative power/​knowledge constructs: “we can see in the slapping of children’s hands by a teacher under the sway of audism the workings of the humanizing process of normalizing and disciplining the failing, unruly body” (p. 38). Valente remembers being slapped on the hand as a message that signing is unwanted, whereas speech is

In Between Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk   353 desirable. He points out that many Deaf people are set back tremendously because of not being able to sign at an early age, which is critical for language learning. According to Foucault, a power struggle exists between Valente and the pathological view of deafness held by hearing people. The experiences of Valente and many other Deaf people is that the pathological perspective amounts to a social control that prevents him from being who he really is. Instead, he was trained to be like everyone else—​to adopt the view of hearing people who oppose the use of sign language. (Miller, 2013, p. 424)

FRAGMENTS AND COLLAGE

Because I am deaf and was raised to read lips, use hearing aids, and came late to sign language, I  can never communicate with another person in spoken or sign language and feel confident I  captured the entirety of what is said or signed (Valente, 2016). My communicative world has been and will always be fragmented. The 90%–​96% of deaf folks who are born to nondeaf parents (Mitchell & Karchmer, 2004), like me, typically share the experience of navigating a fragmented language life. A fragmented communicative lifeworld constantly compels one to have continual crises of meaning, which, in turn, leads to a way of being in the world that can unsettle any sense of certainty not only about what was said/​signed but what was meant. When you are deaf like me, you have to navigate through life in much the same way as one does the work of collage. Collage, or rather collaging, resembles well the fragmented communicative and liminal nature of my life as an in-​betweener. My daily engagements with both the larger nondeaf/​speaking and deaf cultural/​signing worlds necessitates that I put together piece by piece the fragments of language that make up the material of everyday communicative life. Collaging my way through conversations in spoken or sign language requires me to constantly unmoor and remoor the placement of these fragments of language in search of oftentimes multiple, uncertain, and unending meanings. This constant mooring, unmooring, and remooring is what is at the core of the crisis of collage, to point to the quote from Cosenza that opens this chapter, “this crisis allows the reader to wonder and play in the reading process, to make spirals and re-​dos” (p. 158). In her performative essay “The Crisis of Collage:  Disability, Queerness, and Chrononormativity,” Julie Cosenza (2014) writes about how collage resonates with her own experiences of the reading process as a dyslectic: Collage is the piecing together of distinct texts/​ bits/​images to create a larger picture, leaving space for multiple readings, multiple meanings. The idea of possible readings resonates well with my understanding of dyslexia, specifically the natural ability to apply various meanings to symbols, letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, texts, and so on. (p. 157)

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My own communicative process as a deaf person is in many ways similar to what Cosenza describes of the fragments, bits, and pieces. Much like Cosenza’s experience of dyslexia, I too have the natural inclination, whether in spoken and signed language, to apply various meanings to the sounds and handshapes/​movements of letters, words, sentences, and so on that make up English and American Sign Language (ASL). In part, I live a communicative life of multiple meanings because I cannot capture every sound (due to my deafness) or every sign (due to the fact that I am late to sign and still am learning). To complicate things more, for me to understand spoken English, I have to almost entirely rely on reading lips so the “sounds” that I mentioned earlier that I have to make sense of are not heard through my ears but through my eyes. I often misread “ch” for “sh” or “p” for “b,” and mix up “s” with “z,” “t” with “d,” “k” with “g”—​mine is a world where folks munch on chibs, sail on shibs, ride biges, and the like. The challenge of fragments is not only chasing what was missed in conversation but also the misdirections, where conversations veer off course and sometimes have the effects of being frustrating, disruptive, productive, and occasionally comical. Meaning becomes unmoored. The work of collage, much like my own encounters navigating deaf communicative difference in a larger nondeaf world, is never done because of its interminable crisis of meaning. As a deaf in-​betweener, I am always already in the midst of crises of understanding. Cosenza writes: The crisis of meaning making has the potential to disrupt binaries and provides a lens to see new possibilities. Through the intertextuality, juxtaposition, seemingly unrelated fragments/​bits/​pieces, and the crisis of collage, this method provides a potential to re(frame) understandings of experiences and larger social structures. (p. 158) Rather than seeing this crisis of meaning, these fragments that make up my communicative life, as something to be avoided or remedied, I now view such crises meaning and understanding and so on as generative and affirmative. Roets and Braidotti (2012) argue the long-​standing debates in disability studies on distinctions between “disability” and “impairment” continue to be undertheorized. When we talk about disability, we are talking about the social condition in which socially constructed barriers disable people with impairments (Goodley, 2010). Impairment is the physical, cognitive, or emotional difference that is marked as disability. They also argue that the social model of disability, while a political, social, and economic necessity, has limited disability studies. This is because the social model conceptualizes impairment as both a lack and an individual phenomenon, while overlooking how disability is formed through cultural, societal, historical, political, and

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relational circumstances. Roets and Braidotti argue that these models of disability continue to engage in dualistic (e.g., normal vs. abnormal, deaf vs. hearing, etc.) and individualistic understandings of subjectivity. Such dualistic and individualistic understandings fail to account for the stability as well as changes and ruptures of subjectivity. In short, subjectivity is a never-​ending process of becoming propelled by relations between one’s sense of self with others and within particular social contexts (see also Staunæs, 2003). In mainstream disability studies, impairment is still perceived as “a tragic, biological reality” (Roets & Braidotti, 2012, p.  161, citing Shakespeare, 2006). This is where, in theory, I have started to diverge from the social model’s political and economic project, where the focus has largely been on taking to task the deficit-​based models that dominate mainstream discussions of disability. An overlooked side-​effect of the social model’s political and economic project has been the redirecting of attention away from the important ways physical, cognitive, communicative, emotional, behavioral, and other marked differences emerge in relation to the group and the ways differences are generative (see, for example, Valente & Boldt, 2015). I agree with Roets and Braidotti’s criticism of “the politics of mourning and melancholia and the extent to which they dominate social theory” (p. 161). This is important for my project because the dominant story of disability as oppression and tragedy leaves me with so few ways to imagine my own life as characterized by potential and to imagine that much of this potential emerges in ongoing relations with those who are different from me. While this seems particularly crucial for me as an in-​betweener, in fact it is true for everyone. Roets and Braidotti are engaged in the postidentity move to, as I will describe later, reconceive the subject away from the notion of identity and toward the notion of all subjects as catalysts of vital forces that express themselves through becomings and mutations. Roets and Braidotti’s vitalist materialist project is an attempt to redefine debates about disability and impairment. A major point of contention has to do with the fact that disability studies has yet to unmoor itself from nondualistic and individualistic framing of subjectivity and conceptualizations of “bodies constituted differently” (Roets & Braidotti, 2012, p.  161). Roets and Braidotti argue against an us/​them politics of subjects/​subjectivities and for a politics of intersubjectivity and collective subjectivities. This reconceptualizes impairment and disability as always becoming and in relation to the collective. To effect this end, Roets and Braidotti call for alternative research methodologies that compel us to explore the formation of subjectivity as “transversal connections or assemblages with multiple others” (p. 162).

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AN ABRIDGED EXCERPT FROM THE ESSAY “YOUR ASL INTERPRETERS ARE HURTING OUR EDUCATION”

A few years after I began working as a tenure-​track assistant professor at Pennsylvania State University, I taught a graduate seminar on ethnographic methods that was popular with international students and those interested in cross-​national research. One mid-​October evening after class, a small group of students confronted me in the hallway: “Your ASL interpreters are hurting our education.” “It sometimes feels uncomfortable when they lean in so close to listen.” “They are always over our shoulders.” “I can’t stand it when they keep asking me to repeat what I said.” “They always ask me to speak louder, speak louder!” “Sometimes I’m not sure they are interpreting my ideas into ASL correctly.” “Up close, you understand us better when you read our lips and don’t look at the interpreters.” As I read these words off their lips, I felt shocked, betrayed, and hurt. My interpreters were tasked with facilitating communication, and this was not always an easy task with hearing people who often forget to wait for them to finish signing before speaking, or who speak too rapidly or too quietly. It wasn’t until I had my interpreters that I realized how frequently I accepted not understanding what others were saying; working with the interpreters felt like an assertion that my understanding mattered to me and should matter to others. I was no longer willing to allow myself to be left out of the conversation. I outwardly dismissed the students’ comments with an abrupt wave of the hand. Inwardly, I  reeled from feelings of injury that quickly morphed into defensiveness. I  hastily bid them good night without addressing their comments and made my way to the parking deck. I needed time to think. As I pulled out of the parking garage, I realized that these comments would have been less hurtful coming from students I saw as holders of privileged identities. Coming from international students, who at Pennsylvania State University makes up our second largest population of graduate students and who I thought of as sharing with me the status of being in a linguistic minority since many came from Middle Eastern and East Asian countries and their first language not being English, made the comments feel more hurtful, more of a betrayal. After spending much time fuming and feeling hurt by the students’ audism, my thinking began to shift. I wanted to collapse this current incident with previous ones I  had experienced under the same category of “discrimination”—​because the feelings of defeat, alienation,

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and hopelessness were much the same. Nevertheless, I felt some empathy toward and responsibility for the students. I  thought back to other comments they had made, either in class or in confidence, about their own feeling of marginalization and struggles against discrimination. I had taken pride in being one of the professors that students felt they could come to for advice about such issues—​the very same issues, from my perspective, of discrimination and feelings of marginalization that bubbled to the surface after class. It did not occur to me until much later that my students might not have seen their actions as discriminatory toward me even though I experienced them that way. Disclaimer: This Is Not Kumbaya

These exchanges with my students were not easy or comfortable for any of us. This is not a naïve kumbaya version of engaging with difference, a call for positivity in the face of painful difference and even, at times, aggression. However, as we struggled through discussing the differences that led each of us to experience our needs as primary, we engaged the potential of becoming. This would not have happened had I  remained stuck in a deaf oppression narrative. It’s not that as a deaf person I  don’t have experiences of oppression; it’s that those experiences, while hurtful, are full of productive potential that sometimes is pursued and sometimes is not. Agitation An interesting choice of Valente is his decision to also use story as a means of agitation. He wants to make people uncomfortable and this discomfort has purpose. It makes the reader reflect upon practice, relationships, and even daily encounters that may have oppressed children and then take action to change these practices. Valente depicts his experience as a four-​year-​old riding the bus to preschool and entering the classroom for the first time. Included in the story is an episode in the playground where a fellow classmate attempts to communicate with Valente using sign language. This moment is cut short when the teacher enters the scene, slapping the hands of both Valente and his classmate. (Iorio, 2014, p. 84)

A Story Beyond My Deaf Self: A Cancer Story From the Essay “Monster’s Analysis”

Mommy scurries about the house cleaning up before my cousins arrive. Nanny goes into the kitchen and unpacks the goodies from the grocery bag onto the table: Doritos, Chips Ahoy! cookies, and ice cream. While I  am in the kitchen with Nanny, my cousins come racing through the front door. They have their gym bags stuffed with clothes and toys for the weekend. Father comes out showered and smelling of soap and Old Spice. Everyone says hello. All the adults sit at the kitchen table except Poppy because Steinbrenner is still on the TV talking. My cousins put their bags away in our room. When my cousins are done, John’s head pops out from behind the basement door. He

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says something to my cousins Keith and Roxanne, who is giving baby Michael a piggyback ride, and they all disappear to the basement. When our parents are about to leave, all the kids are downstairs playing except for me. I’m not really sure why nobody told me everybody was downstairs. When my cousins and John come running up the stairs, I  catch Roxanne at the top step, Why you not call me? Roxanne says, Cuz you got cancer. You can’t play with cancer. Huh? I give her a blank look. Before Roxanne can reply, I see her look past me and quickly make a get-​away into the kitchen. I turn around to see Aunt Edie’s face and she’s giving Roxanne the Look. Aunt Edie says, Joey, don’t listen to Roxanne. You’re not sick. I’m sick? I ask. I didn’t know I was sick. Aunt Edie tells me, No, Joey, you’re fine. But I can’t make out her face good enough to be sure. Identity as Mutation To view identity as mutation is to acknowledge that it is kinetic. Identity is not static or stable; it shifts over time and space. Some of these shifts are slow progressions over the course of one’s life. The relationship between the self and the subjectivities of age helps to demonstrate how identity evolves over time. One’s identity as a 5-​year-​old is much different than his or her identity as a 35-​year-​old. (Zingsheim, 2011, p. 28)

THE SPIDERMAN/​PETER PARKER DUALISM

To theoretically and narratively explore my in-​ betweener identity, I borrowed from the canon of superhero literature to use superhero as a metaphor, particularly Spiderman. In d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I write: My favorite superhero is Spiderman. I  like him the most because he is the only superhero I know of that is pathetic when not in the costume. Spiderman’s alter-​ego, Peter Parker, is a brooding, awkward adolescent who is shy, as opposed to Batman’s uber-​rich Bruce Wayne, Superman’s charming journalist Clark Kent, or Wonder Woman’s sharp boutique owner Diana Prince. Peter Parker is lonely, lacks confidence, feels remorse, and is often rejected by his peers as well as the adult world. (p. 103) The Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism was especially helpful because unlike Batman, Superman, or Wonder Woman, Spiderman’s alter-​ego Peter Parker was not superhuman when he was not costumed. Also, the Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism was helpful in illustrating the affective dimensions of “deaf identity in the making” as well as the paradox and emotional costs of me being what Brenda Jo Brueggemann (2011) dubbed a “suicidal superhero” (p. xii)—​this descriptor was given to me because of my struggles with suicidal ideation growing up.

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Additionally, throughout d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I used this Spiderman/​ Peter Parker dualism to describe the dilemma of what felt like my alter(nating)-​ego, which alters and alternates from moment to moment to and from a big “D” deaf subaltern self and deaf colonized self. In d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I also explain: The dilemma of the alter(nating) ego demonstrates the twofold paradox that even as my Deaf identity may come to the surface, as I navigate this world, my ego concurrently alters and alternates with my deaf colonized self. The ego (my identity) paradox is reminiscent of the Danteian inferno-​like impasse, where sinful lovers (my identities as a deaf and/​or Deaf man) spin in perpetual motion for eternity. My original sin of deafness (and growing up and living in a hearing-​ centered world) is what has put me in this phonocentric hell, and this is the place a Deaf subaltern escapes from once they move to counter-​hegemonic tactics. But, for me, this escape is only ephemeral, sometimes fleeting; as I  live in a hearing-​dominated world, I  am caught up in a minute-​by-​minute clash against phonocentric powers that seek to normalize and colonize me both through words and deeds. Growing up and living in a phonocentric world exacts a heavy price. After publishing d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I started to become aware of the psychological toll of trying to become what I  had imagined to be a “real” deaf person. Coming to terms with being an in-​betweener or what Brueggemann (2011) calls “betweenity” as identity has had the effect of making me doubly anxious about my inadequacy in both the hearing and deaf worlds (Valente, 2014). Of course, I  still believe that Spiderman is a useful metaphor for describing and exploring the complexities of this in-​between space, but I  nevertheless found that I had painted myself into a corner. I found that I  had exchanged one impaired life for another by the fact that I am not fluent in sign and never will be and that I sign with a “hearing accent”; that is, it is obvious I came to sign language late in life and that I still largely live and work in the hearing world. I came to realize the deaf utopia was closed to me. In both spoken and sign language communities, I am positioned as broken, inferior. I developed an anxiety of being broken everywhere. But I also understand something of the ways the signing deaf community responded to me. For some, I am the great “speaking” hope because I do not speak with a so-​called deaf accent, and because deaf folks understand that hearing people will listen to me because of how well I speak. For others, I am a frustrating sign of their own exclusion. After all, I’m not saying anything that they haven’t said for the past 40 years, but scholarship legitimizing sign languages and supporting bi/​multilingual education by members of the deaf community has almost entirely been ignored, again because of the

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differences in their speech and my own. And to make matters worse, I’m a loser in terms of signing proficiency so this tends to irk some folks in the signing deaf community. Then for the hearing world, I am a poster child for making deaf people speak and exist as a sign that after all hearing people can be inclusive. It’s sort of funny but really not so funny that in the hearing world I’m everybody’s deaf best friend. I cringe every time I hear someone I know say, “One of my best friends is deaf.” In all of these instances, I’m not a real person—​I’m a projection of others’ hopes and frustrations and anxieties. Insofar as my venture into identity was an ontological project, a hope to make myself real and whole to myself and to the world, this project has not solved my fundamental aloneness. I’ve been chasing a fantasy. Identifications cannot provide us with the perfect understanding of the other or a sense of untroubled wholeness or belonging. I told stories about Spiderman to construct a tale of moving into identification with big-​D deaf culture that would allow me to feel and function in more efficacious and self-​confirming ways. However, in d/​ Deaf and d/​Dumb, I had to leave out some of the stories that continued to show my essential helplessness about some things, my vulnerabilities, and the stories that were indeterminate within or contradictory to the narrative I was creating. Three years later, as I was dealing with the frustration, sadness, and anger of the limits of my identification with Big-​D deaf, I wrote a piece called “Monster’s Analysis”—​shifting from my use of the Spiderman/​ Peter Parker to the Incredible Hulk. In “Monster’s Analysis,” I write: As a young kid watching The Incredible Hulk on television, I can remember studying the Hulk’s expressions of anger, with his eyes bulging, nose flaring, hot-​blooded veins throbbing, tensing muscles, and frightening RARAGHH! That green body, crazy hair and those bushy eyebrows terrified me in the beginning. But then that terror gave way to me mimicking the Hulk myself to terrify others. Thinking about my early psyche, The Incredible Hulk TV show affected my expressivity and my identity as “monster Joey.” Internally, I can also remember adopting the idea that anger is what fueled a transformation into the Hulkian rage. This made sense to my young mind. It easily connected directly with the way that I  experienced the world, too. In so many ways, the dualism of Dr. Banner/​Hulk resonated with my childlike understanding of the world. It was an uncertain landscape to navigate, where bad people did bad deeds. The Incredible Hulk storyline of an intellectual, a maverick, a nomad, traveling from place to place and by happenstance trouble finds him or he finds trouble is similar to other TV shows that I watched with equal fervor. The Hulk was not merely an image of what I imagined

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“monster Joey” looked like to the outside world; this angry monster also offered an escape valve for my fantasies and a medium for working through what was for my young self an expression of limitless anger. (p. 29) “Monster’s Analysis” was an attempt to come to grips with some of these stories that didn’t earlier fit in and specifically to address one book reviewer’s comment—​a sentiment often echoed by audiences when I performed stories from d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb: Valente admits there were a number of episodes/​topics of his life that were off limits in writing d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, such as a description of his abusive father and a serious medical scare early in his life, so that he could focus on his journey toward being part of Deaf culture. I hope this gifted writer decides someday to write a complete memoir. If this book is any indication, his recounting of these painful events could have wide resonance with many readers. (Frances D’Andrea, Teachers College Record, November 25, 2012) In “Monster’s Analysis” I  told about my experiences as the child of an abusive and alcoholic father who used my deafness as an occasion and excuse to express his sadism. It was the beginning of my introduction of a much more complicated story that takes me out of the deaf/​not deaf sense of myself that ruled my previous efforts. It was a story in which I remembered and placed myself as not just deaf but also Catholic, Italian, Irish, and poor, of my mother’s abandonment by her own parents and her life in an orphanage and being raised by extended family, my Nan—​who raised me with my mother and aunts—​ my Nan’s mother who was herself a matriarch, one of the first and very few women in her community to get divorced and set up a general store (what we New Yorkers call a deli). My working-​class, Marine-​of-​man father’s terror of what my disability—​my being deaf—​meant about him being inadequate or somehow flawed. Then there was the educational time that I  grew up in, the fact that Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 that gave disabled kids like me the right to go to school happened in 1975, the year that I  was born—​so my life parallels the mainstreaming movement and the fact that there so happened to be an extensive network of psychoanalysts involved in the nursery school movement on Long Island, which exposed me to therapy at a very young age—​I have been in therapy since 1979 (Valente, 2014). And so on and so on. With “Monster’s Analysis,” I had begun to tell an intersectional story and to explore ontological storytelling—​or, the performative identity. This is when I started to see identities as multiple and performative. Kathy Davis (2008) explains, “theorists have debated at length the problem of using categories at all, suggesting that what is needed is a

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more transversal approach—​a thinking across categories (Yuval-​Davis, 2006)  or focusing on ‘sites’ where multiple identities are performed rather than on the categories themselves” (Staunæs, 2003, p.  75). As I  mentioned earlier, for me, the value of doing something that looks like identity work is the potential to use the “self as instrument” (Barone, 2001; Eisner, 1991; Valente, 2011a, 2014) to engage with “post-​ foundational possibilities” (Lather, 2001), where the subject is conceived as a catalyst of vital forces that express themselves through becomings and mutations (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987; Puar, 2005; Zingsheim, 2010, 2011). These days, I use DeafCrit autoethnographic accounts and modes of thinking to imagine the self moving in and out of assemblages and the creativity that it allows for. I do this work in order to enable myself to explore the vitalist potential of connecting with multiple bodies, and not simply as the manifestation of the subject’s struggle for a unified identity. GENERATIVE AUTOBIOGRAPHY I hope my collage of bits and pieces functions as, with Alexander (2000), a “generative autobiography”; that is, I hope it will inspire you, readers, to be reflexive and make connections to your own experiences of time, belonging, and family. There are many ways to read the intertextuality and juxtaposition in life experiences. Similarly, following Kilgard (2009), my aim is to encourage readers to engage with collage, a process asking readers to actively do this critical work of making connection through “intertextuality.” This is our essay, our performance, and the possibilities are endless. (Cosenza, 2014, p. 162)

THE INCREDIBLE HULK AND FATHER

The Incredible Hulk television show opens with the camera focused on the word ANGER written in white block letters on a flashing red light.3 A panicky siren sound vibrates through the wood floor into my chest. The camera then rolls backward to reveal that the word is really DANGER and it’s from the Gamma Ray machine Dr.  Banner is strapped into. The siren sounds fade, and I  work to make sense of a man’s voice comes through the speakers: Dr.  David Banner:  phys—​ , scien—​ . Searching for—​ hidden—​ humans have—​an accidental overdose—​gamma—​adiation—​ chem—​ try—​ when—​ Banner grows angry, outraged, a startling—​creature—​rage—​reporter. [Banner:] “Mr. Mc—​ , me angry—​ when—​ angry.”  —​ creature is wanted—​ murder he didn’t commit. David Banner—​ believed to be dead—​he is dead, until he can find a way to control the raging spirit—​within  him.

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My 4-​year-​old eyes soak in the visual narrative of Hulk, his “crazy face,” “big eyes,” “green body,” and his “Rahrrrrr, Rahrrrrr!” vibrating through the wood floors into my already furiously pumping heart. I  pee all over myself. A  puddle of urine gathers beneath me. I’m frozen with fear thinking back to the last time I had an accident. Father warned me that I’d get a worse belt whipping next time—​that I’d get no TV. I’m tired of this shit, Father always says. If I cry to Mommy, I know he’ll beat me more. Mutational Identity Theory and Identity as “the Performance of Mutation”

The cancer and alcoholic, abusive father memories messed up my conceptualization of deaf identity because it complicated it. I was not only deaf but a child who grew up experiencing medical and familial traumas. I was not only deaf and unlucky with so many serious medical issues at a young age but I also came from a failed family. I have since found Zingsheim’s (2010, 2011) mutational identity theory to be helpful, particularly his conceptualization of identity as assemblage and as a relation. Borrowing from Puar’s (2005) ventures into what she describes as the “messiness of identity,” Zingsheim (2010, 2011) outlines key the differences between identity and subjectivity, providing an illustration of identity as intersectional, crystalized, and assemblic, culling from transdisciplinary scholarship on identity theory. Zingsheim explains that prior to applying these theoretical approaches to identity work, it is crucial to have a clear idea of what differentiates identity and subjectivity. Citing Rabinow and Rose (2003), Zingsheim succinctly defines subjectivities as “the vectors that shape our relation to ourselves” (p. xx), while “identity denotes our relationship to ourselves. Identity is where our sense of self is continually (re)constructed among, over, and through various (and variously shifting) subjectivities” (p. 25). Kathy Davis (2008) argues we ought to be more uncertain about and open to not containing identity categories. She points us to a transversal approach: Still other theorists have debated at length the problem of using categories at all, suggesting that what is needed is a more transversal approach—​a thinking across categories (Yuval-​Davis, 2006) or focusing on “sites” where multiple identities are performed rather than on the categories themselves (Staunæs, 2003, p. 75). In Zingsheim’s (2010, 2011) mutational identity theory, an individual’s identity is comprised of the combination of the material body and various subjectivities applied by others. It is important to note that mutation does not necessarily move in positive, beneficial, or even new directions, but movement is nevertheless constant. This notion of

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mutation seems to more adequately account for what I  was earlier trying to convey with the Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism, where two bodies or egos were in a Dantian-​esque perpetual motion. I  want to try out his mutational identity theory to see what it might do for my conceptualization of my own identity and the question of why I might want to or not want to hold on to identity work. There is healing and creative power in coming to understand myself in complicated ways. As I  came to realize that “betweenity” (Brueggemann, 2011)  had less to do with being in-​between two real deaf and hearing identities and more to do with the dialogical relationship between representations of self, other, and this “sense of self with other” (Crapanzano, 2003; Stern, 1985). An assemblic, mutational rendering of the dialogic self/​other dynamic necessitated that I  attend to my anxieties navigating deaf/​ hearing spaces and attend to my transferences onto deaf and hearing others (Valente, 2014). I came to realize that my dialogic self is in between ever-​changing understandings of these relationships with deaf/​ hearing spaces and others and that these negotiations and encounters shape what I  now consider my mutating identities and shifting subjectivities (Zingsheim, 2011). I now view my d/​Deaf identity as an assemblage and as a relation. And now, I’m thinking about the way that narrating one’s life is always an assemblic, mutational story, even when I didn’t know this to be the case, even when I was hoping to use identifications to settle some things for me. Zingsheim describes: the meaning of one’s identity at any given point in time or space is undetermined as one waits in anticipation of future hailings. Mutational theory accounts for the movements in and of identity at variable speeds along any number of paths. We, and our identities, are constantly mutating. (p. 29) The stories in “Monster’s Analysis” of how my father drew on the cultural abhorrence of disability to express his own horrors and of how I found echoes of this horror in all parts of my life—​in school, on the playground, and in popular culture—​can be seen as a story of my crazy family and, in some ways, it is. Not every family used being deaf as the rationalization for terrorizing their children. But importantly, it is also a story of understanding the limits, necessities, and potentials of deafness or indeed of any one story as a way of explaining my life to myself and others. This is an ironic move—​I was raised to not be deaf and I had to move into identification with being deaf, I had to tell my deaf story and I continue to have to tell my deaf story. But now, on the other hand, with ambivalence and hope, I  admit that while in some ways I am completely in deafness, in my deafness, and always will be, in other ways, being deaf and the whole rest of my life is mutating into other things for me.

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When I wrote d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, I was working to master the trauma I experienced and named through deafness by the very common taking control of the story. Taking control of the narrative is an incredibly important thing. I call this DeafCrit as psychic preservation. As Ladson-​ Billings and Tate (1995) point out, an important reason for using personal stories is “the psychic preservation of marginalized groups” (p.  57) They note that “A factor contributing to the demoralization of marginalized groups is self-​condemnation  .  .  .  as members of minority groups internalize the stereotypic images that certain elements of society have constructed in order to maintain their power” (p. 57). They state that “The story of one’s condition leads to the realization of how one came to be oppressed and subjugated and allows one to stop inflicting mental violence on oneself” (p.  57). Psychoanalytically, we know that one of the most powerful forces of territorialization is when we get stuck in repetitive stories of self (Lambert, 2013). Combining the importance of stories that use the self as instrument with the concept of one’s movements through life as part of a constantly emerging assemblage has potential to free us up from these self-​condemnatory and limiting repetitions toward creativity and potential. But, of course now, casting these stories in a less personal way, as just a fraction of the material in any assemblage, helps me to think of the fact of many elements that neither I nor others are in control of but that we are, in some important ways, responsible for. Going back to my claim in the beginning of the chapter, the point of this work is to explore how using the self as instrument or telling stories that could be conceptualized as inappropriately narcissistic can function as a creative force seeking to connect with multiple bodies, and not simply as the manifestation of the subject’s struggle for an identity. I  want to conclude by giving an example of what this practically looks like for me. Kilgard on Collage I embrace a collage aesthetic in my performance and writing practices. This resonates with a number of queer theorists who have turned to sustained attention on the aesthetic and, particularly, more disruptive aesthetics that make use of interruptions (e.g., visual collage or intertextual performance), cyclicality (e.g., literary or cinematic work with unending or recurrent images or themes), and failure (e.g., work that literally falls apart or doesn’t work correctly). In my own work about collage as a performance/​ qualitative methodology I foreground the importance of juxtapositions (the collision or contact of two or more images or texts, sometimes deliberately constructed by collage artists) for potentially disrupting normative structures. (Kilgard, 2014, p. 98)

THE COSTS OF DIFFERENCE

During the summer the year before I  was to go up for tenure at my university, I was working extremely long hours and frequently at the office. Typically, I  was accompanied by either one of the two regular

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interpreters on days such as this when I  had meetings with a small number of people. On this summer day, I  was walking down the hallway with a replacement ASL interpreter named Jenny, who had only interpreted for me a handful of times before. As I was making my way to the offices of staff colleagues who had earlier asked me to stop by, I saw a staff person named Larry walking from the opposite direction. Just a few minutes earlier, I had spoken glowingly of Larry’s work on a project to another colleague and was looking forward to letting Larry know I was boasting about him. Larry, with his usual welcoming smile, stopped in the hallway to say hello. Larry put out his hand to shake, “Hello, Joe.” Exuding his usual charm, Larry points to Jenny, asking, “Who’s this?” I introduce them. “Larry, Jenny. Jenny, Larry.” They shake hands. Larry looks to Jenny and asks, “You here to keep this guy in line?” Both signing and speaking, Jenny deadpans, “No, I’m here to interpret.” Larry looked visibly let down that his charm wasn’t working with Jenny. It occurs to me maybe Larry does not know or more likely remember the norm is for interpreters to not engage in conversation while on duty, though my regular interpreters do because I ask them to as a way to build rapport with colleagues and students. Larry doesn’t lose a beat, “Joe,” he looks to me as Jenny stands next to him signing, “is this your new ASL translator? Where’s your regular translators?” I explain to Larry that Jenny is pitching in for today only. After this, Larry chuckles to himself some before saying with a straight face to both Jenny and me, “So every day you come to work, Joe, the university has to pay for translators?” “Yes,” I reply, hoping to end this conversation before Larry says exactly the thing that pisses me off the most. But it doesn’t matter, he says it anyway. “So Joe, ever thought about not coming to work to save the university money?” Larry looks to me and Jenny, laughs, and gives me a playful punch in the arm to emphasize the cleverness of his humor. Jenny, I can tell from the way she briefly looked away, is horrified, though she hides it well with a stoic look. Even as I knew this joke was coming, it killed me inside. I replied, “You know, Larry, I never thought of that.” Another Reading of “Deaf Oppression” Early on, I would have seen this primarily as a story of deaf oppression, and I would have been hailed by it in ways that locked me into the repetition of the hurt. But that’s not what happened. Instead, my response was to ignore the incredible ignorance of his comment, and

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instead I complimented him about something he does well in his work that helps all of us. I thought about how complicated this is for him, as a fixed term staff person who has a difficult professional life in relationship to the tenure line faculty, as a man from central Pennsylvania who has never known another deaf person, as another man trying to connect to me by engaging in smack talk, and in many other ways that I don’t know because I don’t really know this person. It wasn’t just that I didn’t let him sweep me into the deaf oppression narrative; I didn’t let him sweep me into all kinds of classed, raced, and sexed narratives. Instead, I was able to creatively imagine him and the conversation as part of a much bigger assemblage that is and is not personal, that is also structural, historic, regional, cultural, and institutional. Later, he approached me to tell me some very personal things about his life and his desire for connection to me was more obvious, more directly vulnerable, and more honest about the assemblages of which we both find ourselves, and I understood my earlier response to him as allowing a door to open that let us both step into a more complicated, intimate, and satisfying relationship, one in which he might begin to understand why his previous statements had so much potential to hurt me in multiple ways. This story is about consciously taking on the fact that everybody’s identities are mutational and in search of meaning, connections, creativity, and so on. It is not politically naïve. After all, if my administration had suggested I work fewer days, that would be a very different thing. But that’s part of the point; to think about what identity does and doesn’t do is to move away from some of the ways we used to try to nail it down, to make it work in certain ways for us. But what Zingsheim and others remind of us is that the materialization of identity functions as a radically open system that doesn’t follow any particular rules, that mutates, that just is, and that we sometimes can call on for good things and that often disappoints or fails us. NOTES 1. https://​english.osu.edu/​events/​english-​graduate-​organization-​spring-​ graduate-​student-​colloquium 2. I used use “deaf” throughout this essay in an effort to move away from and beyond the limiting binary of deaf/​Deaf. For a more detailed description, please see “The Rhizome of the Deaf Child” by Valente and Boldt (2015), where we make the case for denaturalizing boundaries between deaf/​Deaf, sign/​spoken languages, normal/​abnormal, and so on and “recognizing that identification is often experienced and negotiated as an attribute of the individual, but is always in fact constructed in relation to the group and based on discursive categories that precede the individual” (p. 571). 3. An abridged passage from Valente (2014).

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REFERENCES Althusser, L. (1972). Lenin and philosophy, and other essays. New York, NY: Monthly Review Press. Barone, T. (2001). Touching eternity: The enduring outcomes of teaching. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Brueggemann (2011). Introduction to d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb. In J. M. Valente, d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb: A portrait of a deaf kid as a young superhero (pp. xi–​xiii). New York, NY: Peter Lang. Clifford, J. (1983). On ethnogragphic valenteity. Representations, 1, 118–​146. Cosenza, J. (2014). The crisis of collage disability, queerness, and chrononormativity. Cultural Studies, Critical Methodologies, 14(2), 155–​163. Crapanzano, V. (2003). Reflections on hope as a category of social and psychological analysis. Cultural Anthropology, 18(1),  3–​32. D’Andrea, F. (2012). Review of d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb. Teachers College Record. http://​www.tcrecord.org ID Number: 16945. Davis, K. (2008). Intersectionality as buzzword A sociology of science perspective on what makes a feminist theory successful. Feminist Theory, 9(1),  67–​85. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1987). A thousand plateaus:  Capitalism and schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Eisner, E. W. (1991). The enlightened eye: Qualitative inquiry and the enhancement of educational practice. New York, NY: Macmillan. Foucault, M. (1992). The subject and power. In D. Ingram, J. Simon-​Ingram, & D. Ingram, Critical theory: The essential readings. Paragon issues in philosophy. New York, NY: Paragon House. Goodley, D. (2010). Disability studies: An interdisciplinary introduction. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Iorio, J. (2014). Review of d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb. Contemporary Issues in Early Childhood, 15(1),  83–​85. Kilgard, A. K. (2009). Collage: A paradigm for performance studies. Liminalities: A Journal of Performance Studies, 5(3),  1–​19. Kilgard, A. K. (2014). Tossing and turning:  Queering performances of family narrative. Cultural Studies, Critical Methodologies, 14(2), 95–​101. Ladd, P. (2003). Understanding deaf culture in search of deafhood. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Ladson-​Billings, G., & Tate, W. F. (1995). Toward a critical race theory of education. Teachers College Record, 97(1),  47–​68, Lambert, G. (2007). De/​territorializing psycho–​analysis. In G. Schwab (Ed.), Derrida, Deleuze, psychoanalysis. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Lather, P.  (2001). Postbook:  Working the ruins of feminist ethnography. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 27(1), 199–​227. Marcus, G. E. (1994). On ideologies of reflexivity in contemporary efforts to remake the human sciences. Poetics Today, 15(3), 383–​404. Miller, D. A. (2013). d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb by Valente [review]. Sign Language Studies, 13(3), 423–​425. Mitchell, R. E., & Karchmer, M. (2004). Chasing the mythical ten percent: Parental hearing status of deaf and hard of hearing students in the United States. Sign Language Studies, 4(2), 138–​163.

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Nabors, N. A. (2012). The social psychology of stigma. In Nettles, R., & Balter, R.  (Eds.),  Multiple minority identities:  Applications for practice, research, and training (pp. 13–​34). Springer Publishing Company. Nettles, R., & Balter, R. (Eds.). (2011). Multiple minority identities: Applications for practice, research, and training. New York, NY: Springer. Puar, J. K. (2005). Queer times, queer assemblages. Social Text, 23(3–​4), 121–​139. Rabinow, P., & Rose, N. S. (Eds.). (2003). The Essential Foucault: Selections from the Essential Works of Foucalt: 1954–​1984. New Press. Roets, G., & Braidotti, R. (2012). Nomadology and subjectivity:  Deleuze, Guattari and critical disability studies. In Disability and social theory (pp. 161–​ 178). London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Shakespeare, T. (2006). Disability rights and wrongs revisited. New  York, NY: Routledge. Staunæs, D. (2003). Where have all the subjects gone? Bringing together the concepts of intersectionality and subjectification. NORA:  Nordic Journal of Women’s Studies, 11(2), 101–​110. Stern, D. (1985). The interpersonal world of the child. New York, NY: Basic Books. Valente, J. M. (2011a). d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb: A portrait of a deaf kid as a young superhero. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Valente, J. M. (2011b). Cyborgization: Deaf education for young children in the cochlear implantation era. Qualitative Inquiry, 17(7), 639–​652. Valente, J. M. (2014). Monster’s analysis:  Vulnerable anthropology and deaf superhero-​becomings. Literacies of the Challenged: To Construct a Truly Inclusive Society (Multiliteracies Series),  10–​36. Valente, J. M. (2016). “Your American sign language Interpreters are hurting our education”:  Toward a relational understanding of inclusive classroom pedagogy. Transformations:  The Journal of Inclusive Scholarship and Pedagogy, 25(2),  20–​36. Valente, J. M., & Boldt, G. M. (2015). The rhizome of the deaf child. Qualitative Inquiry, 21(6), 562–​574. Yuval-​Davis, N. (2006). Intersectionality and feminist politics. European Journal of Women’s Studies, 13(3), 193–​209. Zingsheim, J. (2010). Developing mutational identity theory:  Evolution, multiplicity, embodiment, and agency. Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies, 11(24),  24–​37. Zingsheim, J. (2011). X-​ Men evolution:  Mutational identity and shifting subjectivities. Howard Journal of Communications, 22(3), 223–​239.

16    Looking Through the Kaleidoscope: A Metaphor for Convergences of Identities Denise Thew Hackett

INTRODUCTION

The concept of individual identity is complex and context driven (Hammer, Crethar, & Cannon, 2016). Varied life statuses, journeys, and challenges can create situations where parts of one’s identity may either converge or conflict with each other. This chapter will examine the issue of multifaceted convergences in the case of a D/​deaf individual utilizing the theoretical frameworks of acculturation and intersectionality. The kaleidoscope metaphor will be used as an allegory to illustrate the complexity manifested when concurrent and sometimes converging or diverging identities contributed to the protective and risk factors related to the author’s identity development. On a daily basis, individuals regularly deal with multiple traversing and converging cultural and contextual identities, often simultaneously (Pedersen, Crethar, & Carlson, 2008). One’s social or professional standings, including education, work experiences, network circle, geographical location, journeys, and challenges can create situations where parts of one’s identity may influence ongoing interactions or social standings with others. At the same time, one’s identity within social or professional settings can become fluid and change as the interactions with others change or converge based on the identity of the group. Identity variables can include gender, sexual/​affection orientation, race, socioeconomic class, education, ability, nationality, language, religion, and status placement within a culture, among others. Certain identities may be more overt or recognized than others in a given context. Looking at individuals as whole beings, their ultimate identity construct evolves out of the intersection and convergences of all of their identity variables, facilitated by environmental influences (Pedersen et al., 2008). The kaleidoscope metaphor is a useful vehicle for highlighting the multiple identity components and how these components Denise Thew Hackett, Looking Through the Kaleidoscope In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0016

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synchronously interact. While there are various theories covering how identities interact, this chapter will focus on two theories, acculturation and intersectionality. In order to highlight the impact of interactive identities, the chapter will present examples of how privilege, social status, and personality characteristics or traits influence the intersecting identities of a D/​deaf professor claiming multiple backgrounds and challenging social justice–​related obstacles, with those identities occasionally converging while at other times conflicting with each other. Some of these social justice variables can include assigned or self-​ perceived status within a culture (e.g., how one either blends in or stands out within, for example, the Deaf World, hearing [dominant] world, and academic culture in the author’s case). KALEIDOSCOPE METAPHOR

Kaleidoscopes operate on the principle of multiple reflections and rotations that parallel how our mind and eyes filter incoming information (Kaye, Williams, & Cowart, 2018). Within each kaleidoscope, three rectangular mirrors set at 60 degrees in relation to each other form an equilateral triangle. Multiple colored pieces and objects are inside the kaleidoscope. As the wheels of the kaleidoscope are rotated, the shifting of colored objects presents various colors and patterns. Rarely are patterns identical when the kaleidoscope is rotated and rerotated. The colored pieces and objects inside the kaleidoscope can be taken to represent the variety of variables that include identities and personal characteristics. Each piece inside the kaleidoscope can be transparent or opaque, just as identities can be. The kaleidoscope metaphor can illustrate how we manage information differently depending on context and how old pieces of information shift each time new information is filtered in. Metaphorically, these patterns of information represent our thoughts as being dynamic rather than static. Our thoughts and our self-​perceptions are constantly being shifted and challenged, depending on our strength of character, environment, intention, and our ability to manage or filter our thoughts. All this is happening while we navigate through our environment, education, career, and life in general, and identities will shift also. The path we decide to pursue is represented by the way our hands hold the kaleidoscope and how we look through the hole as we rotate the kaleidoscope. The following quote reflects this kaleidoscope metaphor nicely: Life is like an ever-​shifting kaleidoscope—​a slight change, and all patterns alter. (Sharon Salzberg, n.d.) As a Deaf individual working as a professor in a program dedicated to the training of hearing, Deaf, and hard-​of-​hearing professionals at a university designed for hearing students, I find myself managing a

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delicate identity balance between professional and personal roles. An added complexity is that being in the spotlight is a normal part of my life as I try to function as a professional who is Deaf by fulfilling many of my profession’s assigned expectations (e.g., maintaining appropriate boundaries; respecting teamwork; acting as a role model for students, colleagues, and community partners; projecting a professional demeanor; being flexible regarding students’ needs; and displaying a clear professional identity; to name a few), even while attending Deaf-​ related events as a Deaf individual (personal role). In other words, serving the same community in which I also live personally, specifically the Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing community, a low-​incidence community, can create tension as I  attempt to balance both professional and personal roles that can sometimes blur boundaries related to potential ethical issues such as, for example, frequently encountering Deaf clients or Deaf students at Deaf-​related events when I am in my personal role. On the flip side, when I  am in my professional role, encountering former students when I  attend Deaf-​ related conferences or professional training is a norm since many of these former students or clients will become colleagues in the same field. In these cases, I find myself juggling various components of my identity in order to manage my roles. My kaleidoscope pieces, each of which represents an identity component, are constantly shifting depending on the situation I  find myself in. I  now turn to an exploration of two theories:  acculturation and intersectionality. Both of these have the potential to provide underpinnings that help conceptualize who and what I am, and how shifting aspects of my identities emerge. ACCULTURATION THEORY

The acculturation framework was initially developed out of a concern for and interest in the effects of European domination of colonial and indigenous people (Thurnwald, 1927, as cited in Berry, 2006). Over time, the acculturation theory framework evolved to incorporate how “ethnocultural groups relate to each other, and change, as a result of their attempts to live together in culturally pluralistic societies” (Berry, 2006, p. 287). Acculturation is one aspect of social identity. According to Berry (2005), acculturation is “the dual process of cultural and psychological change that takes place as a result of contact between two or more cultural groups and their individual members” (p. 698). It reflects the psychological identification of a specific culture or identity and how this psychological identification changes during confrontation with other cultural groups. The theory and process of acculturation involve both historical and attitudinal situations that stem from what many immigrants or ethnic

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groups face when learning how to interact with a new culture that is different from their own. At the group level there can be changes in the layers of social and institutional structures as well as cultural practices. Changes at the individual level involve the person’s behavioral scheme. In other words, acculturation involves a holistic or comprehensive portrait as the individual engages in and processes both psychological and behavioral changes when experiencing a new culture. Berry (2005) explained that these cultural and psychological changes are often a long-​term process as individuals confront and work on the need for change. The variability of each acculturation experience is one of the key features of this theory. The process of adaptation can be either mutual or may involve cultural conflict and acculturative stress during the intercultural interaction, as Berry indicates: There are large group and individual differences in the ways in which people seek to go about their acculturation (termed acculturation strategies), and in the degree to which they achieve satisfactory adaptations. Within these cultural groups and individual variations, there are variations within families; among family members, acculturation often proceeds at different rates, and with different goals, sometimes leading to an increase in conflict and stress and to more difficult adaptations. (p. 700) Acculturative Stress

Berry (2005) first introduced the term “acculturative stress” in his 1970 publication as an alternative term to “culture shock.” Acculturative stress refers to the psychological adjustment that occurs when culturally distinct groups and individuals come into contact with another culture, particularly when they leave their home country and acclimatize to the new culture to which they have emigrated. Berry further described how the acculturation process or adaptation to a new culture at times may involve changes in several areas of functioning, including values, behaviors, beliefs, attitudes, and norms. These adjustments may be stressful for some groups or individuals. The stress that emerges from difficulties in acculturation is referred to as acculturative stress, which is distinct from the general experience of stress. Acculturative stress per se may result in feelings of alienation and marginalization, identity confusion, somatic symptoms, and mental health symptoms (e.g., anxiety and depression), all of which may be occasioned by the need to deal with cultural differences that push the involved individuals out of their cultural comfort zone. Berry further emphasized that not all groups and individuals experience acculturation in the same way, with large variations in how people engage in the process, some handling it better than others.

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Deaf Acculturation

While the framework of acculturative stress was developed to explore the acculturation process across a number of acculturating groups, particularly immigrants who experienced economic hardship, social and political exclusion, and negative stereotypes (see Berry, 1989 for a review), this framework has also been applied to address the situation of Deaf individuals adjusting to hearing culture or to Deaf culture (Brubaker, 1994). However, it is important to note that there is a significant difference between the acculturation experiences of deaf children born into culturally Deaf families and those deaf children who are born into culturally hearing families, whatever the ethnic origin may be. The learning process related to culture and language acquisition (from infancy through childhood) among Deaf children of Deaf families (Deaf of Deaf) is similar to that of hearing children who are born into hearing families, with the families transmitting critical cultural values as they raise their children. However, as culturally Deaf children are exposed to hearing individuals, they may undergo a gradual acculturation process as they learn how hearing people function culturally. For example, Sam Supalla, a Deaf son of Deaf parents, described how he as a young child was exposed to a playmate who communicated in what seemed to him a weird way (Padden & Humphries, 1988). His mother had to explain that this playmate was hearing and used spoken language instead of sign language and that most people in the world communicated like this hearing playmate. In this way, Sam began the acculturation process of learning how to deal with hearing people. It is important to note that Deaf children born to culturally Deaf families constitute approximately 4% of the deaf population, with 96% of deaf children being born to hearing parents and families (Mitchell & Karchmer, 2004). Deaf children born to hearing families may have an experience similar to immigrants entering a new country or to ethnic groups in the United States. The acculturation processes take place when these deaf children are exposed to hearing ways of being and hearing cultural mores, and when they recognize that they are different at some level, and then later are exposed to deaf peers and/​or adults. Acculturative stress may not be as intense for Deaf children of Deaf adults as these parents typically teach their Deaf children how to navigate hearing culture, having themselves learned how to acculturate to hearing environs. The deaf children of hearing parents may struggle with feeling different within their hearing family of origin and confront the expectation that they will “act hearing.” If and when they eventually encounter deaf people, their ability to identity with these deaf people likely will require some sort of acculturative process. A potential consequence is that these individuals may have difficulty finding their niches within both deaf and hearing worlds and be conflicted regarding their

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deaf identity. As a result, their identity as deaf individuals may not be fully developed or recognized. To elaborate further, the unique difference that many Deaf individuals born to hearing parents experience is the mechanism of the enculturation process to what ideally or theoretically would be described as “their own culture” that often begins much later in life. Typically, the enculturation process for the deaf child begins at birth with the majority of the cultural identification strongly influenced by the hearing family’s cultural constellation, which tends to be hearing and ethnic based. Such deaf children may “connect with their own kind” only if they are exposed to Deaf peers during their schooling or in early adulthood. For example, they may meet Deaf peers and adults when enrolled in early intervention or public school programs, or at residential schools for the Deaf, or at a college with a large Deaf population, or through Deaf events such as Deaf Awareness Day. One of the challenges related to early intervention that still exists today is related to professional pressure on parents to select only one communication approach for language acquisition, namely spoken language to facilitate the internalization of a hearing-​based identity, thereby delaying the possibility of using American Sign Language (ASL) and exposing the child to Deaf peers and adults. Deaf individuals who know ASL can take advantage of vlogs (ASL video-​based vlogs) available through the Internet. Watching these vlogs can also encourage the exploration of Deaf identity possibilities. When hearing parents actively explore the possibilities of exposing their child to ASL, they are engaged in the process of accepting their child as a deaf child. According to Brubaker (1994), for deaf children from hearing families, the attempt to move toward identification with the Deaf community may set the stage for acculturative stress, similar to what may be experienced by immigrants or ethnic groups when navigating the divide between their home cultures and the cultures into which they are attempting to transition (Brubaker, 1994; Lane, 1988). Looking at one’s “representation of the self” in identity development (Baumeister, 1997), parental attitudes regarding the Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing population have been shown to influence the Deaf or hard-​of-​hearing child’s self-​perception (Leigh, 2009; McIlroy & Storbeck, 2011). According to McIlroy and Storbeck, “identity was based on how children’s family and school experiences become internalized as part of one’s identity formation” (p.  494). The long-​ standing medical/​ pathological perspective, typically subtly implying the deviancy of being deaf when compared to the dominant hearing population (Leigh, Marcus, Dobosh, & Allen, 1998), often influences hearing parents, teachers, and the medical community. This stigmatizing attitude has the potential to influence the self-​ perceptions of deaf and hard-​of-​hearing children. Mejstad, Heiling,

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and Svedin (2009) reported that deaf children of Deaf parents had more positive identity development than deaf children of hearing parents, while another study concluded that pushing to be “hearing” by parents negatively impacted their deaf or hard-​of-​hearing child’s identity development (Weinberg & Sterritt, 1986). Paralleling the immigrant experience, Maxwell-​ McCaw and Zea (2011) used acculturation theory as their framework for conceptualizing how deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals who may be transitioning to Deaf culture from their hearing culture often have to find ways to navigate cultural differences related to their dominant hearing culture of origin and those of Deaf culture. They developed the Deaf Acculturation Scale (DAS; see also Dunn & Anderson, Chapter  12, this volume) to capture how Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals may culturally identify, with categories, including hearing, marginal, Deaf, and bicultural identities (see Chapter 1 for a description of these identities as developed by Glickman, 1996). Research suggests that Deaf individuals who fall into the bicultural category by virtue of being able to comfortably participate in both the Deaf and hearing communities, having learned and internalized cultural mores of both communities, may develop the strongest coping resources and experience the least amount of acculturative stress (e.g., Bat-​Chava, 2000; Hintermair, 2008; Maxwell-​McCaw, 2001). This contrasts with individuals who are labeled as marginal, unable to identify with the Deaf community or with the hearing community and do not function as well (Bat-​Chava, 2000; Maxwell-​McCaw, 2001). However, it is important to note that internalizing hearing-​based identities is not necessarily or always maladaptive, based on studies that involved selective samples of children and youth with cochlear implants (e.g., Moog, Geers, Gustus, & Brenner, 2011; Percy-​Smith, Cayé-​Thomasen, Gugman, Jensen, & Thomsen, 2008). More research is needed to better understand the identity development and psychological well-​being of individuals who were implanted as children and are now adults dealing with higher education, employment, and relationship issues. INTERSECTIONALITY THEORY

Kimberlé Crenshaw first coined the term “intersectionality” in 1989 to study how different power structures interact in the lives of minorities, specifically with the intention of addressing the experiences and struggles among women of color (Crenshaw, 2018). Intersectionality theory scrutinizes how overlapping or intersecting social identities, specifically minority or marginalized identities, relate to systems and structures of oppression, domination, or discrimination. Intersectionality is an analytic framework that attempts to identify how the interlocking systems of power impact individuals who are most

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marginalized in society (Cooper, 2015). In other words, intersectionality theory asserts that people are often disadvantaged by multiple sources of oppression: their race, gender identity, sexual orientation, religion, disability, and other identity markers. Intersectionality recognizes that identity markers (e.g., “female” and “black,” “female”, “Jewish” and “hard-​of-​hearing”, or in this chapter “female” and “deaf”) do not exist independently of each other, and that each interacts with the other, often creating a complex convergence of oppression in terms of perceived status of placement, either within the dominant society or their own culture. For example, a Deaf individual might have a different status placement within the dominant hearing world than in the Deaf world (this framework is discussed further later in this chapter). According to Chovaz (2013), many theorists, including feminist theorists and critical race theorists, make the mistake of examining one variable or identity at a time rather than scrutinizing the matrix effects of social categories and how these influence each other. Feminist theorists, for example, may focus predominantly on gender as the single point of inequity. This focus on gender alone can be problematic because “individual human variables work in groups rather than in isolation” (Chovaz, 2013, p. 8). For instance, examining the gender pay inequity between men and women using gender as a single variable may not provide the full picture of the situation. We need to look at other potential variables associated with gender pay inequity such as education, race, ethnicity, and having a mental health or disability diagnosis that could influence the overall pay inequity hierarchy. Crenshaw (1989; Crenshaw, Gotanda, & Peller, 1995) argues that it is the intersection of these multiple variables that causes or produces the actual inequity or oppression and one cannot truly understand the dynamics through the study of only individual variables. Furthermore, Choo and Ferree (2010) argued that many forms of stratification need to be studied in relation to each other as a “matrix of domination” (Collins, 2000) in order to conceptualize the situation, event, or experience. As Collins wrote, Intersectional paradigms remind us that oppression cannot be reduced to one fundamental type, and that oppressions work together in producing injustice. In contrast, the matrix of domination refers to how these intersecting oppressions are actually organized. Regardless of the particular intersections involved, structural, disciplinary, hegemonic, and interpersonal domains of power reappear across quite different forms of oppression. (p. 18) Critical race theorists have challenged the notion of examining one variable at a time by introducing the intersection of race/​ethnicity, education, law, and power when examining one’s identity (Crenshaw, Gotanda, & Peller, 1995; Tate, 1997). Some of the basic tenets of the original critical race theory derived from the belief that racism is a

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fundamental part of American society, and not simply a deviation that can easily be corrected by law (see Delgado and Stefancic, 2017, for more information). Critical race theory has been described as an eclectic and dynamic form of legal scholarship that evolved in the 1970s in response to the challenges of the civil rights litigations directed at the effort to produce meaningful racial reform of discriminatory aspects, particularly those that are often invisible to people with racial privilege (Delgado & Stefancic, 2017). Critical race theory was revamped to incorporate the concept of intersectionality in order to examine additional critical variables that illustrate the multidimensionality of oppression (Davis, 2008). The multidimensionality of oppression perspective recognizes that race alone cannot account for disempowerment and examines other variables such as sex, class, national origin, sexual orientation, and how these combinations play out in various settings. The newer perspective of critical race theory explains further the basic assumption of how individual human variables work in groups or clusters, rather than in isolation, just as the patterns seen in the kaleidoscope require the interaction of multiple colors, shapes, and rotation. For example, the race, immigration status, and socioeconomic status of a Deaf immigrant from Central America reflect multiple interactions or intersections that could impact the individual’s journey and identity development. These aforementioned variables as “stand-​alones” can illustrate oppressions the individual may experience; however, as an interaction of multivariables, several layers of oppression with significant impact on identity development are likely to occur. PRIVILEGE AND STATUS IN DEAF AND HEARING WORLDS

During my early twenties, when I was exploring my identity as a Deaf person, I attended a lecture on the topic of “ism” that was presented by a professor of ASL and Deaf Studies. I was impressed with the information that was shared related to the level of privilege and “ism” in terms of oppression and how privilege variables influenced status placement within the Deaf and hearing worlds. During my doctoral and postdoctoral training, I  continued to explore the framework of privilege and status as a Deaf person when communication issues emerged. Based on my experiences and observations, I began to notice an inverse relationship of the deaf person’s status placement in the Deaf and hearing worlds. For example, a Native ASL user with Deaf parents who learned ASL at birth or at a very young age typically earns the highest level of respect within the Deaf community but then would likely experience the reverse in terms of status and admiration in hearing society if the person does not have some speaking ability. In hearing society, a Deaf person’s ability to speak and hear clearly will likely earn the highest level of respect and status, based on my observing hearing individuals

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praising Deaf individuals who speak well, but then an inverse relationship will be seen within the Deaf community, particularly if that person does not know or use ASL. Figure 16.1 illustrates this phenomenon. Based on my observations, the dominant society in the United States generally appears to measure one’s intelligence based on the

Deaf World (Communication)

Hearing World (Communication)

Native ASL user from birth or early age

Ability to hear and speak majority of the time (does not use signs)

ASL user (not Native)

Ability to hear and speak sometimes. Will use sign language sometimes

Mix of ASL and signs formed by following the English structure (e.g., Signed Exact English, Total Communicaiton, etc).

Mix of ASL and signs formed by following the English structure (e.g., Signed Exact English, Total Communicaiton, etc).

Ability to hear and speak sometimes. Will use sign language sometimes.

ASL user (not Native)

Ability to hear and speak majority of the time (does not use signs)

Native ASL user from birth or early age

Figure 16.1  Inverse hierarchy.

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individual’s ability to articulate spoken English, whether or not the individual is a competent English writer. The value of audition within hearing society (Bahan, 2008; Hauser, O’Hearn, McKee, Steider, & Thew, 2010) contrasts with the Deaf community’s greater value related to the sense of vision and the person’s ability to sign eloquently. I am a Deaf child of hearing parents who grew up using only spoken language. I lost my hearing at the age of 2 due to bacterial spinal meningitis. I attended a private oral school for several years and then was mainstreamed in a different oral school with two other oral students until the age of 12. I learned sign language at that age and continued in mainstream education through high school with a sign language interpreter. I  was caught in the middle, going back and forth between the Deaf and hearing worlds. Due to the stigma related to the use of sign language and my family’s emphasis on the importance of blending into the dominant hearing culture, I was able to use sign language only when I interacted with deaf individuals who used ASL. As a person with severe profound bilateral hearing loss unable to benefit from hearing aids, I relied heavily on speech-​reading. My speech skills were repeatedly labeled as unintelligible in several assessment reports. Only my immediate family members could understand my speech. My speech-​reading skills enabled me to navigate within hearing society. Furthermore, as a visually oriented being, I  also developed the proficiency of reading body language and nonverbal cues, which allowed me to develop rapport with hearing individuals in the education and workplace spheres. It is important to note that while these aforementioned tools allowed me to navigate in hearing society, I was unaware that my self-​worth and psychological well-​being were being compromised during that time. At age 16, in my ongoing effort to assimilate into the hearing world, I  decided to pursue cochlear implant surgery when this surgery was approved for children in Canada, where I grew up. I recall the anger and concern among some of my Deaf friends, while simultaneously I received affirmative support from hearing friends, hearing educators, my speech therapist, and family members. Some of my deaf peers labeled me as “deaf with a hearing mind” as a result. This term was intended to be pejorative. After several years of speech therapy, I  developed the ability to identify environmental sounds and general speech patterns. When I  graduated from high school, this service was terminated. I  continued to wear my cochlear implant for several more years until my mid-​twenties. Looking back, I  stopped wearing my cochlear implant because I became frustrated with my inability to meet the medical professional and hearing society’s expectations in terms of hearing and speaking ability. Interestingly, my status placement within the hearing

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world remained stationary, in the middle of the hierarchy (see Figure 16.1) because I could not meet hearing society’s auditory expectations. During my high school years, I was skilled in mathematics but was informed by hearing professionals, including teachers for the deaf, my Vocational Rehabilitation counselor, and my job coach that I had only two possible career choices:  accounting and computer programming. The limited options influenced my transition planning beyond high school. I first started taking accounting and computer programming in college, and then changed my major to business management. After a decade of working in the financial industry and being extremely unhappy, I decided to focus on developing my own interests and skills in terms of education and career while at the same time continuing to develop my ASL skills and learn more about the Deaf world. I  was privileged to be able to return to school to pursue psychology. The change of my career path and obtaining further education, including graduate education and postdoctoral training, enabled me to pursue career opportunities that appealed more to me and increased my overall self-​ worth as an individual. My doctoral and postdoctoral programs provided me with the luxury of new knowledge while I explored my holistic self and my future career goals within the Deaf and hearing worlds. As I  went through educational, clinical, and research experiences, it became clear to me that it was possible to live and serve with satisfaction as a bicultural individual despite the possibility of oppression related to status and hierarchy placement. Because I can speech-​read well but do not speak clearly, I placed myself in the middle of the hierarchy in the hearing world, and I also placed myself in the middle of the hierarchy in the Deaf world because I was a late ASL learner. While Figure 16.1 was designed based on perceived status related to speech and ASL fluency within the Deaf and hearing worlds, we need to take intersectionality into account and consider how other variables such as education, socioioeconomic status, ethnicity, race, or the ability to incorporate some hearing or Deaf culture norms can influence the status placement in each of these worlds. Based on my experiences, available career opportunities and work satisfaction can influence one’s identity and identity development related to the work sphere. Overall life satisfaction and quality of life are critical for individuals (Kushalnagar, Topolski, Schick, Edwards, Skalicky, & Patrick, 2011; Schick et al., 2012). There are numerous incidental learning barriers that many Deaf and hard of hearing experience in life resulting from the dominant culture’s attitude about audition; these impact the access of the Deaf and hard of hearing to information related to education and career options. Therefore, it is critical to pay attention to this overall life-​satisfaction and quality-​of-​life variable as an important contributor to the kaleidoscope metaphor.

382   Deaf Identities

CONVERGING IDENTITIES

To truly understand how the interplay of the variables critically influences identity outcomes, as stated earlier, one needs to go beyond the superficial awareness of each of the variables that impact the individual’s identity (Chovaz, 2013) and analyze the dynamics of each variable as a stand-​alone and the interactions of the variables as a matrix. Societal categories are important influences on one’s identity. For the deaf population, a significant societal variable is how those with whom they interact perceive deaf people. The first theme of interaction or intersection for a Deaf individual typically is that of learning how to navigate in a world that is auditory and relies on spoken language. Hauser et  al. (2010) stated, “if deaf individuals want to experience life as deaf individuals or visually oriented beings, this means they must divert from the hearing ideology” (p.  490). Diverting from the hearing ideology worldview can be challenging for some D/​deaf individuals who grew up in hearing families and who were educated in the mainstream, either as the only deaf student in hearing classrooms or with a few deaf peers who may or may not have been in their class. This was my experience growing up in the mainstream, with no exposure to ASL until the age of 12. Developing the ability to visually observe my environment proficiently was necessary in order to navigate and get ahead in an auditorially based world, the only world I knew. In my case, the variables of hearing family environment, spoken language exposure, no early exposure to ASL, and education in the mainstream can be viewed as a matrix of influences impacting my overall identity development. During the early 1970s, my parents, similar to many other hearing parents, wrestled with limited intervention options provided by medical and educational professionals that typically excluded any form of sign language. Like many hearing parents, my parents wanted their child to blend into the dominant hearing culture. This was the norm and the preferred path. The concept of Deaf cultural development, the implications of being in a hearing environment for identity and cultural development, and potential individual identity or cultural dilemmas because of language and incidental learning barriers did not register in my parents’ minds during the time they were raising me. Unknown to them, the focus on blending into the hearing environment in order to make my deafness “invisible” and denying my identity as a deaf person was slowly tearing me apart. I cried often during my rides home from school because I did not understand why I was being made fun of by many hearing peers on the playground. During my early elementary years, I  was one of three Deaf oral students who met for a couple of hours each day with a teacher specializing in working with Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing students. The

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remaining time, each of us was the only student in a class of 20 hearing students. I  could not follow the hearing teacher and was lost. My parents encouraged me to never give up and keep trying. When it became obvious that I  was struggling academically, my parents placed me in a different mainstream school where Total Communication (which includes formal signs, gestures, fingerspelling, body language, listening, speech, and speech-​reading) was used in a self-​contained classroom. I, along with a few other Deaf students, would transition between the self-​contained classroom and hearing classes. During this time, I made friends with hearing students who were interested in sign language so some of us became their sign language “tutors.” This was at the expense of age-​appropriate conversations. At the same time, I realized that many hearing students were making fun of us sign language users. Looking back, I  realized that I  and my Deaf peers were being bullied. During my high school years, I was in hearing classes most of the time with a trained hearing teacher of the deaf who, in addition to being my proctor, also assumed the role of the sign language interpreter. My high school had at least 800 students and approximately 20 Deaf students. During lunch periods, I  would gravitate between my Deaf and hearing peers until one day my hearing peers told me to “go back to the group you belong to,” meaning the Deaf peers. This was a blow for me, impacting my sense of belonging and self-​worth. When I  was in my mid-​ twenties and attending California State University in Northridge, I  began to notice the significance of my naivety related to Deaf societal cultural norms as I met many Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals who preferred to communicate in ASL and discussed many different topics. I was unaware that I was experiencing culture shock (acculturative stress) during this life phase and unconsciously experiencing some of the tensions related to my own identity development. Additionally, I noticed that I struggled socially with my peers during this time. I have only recently recognized that my missing many incidental Deaf cultural learning opportunities while living with a hearing family and attending mainstream schools contributed to my language deprivation by limited exposure to language. The fact that neither setting taught or used ASL exacerbated the negative consequences of my language deprivation. Not having full access to language early greatly impacted my overall identity development. The Internet was nonexistent during the 1970s and 1980s; therefore, many deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals, including myself, had limited access to information except for that found in books and whatever we could capture through speech-​reading. These experiences have impacted my overall psychological well-​being and identity. I  learned how to become comfortable with the idea of being alone while reading books or watching a limited number of TV shows with available closed

384   Deaf Identities

captioning (captions were limited during the 1980s) because this was how I could keep myself stimulated without having to deal with the frustrations of not being able to speech-​ read during conversations with multiple individuals, such as during holiday family gatherings. Looking back, I was experiencing inner crises that contributed to some of my confusion about not being fully accepted by hearing peers and about who I was as a Deaf person, while trying to continue to please my hearing family by showing them that I  could assimilate into the hearing world on my own. The continual conflict of being pulled in different directions contributed to some of my overall identity, cultural, and psychological struggles that negatively impacted my well-​being. For a long time, believing that I was a burden to my family and society, I experienced depression and hopelessness. After I  became a graduate student in a counseling psychology program and was exposed to several identity development models, I began to understand and make sense of my inner crisis. During this time I realized the significance of how the incidental learning barriers I  had experienced impacted who I  was and how I  perceived myself while learning how others may perceive me. As I continued to unfold the various interactions of variables impacting my life, I became more aware of the inverse hierarchy related to status placement (again see Figure 16.1). To illustrate the incidental learning barriers that many Deaf individuals, such as myself, often experienced, Hauser et  al. (2010) describe the well-​known dinner table syndrome that deaf and hard-​of-​ hearing individuals have experienced for years at the dinner table with hearing family members who do not sign. The deaf individuals would look at their hearing family members talking and laughing about something but not know the topic of their interactions. When the deaf individuals asked a family member to repeat what was said as an attempt to feel connected, they typically received the response that “the conversation was not important,” and or that the information would be shared later. To further complicate the experience, “later” tended not to happen, or a brief paraphrase was shared that was not as enjoyable or did not have the emotional impact of the interactions observed. Looking back, I  remembered feeling that I  would be better off dead each time I was brushed off from a connection attempt with my family. I felt that I did not matter to my family and that I was too much of a burden for them. The dinner table is not the only place where deaf individuals experience the challenge of trying to interpret or decode what is being said. The same struggle often happens during recess and lunchtime at mainstream hearing schools. Hauser et  al. (2010) explained that deaf individuals are deprived of incidental learning opportunities each time hearing individuals talk to each other without making their conversation

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accessible to the deaf individual. “Deaf children who do not have full access to everyday communication often do not see how adults express their thoughts and feelings, how they negotiate disagreements, and how they cope with stressors” (Hauser et al., p. 488). When the number of incidental learning barriers that many deaf individuals experience over a lifetime is added up, these numbers reflect the potential for significant negative experiences that often go unrecognized. These incidental learning barriers contributed to many of my social difficulties with my hearing peers as I relied mainly on my visual observation skills to analyze nonverbal cues instead of accessing details during conversations. Deaf peers at my mainstream schools shared similar struggles. The content of our conversations too often was related to strategies for overcoming the barriers we experienced with our hearing families, hearing peers, and hearing teachers at our schools, rather than our social lives, typical school stuff, career possibilities, or identifying a world problem to solve. Additionally, being able to psychologically bond with family members was constrained by my continually trying to get praise from them for my ability to acculturate into the hearing world rather than having them accept me as a deaf person with strengths and limitations. I did not want them to consider me as a burden to them and to society in general. My current worldview and level of insight that has developed over the years because of education privilege has led me to believe that my bonding with my family would have been stronger had they accepted my hearing loss, been knowledgeable of the Deaf community, used sign language to communicate with me growing up, and encouraged me to explore my unique self as a person who happened to be deaf. Currently, we all have come to terms with this and have made the best of this situation. Looking back, it seems that despite the frustrations occasioned by limited incidental learning opportunities and trying to be what I  thought my parents wanted me to be, that is, a deaf person able to navigate the hearing world successfully, being able to acculturate and navigate in the dominant culture was critical for my professional and personal development as this enabled me to develop a bridge to work with both cultures (Deaf and hearing). As a privileged Deaf person due to education and status, I  believe it is one of my responsibilities to mentor Deaf individuals who were not afforded similar privileged opportunities to internalize both hearing and Deaf culture communication and socialization norms. While the focus of my family and mainstream schools was on developing the ability to navigate in the dominant hearing culture, I came to believe that it was important for me to learn about a culture that I was deprived of growing up, specifically the Deaf culture. As a visually oriented Deaf individual, I sought out Deaf-​related events as an attempt to learn more about Deaf culture; I also searched for Deaf professionals

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who could serve as my friends and mentors during my doctoral and postdoctoral phases. I sought training opportunities to provide counseling services to Deaf individuals as an ongoing attempt to expand my ability to navigate Deaf culture. These activities and opportunities eventually enabled me to build bridges between my Deaf and hearing worlds. Despite its frustrations, I continue to develop an appreciation for the identity I grew up with. The psychological variables, including working through communication barriers, developing resilience due to oppression and discrimination experiences, and developing a bicultural identity by going through the acculturation processes to both the hearing and Deaf worlds, were some of the factors that shaped me in becoming the person I am today. My identity development would likely have had a different outcome if I had been on a path that allowed for being mentored by a Deaf professional during my childhood. Being mentored by Deaf professionals would likely have provided me with some of the information that I missed due to limited incidental learning and would have helped me learn interpersonal skills (e.g., conflict resolution skills). Cultural Wealth

A Deaf professional mentor who happened to be an engineer might have guided me toward a different career path. The mentor is an example of community cultural wealth that can provide opportunities for minority students to acquire aspirational and navigation strategies (Yosso, 2005). The hypothetical different path would likely have led me to experience different variables and interactions related to identity development. The cultural wealth model represents a framework to understand how students of color access and experience college from a strength-​ based perspective. Deaf authors (Hauser et al., 2010; Listman, Rogers, & Hauser, 2011) have discussed the role of community cultural wealth with Deaf individuals as a critical step toward academic success. Applying the kaleidoscope metaphor using different shapes on the Venn diagram as shown in Figure 16.2 illustrates how these separate variables, family background, hearing society’s expectations (including the emphasis on audition), incidental learning barriers due to communication challenges, and psychological implications, interacted and consequently impacted my identity. These variables can be viewed individually but do not function alone or in isolation. In terms of acculturation theory, its framework outlining the acculturation process enabled me to better understand the process of my journey into Deaf culture after not having the opportunity to learn about Deaf culture while growing up. Learning Deaf cultural norms enabled me to reflect on my identity and make sense of who I am as an individual. Since the variables discussed in this chapter do not

Looking Through the Kaleidoscope   387

Disadvantaged incidential learning opportunity due to communication barriers (lack of community cultural wealth)

Medical perspective and strong emphasis on audition to blend into the dominant culture

Psychological variable impacting the Identity Development: feeling like being on the fence and a burden

Living in hearing environment with limited deaf exposure or role model

Figure 16.2  Variables related to barriers experienced during upbringing.

function as “stand-​alones,” the intersectionality theory enabled me to examine and understand how the interactions of multifacets impacted my overall development as an individual. The intersectionality illustrated in Figure 16.2 represents the several barriers that I experienced, including my incidental learning barriers and the challenging psychological processes of transitioning to a new identity. For many Deaf individuals, accessing information in an auditory-​ based world while trying to convince the world that being Deaf can be viewed as a gain and not a burden is a social justice variable. Feeling like a burden in the eyes of society and family can have a negative impact on one’s identity development, such as I  experienced, with low self-​esteem resulting in symptoms of depression and anxiety, as well as feelings of worthlessness. There is a dilemma in the psychological and identity development process that many Deaf individuals experience when attempting to find a balance between the culture they grew up with (hearing) and the culture where they feel a greater sense of

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belonging and inclusion with a social group, such as the Deaf world (Leigh, 2009, 2012; Triandis, 1989). For instance, many Deaf and hard-​ of-​hearing individuals become excited during college when they meet Deaf or hard-​ of-​ hearing peers who experienced similar struggles growing up and then feel conflicted within themselves while trying to feel the pride related to their newfound identity as a Deaf person. This can result in psychological inner crisis, for example, during the holidays when Deaf or hard-​of-​hearing individuals visit hearing family members and re-​experience their sense of isolation and communication barriers. Acculturation and identity represent the interconnections between the psychological and behavioral responses of the individual within the social context (McIlroy & Storbeck, 2011). My life path involved multiple barriers and struggles, including dealing with multidimensional oppression and discrimination as a Deaf woman who communicates primarily in ASL. These variables also shaped my identity as a culturally Deaf person determined to increase my resiliency and contribute to my overall life satisfaction. I  have enjoyed the opportunity of rewarding careers, including my current academic appointment. My academic environment is still a hearing, White male dominant setting, which requires separate acculturation processes in order to assimilate into academic expectations. The outcome of the multifaceted interactions of multiple identities (e.g., in my case as Deaf, woman, ASL user, bicultural, having specific professional characteristics, resilient, etc.) contributes to the acculturation process in the academic environment where hierarchy and status placement exist. Protective Characteristics and Risk Factors

The intersectional aspects and the process of acculturation involve both protective and risk factors. Protective factors and risk factors are internal and external conditions that affect an individual’s capacity to cope (Masten, 2001)  and may influence identity development. Examples of risk factors might be adverse situations, such as trauma, or exhibiting poor self-​esteem, not having a positive self-​image, and low self-​confidence. Protective factors cover the ability to deal effectively with adverse situations, such as being resilient (Rutter, 1987, 2012). Some examples of protective factors include positive attitudes, values, or beliefs. Also, healthy conflict resolution skills are another important protective factor; these skills require a solid language foundation as well as access to information via incidental learning. One of the protective characteristics that has the potential to influence identity development is resilience, an individual’s ability to utilize one’s protective process to resist or maintain positive adjustment when faced with negative experience (Lukomski, 2011; Rutter, 2012). Resilience is an important characteristic to have when a Deaf person

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is navigating an auditory-​based world. For many Deaf individuals, missing out on critical incidental learning opportunities when using interpreters in mainstream classrooms, participating in sports activities with hearing individuals, or working in a predominantly hearing workplace can be isolating experiences. Additionally, many Deaf individuals experience being devalued and often have to find ways to overcome external negative perceptions that they may not be up to par. These experiences would be considered risk factors that can create internal turmoil and identity confusion if the individuals do not have the coping mechanisms to work through these potentially adverse situations. Learning to be resilient and comfortable with these types of experiences can become a constant reality and a means of identity affirmation. Identities are influenced by both the internal perceptions of the individual regarding the self and the perceptions of others regarding the individual based on the limited judgment and information they may have. At times, learning about the assigned labels from others that may be different from one’s own self-​perceived labels can create tension (Leigh, 2009). This tension and learning about new and unfamiliar identities can lead to vulnerability and confusion, or acculturative stress. This can sometimes temporarily or permanently alter the relationships that affected individuals may have previously valued. Using the example of college students learning about Deaf culture as described earlier, these students might experience tensions within their family of origin if the family does not respect or embrace this newfound culture and identity development for their Deaf college student. Furthermore it is also possible that if the family of origin does not respect or questions the Deaf individual’s newfound identity journey, alienation from the family could occur, which can strain the overall identity development toward acculturation with both hearing and Deaf communities. BOUNDARY ISSUES

How Deaf and hard-​of-​hearing individuals attempt to interweave or separate their professional and personal selves seems to be one of the least discussed topics in the literature unless the discussion is ethical in nature (Leigh, 2002; Thew, 2010). Specifically, this refers to how Deaf people negotiate personal and professional boundaries from an ethical perspective. This topic is a critical one when taking into account the potential dilemmas related to the clashes of identities on how one self-​ perceives the assigned identities or expectations of others in specific situations such as in the workplace or at Deaf-​related events. One of the common dilemmas that Deaf professionals, including myself, experience is related to multiple and overlapping relationships because we provide service in the same community in which we also personally

390   Deaf Identities Risk Factors Protective Factors

Professional Role

Worldview/Societal Expectation

Responses to Barriers

Personal Role

Figure 16.3  Interactions of variables in identity development.

live. I am often mindful of how I model or present myself in the Deaf community in order to maintain my credibility as a professional. This represents critical variables that interact with each other. Figure 16.3 illustrates interactive influences, including an overlapping component, that impact my personal and professional roles. Many of the variables related to the risk and protective factors labeled in Figure 16.3 were discussed earlier in this chapter. Each of these variables in isolation and in interaction contributes to identity development. Responses to barriers, including how to handle discrimination or oppression and stigmatizing attitudes related to being Deaf, are critical skills in both personal and professional settings. Accessing information based on incidental learning or having a mentor/​role model to provide necessary navigation tools such as conflict resolution skills will likely build the desired characteristics capable of handling adverse situations involving barriers. My life and career journeys did not follow a perfect linear path. Each obstacle taught me critical lessons and skills related to societal expectations. Over time, my responses to barriers, such as discrimination, oppression, obstacles, or closed doors, strengthened. This enhanced my resiliency level, which then also enhanced my professional and personal characteristics and my sense of identity. CONCLUSION

As an individual who experienced assigned identities (e.g., Deaf with hearing mind, not being Deaf enough, not hearing enough, Deaf, deaf, woman, scholar, etc.) by others and the realization that some of these identities, such as not being Deaf enough, being Deaf with hearing mind, or not being intelligent enough due to not being able to speak clearly, do not collide with my current self-​perceived identities, which

Looking Through the Kaleidoscope   391

include (not in any particular order):  Professor, Deaf, woman, bicultural, to name a few. There is no endpoint to the evolution of my identity development. My personal life, education, and career journey have allowed me the opportunity to develop multiple lenses and sensitivities toward others who have had to endure assigned labels they could not accept. As I  continue to make sense of my life journey that included assigned labels, self-​perception, oppressions, privileges, and overall identity, I think about Steve Jobs’s (2005) quote: “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future.” To reiterate, all the kaleidoscope pieces that interacted with each other represented some of these dots that were connected because of many of these interaction opportunities among variables that were discussed in this chapter. These interaction opportunities paved the way for my current career. I can now say that I am currently experiencing a high quality of life with a fulfilling career and a solid support system. Imagine entering both Figures 16.2 and 16.3 into a kaleidoscope (see Figure 16.4) to see how each of the components illustrated in the figures interacts with the others as a gigantic complex matrix. The arrows represent the interaction between Figures 16.2 and 16.3 as we look through

Risk Factors Professional Role

Protective Factors

Responses to Barriers

Worldview

Personal Role

Interaction

Interaction

Figure 16.4  Interactions inside the kaleidoscope.

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and rotate the kaleidoscope lens. Identities typically are dynamically interactive with no endpoints. Instead of walking a fine line related to selecting specific identities, I encourage viewing the dynamic process of identity development by rotating life and environment variables through the kaleidoscope. REFERENCES Bahan, B. (2008). Upon the formation of a visual variety of the human race. In H. D.  L. Bauman (Ed.), Open your eyes:  Deaf studies talking (pp. 83–​99). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Bat-​Chava, Y. (2000). Diversity of deaf identities. American Annals of the Deaf, 105, 420–​428. Baumeister, R. (1997). The self and society: Changes, problems and opportunities. In R. D. Ashmore & L. Jussim (Eds.), Self and identity: Fundamental issues (pp. 191–​217). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Berry, J. W. (1989). Psychology of acculturation. In J. Berman (Ed.), Nebraska symposium on motivation (Vol. 37, pp. 201–​ 234). Lincoln:  University of Nebraska Press. Berry, J. W. (2005). Acculturation:  Living successfully in two cultures. International Journal of Intercultural Relations, 29(6), 697–​712. Berry, J. W. (2006). Acculturative stress. In P. T. P. Wong & L. C. J. Wong (Eds.), Handbook of multicultural perspectives on stress and coping (pp. 287–​298). Boston, MA: Springer. Brubaker, R. G. (1994). Acculturative stress:  A useful framework for understanding the experience of deaf Americans. Journal of the American Deafness and Rehabilitation Association, 28(1),  1–​15. Choo, H. Y., & Ferree, M. M. (2010). Practicing intersectionality in sociological research: A critical analysis of inclusions, interactions, and institutions in the study of inequalities. Sociological Theory, 28(2), 129–​149. Chovaz, C. J. (2013). Intersectionality: Mental health interpreters and clinicians or finding the “sweet spot” in therapy. International Journal on Mental Health and Deafness, 3(1),  4–​11. Collins, P. H. (2000). Black feminist thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment. New York, NY: Routledge. Cooper, B. (2015). Intersectionality. In L. Disch & M. Hawkesworth (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of feminist theory. New  York, NY:  Oxford University Press. doi:10.1093/​oxfordhb/​9780199328581.013.20. Crenshaw, K. (1989). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist politics. University of Chicago Legal Forum, 139–​167. Crenshaw, K. (2018). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A Black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory, and antiracist politics [1989]. In Feminist legal theory (pp. 57–​80). New York, NY: Routledge. Crenshaw, K., Gotanda, N., & Peller, G. (1995). Critical race theory:  The key writings that formed the movement. New York, NY: The New Press. Davis, K. (2008). Intersectionality as buzzword: A sociology of science perspective on what makes a feminist theory successful. Feminist Theory, 9(1),  67–​85.

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Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2017). Critical race theory: An introduction. New York, NY: NYU Press. Glickman, N. (1996). The development of culturally deaf identities. In N. Glickman & M. Harvey (Eds.), Culturally affirmative psychotherapy with Deaf persons (pp. 115–​153). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Hammer, T. R., Crethar, H. C., & Cannon, K. (2016). Convergence of identities through the lens of relational-​cultural theory. Journal of Creativity in Mental Health, 11(2), 126–​141. Hauser, P. C., O’Hearn, A., McKee, M., Steider, A., & Thew, D. (2010). Deaf epistemology: Deafhood and deafness. American Annals of the Deaf, 154(5), 486–​492. Hintermair, M. (2008). Self-​esteem and satisfaction with life of deaf and hard-​ of-​hearing people: A resource-​oriented approach to identity work. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 13, 278–​300. Jobs, S. (2005). Commencement address. Presented at Stanford University, Palo Alto, CA. Kaye, B., Williams, L., & Cowart, L. (2018). The new optics of career mobility:  Up is not the only way. Leader to Leader, 2018(88), 13–​17. doi.org/​10.1002/​ ltl.20352 Kushalnagar, P., Topolski, T. D., Schick, B., Edwards, T. C., Skalicky, A. M., & Patrick, D. L. (2011). Mode of communication, perceived level of understanding, and perceived quality of life in youth who are deaf or hard of hearing. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16(4), 512–​552. Lane, H. (1988). Is there a “psychology of the deaf”? Exceptional Children, 51,  7–​19. Leigh, I.  W. (2012). Not just deaf:  Multiple intersections. Multiple Minority Identities,  59–​80. Leigh, I. (2002). Ethical problems in deaf mental health services: A practitioner’s experience. Ethics in mental health and deafness (pp. 1–​ 10). Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Leigh, I. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Leigh, I., Marcus, A., Dobosh, P., & Allen, T. (1998). Deaf/​hearing cultural identity paradigms:  Modification of the deaf identity development scale. The Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 3(4), 329–​338. Listman, J., Rogers, K. D., & Hauser, P. C. (2011). Community cultural wealth and deaf adolescents’ resilience. In Resilience in deaf children (pp. 279–​297). New York, NY: Springer. Lukomski, J. (2011). Resiliency and the emerging deaf adult. In D. Zand & K. Pierce (Eds.), Risk and resilience: Adaptation in the context of being deaf (pp. 375–​ 390). New York, NY: Springer. Masten, A. S. (2001). Ordinary magic:  Resilience processes in development. American Psychologist, 56(3), 227. Maxwell-​ McCaw, D. (2001). Acculturation and psychological well-​ being in deaf and hard of hearing people. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, George Washington University, Washington, DC. Maxwell-​ McCaw, D., & Zea, M. C. (2011). The deaf acculturation scale (DAS):  Development and validation of a 58-​item measure. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16, 325–​342. McIlroy, G., & Storbeck, C. (2011). Development of deaf identity:  An ethnographic study. The Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 16(4), 494–​511.

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Mejstad, L., Heiling, K., & Svedin, C. G. (2009). Mental health and self-​image among deaf and hard of hearing children. American Annals of the Deaf, 153(5), 504–​516. Mitchell, R., & Karchmer, M. (2004). Chasing the mythical ten percent: Parental hearing status of deaf and hard of hearing students in the United States. Sign Language Studies, 4, 138–​163. Moog, J., Geers, A., Gustus, C., & Brenner, C. (2011). Psychosocial adjustment in adolescents who have used cochlear implants since preschool. Ear and Hearing, 32(1 Suppl), 75S. Padden, C., & Humphries, T. (1988). Deaf in America:  Voices from a culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pedersen, P. B., Crethar, H. C., & Carlson, J. (2008). Inclusive cultural empathy: Making relationships central in counseling and psychotherapy. Washington, DC: APA Books. Percy-​ Smith, L., Cayé-​ Thomasen, P. Gugman, M., Jensen, J., & Thomsen, J. (2008). Self-​esteem and social well-​being of children with cochlear implant compared to normal-​hearing children. International Journal of Pediatric Otorhinolaryngology, 72, 1113–​1120. Rutter, M. (1987). Psychosocial resilience and protective mechanisms. American Journal of Orthopsychiatry, 57(3), 316–​331. Rutter, M. (2012). Resilience as a dynamic concept. Development and Psychopathology, 24(2), 335–​344. Salzberg, S. (n.d.). Quotes.net. Retrieved from www.quotes.net/​ quote/​ 38921. Schick, B., Skalicky, A., Edwards, T., Kushalnagar, P., Topolski, T., & Patrick, D. (2012). School placement and perceived quality of life in youth who are deaf or hard of hearing. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 18(1),  47–​61. Tate, W. F.  IV (1997). Chapter  4:  Critical race theory and education:  History, theory, and implications. Review of Research in Education, 22(1), 195–​247. Thew, D. A. (2010). Negotiating the gray areas of ethical decision making: Deaf therapists working in the Deaf community (Doctoral dissertation). University of North Dakota. Triandis, H. C. (1989). The self and social behavior in differing cultural contexts. Psychology Review, 96(3), 506–​520. Weinberg, N., & Sterritt, M. (1986). Disability and identity: A study of identity patterns in adolescents with hearing impairments. Rehabilitation Psychology, 31(2), 95. Yosso, T. J. (2005). Whose culture has capital? A critical race theory discussion of community cultural wealth. Race, Ethnicity, and Education, 8(1),  69–​91.

17    Concluding Thoughts: Expanding the Frontier Catherine A. O’Brien and Irene W. Leigh

In this chapter, we present our thoughts related to where we are now in terms of understanding deaf identities and what possible future trends might emerge. We believe that our goals of expanding upon Irene W. Leigh’s 2009 book A Lens on Deaf Identities and bringing new knowledge and information to the field based on different academic disciplines are met here. The chapters in this book provide a compelling rationale for deeper study of the various frames of reference and academic paradigms that focus on deaf and hard-​of-​hearing identities. The authors have presented perspectives from their academic fields on the crucial impact of culture (including formation of minority cultures), language, communication, deaf experiences, and education on the development of deaf identities. The identity images presented by all of the authors here might well be described by using the kaleidoscope metaphor presented by Denise Thew Hackett (Chapter 16). WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?

Much of the available scholarship and the literature about deaf identities has been based on psychological paradigms. The first chapter by Irene W. Leigh sets the stage for the broader view presented here. With the use of a sociological framework as outlined in Chapter  2 (Lela Holcomb, Thomas Horejes, Joseph Santini, and Oscar Ocuto, “Sociological Perspectives on Deaf Identities”), we can now begin to see how collective social forces, including medical, educational, and social systems, have had more powerful influences on deaf identities than have heretofore been understood. Their examples bring those system influences to life and clarify for us how individual perspectives banded together can potentially influence the framing of hegemonies affecting the deaf or hard-​ of-​ hearing individual. Sociologist Laura Mauldin (Chapter  5) provides yet another example of how the larger society imposes expectations of its own homogeneity. She profiles the medical Catherine A. O’Brien and Irene W. Leigh, Concluding Thoughts In: Deaf Identities. Edited by: Irene W. Leigh and Catherine A. O’Brien, Oxford University Press (2020). © Oxford University Press. 10.1093/oso/9780190887599.003.0017

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system in her exploration of a cochlear implant center and the ways in which its professionals frame parental expectations for their children. These two sociologically based chapters provide powerful testimony of how much we as individuals may be influenced by the systematic paradigms of dominant cultural behaviors to which we are continually exposed. The disciplines of philosophy and religion are devoted to exploring the meaning and value of life. Teresa Blankmeyer Burke, in Chapter 3, which focuses on philosophy, and Noah Buchholz and Rabbi Darby Jared Leigh in Chapter 4, zeroing in on religion, provide glimpses into how each of their disciplines uses specific analytic frameworks to scrutinize the meanings of deaf identities and how these meanings might impact the lives of deaf people. While taking very different approaches, the authors of these two chapters teach us to understand how fraught with complexities the meanings of deaf identities are, while emphasizing the need to struggle to achieve integrated perspectives on values within their disciplines. As Blankmeyer Burke explicitly states, the deaf identity philosophical “work of puzzling through can and ought to contribute to identifying what those values are for deaf people individually and collectively.” From Buchholz and Leigh, we can see how, through the scrutiny of religious writings, the power of religion has framed the meaning of being deaf in both negative and positive lights, oftentimes in contradictory ways. Using examples and stories of religious experiences narrated by deaf individuals, the authors illustrate ways in which interpretations of these writings can profoundly influence how religious messages about the nature of deaf people are conveyed and how these can influence society’s perspectives of deaf people. They argue for increased focus on the force of religion to present an affirmative stance on the value of deaf lives and deaf identities. Multiple chapters emphasize the power of schools and school systems to impact deaf identities. When we recruited the authors of Chapters  6 through 10, we were focusing on cultural, linguistic, and leadership aspects in the formation of deaf identities. Catherine A. O’Brien (Chapter 6) described how the Deaf identity of leaders and culturally responsive leadership in schools impact the development of Deaf identity in children within Deaf schools. Understanding culturally responsive leadership in schools or classrooms for the deaf is a first step in developing “what works” in education and in identity development for these students. Patrick Graham and Joseph Tobin (Chapter 7) present examples of how preschool teachers can help their students develop Deaf cultural norms based on the body, such as the use of facial expressions and body language, which are important building blocks for a culturally Deaf identity. Through comparisons of what transpires in segregated and mainstream Swedish classrooms, we learn from Sangeeta Bagga-​ Gupta (Chapter  8) that choices of

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language variety or modality (spoken, sign, or written) influence both the identity development of students and the identity perceptions of the adults who interact with the children. Language deprivation in young people produces a deficit in the ability of these young people to form healthy self-​identities. Goedele A. M. De Clerck and Debbie Golos (Chapter  9) describe interventions that combine visual language learning with creative visual and digital approaches to storytelling that can help both children and young adults express healthy identities even if they are language deprived. Cheryl L. Wu and Nancy C.  Grant (Chapter  10) affirm that intersectionality is not just about dealing with how multiple social identities are manifested by hearing families from racially, ethnically, linguistically, and culturally diverse backgrounds who have deaf children; it is also about the child’s understanding of his or her “diversity within.” All these chapters illustrate how pervasive the principles guiding school systems in the United States and internationally are in guiding what is taught to deaf pupils about themselves. These principles affect decisions regarding curriculum, language use, Deaf culture/​multicultural sensitivity, and interactions with peers. And they include significant implications for how individuals internalize their forms of deaf identities. While schools have always had a role, not always explicitly stated, in the making and molding of identities (see Davidson, 1996), their role in fostering identities that adhere to the cultural and societal principles established by these schools is significant. When it comes to deaf identities, school perspectives of what it means to be a d/​Deaf person will impact each student, either positively or negatively depending on how these students conform to the school cultural norms that are being encouraged in the classroom. Chapters  11 through 13 take the reader on three journeys. One explores the topic of deaf refugees in Great Britain (Goedele De Clerck, Chapter  11). The second describes the Deaf Black/​African American experience, including perspectives on the transnational identity issues of Black Deaf immigrants and identity issues of Black Deaf individuals born in the United States (Lindsay Moeletsi Dunn and Glenn B. Anderson, Chapter 12). Cara A. Miller and Kyle Amber Clark (Chapter 13) provide the third journey, describing some of the identity issues of the LGBTQ deaf multicultural populations in the United States. Highlighted in all three journeys are the struggles deaf individuals experience as they incorporate messages from society about who and what they are, and how they recognize in themselves the potential to move toward a more resilient and affirmative stance in deaf identity formation. Themes of intersectionality with multiple micro-​and macro-​ aggressions and conflicts in dealing with various cultural systems are prominent in these chapters. De Clerck writes of deaf flourishing based on her work with deaf refugees; this becomes an apt metaphor for how

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deaf individuals within the context of these three chapters integrate their senses of self as proud Deaf individuals. Chapters  14 through 16 veer into a much more personal direction as the authors reveal their life journeys in affirming their current deaf identities. Each of them has had experiences that have generated changes in how they viewed themselves over time. Brenda Jo Brueggemann (1999, 2008)  originally explored what it meant to be an in-​betweener, not hearing, not deaf. This in-​betweener identity can be one that creates significant internal conflict about where one belongs, either here or there. She has now landed on the stance of passing as a deaf person and has found self-​acceptance with this identity (Chapter 14). After a lifelong struggle to figure out who he is, Joseph Michael Valente (Chapter  15) argues for an identity as an in-​ betweener. He did not see himself as truly deaf, in part because of his struggles to become proficient in American Sign Language, nor truly hearing because in part he misses out on spoken dialogue (yes, this is an oversimplification). Following up on Brueggemann’s (1999) initial exploration of in-​betweeners, he identifies himself as a deaf person who speaks and as culturally Deaf. He elucidates the richness of connecting with multiple ways of being. In contrast, Denise Thew Hackett (Chapter 16) uses theories of acculturation and intersectionality to explore how she came to transition from a hearing-​focused identity to a conflicted in-​betweener (though she does not use that phrase), and ultimately to an internalized Deaf cultural identity; she also takes a bicultural stance because of her ability to function within a culturally hearing environment. These three authors illustrate the complexities of their journeys toward self-​understanding and self-​affirmation. The lessons for us are that messages from the larger society about who and what deaf people should be are not always easily taken to heart, largely because of hearing society’s limited understanding about how being deaf impacts language learning, socialization, and daily functioning. The message conveyed by these authors is that it is important for deaf people to take control over the shaping of their deaf identities. So where do we go from here? IMPLICATIONS FOR THE FUTURE: WHAT NEXT?

All of the authors demonstrate that d/​Deaf identity from any perspective is a complex phenomenon that is in need of future research. Many of them provide suggestions for improving research and ways of learning more about d/​Deaf identities. For example, Teresa Blankmeyer Burke calls for more research related to deaf identity and philosophy. According to her, the important work of future philosophers, especially d/​Deaf philosophers, should be to understand the values of d/​Deaf people. Further, she states that the work should build on the positive

Concluding Thoughts   399

or “good” side of deaf values to further describe the needs of deaf individuals and deaf people as a whole. Noah Buchholz and Rabbi Darby Jared Leigh note the scarcity of the literature on Deaf people’s experiences with Jewish, Christian, and Muslim religions. Additionally, they write that there has been no previous exploration of the relationship between religious beliefs and deaf identities. They suggest further consideration of different and more humane perspectives of deaf people within the context of religion and make the point that religion and Deaf identities are inextricably intertwined, whether for better or worse. The multiple chapters covering the role of school hegemonies strengthen the argument that we need to pay attention to how schools all over the world shape and mold d/​Deaf identities. A  better understanding of this process will enable the establishment of so-​called best practices in this regard. The roles of parents, language selection and teaching, deaf and hearing leaders and teachers, various educational settings, and various strategies need to be further explored in terms of effectiveness and psychologically healthy student development. For example, De Clerck and Golos suggest that the strategies of storytelling and other visual tools need further research to understand how deaf signers ranging from young children to adults in various cultural settings can move to a self-​affirmative stance in terms of identity. DeClerck’s chapter demonstrates the role of “Life Stories” in helping language deprived deaf persons recover/​develop identities. She writes that understanding one’s own life story is synonymous to “understanding one’s own humanity and identity.” The research to date indicates that due to the lack of or limited access to education, language, and communication, many deaf people may not have had a way to develop their own life story and thus their own identities. Making use of Deaf life story work can assist deaf people in developing greater confidence. She explains that more research work may uncover how shared storytelling can significantly contribute to Deaf identity and well-​being. There is potential power in storytelling that may lead to new therapies or strategies that support the development of Deaf identity. Other ways to expand research would be to further explore the many intersectionalities that being d/​Deaf encompasses, including the significant issues that are salient for the LGBTQ deaf population as presented by Miller and Clark. They, along with Dunn and Anderson, recognize the presence of a critical gap in the research due to the marginalization of Deaf people of color that has limited our understanding of how they identify themselves and function in their own societies and the larger society. Both chapters as well as the chapter written by Wu and Grant emphasize the need for more scholarship on identity, race, ethnicity, diversity, and intersectionality. Wu and Grant review the literature on

400   Deaf Identities

intersectionality and identity development. Subsequently, they offer observations and examples of how these two aspects play out with multicultural deaf children of hearing parents. This sets the stage for their proposal of an institute to continue research that focuses not only on multiculturalism and intersectionality but also on concrete strategies to help multicultural hearing families with deaf children navigate cultural conflict dilemmas in raising their deaf children as culturally confident deaf individuals. We cannot neglect the importance of incorporating an international perspective on d/​Deaf identities; this work should be expanded. It would be valuable to have d/​Deaf researchers from countries all over the world doing work on Deaf identities. Moreover, the research should include areas such as their Deaf identities, sign languages, Deaf cultural ways of being, education, leadership, psychology, and sociology. Lastly, insufficient attention has been paid to the issue of marginalization. The struggles demonstrated in the personal story chapters and the impact of these struggles on internalizing a sense of self begs for further exploration. In considering the standard categories of hearing identity, marginal identity, deaf identity, and bicultural identity, to date we really have not clearly defined what constitutes marginal identity. Does it reflect the in-​betweener, caught in between deaf and hearing identities and not affirming either (e.g., Bat Chava, 2000), or an in-​ betweener who is comfortable juxtaposing deaf and hearing identity paradigms despite not fully belonging within each identity paradigm, as Valente suggests. What about those who affirm neither identity and are comfortable with that, as Hintermair (2008) found in his research with deaf Germans? This issue is of critical concern as we see more and more isolated deaf students in the mainstream who are trying to forge connections with hearing peers and not always succeeding despite great efforts, as exemplified by Brueggemann, Valente, and Thew Hackett, all of whom have had significant mainstream experiences. Overall, when designing this book, we purposely sought deaf scholars and writers throughout the United States and abroad. However, we recognize that there are many other scholars and writers who could have been included. Some expert writers whom we sought to include in the book were not able to contribute their work because of time constraints. In some fields we were simply not able to find someone who had the expertise we desired. There were 18 deaf, 1 hard-​of-​hearing, and 5 hearing scholars and writers attuned to what it means to be deaf who contributed to this book. These writers not only presented their scholarly work, but many also represented their d/​Deaf identities, cultures, and the communities from which they came. Some represented their academic fields, while others presented their work or the cultures into which they were born. Still others presented their experiences as d/​ Deaf persons.

Concluding Thoughts   401

This book is not an inclusive book of all perspectives on deaf identities. There were multiple areas we might have covered. Some culturally specific perspectives on what it means to be Deaf that were mentioned briefly and are embedded in the chapters of this book include the Latinx, Native American, and Asian Deaf populations. We believe these populations deserve much more than a brief mention; they deserve more careful research and scholarship. We realize that this book is not culturally inclusive and there are many culturally Deaf identities that were not mentioned or included. It is likely that many readers can identify additional communities, cultures, and Deaf peoples that deserve attention. There were other relevant groups of deaf people that were not addressed, such as those identifying as DeafBlind or DeafDisabled. While we feel each culture, community, country, and so on in which deaf people are included is critical to understanding d/​Deaf identities, we were realistic in recognizing that it was not possible to include all in a single book. We mention the gaps in this book for future consideration of a book and/​or scholars to provide research and guide us in learning more about the many Deaf identities that Deaf people share. IN APPRECIATION

We are very appreciative of and grateful to our authors who have contributed their time, research, and thoughts on d/​Deaf identities to our book. Without their commitment, dedication, and perseverance, this book would not have come to fruition. The authors’ work does indeed add to the explication of d/​Deaf identities. For some, the effort to contribute to this book represented a personal sacrifice in terms of time and family commitments, sometimes interrupted by life crises. We additionally would like to thank the authors’ friends, colleagues, and families who supported their work and provided them with the necessary time and encouragement to complete their chapters. We would also like to extend thanks to all of the participants who were a part of the research studies of our authors and to our studies as well. Without participants, most of whom volunteer their time and personal contributions to further the research on Deaf identities, we could not do this work! REFERENCES Bat Chava, Y. (2000). Diversity of deaf identities. American Annals of the Deaf, 145, 420–​428 Brueggemann, B. J. (1999). Lend me your ear: Rhetorical constructions of deafness. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press,

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Brueggemann, B. J. (2008). Think-​between: A Deaf Studies commonplace book. In H-​D. Bauman (Ed.), Open your eyes:  Deaf Studies talking (pp. 177–​188). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Davidson, A. (1996). Making and molding identity in schools. Albany:  State University of New York Press. Hintermair, M. (2008). Self-​esteem and satisfaction with life of deaf and hard-​ of-​hearing people: A resource-​oriented approach to identity work. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 13(2), 278–​300. Leigh, I. W. (2009). A lens on deaf identities. New York, NY: Oxford University  Press.

Name Index

For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Abrams, J. Z., 4, 81–​82 Adair, J. K., 149–​50, 198 Adair, V., 211 Adam, R., 207–​8, 213 Agar, M., 46–​47 Albertini, J. A., 149–​50, 200 Alexander, J., 308 Alim, S. H., 289–​90 Allen, T., 375 Almager, I., 127 Althusser, L., 146, 351 Altman, B. M., 98 Amanti, C., 305 Amman, J. C., 87 Andersen, M., 31 Anderson, B., 166, 182 Anderson, G. B., 19, 282, 290–​91, 292, 297, 298, 376, 397–​98, 399–​400 Anderson, M. L., 194–​95, 208, 215, 216–​17 Anderson, S., 120 Andersson, Y., 28 Andrade-​Rhoades, A.,  317 Andrews, J. F., 7, 43–​44 Anzaldúa, G., 62–​63, 312 Aramburo, A.,  287–​88 Archbold, S. M., 36–​37 Arehardt, B., 56–​57 Arendt, H., 264, 271, 273 Aristotle (philosopher), 261 Arnold, B., 156–​57 Arnold, J. E., 109, 110 Asad, M., 82 Atekyereza, P. R., 33 Atkinson, D. R., 231 Augustine (theologian), 288

Bafo, L. A., 283 Bagga-​Gupta, S., 18, 122–​23, 162–​63, 164–​66, 168–​72, 173–​76, 182–​83,  396–​97 Bahan, B., 86, 87, 123, 162–​63, 379–​80 Baker, S., 195–​96, 205 Baker-​Shenk, C.,  91–​92 Bakken Jepsen, J., 193 Balestra, S., 85, 87–​88 Balter, R., 351 Bañalez, X., 321–​22 Barker, K. K., 97 Barnartt, S. N., 98 Barnes, C., 98–​99 Barnett, S., 8 Barone, T., 361–​62 Baroody, F., 106, 109, 110 Batamula, C., 149 Bat-​Chava, Y., 10, 111, 146–​47, 310, 376, 400 Battiste, A., 286 Battiste, H. L., 286 Bauman, H. D. L., 4, 7–​8, 14–​15, 16, 77, 111, 113, 121–​22, 145, 238, 246–​47, 320, 337 Baumeister, R., 3–​4, 309–​10, 375 Bayley, R., 35–​36, 285, 286, 287 Baynton, D., 5–​6, 57–​58, 123 Beach, R., 280 Beadle, E. A., 36–​37 Beemyn, G., 308 Beer, J., 110–​11 Bell, D., 13 Bellugi, U., 156 Belzner, K. A., 109, 110 Bemak, F., 239

403

404   Name Index Ben-​Moshe, L.,  98–​99 Bennett, C. M., 203 Bergey, J., 123 Berke, M., 239 Berry, J. W., 372–​74 Berthe, S., 152 Bevan Y., 109, 110 Biernat, M., 3 Bijker, W. E., 97 Bilge, S., 100, 113–​14, 319 Bishop, R. S., 197–​98, 204 Biskupiak, A., 314, 315, 316 Black, K., 79–​80, 87–​88 Blake, R., 289 Blum, L. M., 98 Bobzien, J., 156 Boes, M., 312–​13 Bohlmeijer, E., 266 Boldt, G. M., 354–​55 Boles, J. M., 284, 288–​89 Bond, M., 41 Bonet, J. P., 84–​85 Boons, T., 109, 110–​11 Bortfeld, H., 105, 108 Boske, C., 121–​22 Boss, E. F., 106, 109, 110 Boston, M., 284, 288–​89 Boudrealt, P., 283 Bourdieu, P., 33–​35, 36–​37, 146 Boykin, W. A., 230 Bradham, T. S., 110–​11 Brahim, T. K., 156 Braidotti, R., 265, 352, 354–​55 Branson, J., 4–​256 Braun, L., 314–​15 Breivik, J-​K., 14–​15, 33 Brenner, C., 17, 376 Brentari, D., 212 Brett, C., 64 Brewer, M., 3 Briones, S. R., 320 Brokx, J. P. L., 109, 110–​11 Bronski, M., 307 Brookes, H., 213 Brooks, J., 128–​29 Brough, J., 36–​37 Brown, C., 280–​81 Browning, E., 156 Brownmiller, S., 58–​59

Brubaker, R. G., 374, 375 Brückner, H., 315 Brueggemann, B., 19, 113, 265, 336–​37, 340–​41, 358, 359, 363–​64, 398, 400 Bruin, M., 37–​38 Bruner, J., 266 Bucceri, J., 312–​13 Buchholz, N., 17, 73, 74, 79, 89, 396, 399 Bucholtz, M., 165–​66 Burch, S., 5–​6, 14, 100 Burke, M., 31, 238, 310 Burke, T. B., 16–​17, 59–​60, 63–​65, 66–​67, 396,  398–​99 Burkitt, I., 1 Burrow, A.,  7–​8 Burwick, A., 315, 316 Buss, D. M., 2 Cain, C., 257–​58 Cain, R., 313–​14 Calderon, R., 146–​47 Caldwell-​Harris, C. L., 105, 108 Campbell, F. K., 99–​100 Campinha-​Bacote, J.,  234–​35 Canning, D. A., 308–​9 Cannon, K., 370 Cannon, L., 59 Carey, J. C., 98, 111 Carey, M., 207 Carlson, J., 370 Carmel, S., 126–​27 Carroll, C., 283 Carter, R. T., 295–​96, 297 Carter, W., 77–​78, 82–​83 Carty, B., 14–​15, 111 Cass, V., 313–​14 Cavarero, A., 265 Cawthon, S., 41 Cawthon, S. W., 197–​98, 199, 200 Cayé-​Thomasen, P., 17, 376 Cazden, C. B., 129 Cerney, J., 123 Chainarong, N., 31, 238, 310 Chang, D. T., 109, 110 Chang, N. W., 90 Chapman, M., 6–​7, 9–​11, 12, 103–​4, 113 Chapple, R., 293–​94, 295 Charlton, J. I., 42–​43 Chen, G., 39, 105, 111

Name Index   405 Cheves, A., 318 Ching, T. Y., 37–​38 Chong, V. Y., 31, 238, 310 Choo, H. Y., 377 Chovaz, C. J., 377, 382 Christensen, K., 293–​94 Christensen, K. M., 239 Christiansen, J. B., 111 Chung, R. C.-​Y., 239 Ciarocco, N., 3–​4 Cladis, F., 64 Clark, D. M., 195–​96, 205 Clark, E. R., 149–​50 Clark, K. A., 19, 326, 397–​98, 399–​400 Clarke, A. E., 97 Claudet, J. G., 127 Cleary, M., 110–​11 Clerc, L., 90, 283–​84 Clifford, J., 352 Clyde, E. M., 313–​14 Cochran, B. N., 315, 316 Cogen, C., 41 Cohen, O. P., 239, 293–​94 Cohen, S. M., 1 Cokely, D., 41 Cole, M., 257–​58, 272–​73 Collins, P. H., 31, 34, 100, 113–​14, 319, 377 Conner, B. T., 90 Conrad, P., 97 Conway, C. M., 36–​37 Cooper, A., 16 Cooper, B., 376–​77 Cooper, N. J., 266 Cordano, R. J., 325 Corina, D. P., 156 Corker, M., 6 Corwin, J., 110 Coryell, J., 43–​44 Cosenza, J., 349, 352, 353–​54, 362 Costarino, A., 64 Coté, J., 3 Couey, J. B., 76–​77 Coughlin, T., 79–​80 Coulter, R. W., 316 Coupland, N., 165–​66, 167 Cowart, L., 371 Crapanzano, V., 363–​64 Cregan, G., 200, 218

Creighton, A.,  241–​42 Crenshaw, K., 31, 66, 100, 113–​14, 246–​47, 312, 320, 376–​78 Crethar, H. C., 370 Cronk, G., 2–​3 Cross, T. B., 9–​10 Cross, W., 9–​10 Cross, W. E., 198, 231, 295–​96, 297 Crouch, B. A., 4–​6, 75, 76–​77, 78–​80, 85,  283–​84 Crouch, R., 63 Croucher, S., 1 Crowe, K., 37–​38 Culley, B., 322–​23 Dallman, J., 310 Dammeyer, J., 6–​7, 9–​11, 12, 103–​4, 113 D’Andrea, F., 361 Daniels, A., 62 Daniels, S., 8–​9 Danischewski, D. J., 316 Dank, M., 315 Dapper, O., 288 D’Augelli, A. R., 313–​14 Davidson, K., 105 Davies, M., 38–​39 Davila, R. R., 239 Davis, A. D., 310 Davis, J. E., 127, 128–​30, 141 Davis, K., 361–​62, 363, 378 Davis, L. J., 14–​15, 36–​37, 98–​99 Davis, P., 64 Day, M., 37–​38 de Beauvoir, S., 31, 34 de Brey, C., 43–​44 De Clerck, G. A. M., 16, 18–​19, 193, 206, 211, 214, 215, 254, 255–​58, 259–​60, 261, 264–​66, 267, 272–​74, 396–​98, 399 De Lauretis, T., 307–​8, 312–​13 de l’Épée, A., 90 Deleuze, G., 352, 361–​62 Delgado, G., 293–​94 Delgado, R., 377–​78 Delpit, L. D., 121 DeMartino, R., 8 De Meulder, M., 31, 58 Denborough, D., 272–​73 Denney, D., 317 DePoy, E., 39

406   Name Index Derman-​Sparks, L., 197–​200 Dewes, A.,  268–​69 Dhooge, I., 109, 110–​11 Diekmann, M., 208 Diekmann Schoemaker, M., 268–​69 Dimarco, N., 45–​46 DiMarco, N., 314–​15, 320–​21 Dobosh, P., 375 Domfors, L-​D., 168, 169–​70 Doran, M., 289 Doucet, F., 198 Duan, C., 280–​82 DuBois, W. E. B., 336 Dunhamn, J., 98–​99 Dunn, L. M., 19, 289–​90, 291–​92, 297–​300, 376, 397–​98, 399–​400 Dunne, C., 320 Durso, L., 315, 316 Edwards, K. E., 242 Edwards, L. O., 197–​200 Edwards, R. A. R., 29 Edwards, T. C., 381 Egan, J. E., 316 Eibach, R. P., 320 Eidelman, S., 3 Eigsti, I., 105, 108 Eisenberg, L. S., 110 Eisner, E. W., 361–​62 Elbert, T., 211 Eldredge, B., 5 Elkin, F., 33–​34 Elmore, K., 2 Epstein, S., 313–​14 Epston, D., 207, 266 Erikson, E., 3, 230 Eriksson, P., 4 Erting, L., 146–​47, 156 Evans, N. J., 309 Faderman, L., 307 Fassinger, R. E., 313–​14 Fausto-​Sterling,  A.,  13 Feilberg, J., 163, 165–​66 Feinberg, L., 308 Feldman, J., 318, 320–​21 Ferguson, R. A., 321–​22 Fernandes, J. J., 90 Ferree, M. M., 377

Fincham, F. D., 260–​61 Fink, N. E., 110 Finnegan, R., 163–​64, 167 Fischer, L. C., 111 Fishman, J. R., 97 Flentje, A., 315, 316 Flint, C., 320 Flores, B., 149–​50 Foley, A., 14 Foley, D. E., 32 Folsé, D., 239 Forgas, J., 2–​3 Forman, R., 322–​23 Forney, D. S., 309 Fosket, J. R., 97 Foster, A., 283, 294–​95, 297, 298, 299 Foster, S., 11, 32, 293–​94, 312 Fotopoulou, A., 321 Foucault, M., 97, 351, 352–​53 Francis, L., 56–​57 Fraser, L., 312–​13 Frederick, A., 98, 113–​14 Freire, P., 249, 257, 306 Freud, S., 146 Fricker, M., 58–​59, 60–​61 Friedman, M. R., 316 Friedman, M. S., 315 Friedner, M., 13–​14, 16, 91, 100, 111, 113,  310–​11 Friend, D., 315, 316 Frijns, J. H. M., 109, 110–​11 Fuegen, K., 3 Gal, S., 165–​66 Gallaudet, E. M., 90–​91, 286 Gallaudet, T. H., 90–​91, 283–​84 Gallego, A., 280 Galloway, T., 321 Galupo, M. P., 307–​8 Gannon, J., 7, 14–​15, 123, 283–​85 Garberoglio, C. L., 41, 197–​98, 199, 200 Garcia, O., 164–​65 Garcia, S., 321–​22 Gaskin, D. J., 106, 109, 110 Gates, G. J., 314, 315, 316 Gay, G., 126–​27, 128–​30, 156 Geers, A. E., 17, 108–​9, 110–​11, 376 Gerson, L. P., 1 Gertz, G., 283

Name Index   407 Gibson, H., 166 Giddens, A., 266 Giga, N. M., 316 Gil, E., 268–​69 Gilson, S., 39 Glass, H., 64 Glickman, N. S., 9–​10, 11, 57, 111, 208, 217, 232–​33, 310, 318, 376 Goffman, E., 111, 175–​76 Goldin-​Meadow, S., 212 Golos, D. B., 197, 200–​2, 203–​4, 218, 396–​97,  399 González, N., 305 Gooden, M. A., 127, 128–​30, 141 Goodley, D., 354–​55 Goodwin, C., 163–​64 Gossett, C., 307 Gossett, R., 307 Gotanda, N., 377–​78 Gould, J. J., 36–​37 Goving, S. D., 78–​79 Gracer, B., 81–​82 Graham, P. J., 17–​18, 28–​29, 149, 396–​97 Gramling, D., 164–​65 Gramsci, A., 42 Grant, N. C., 18, 236, 238, 241–​42, 247, 280, 396–​97, 399–​400 Green, L., 8–​9 Green, S., 98 Greenwood, R., 10–​11 Greytak, E. A., 316 Grosjean, F., 166, 196 Grotevant, H. D., 2 Grzanka, P., 325–​26 Gu, Y., 156 Guadamuz, T. E., 315 Guattari, F., 352, 361–​62 Guba, E. G., 167–​68 Gugman, M., 17, 376 Guido, F. M., 309 Gulati, S., 193, 194–​95, 196, 205–​6 Gupta, T., 234 Gustus, C., 17, 376 Gutman, V., 318 Gynne, A., 163–​64,  173–​74 Hackett, D. T., 20, 395, 398, 400 Hadjikakou, K., 146–​47 Hairston, E., 282, 286, 287

Hall, M. L., 105, 108 Hall, W. C., 39, 57, 194–​95, 215, 216–​17 Hammer, T. R., 370 Hammond, S. P., 266 Hansen, A. L., 163, 165–​66 Harmon, K., 312–​13 Harrington, T., 288 Harris, J., 98–​99 Harris, M., 126–​27 Hart, B., 195–​96 Harter, S., 2–​3 Haston, M., 239 Hatzenbuehler, M., 7–​8 Hauser, P. C., 34–​37, 147–​48, 206, 263, 266, 379–​80, 382, 384–​85, 386 Hayashi, A., 149 Haynes, D., 110–​11 Heck, N. C., 315, 316 Hedberg, U., 283 Heiling, K., 170, 375–​76 Heines, W., 208 Helms, J. E., 6, 9–​10, 241–​42 Henner, J., 105, 108 Henning, M., 76 Henning, S. C., 36–​37 Henry, F., 320 Hensley, J., 149 Hermsen, J., 264, 273 Herrick, A. L., 316 Hester, P., 156 Heuer, C. J., 32–​33 Hidalgo, N., 238–​39 Higgins, P. C., 28, 311, 326 Hill, J., 35–​36, 285, 286, 287 Hill, P., 7–​8 Hillel (rabbi), 84 Hiller, C., 284, 288–​89 Hillman, T., 206, 263, 266 Himmelstein, K. E. W., 315 Hintermair, M., 11–​12, 310, 376, 400 Hitchcock, J., 320 Hoegaerts, J., 265 Hoffmeister, R., 105, 108, 123, 147–​48,  162–​63 Hojer, S., 33 Holcomb, M., 29 Holcomb, L., 16, 29, 30, 31, 32–​33, 36, 37–​39, 44–​45, 200–​1, 203, 204, 395–​96 Holcomb, T., 16, 29, 32–​33, 283

408   Name Index Holcomb-​McCoy, S., 239 Holden, G. S., 313–​14 Holden, J. M., 313–​14 Hole, R., 111, 113–​14 Holland, D., 257–​58, 265 Holm, S., 38–​39 Holmen, A., 166 Holmström, I., 168–​70, 172, 174–​75, 182–​83 Holsey-​Hyman, M., 234 Holt, R. F., 110–​11 hooks, b., 100, 320 Horejes, T., 16, 28–​29, 30, 32–​33, 36–​37, 38–​39, 40, 148, 149, 395–​96 Horn, D. L., 36–​37 Hornberger, N., 164–​65 Horne, S. T., 78–​79 Howard, J. A., 312, 317 Howard, T. C., 127–​28 Howe, E., 64 Hsu, D., 251 Hsueh, Y.,  149–​50 Hudley, C., 234 Huerta, M., 149–​50 Hughes, B., 39 Hughes, T. P., 97 Humphries, T., 5–​6, 14–​15, 59–​60, 63, 121–​23, 129, 166, 193, 195, 282, 283, 293–​94,  374 Hunt, J., 316 Hunter, J., 314–​15 Hussar, W., 43–​44 Hyde, M., 103–​4, 109, 110 Hyland, N., 198–​99 Ingold, T., 262 Inwagen, P. v., 55 Iorio, J., 357 Irvine, A., 308, 316 Irvine, J., 164–​66 Isaiah (prophet), 76–​77 Jaffe, A., 165–​66, 167 James, M. S., 311 James, W., 2–​3, 287–​88, 289, 299–​300 Jankowski, K. A., 162–​63, 256 Jarrett, S., 98–​99 Jaworska, A.,  57–​58 Jenkins, M. M., 312–​13 Jennings, O., 91

Jennings, P. A., 149–​50 Jensen, J., 17, 376 Jesus Christ (prophet), 75, 78–​80, 83–​84 Jewitt, C., 163–​64 Jobs, S., 390–​91 Johnson, N., 322 Johnson, P. M., 197–​98, 199, 200 Johnson, R., 33 John the Baptist (prophet), 78 Jones, L., 113 Jones, R., 284 Jonsson, R., 174–​75 Jørgensen, J., 166 Kafer, A., 14, 98–​99, 100 Kane, T., 318 Kaplan, M. B., 312–​13 Karasawa, M., 149–​50 Karasic, D., 312–​13 Karchmer, M. A., 15, 30, 102, 149–​50, 353,  374–​75 Karlsson, J., 322 Karpicke, J., 36–​37 Kashubeck-​West, S.,  312–​13 Katz, W. L., 283 Kaye, B., 371 Kegl, J., 195, 196, 205–​6 Kelly, R., 8 Kelly-​Holmes, H., 165–​66, 167 Kendall, A., 284 Kermit, P., 162–​63, 174–​75 Khalifa, M. A., 127, 128–​30, 141 Kilgard, A. K., 349, 362, 365 Kim, A. H., 113 Kim, J., 309 King, M. L., 290–​91, 292 King, R., 59 Kinsey, P., 313–​14 Kinuthia, W., 32, 293–​95, 297, 298, 299, 312 Kirkham, E., 106, 109, 110 Kirumira, E. K., 33 Kitzinger, C., 313–​14 Kivel, P., 241–​42 Kluwin, T., 11 Knoors, H., 146–​47, 195 Ko, A. B., 109, 110 Kok, M., 163–​64 Komesaroff, L., 33 Kosciw, J. G., 316

Name Index   409 Kozleski, E., 127 Kress, G, 163–​64 Kroger, J., 211 Kronenberger, W. G., 36–​37, 110–​11 Kroner, C., 40 Kroskrity, P. V., 164–​66 Krueger, J., 323 Kushalnagar, P., 314, 381 Kushalnagar, R., 193, 195, 315 Kusters, A., 13–​14, 16, 31, 58, 111, 113, 288 Labuski, C. M., 308 Lachicotte, W., 257–​58, 265 Lachman, P., 315 Ladd, P., 34, 36–​37, 85–​86, 111, 113, 122–​23, 146–​47, 148, 158–​59, 238, 351 Ladson-​Billings, G., 121, 127, 128–​29, 141, 365 Lai, E., 113 Lambert, G., 365 Lane, H., 57–​58, 90–​91, 121–​23, 162–​63, 283, 375 Lang, H. G., 149–​50, 200 Langholtz, D. J., 318 Lantos, J., 63 Lauderdale, P., 39–​40, 41 Lave, J., 265 Leary, M., 2 LeBeaux, A., 149 Leblanc, J. M., 318 Lebron, C., 59 Leggett, E. L., 129 Leigh, D. J., 17, 72–​73, 74, 83, 396, 399 Leigh, I. W., 1–​2, 4–​5, 7–​8, 9, 13, 14–​15, 20, 32, 63, 111, 113, 121, 122–​23, 146–​47, 149–​50, 162–​63, 170, 184, 231, 233, 266, 293–​94, 296–​97, 311, 326, 375, 387–​88, 389–​90,  395–​96 Leijssen, M., 260–​61 Leiter, V., 98 Leithwood, K., 120 LeMaster, B., 33 Lev, A. I., 313–​14 Levin, L. L., 194–​95 Levine, C., 3 Levinson. K. L., 106, 109, 110 Levy, D., 312–​13 Lewis, A. J., 307

Lewis, C., 109, 110 Lewis, H., 76, 79–​80, 83–​84, 87, 91–​92 Lewis, J. G., 287, 289 Lewis, K., 120 Liberatos, P., 113 Lillo-​Martin, D., 105, 108 Lin, A. I., 312–​13 Lin, F. R., 113 Lincoln, Y. S., 167–​68 Lindemann, H., 62 Lindsey, R. B., 126–​27, 128, 130 Linell, P., 163 Linton, S., 98–​99 Lipin, M., 62–​63 Listman, J., 386 Livingston, N. A., 315 Lochner, B., 234 Lorde, A., 36 Lovaas, K. E., 312–​13 Low, K. G., 308–​9 Lucas, C., 35–​36, 285, 286, 287 Luke (apostle), 78 Lukomski, J., 206, 263, 266, 388–​89 Lunde, A., 28, 46 Luo, Y. J., 156 Lutalo-​Kiingi, S., 193 Lytle, L. R., 7–​8, 32, 89, 240 MacDougall, F., 166 Machin, D., 163–​64 MacNeela, P., 308–​9 MacNutt, F., 87 Magaña, S., 98–​99 Mai, X., 156 Major, B., 8 Mamo, L., 97 Man, C., 314–​15, 324 Manganaro, M., 126–​27 Manna, P., 120 Manning, A. C., 286 Marcus, A., 375 Marcus, G. E., 352 Mark (apostle), 78–​80 Marschark, M., 146–​47, 149–​50, 158–​59, 195, 200 Marshal, M. P., 315 Martin, D., 286–​87 Marzano, R., 120 Mason, D., 166

410   Name Index Mason, E., 66–​67 Masten, A. S., 388 Mather, S. M., 283 Mathur, G., 63, 193, 195 Matthew (apostle), 80 Mattson, I., 82–​83 Mauldin, L., 17, 37–​38, 99–​100, 101, 102, 103–​5, 109, 111, 113, 395–​96 Mauss, M., 146, 147 Maxwell-​McCaw, D., 11–​12, 111, 231, 233, 293–​94, 296–​97, 310, 376 Mayberry, R. I., 195–​96 McCarn, S. R., 313–​14 McCaskill, C., 35–​36, 285–​86, 287 McClain, R., 88 McDonald, D., 265 McFarland, J., 43–​44 McGregor, B., 193 McIlroy, G., 145, 146–​47, 231, 234, 310, 311, 375, 388 McKee, M., 34–​36, 147–​48, 379–​80, 382, 384–​85,  386 McKinley, D. J., 36–​37 McKinnon, D. H., 37–​38 McLean, K., 2 McLeod, S., 37–​38 McMahon, E., 239 McMahon, L., 268–​69 McMillan, J., 310 McNulty, B., 120 McNulty, J. K., 260–​61 McRuer, R., 321 McWhirter, J., 111 Mead, G. H., 2–​3 Medoff, M., 72 Megerian, C. A., 109, 110 Meichenbaum, D., 217 Meier, S. C., 308 Mejstad, L., 375–​76 Mellon, N., 63 Mercer, G., 98–​99 Meriläinen, L., 163–​64 Mertens, D. M., 32 Messina Dahlberg, G, 163–​64, 173–​74, 175–​76,  182 Métraux, J., 270–​71 Meyer, W., 312–​13 Mignolo, W. D., 164–​65 Miles, M., 4, 283, 288–​89

Miller, C. A., 19, 314, 315, 397–​98, 399–​400 Miller, D., 4–​5, 33, 352–​53 Mills, C. W., 27, 28 Minow, M., 64 Mitchell, R., 15, 30, 102, 149–​50, 156, 353,  374–​75 Mitchum, P., 316 Miyamoto, R. T., 105, 108–​9, 110–​11 Moges, R., 307, 310–​11, 318–​19, 321 Mohanty, C. T., 13 Mol, A., 97 Molina, R., 127 Moll, L., 305 Monaghan, L., 16, 122–​23, 126–​27, 170 Monroe, V., 280 Moodie-​Mills, A. C., 316 Moog, J., 17, 376 Moore, E. A., 32 Moore, L., 98–​99 Moores, D., 4–​5, 38–​39, 310–​11 Moradi, B., 325–​26 Moreman, S. T., 320 Morgan, G., 150–​51 Morgan, R., 299–​300 Morin, L., 156 Morris, B., 307, 309 Morse, T. A., 90 Morten, G., 231 Moses (prophet), 349–​50 Moses, A. M., 197, 200–​2, 203, 204, 218 Moss, S., 3–​4 Mottez, B., 4–​5 Mugeere, A., 33 Muñoz, J. E., 305, 319, 324 Munoz-​Baell, I.,  122–​23 Murphy, A.,  308–​9 Murphy, C., 108–​9 Murphy, R., 234 Murray, G. S., 109, 110 Murray, J. J., 16, 77, 145, 320, 337 Musu-​Gillette, L.,  43–​44 Nadal, K. L., 312–​13 Nahm, E. A., 113 Nakamura, K., 16, 33, 170 Napoli, D. J., 63, 193, 195 Nash, J., 28 Nelson Schmitt, S. S., 231, 293–​94, 296–​97,  311

Name Index   411 Nettles, R., 351 Nevins, M. E., 106, 109, 110 Nevøy, A.,  37–​38 Newport, F., 314 Nikolaraizi, M., 146–​47 Nikolopoulos, T. P., 36–​37 Niparko, J. K., 63, 106, 109, 110, 113 Nishida, A.,  98–​99 Noah (prophet), 73 Normore, A.,  128–​29 Norton, S., 109, 110 Novogrodsky, R., 105, 108 Nussbaum, M., 258, 259–​60 Nyst, V., 213 Obama, B., 279–​81 Obasi, C., 111 O’Brien, C. A., 17, 40, 121, 123, 128–​29, 130–​31,  396–​97 O’Brien, D., 31, 58 O’Brien, L. T., 8, 20 Ochs, R., 307–​8 Ocuto, O., 16, 40, 395–​96 Oddo, V., 315, 316 O’donoghue, G. M., 36–​37 Ogilvy, D., 156 O’Hearn, A., 34–​36, 147–​48, 379–​80, 382, 384–​85,  386 O’Kelly, R. D., 285–​86 Oliva, G. A., 7–​8, 32, 240 Oliver, M., 98–​99 Olivia, G., 89 Olson, E., 13 Omoniyi, T., 164–​65 O’Neill, O., 64 Oost, K., 315 Oppong, S., 13 Owens, T. J., 96–​97 Oyserman, D., 2 Padden, C., 5–​6, 14–​15, 32–​33, 34, 59–​60, 122–​23, 193, 195, 204, 282, 283, 293–​94,  374 Paludneviciene, R., 122–​23 Parasnis, I., 285–​86, 293–​94 Paterson, K., 39 Patrick, D. L., 381 Patton, L. D., 309 Paul (apostle), 83–​84

Paul, P. V., 197, 310–​11 Paulasto, H., 163–​64 Pavlenko, A., 182 Pease, B., 257 Pedersen, P. B., 236–​37, 370 Peeraer, L., 109, 110–​11 Peller, G., 377–​78 Penn, C., 156 Percy-​Smith, L., 17, 376 Perez, B., 149–​50 Perotti, V., 8 Perruzzi, M., 286 Perry, B., 206, 263 Perry, H. S., 34 Peterson, N. R., 105, 108–​9, 110–​11 Pfau, J., 146–​47, 156 Pfau, R., 213 Pfeffer, C. A., 308–​9 Phinney, J., 230–​31, 234 Pichler, D., 105 Pick, L., 8 Pickering, M., 306 Pickett, C., 3 Pierce, K., 32 Pietikäinen, S., 165–​66, 167 Pillard, R., 283 Pinch, T. J., 97 Pisoni, D. B., 36–​37, 105, 108–​9,  110–​11 Placier, P., 40, 121 Pollard, R., 9 Pomeroy, W. B., 313–​14 Ponterotto, J. G., 236–​37 Portolano, M., 88 Power, D., 109, 110 Price, E., 308 Price, M., 98–​99 Price, P., 219 Puar, J. K., 352, 361–​62, 363 Pulice-​Farrlow, L.,  307–​8 Pullen, G., 113 Punch, R., 103–​4 Purdie-​Vaughns, V., 320 Quagliata, A., 8 Quartararo, A.,  4–​5 Query, A. N., 308–​9 Quinto-​Pozos, D., 196–​97, 213 Quittner, A., 110

412   Name Index Ramirez, J. L., 307–​8 Ramsey, C., 123, 204 Rankin, S., 308 Rashid, K., 16 Rathmann, C., 63, 193, 195 Raver, S. A., 156 Reagan, T., 36–​38 Rée, J., 4–​5 Reichstein, J., 200 Reilly, J., 156 Reis, R., 45 Rendon, M. E., 318 Renn, K. A., 309 Renteria, D., 322 Rich, A.,  312–​13 Richels, C., 156 Riionheimo, H., 163–​64 Riojas-​Cortez, M.,  149–​50 Risley, T. R., 195–​96 River, C., 312 Rivera, D. P., 326 Robbins, N. K., 308–​9 Robins, K. N., 126–​27, 128, 130 Robinson, B., 98–​99 Robinson, C., 324 Robinson, D. T., 96–​97 Robinson, K., 121, 129, 130–​31 Robinson, O. E., 311 Rockwell, E., 183, 184 Roemen, B., 200, 218 Roets, G., 352, 354–​55 Rogers, C., 268 Rogers, K. D., 8–​9, 386 Rogers-​Sirin, L., 234 Root, M. P. P., 231, 232, 233, 312 Rosario, M., 314–​15 Rose, R., 210, 216–​17, 266 Rosen, J., 164–​66 Rosenblum, H., 45 Rosenthal, L., 5–​6 Ruiz, M., 122–​23 Ruiz-​Williams, E., 31, 238, 310 Rusher, M., 43–​44 Russell, S., 207 Rust, P. C., 313–​14 Rutherford, S., 126–​27 Rutter, M., 388–​89 Ryan, S., 198–​99 Ryff, C. D., 260–​61

Sacks, C., 106, 109, 110 Sacks, O., 195 Saewyc, E. M., 315 Sahlström, F., 175–​76 Säljö, R., 164–​65, 167 Salzberg, S., 371 Sandel, M., 259–​60 Santini, J., 16, 30–​31, 39, 395–​96 Sass-​Lehrer, M., 38–​39, 236 Savage, S. V., 326 Savransky, M., 164–​65 Sayers, E. E., 284–​85 Schaad, A., 311, 318 Schalk, S., 98–​99, 319 Schauer, M., 211 Scheetz, N. A., 146–​47 Schein, E., 123–​24, 126–​27 Scherrer, K. S., 308–​9 Scheurich, J. J., 130–​31 Schick, B., 381 Schmaling, C., 16, 170 Schoffstall, S. J., 197–​98, 199, 200 Schowe, B., 14–​15 Schrimshaw, E. W., 314–​15 Schwartz, S., 11–​12 Scotch, R., 98 Scully, J. L., 62 Seah, A.,  88–​89 Seal, B. C., 109, 110 Seligman, M., 260–​61 Sellers, S., 234 Senghas, R. J., 122–​23 Serpe, S., 2–​3 Shakespeare, T., 98–​99, 354–​55 Shea, G., 84–​85 Sheridan, M., 8–​9, 266 Shi, Q., 113 Shields, C. M., 127–​28 Shifrer, D., 113–​14 Shim, J. K., 97 Siddique, J., 106, 109, 110 Sie, K. C. Y., 109, 110 Silvers, A.,  56–​57 Simms, L., 43–​44, 195–​96, 205 Singer, B. H., 260–​61 Singh, A. A., 239 Singleton, J. L., 150–​51, 156 Singleton, S., 316 Skalicky, A. M., 381 Skelton, T., 111

Name Index   413 Skinner, D., 257–​58 Skinner, P. H., 284 Skrla, L., 130–​31 Small, A., 166 Smith, A., 319 Smith, G., 2 Smith, J. C., 285–​86 Smith, L., 36–​37, 282, 286, 287 Smith, S., 193, 195 Smith-​Lovin, L.,  96–​97 Snell, G., 110–​11 Snoddon, K., 59–​60, 64–​65,  66–​67 Sobel, D., 127 Sökefeld, M., 13–​14 Solomon, C., 234 Sonnenberg, W., 43–​44 Sorkin, D. L., 101–​2, 108–​9 Soto, A. M., 255 Spitz, R., 195, 196, 205–​6 Spring, J., 121, 126–​27 Stall, R., 315–​16 Stanton, J. F., 285–​86 Stapleton, L. D., 293–​94, 295 Staunæs, D., 354–​55, 361–​62, 363 Stayer, S., 64 Stearns, A., 317 Stefancic, J., 377–​78 Steider, A., 34–​36, 147–​48, 379–​80, 382, 384–​85,  386 Stein, M., 56–​57 Steinbach, M., 213 Steinmetz, K., 308–​9 Stern, R. E., 109, 110 Stern, S., 320–​21, 363–​64 Sterritt, M., 375–​76 Stets, J. E., 326 Steup, M., 55 Stewart, B. T., 315 Stinson, M., 11 St John, O., 163–​64 Stokoe, W., 28, 46 Storbeck, C., 145, 146–​47, 231, 234, 286–​87, 310, 311, 375, 388 Stramondo, J., 56 Stryker, S., 2–​3, 307, 308 Stuckey, J. E., 336–​37 Sue, D., 226–​27, 229, 231, 244 Sue, D. W., 226–​27, 229, 231, 244,  312–​13

Sugar, M., 45–​46 Suggs, T., 43–​44 Summers, A.,  323–​24 Sumner, R., 7–​8 Supalla, S., 374 Suskind, D., 106, 109, 110 Svartholm, K., 170 Svedin, C. G., 375–​76 Svoboda, J., 64 Swartz, D. B., 318 Syarif Sumantri, M., 156 Syed, M., 2 Szapocznik, J., 11–​12 Szuba, M., 308–​9 Szymanski, C., 8 Szymanski, D. M., 312–​13 Tajfel, H., 10, 309 Tang, G., 195 Tangney, J., 2 Tapio, E., 163–​64 Tarra, G., 85 Tate, W. F., 365, 377–​78 Tator, C., 320 Taylor, S., 127 Terrell, R. D., 126–​27, 128, 130 Theoharis, G., 130–​31 Thew, D., 34–​36, 147–​48, 379–​80, 382, 384–​85, 386,  389–​90 Thomas, D., 317 Thomashow, M., 3 Thomsen, J., 17, 376 Thomson, R. G., 98–​99 Tobey, E. A., 110–​11 Tobin, J., 17–​18, 148–​50, 396–​97 Toms, F. D., 230 Topolski, T. D., 381 Torino, G. C., 312–​13 Triandis, H. C., 387–​88 Tucker, B., 63 Tully, C. T., 318 Turner, G., 16, 170 Turner, J., 10, 309 Turner, V., 265–​66, 272–​73 Twenge, J., 3–​4 Unger, J., 11–​12 Urbana, A., 239 Utsey, S. O., 236–​37 Uus, K., 37–​38

414   Name Index Vaccari, C., 158–​59 Vaccaro, A., 311, 317 Valente, J. M., 19–​20, 60–​61, 148–​49, 350–​51, 352–​53, 354–​55, 357, 359, 361–​62, 363–​64, 398, 400 Valentine, G., 111 Valle, F., 127 Van Cleve, J. V., 4–​6, 75, 76–​77, 78–​80, 85,  283–​84 Van der Veer, G., 268–​69 Van Loon, E., 213 Van Wieringen, A., 109, 110–​11 Van Wormer, K., 312–​13 Vasishta, M., 291–​92 Verhaeghe, P., 261 Vermeulen, A., 109, 110–​11 Villenas, C., 316 Visaya, J., 110 Vygotsky, L., 167, 184, 211, 214, 215, 257–​58,  272–​73 Wahlstrom, K., 120 Wakefield, D., 234 Walther, S., 207 Wang, A., 197 Wang, N., 110 Wardle, J., 45, 322–​23 Waters, T., 120 Watson, M., 208 Watson. N., 98–​99 Way, H., 284 Wei, C., 315 Weinberg, N., 375–​76 Weisel, A., 200 Welch, M. J., 98 Well, J., 312–​13 Wenger, E., 265 Werbner, P., 13 Wertsch, J., 167 Wetherell, M., 13 White, M., 207, 211, 266, 270–​71, 272–​73 Whitmire, K., 11 Whittington, R., 317

Wildman, S. M., 310 Wilkinson, E., 59–​60, 64–​65, 66–​67 Wilkinson, S., 313–​14 Wilkinson-​Flicker, S.,  43–​44 Williams, K., 2–​3 Williams, L., 371 Wilson, S. L., 234 Winnicott, D., 269 Wolbers, K., 201–​2 Wolf Craig, K. S., 195, 208, 215, 216–​17 Woll, B., 287–​88, 289, 299–​300 Wong, C. F., 315 Wong, C. M., 320–​21 Woodhead, M., 149–​50 Woodward, J., 28–​29, 59–​60 Woodward, K., 1 Woolard, K., 166 Woolley, A., 106, 109, 110 Wouters, J., 109, 110–​11 Wright, D. S., 84 Wu, C. L., 18, 236, 238, 241–​42, 247, 280, 396–​97, 399–​400 Wylie, K., 312–​13 Yahner, J., 315 Yakushko, O., 270 Yescavage, K., 308 Yingst, M., 322, 323 Yosso, T. J., 305, 306, 310, 386 Young, A., 8–​9, 37–​38, 268 Yuval-​Davis, N., 361–​62, 363 Zamboanga, B., 11–​12 Zambrana, R. E., 36–​37 Zand, D., 32 Zangas, T., 318 Zea, M. C., 11–​12, 111, 231, 233, 293–​94, 296–​97, 310, 376 Ziedonis, D. M., 215, 216–​17 Zingsheim, J., 352, 358, 361–​62, 363–​64,  367 Zola, I. K., 97, 98 Zweig, J. M., 315

Subject Index

Tables, figures, and boxes are indicated by t, f, and b following the page number For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. ABE (anti-​bias education) approach,  198–​99 ableism,  99–​100 academic outcomes, effect of leaders on, 133 access, inclusion, and active teaching framework,  342–​43 access gain, 339–​40 acculturation, 11–​12,  38–​39 acculturative stress, 373, 375, 389 cultural wealth model, 386 Deaf, 374 general discussion, 372–​76 protective characteristics and risk factors, 388 activity chaining, 175–​76, 176t, 177f, 178 ADA (Americans With Disabilities Act), 133, 338 ADA coordinators, 339 African sign language, 287–​90 agitation, 357 ally development, 242 Alma de Muxeristas, 322 alter(nating) ego, 358–​62 always passing. See passing American culture, 229 American School Counseling Association (ASCA), 239 American School for the Deaf (ASD),  283–​84 American Sign Language (ASL) Bible translation, 73 Black variant of, 35–​36, 285–​86, 287–​88,  289 culturally responsive school leaders and, 137

cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 curriculum and leadership, 139 Deaf acculturation and, 375 epistemic injustice, 59–​60 explicit language learning, 134, 138 implicit language learning, 135 language pedagogies, 40 linguistic capital, 34–​36 modeling by teachers, 150–​58 “philosophy”, representations of word in,  53–​54 school leader perceptions of disability, 132 school policy and conflict, 135 status hierarchy and, 378–​81, 379f Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA), 133, 338 analytical-​methodological framings,  164–​68 anthropology, cultural, 13–​14 anthropology of deaf flourishing, 255–​61 anti-​bias education (ABE) approach,  198–​99 artists, Deaf queer, 324 ASCA (American School Counseling Association), 239 ASD (American School for the Deaf),  283–​84 asexuality,  308–​9 Asians, power struggles between families and schools, 243, 244–​45 ASL. See American Sign Language Aspirers,  287–​88 audism, 7–​8, 121, 281–​82, 352–​53, 356–​58 auditory-​centric language in sacred writings, 83

415

416   Subject Index aural habilitation, 109 Austin Unbound, 317 authoring self, 258, 272–​73 autobiography, generative, 362 Bald Day, Gallaudet University, 55–​56 bias about languages, 164–​65 Bible auditory-​centric language in, 83–​84 New Testament, 78 Old Testament, 76 translation into ASL, 73 Bicultural Deaf identity framework, 234 bilingualism, 170, 172–​73, 185, 196–​97 bioethics, 57–​58,  63–​65 biology, role in identity formation, 13 Bird of a Different Feather (Bahan), 86 Black American Sign Language, 35–​36, 285–​86, 287–​88,  289 Black Deaf persons diversity and multiculturalism, 279–​81 at Gallaudet University, 290–​93 historical antecedents of community,  283–​87 identity development models, 230 identity development research, 293–​97 intersectionality and, 65–​66, 297–​99 language and identity, 287–​90 overview, 279 power struggles between families and schools,  244–​45 racial/​ethnic identity,  281–​83 racial injustices in deaf communities,  43–​44 social capital, 32 young adult identity development, 245 Black Lives Matter social movement, 59 bodily habitus cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 Deaf Kindergartens in Three Cultures project,  148–​50 facial grammar, 152 language modeling by teachers,  150–​58 overview, 145 school environment, impact of, 146–​47 signs, explaining intricacies of, 151 social etiquette, explaining, 156 space negotiation, 152

teachers, role as cultural mediators,  147–​48 techniques of body and, 146 books, facilitating identity development through, 201–​3,  218–​19 borderlands, 32, 33, 62–​63, 312 Botswana, flourishing concept in, 258 boundary issues, 389–​90 boundary marking, 165–​66 British Black Deaf community, 287–​88 British Sign Language (BSL) Black variant of, 287–​88 Deaf Life Narratives project, 207–​12 Buddhism, 84, 91 bullying, 316, 382–​83 bureaucratic social organizations, 39–​40 CACREP (Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs), 246 Cameroon, flourishing concept in, 258–​59 capability approach, 258, 259–​60 CCD (Chicago Club of the Deaf), 282 CCD (Communication, Culture, and Diversity) research group, 167–​68 chaining, 166, 172, 182–​85 activity, 175–​76, 176t, 177f, 178 languaging patterns, 175 local, 175–​76, 178–​82, 181b charity, oppression through, 84 Chicago Club of the Deaf (CCD), 282 child abuse, 361, 362–​65 Children of a Lesser God (Medoff), 72 Chinese names, 243 Christianity, 72 auditory-​centric language in sacred writings,  83–​84 Deaf culture, role in emergence of, 90 deaf sociality and, 91 exclusion of Deaf from religious communities, 88 healing ministries, oppression through, 86 Hebrew Bible, 76 New Testament, 78 spirituality, 91 CI culture, 103–​4 circle of deaf empowerment, 257 Claggett Statement, 91–​92

Subject Index   417 cochlear implants (CIs) aural habilitation after, 109 bioethics and, 63–​65 CI culture, 103–​4 current research on, 104 disability studies, 98 feminist scholarship, 100 future research on, 111–​13 identity positioning and, 173, 174–​75 implantation trends, 108–​11 overview, 96 past research on, 102 prevalence of, 108–​9 quality of life and, 113 socialization and, 107, 109 sociological perspective on identity formation,  32–​33 sociology of medicine, science, and technology, 96 status and, 380–​81 unsuccessful, 104 variability in outcomes, 110–​11 collaboration, passing and, 339, 340–​41 collage agitation, 357 audism,  352–​53 costs of difference, 365–​66 d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb, excerpt from, 349–​50 DeafCrit, 352 discussion of, 349, 365 dyslexia and, 353–​54 fragmented communicative lifeworld,  353–​55 generative autobiography, 362 in-​betweener identity, 350–​52, 353–​55,  358–​62 The Incredible Hulk and Father, 362–​65 “Monster’s Analysis,” 357, 360–​61 mutational identity theory, 358, 363 Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism,  358–​62 strategic liminality, 350 “Your ASL Interpreters Are Hurting Our Education” essay, 356–​57 collectivism, 229 ColorFEST, 325 coming out, 314, 317 communication among teachers and staff, 134–​38

cross-​language,  205–​12 cross-​modal,  205–​12 cultural differences in, 244–​45 doing identity and, in visually-​oriented settings,  172–​82 school policy on, 135 Communication, Culture, and Diversity (CCD) research group, 167–​68 complexity of deaf identities, 5 constructivism,  1–​2 contact signing, 213, 216 converging identities, 382–​89 cultural wealth model, 386 kaleidoscope metaphor, 370–​72 protective characteristics and risk factors, 388 co-​speech gestures, 212 costs of difference, 365–​66 Council de Manos, 44 Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs (CACREP), 246 counterstorytelling,  351–​52 creative therapy, 268–​69 crises of collage. See collage “Crisis of Collage: Disability, Queerness, and Chrononormativity, The” (Consenza), 353, 354, 362 critical race theory, 312, 377–​78 critical reflection, in school leaders, 127–​28 Cross Black Identity Development model,  295–​96 cross-​cultural framework for deaf identity,  255–​61 cross-​language communication,  205–​12 cross-​modal communication,  205–​12 CRP (culturally responsive pedagogy), 128–​29, 130–​31,  138–​39 CRSL. See culturally responsive school leadership cultural anthropology, 14 cultural artifacts, 257, 258 cultural differences in deaf identities,  5–​7 cultural-​linguistic model,  162–​63 cultural literacies, 128–​29 culturally proficient behaviors, 128 culturally responsive pedagogy (CRP), 128–​29, 130–​31,  138–​39

418   Subject Index culturally responsive school leadership (CRSL),  126–​30 application in Deaf schools, 130–​31 communication among teachers and staff,  134–​38 culturally proficient behaviors, 128 culturally responsive pedagogy, 129, 130–​31,  138–​39 culturally responsive schools, 130 curriculum and leadership, 139 explicit language learning, 134 implicit language learning, 135 language and leadership, 137 language policy and conflict, 135 leader identity, 131–​34 overview,  120–​21 perceptions of leaders, 132 professional development of teachers, 140 teachers as leaders, 139–​40 teaching practices and actions, 138 culturally responsive schools, 127, 130 cultural minorities Deaf people as, 125–​26 identity development models, 230 cultural proficiency, 130 cultural resource, storytelling as, 261–​66 cultural wealth model, 386 culture, Deaf. See Deaf culture curriculum, leadership and, 139 DAS (Deaf Acculturation Scale), 233, 296, 311, 376 d/​Deaf and d/​Dumb (Valente) agitation, 357 audism,  352–​53 DeafCrit, 352 desire to be superhero, 349–​50 Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism,  358–​62 taking control of narrative, 365 therapy by theory, 351 topics not included in, 361 Deaf, capitalization of word, 59–​60, 122–​23,  310–​11 Deaf Acculturation Scale (DAS), 233, 296, 311, 376 deaf awakening, 255–​61 Deaf clubs, 86, 91, 282

Deaf community Black Deaf, historical antecedents of,  283–​87 epistemic injustice in, 59–​60 hearing leaders involvement in, 123 human capital, 34–​36 labeling, 29 racial injustices in, 43–​44 DeafCrit, 352, 365 Deaf culture cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 cultural model of deafness, 123 cultural rhetoric, 256 Deaf perspective, 124 disability versus, 14, 123 hearing perspective, 125 identity development and, 30 intergenerational transmission of, 262–​63 intersectionality and, 5–​6 language and, 132 as nonhomogenous entity, 14–​16 religion, role in emergence of, 90 teachers, role as cultural mediators,  147–​48 Deaf epistemology, 148 deaf flourishing anthropology of, 255–​61 positive psychology, 260–​61 storytelling in Uganda, 262–​63 deaf gain academic faculty members, 338–​39 access gain, 339–​40 collaboration and, 340–​41 in education, 337–​38 in educators, 341–​43 family relations and, 346–​47 “On (Almost) Passing” essay, 336–​37 self-​advocacy and,  344–​46 Deaf gestures, 149 Deaf Grassroots Movement (DGM), 41–​42 Deaf-​Hearing schools, identity positioning in analytical-​methodological framings,  164–​68 erasure and chaining, 172 ideological framings, 168–​71 languagers, many ways of being Deaf and,  182–​85 languaging patterns, 175

Subject Index   419 deaf identity development theory, 9–​10 Deaf Liberation Theology (Lewis), 91–​92 Deaf Life Narratives project, 207–​12 Deaf Life Story Telling app, 216 Deaf Life Story Work (DLSW), 194 case studies Caroline,  266–​73 Yusuf,  207–​12 cross-​language and cross-​modal communication,  212–​13 digital and visual media, using, 214 double listening, 207, 211, 214,  270–​71 facilitating deaf identity development,  215–​17 zone of proximal development in,  214–​15 deaf narrative, 61–​63 Deaf President Now movement, 42 Deaf queer. See lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons Deaf Queer Resource Center, 322 deaf racial identity model, 312 deaf scrunch, 149 Deaf Studies, 14–​15, 99–​100 deficit-​based framework, 27–​28, 36–​39,  122–​23 Degraffenreid v. General Motors, 66 demonic spirits, deafness associated with, 80 Deuteronomy 6:4, 83 DGM (Deaf Grassroots Movement), 41–​42 digital hearing aids, 344–​46 digital media, in Deaf Life Story Work, 210, 211–​12, 214 Dina the Deaf Dinosaur,  201–​2 dinner table syndrome, 384–​85 disability deafness as, 340–​41 deafness as culture versus, 123, 125 family perceptions of, 344–​46 impairment and, 354–​55 language and, 132 medical model of, 98–​99, 122–​23 disability studies, 14, 98 discrimination bullying, 316, 382–​83 intersectionality and ethics, 65–​66

racism, 107–​8,  281–​83 “Your ASL Interpreters Are Hurting Our Education” essay, 356–​58 disidentification, 319 diversity general discussion, 279–​81 heterogeneity of deaf population, 5–​6,  12 identity formation and issues of, 32 society perceptions, 7 DLSW. See Deaf Life Story Work doing identity, 172–​82 domination, matrix of, 377 double-​dipping, signing dilemma over, 340 double listening, 207, 211, 214, 270–​71 dövskolor, in Sweden, 169–​70, 171 Drifters,  287–​88 dyslexia,  353–​54 early childhood education cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 Deaf Kindergartens in Three Cultures project,  148–​50 facial grammar, 152 language modeling by teachers,  150–​58 multicultural identity development, 236 overview, 145 school environment, impact of,  146–​47 signs, explaining intricacies of, 151 social etiquette, explaining, 156 space negotiation, 152 teachers, role as cultural mediators,  147–​48 techniques of body and, 146 early childhood identity development Deaf acculturation in, 374 language deprivation, impact on, 197–​201 recommendations for facilitating, 201–​5 early intervention services, 38–​39 Ebony Harambee student organization,  292–​93 ecological model, 232 ecology, 3 educational resources, 201–​4, 218–​19

420   Subject Index educational system. See also early childhood education; schools for the deaf Deaf queer in, 316, 320 educational placements, 40 incidental learning barriers, 382–​89 language pedagogies, 40 mainstreaming bodily habitus, impact of school environment on, 146–​47 erasure and chaining in, 172 incidental learning barriers, 382–​89 multicultural identity development, 240 overview, 40 sociological perspective on identity formation,  32–​33 in Sweden, 168–​71 multicultural identity development and, 236, 246 passing in, 337–​38, 341–​43 problem-​oriented research, 36–​37,  39–​40 sociological perspective on identity formation,  32–​33 in Sweden, 168–​71 empowerment,  255–​61 enculturation,  38–​39 English culturally responsive teaching of, 138 curriculum and leadership, 139 enrollment in schools for deaf, 133 epistemology,  67–​68 concept clarification, 56–​57 Deaf, 148 and deaf identity, 56–​58 of deafness, 121–​26 defined, 55 epistemic injustice, 58–​61 erasure, 165–​66, 172 Erikson’s eight stages of psychosocial development, 3 essentialism,  1–​2 ethics bioethics,  63–​65 deaf narrative, 61–​63 epistemic injustice, 58–​61 epistemology and deaf identity, 56–​58 of existence, 261 intersectionality,  65–​66

metaphysics and deaf identity,  55–​56 overview,  53–​55 ethnic identities, 6. See also intersectionality formation of, 281–​83 in higher education, 246 intersectionality and ethics, 65–​66 multicultural identity development,  241–​42 power struggles between families and schools,  242–​45 sociological perspective on identity formation, 32 young adults, identity development in,  245–​47 ethnography, 98 eugenics,  36–​37 evolutionary psychology, 2 evolution of deaf identities, 2–​4 existential well-​being, 261 Exodus 4:10, 76 explicit language learning, 134, 138 facial grammar, 149, 152 family. See also multicultural identity development acceptance of Deaf queer by, 316 biomedical choices, 63–​65 child abuse, 361, 362–​65 cochlear implants and, 102, 104 Deaf acculturation, 374 grassroots Deaf, 125 parent participation in schools, 129 passing and, 344–​46 power struggles between schools and,  242–​45 understanding of culture in, 240–​41 FDA (Food and Drug Administration),  108–​9 feminist scholarship, 100 feminist theorists, 377 fiction, facilitating identity development through,  201–​3 figurative symbols of deafness in sacred writings, 76–​78,  82–​83 Flanders deaf awakening in, 255–​56 Flemish Deaf Parliament, 264–​66

Subject Index   421 Food and Drug Administration (FDA),  108–​9 fragmented communicative lifeworld,  353–​55 Gallaudet University Bald Day, 55–​56 bilingualism in commercial area surrounding,  62–​63 Black Deaf experience at, 290–​93 counseling program at, 246 deaf awakening in, 256, 257–​58 early Black Deaf graduates from, 283, 286 first Deaf female president, 325 LGBTQA Resource Center, 325 “Making Connections and Understanding Diverse Intersections” conference, 280 religious ambitions behind founding of,  90–​91 gay Deaf identity. See lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons gender nonconforming people, 308, 322 gender pay inequity, 377 generative autobiography, 362 Genesis 1:26, 27, 88 genetic technology, 64 genomic identity, 64 God, deafness as punishment from, 76 grammar, facial, 152 grassroots Deaf families, 125 group cohesiveness, 4–​5 Hands Land, 204 Healing (MacNutt), 87 healing ministries, oppression through, 86 healing of physical infirmities, in sacred writings, 76–​77,  78–​80 health care professionals, cochlear implants and, 102 health disparities, among Deaf queer, 315 Hearing, capitalization of word, 59–​60 hearing aids, digital, 344–​46 hearing-​centric approaches,  36–​39 hearing families, 30–​31, 374. See also multicultural identity development hearing identity, 145, 241–​42 Hearing Identity model, 241–​42

hearing leaders critical reflection by, 127–​28 Deaf community, involvement in, 123 disability versus culture, 133–​34 perceptions of Deaf, 132 perceptions of Deaf culture, 125 teachers, 140 Hebrew Bible, 75, 76, 81, 83 heritage trips, 245–​46 hermeneutical injustice, 60–​61 heterogeneity of deaf population, 5–​7, 12 hidden labor, 62 higher education, multicultural identity development and, 246 Hispanics Alma de Muxeristas, 321–​22 power struggles between families and schools,  243–​44 young adult identity development, 246 historical perspective on deaf identities, 4 home signs, 196, 212 homosexuality. See lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons human capital, 34–​36 IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act), 133 identity conflict, 122 identity development, 2–​4. See also multicultural identity development in Black Deaf persons, 293–​97 child abuse and, 361, 362–​65 in Deaf queer persons, 309–​14 early childhood language deprivation, impact on, 197–​201 recommendations for facilitating, 201–​5 interactions of variables in, 390f mutational identity theory, 363 society perceptions and, 30 theory of, 9–​10 young adult language deprivation, impact on,  205–​12 recommendations for facilitating,  215–​17 zone of proximal development, facilitating through, 214–​15

422   Subject Index identity positioning analytical-​methodological framings,  164–​68 erasure and chaining, 172 ideological framings, 168–​71 languagers and many ways of being Deaf,  182–​85 languaging patterns, 175 overview,  162–​64 identity threat, 8 ideological framings, 168–​71 immigrants Deaf life story work with Caroline,  266–​73 Yusuf,  206–​12 power struggles between families and schools, 243f young adult identity development,  245–​46 impairment,  354–​55 implicit language learning, 135 in-​betweener identity, 287–​88, 350–​52, 353–​55,  358–​62 incidental learning barriers, 382–​89 Incredible Hulk, The, 360–​61,  362–​65 individual identity development models of, 232 in oppressed communities, 230 overview,  229–​34 individualism, 229 Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), 133 in-​groups,  281–​83 institutional racism, 107–​8 intercultural negotiation, 258 interdependency, passing and, 339, 340–​41 intergenerational transmission of Deaf culture,  262–​63 internal identity constructs, 30 International Congress on the Education of the Deaf, 42 interpreters access gain, 339–​40 costs of difference, 365–​66 “Your ASL Interpreters Are Hurting Our Education” essay, 356–​58 intersectionality, 12. See also specific identities academic performance and, 141

American culture and individualism, 229 CI implants and, 107–​8, 112 critical race theory, 377–​78 ethics and, 65–​66 feminist scholarship, 100 general discussion, 376–​78 heterogeneity of deaf population, 5–​6 identity development over lifespan early childhood education, 236 higher education, 246 overview, 235 in school, 236 individual identity development models of, 232 in oppressed communities, 230 overview,  229–​34 overview, 226 power, identity development and, 242–​45 privilege and status, 378–​81 proposed multicultural deaf project,  249–​50 racial/​ethnic developmental support,  241–​42 sociological perspective, 31–​33 well-​being and,  234–​35 in young adults, 245–​47 inverse hierarchy, 378–​81, 379f Isaiah, Book of, 76–​77 Islam charity in, 84 Qur’an, 82 spirituality, 91 John 5:25, 83–​84 Judaism,  72–​73 auditory-​centric language in sacred writings,  83–​84 deaf sociality and, 91 exclusion of Deaf from religious communities, 88 Hebrew Bible, 75, 76 Rabbinic Writings, 81 spirituality, 91 kaleidoscope metaphor, 391f acculturation theory, 372–​76 acculturative stress, 373 Deaf acculturation, 374

Subject Index   423 boundary issues, 389–​90 converging identities, 382–​89 cultural wealth model, 386 protective characteristics and risk factors, 388 general discussion, 371–​72 intersectionality theory, 376–​78 overview,  370–​71 privilege and status, 378–​81 labeling cultural differences and, 30–​31 deaf identity and, 29, 389 epistemic injustice, 58–​61 intersectionality and, 31 problem-​oriented research,  36–​37 language. See also language deprivation; languaging; sign language Black Deaf identity and, 287–​90 cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 in culture, 126–​27 curriculum and leadership, 139 explicit learning, 134 implicit learning, 135 leadership and, 137 modeling by teachers, 150–​58 policy and conflict, 135 school environment, impact on, 146–​47 school leader perceptions of disability, 132 language deprivation cross-​language communication,  205–​12 cross-​modal communication,  205–​12 Deaf Life Story Work, 206–​12 digital and visual media, using, 214 early childhood identity development facilitating,  201–​5 impact on, 197–​201 future research directions, 217–​20 general discussion, 194–​97 in-​betweener identity, 287–​88, 350–​52, 353–​55,  358–​62 multilingual awareness, 205–​12 multilingualism and, 196–​97 multiliteracies and, 197 overview,  193–​94 social identities and, 198–​200 trauma-​informed approach to, 213 young adult identity development

facilitating,  215–​17 impact on, 205–​12 zone of proximal development and,  214–​15 Language Deprivation Syndrome (LDS), 194–​95,  196 language-​learner orientation, 171 language pedagogies, 40 languagers, 167, 182–​85 language variety, 162–​64 analytical-​methodological framings,  164–​68 ideological framings, 168–​71 languaging analytical-​methodological framings,  164–​68 erasure and chaining, 172 ideological framings, 168–​71 languagers and many ways of being Deaf,  182–​85 overview, 163–​64,  166–​67 patterns in deaf-​hearing classroom interactions, 175 LDS (Language Deprivation Syndrome), 194–​95,  196 leadership, school. See also culturally responsive school leadership culturally proficient behaviors, 128 curriculum and, 139 deafness as culture and disability,  123–​25 identity conflict, 122 language and, 137 leader identity, 131–​34 oppression and audism in, 121 overview,  120–​21 perceptions of leaders, 132 teachers as leaders, 139–​40 lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons coming out and letting in, 317 Deaf queer scholarship, 321, 325–​26 evolving nomenclature, 306–​9 identity development, 309–​14 intersectionality and, 311 overview,  305–​6 people of color, 318 sexual orientation development models,  313–​14

424   Subject Index lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons (cont.) social movements, 324–​25 social support systems, 318 society perceptions and, 7 transgender, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming people, 322 youth and young adults, 314 letting in, 317 Leviticus 19:14, 76 LGBTQ. See lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer persons liberation, religion and, 89–​92 emergence of modern Western Deaf culture, 90 sociality, 91 spirituality, 91 life book, 208–​9, 210, 212, 213 lifespan, identity development over early childhood education, 236 higher education, 246 overview, 235 in school, 236 life span theory of development, 230 life story work. See Deaf Life Story Work Lincoln Club, 282 linguistic capital, 34–​36 linguistic cultural approach, 135 lip reading, 353–​55 local chaining, 175–​76, 178–​82, 181b Made to Hear: Cochlear Implants and Raising Deaf Children (Mauldin), 102–​4 mainstreaming, 40 bodily habitus, impact of school environment on, 146–​47 erasure and chaining in, 172 incidental learning barriers, 382–​89 multicultural identity development in schools, 240 sociological perspective on identity formation,  32–​33 in Sweden, 168–​71 “Making Connections and Understanding Diverse Intersections” conference, 280 marginalization, 7–​8, 373 Mark, Book of 7,  78–​80 9:14-​27,  80

master status, 311 matrix of domination, 377 Matthew, Book of 11:4-​5,  78 22:39, 84 9:32, 33, 80 meaning, crisis of, 354–​55 Mean Little Deaf Queer, 321 media, facilitating identity development through, 201–​4,  208–​9 media accessibility, 44–​46 medicalization, 97 medically oriented spoken language model,  162–​63 medical model of disability, 98–​99, 122–​23 medical system, 36–​40, 63–​65 medicine, sociology of, 96 metaphysics, 55–​56,  67–​68 micro-​aggressions,  290–​91 MID (Minority Identity Development Model), 231 Middle Ages, deaf identity in, 4 middle sexualities, 307–​8 Midrash, 81 migrants Deaf life story work with Caroline,  266–​73 Yusuf,  206–​12 power struggles between families and schools, 243f young adults, identity development in,  245–​46 Milan Conference, 85 ministries, healing, 86 Minority Identity Development Model (MID), 231 Missions for the Deaf, 85–​86, 91 “Mix-​It-​Up” Lunch curriculum, 238 monolingual bias, 164–​65 monolingualism, 166 monomodal communication, 174–​75 “Monster’s Analysis” (Valente), 357, 360–​61,  364 multicultural competency, 234–​35 multicultural deaf project, proposal for,  249–​50 multicultural identity development American culture and individualism, 229

Subject Index   425 cultural contexts, environments, and influences, 228f individual identity development models of, 232 in oppressed communities, 230 overview,  229–​34 over lifespan early childhood education, 236 higher education, 246 overview, 235 in school, 236 overview, 226 power struggles and, 242–​45 proposed multicultural deaf project,  249–​50 racial/​ethnic developmental support,  241–​42 well-​being and,  234–​35 in young adults, 245–​47 multiculturalism,  279–​81 multidisciplinary focus on deaf identity issues,  12–​16 multilingualism,  215–​16 cross-​language communication,  212–​13 Deaf Life Story Work, 206 language deprivation and, 196–​97 multilingual awareness, 205–​12 multiliteracies, 197, 215–​16 mutational identity theory, 358, 363 My Heart Glow, 201 mythical norm, 36 NAD (National Association of the Deaf), 42–​44, 45, 323 narrative normalcy, 341, 346–​47 narrative self, 265 narrative therapy. See Deaf Life Story Work National Asian Deaf Congress, 44 National Association of the Deaf (NAD), 42–​44, 45, 323 National Black Deaf Advocates, 44 National Institute on Deafness and other Communication Disorders (NIDCD),  108–​9 national syllabi, in Sweden, 171 National Technical Institute of the Deaf (NTID), 295 native speakers, language instruction by, 135,  147–​48

nepantla,  62–​63 neurobiological effects of storytelling, 263 New Testament, 78, 83–​84 NIDCD (National Institute on Deafness and other Communication Disorders),  108–​9 NIU (Northern Illinois University), 298–​99 nonbinary people, 308, 322 nonessentialism,  1–​2 normalcy, 31 narrative, 341, 346–​47 North Carolina School for Colored Deaf and Dumb and Blind, 285–​86 Northern Illinois University (NIU), 298–​99 NTID (National Technical Institute of the Deaf), 295 Nyle DiMarco Foundation, The, 45–​46 Ohio State University, 338–​39, 341–​42 Old Testament, 75, 76, 81 Oliver Gets a Hearing Aid, 201, 202 “On (Almost) Passing” (Brueggemann),  336–​37 oppression of Deaf queer, 315 multicultural identity development and, 230 reaction to, 365–​66 religion and, 84–​89 charity, 84 exclusion from religious communities, 88 healing ministries, 86 in school leadership, 121 “Your ASL Interpreters Are Hurting Our Education” essay, 356–​58 oralism, promotion by religions, 84–​85, 88 oral language bias, 164–​65 oral-​manual controversy,  4–​5 othering, 31 out-​groups,  281–​83 parents biomedical choices, 63–​65 child abuse, 361, 362–​65 cochlear implants and, 102, 104 Deaf acculturation, 374 participation in schools, 129 power struggles between schools and,  242–​45

426   Subject Index Paris Banquets, 4–​5 passing in academic faculty, 338–​39 access gain, 339–​40 in education, 337–​38 in educators, 341–​43 family relations, 346–​47 for hearing, 8 interdependency and collaboration,  340–​41 “On (Almost) Passing” essay, 336–​37 self-​advocacy,  344–​46 pediatric cochlear implants (PCIs) current research on, 104 future research on, 111–​13 implantation trends, 108–​11 past research on, 102 variability in outcomes, 110–​11 people of color. See also Black Deaf persons ally development, 242 Deaf community, 43–​44 deaf racial identity model, 312 intersectional Deaf queer identities among, 318 performing identity, 62–​63 persons, definition of, 57–​58 Peter’s Picture media series, 203–​4 philosophy, 13 bioethics,  63–​65 deaf narrative, 61–​63 epistemic injustice, 58–​61 epistemology and deaf identity, 56–​58 intersectionality,  65–​66 metaphysics and deaf identity, 55–​56 overview,  53–​55 representation of word in ASL, 53–​55 P. H. Skinner School, 284 physical tools, language and, 167 picture books, facilitating identity development through, 201–​3 play therapy, 268–​69 positive psychology, 260–​61 power formation of in-​groups and out-​groups,  281–​83 struggles between schools and families, 242–​45,  243f primordialism,  1–​2

principles of schools. See also culturally responsive school leadership culturally proficient behaviors, 128 influence of, 120 oppression and audism in, 121 perceptions of Deaf students, 122 privilege, in Deaf and Hearing worlds, 378–​81 problem-​oriented research,  36–​37 professional development of teachers, 140 psychic preservation, 365 psychological well-​being. See well-​being psychology identity development from perspective of,  2–​4 positive,  260–​61 public storytelling, 264–​66 punishment from God, deafness as, 76 puppets, in Deaf life story work, 208,  268–​69 Qur’an, 82 Rabbinic Writings, 81 Racial/​Cultural Identity Development Model (R-​CID), 231 racial identities. See also specific identities cochlear implants and, 106, 107–​8, 110 formation of, 281–​83 in higher education, 246 identity development models, 230 intersectional Deaf queer persons, 318 intersectionality and ethics, 65–​66 multicultural identity development,  241–​42 power struggles between families and schools,  242–​45 racial injustices in Deaf communities,  43–​44 sociological perspective on identity formation, 32 young adult identity development,  245–​47 racism, 107–​8,  281–​83 Raising Ryland, 317 R-​CID (Racial/​Cultural Identity Development Model), 231 refugees, narrative therapeutic intervention for. See Deaf Life Story Work

Subject Index   427 religion liberation and, 89–​92 emergence of modern Western Deaf culture, 90 sociality, 91 spirituality, 91 oppression and, 84–​89 charity, 84 exclusion from religious communities, 88 healing ministries, 86 overview,  72–​74 role in identity formation, 13 sacred writings auditory-​centric language in, 83 Hebrew Bible, 75, 76, 81, 83 New Testament, 78, 83–​84 overview,  74–​84 Qur’an, 82 Rabbinic Writings, 81 residential state schools for the Deaf,  237–​40 resilience, 8, 270–​71, 272–​73, 388–​89 Rochester Institute of Technology, 325 role models, Deaf, 193–​94, 197 in Deaf Life Story Work, 217 early childhood education, incorporating in, 200–​1 Ebony Harambee student organization,  292–​93 Hands Land, 204 importance of, 200 Romans 10:17, 83–​84 sacred writings auditory-​centric language in, 83 Hebrew Bible, 75, 76, 81, 83 New Testament, 78, 83–​84 overview,  74–​84 Qur’an, 82 Rabbinic Writings, 81 Torah, 72–​73, 75, 76 scaffolding, 211, 215, 272–​73 school culture, 123–​25 schools for the deaf. See also culturally responsive school leadership academic outcomes, effect of leaders on, 133 Black students at, 283–​86

cochlear implants, attendance after unsuccessful, 104 cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 Deaf Kindergartens in Three Cultures project,  148–​50 deafness as culture versus disability,  123–​25 Deaf queer in, 316, 320 emergence of, 4–​5, 90 facial grammar, 152 identity conflict, 122 language modeling by teachers,  150–​58 language policy and conflict, 135 leadership, role in, 120–​21 multicultural identity development and, 236 oppression and audism in, 121 power struggles between families and,  242–​45 school environment, impact of,  146–​47 signs, explaining intricacies of, 151 social etiquette, explaining, 156 space negotiation, 152 teachers, role as cultural mediators,  147–​48 techniques of body and bodily habitus, 146 science, sociology of, 96 science and technology studies (STS), 97 Second International Congress on Education of the Deaf, 85 segregated schools, 169–​70, 172 self-​advocacy,  344–​46 self-​assertion of identity, 57 self-​perception,  30 self-​reflection, in school leaders, 127–​28 SES (socioeconomic status), cochlear implants and, 106, 110 sexual harassment, 58–​59 sexual identities. See lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons sexual orientation development models,  313–​14 shema, 83 signed storytelling. See storytelling

428   Subject Index signing preschools cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 Deaf Kindergartens in Three Cultures project,  148–​50 facial grammar, 152 language modeling by teachers, 150–​58 overview, 145 school environment, impact of, 146–​47 signs, explaining intricacies of, 151 social etiquette, explaining, 156 space negotiation, 152 teachers, role as cultural mediators,  147–​48 techniques of body and, 146 sign language. See also language deprivation access gain, 339–​40 Black Deaf identity and, 287–​90 change in perception of, 34 cochlear implants, learning after unsuccessful, 104 controversy surrounding use of, 45–​46 culturally responsive school leaders and, 137 curriculum and leadership, 139 Deaf acculturation and, 375 epistemic injustice, 59–​60 explicit language learning, 134, 138 facial grammar in, 152 fragmented communicative lifeworld,  353–​55 implicit language learning, 135 language pedagogies, 40 linguistic capital, 34–​36 medical system viewpoint of, 37–​38 modeling by teachers, 150–​58 opposition to use of, 352–​53 oral-​manual controversy,  4–​5 religions, emphasis on oralism in, 84–​85,  88 school leader perceptions of disability, 132 school policy and conflict, 135 social etiquette, 156 sociological perspective on identity formation,  32–​33 space negotiation in, 152 status hierarchy, 378–​81, 379f sign-​supported English, 40

social capital, 32 social construction, 33–​34, 58 social etiquette, 149–​50, 156 social identity, 10–​11, 198–​200 socialization cochlear implants and, 107, 109 Deaf clubs, 86, 91, 282 process of, 33–​34, 36 religion, role in sociality, 91 social media, 44–​46, 322–​24 social justice approach, 198–​99 social media, 44–​46, 322–​24 social model of disability, 98–​99 social movements, 41–​46 Black Lives Matter, 59 Deaf queer, 324–​25 social norms, changes in, 33–​34 social orientation, 11–​12 social psychology, identity development from perspective of, 2–​4 social support systems of Deaf queer, 318 society human capital, 34–​36 overview,  27–​29 perceptions by, 7–​8 role in deaf identity, 29–​33 social constructions of deaf people,  33–​34 social media, use of, 44–​46 social movements, 41–​46 socioeconomic status (SES), cochlear implants and, 106, 110 sociology, 12 CI research, 113–​14 deaf identity in society, 29–​33 human capital, 34–​36 of medicine, science, and technology, 96 overview,  27–​29 social constructions of deaf people,  33–​34 social movements, 41–​46 variations of deaf people, 30–​33 South Africa early Black Deaf education in, 286–​87 sign languages in, 289–​90 space negotiation, 152 Spelling Window, The,  201–​2 Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism, 358–​62 spirituality, 91. See also religion

Subject Index   429 spiritual symbols of deafness, 76–​78,  82–​83 spoken language fragmented communicative lifeworld,  353–​55 multicultural identity development in schools, 240 status hierarchy, 378–​81, 379f SSL. See Swedish Sign Language staff at schools communication among teachers and,  134–​38 perceptions of Deaf culture versus disability,  123–​25 Stages of Racial and Cultural Identity Development of Children, 232 state residential schools for the Deaf,  237–​40 status, in Deaf and Hearing worlds,  378–​81 stigma,  7–​8 Deaf queer, 315 social identity theory, 10–​11 storytelling. See also Deaf Life Story Work anthropology of deaf flourishing,  255–​61 cross-​cultural framework for deaf identity,  255–​61 as cultural resource, 261–​66 neurobiological effects of, 263 overview,  254–​55 psychic preservation, 365 in Uganda, 262–​63 strategic liminality, 350 structural stigma, 7–​8 STS (science and technology studies), 97 superheroes childhood identification with, 349–​50 The Incredible Hulk, 360–​61,  362–​65 “Monster’s Analysis” essay, 357, 360–​61 Spiderman/​Peter Parker dualism,  358–​62 surrogate decision-​making,  63–​65 Sweden doing identity and communication in visually-​oriented settings,  172–​82 educational organization in, 168–​71 languagers and languaging patterns in DH classrooms, 175

Swedish Sign Language (SSL) bilingualism, 170 educational organization, 168–​71 erasure and chaining, 172 languagers and languaging patterns in DH classrooms, 175 symbolic interactionism, 2–​3 synchronized chained languaging, 174 Talmud,  81–​82 TaNaKh, 75 TC (total communication) framework,  146–​47 teachers communication among staff and,  134–​38 critical reflection by, 127–​28 culturally proficient behaviors, 128, 130 culturally responsive pedagogy, 129, 130–​31,  138–​39 cultural mediators, role as, 147–​48 explicit language learning, 134 facial grammar instruction, 152 implicit language learning, 135 as leaders, 139–​40 passing in, 341–​43 perceptions of Deaf culture and disability, 123 professional development of, 140 self-​advocacy,  344–​46 social etiquette, explaining, 156 social identities, responses to,  198–​99 space negotiation instruction, 152 teaching practices and actions, 138 team teaching, 138 Teaching Philosophy Statement, 342–​43 Teaching Tolerance, 238 team teaching, 138 techniques of body, 146 technology, sociology of, 96 termination of deafness, in sacred writings, 76–​77,  78–​80 testimonial injustice, 60–​61 therapeutic life story work. See Deaf Life Story Work therapy by theory, 351 This Close,  320–​21 threat to identity, 8

430   Subject Index Three Cultures project cultural modeling by teachers, 150–​58 Deaf Kindergartens in, 148–​50 facial grammar in, 152 language modeling by teachers, 150–​58 signs, explaining intricacies of, 151 social etiquette, explaining, 156 space negotiation, 152 Torah, 72–​73, 75, 76, 83 total communication (TC) framework,  146–​47 transgender Deaf identity. See lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) persons transgender emergence model, 313–​14 transnational deaf empowerment, 257 trauma-​informed approach, to language deprivation, 213, 216–​17 Tripartite Model, 226–​27 Triple Quandary theory, 230 ubuntu, 281 Uganda flourishing concept in, 259 storytelling in, 262–​63 Universal Design for Learning (UDL-​driven) approach, 342, 343 University of Kansas, 337–​38 value pluralism, 66–​67 VCSL (Visual Communication Sign Language Checklist), 205 Verlan, 289 videos in Deaf Life Story Work, 210, 211–​12, 214 facilitating identity development through,  203–​4 Vietnamese,  245–​46 Visual Communication Sign Language Checklist (VCSL), 205 visually oriented languaging, 172–​82,  183–​85 visual media, in Deaf Life Story Work, 214

Washington Post, 110 ways-​of-​being-​with-​words,  182–​83 well-​being deaf awakening, 255–​61 Deaf Life Story Work and, 266–​73 of Deaf queer, 315–​16 identity development and, 6–​7, 234–​35 positive psychology, 260–​61 storytelling as cultural resource,  261–​66 West Coast University (WCU), 295 Western Africa, sign language used in,  288–​89 whatness, 264–​65, 271 White Deaf persons human capital, 34–​35 multicultural identity development and,  241–​42 racial injustices in deaf communities,  43–​44 White Identity Model, 241–​42 written languages, in Deaf Life Story Work, 213 young adults Deaf queer, well-​being of, 314 facilitating identity development in,  215–​17 language deprivation, impact on,  205–​12 multicultural identity development in,  245–​47 “Your ASL Interpreters Are Hurting Our Education” (Valente),  356–​57 zone of proximal development, 257 contact signing and, 216 Deaf Life Story Work as, 272–​73 facilitating identity development through,  214–​15 zones of proximal ways-​of-​being-​with-​ words, 184