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The News - International
“I had to see all this for myself before I could be moved from my previous ‘medical’ view of deafness (as a condition, a deficit that had to be ‘treated’) to a ‘cultural’ view of the deaf as forming a community with a complete language and culture of its own.”
— Seeing Voices by Oliver Sacks
There are a few experiences more exhilarating than discovering an unsuspected new world. My visit to The Pakistan Association for the Deaf (PAD) was one such experience. I had always been a strong proponent of mainstreaming and verbal communication for the deaf. I too, had always viewed deafness as a deficit, though I denied accepting it as one. I spent years trying to convince the world, and myself, that the only acceptable mode of communication for the deaf should be verbal. Because this, I mistakenly assumed, was the only way they could become compatible with the hearing world. This belief was perhaps driven by the fear of discrimination they would face in an already prejudiced society, if they are unable to communicate in the “normal” way.
Visiting PAD wasn’t a coincidence either. It was the profound impact of Oliver Sacks’ “Seeing Voices” that led me to explore this continuously evolving area of culture and language. I had no previous experience or knowledge; it represented a new paradigm. The visit turned out to be an experience that changed the way I viewed deafness. There are a few people more captivating than the community of the signing deaf. In Seeing Voices, Sacks’ takes us into the silent, at times strange, though culturally rich world of the congenitally and pre-lingual deaf.
Sacks’ narrates the cultural breakthrough at Gallaudet University in March 1988, where, after massive student protest, the first ever deaf president of the university was appointed. Sacks witnessed this social change first hand, and it formed the basis of much of his work.
My appointment with the President of The Pakistan Association for Deaf (PAD) was at 7 pm, which I assumed would be a relaxed time. Far from it, it was the busiest hour for the centre. Hundreds of young boys and girls, carrying knapsacks, were pouring in. I discovered later that they come here for English and computer classes from their day jobs. I was greeted in sign language by the person who opened the door. I stood there, unable to respond, for the first time in my life unable to communicate. Seeing my confusion, he gestured again, asking if I could hear and talk. Of course, I could. He pointed towards a chair asking me to wait.
The wait itself was an education. A few employees and students were busy in an animated discussion. A discussion without verbalisation, communication without one spoken word, without a sound being heard. Oliver Sacks had called it a “Silent and Strange” communication and I was witnessing it. The glowing and confident faces, the expressive body language, the smooth sharing of ideas, thoughts and feelings changed much of what I thought I knew about communication. I was the one “different” here. It was then that I realised how it is a “Culture”. In all my training and clinical practice, I had never considered deafness as anything but a medical problem. That people could build a whole society, indeed a whole way of life, around a physical adaptation had never occurred to me.
I was still absorbing the impact of this new world, when one of the teachers came and said that he was the only one in the centre who could talk but would prefer to communicate by writing, as he offered to take me around. I was now getting accustomed to the silence at PAD. The computer section was brimming with students, everyone engrossed in the silent lecture being delivered. The movement of the fingers on the key boards was silent testimony to the fact that the message was being conveyed and understood. Not one student turned around as we entered. Again, I realised, they hadn’t heard my footsteps. I stood there mesmerised by this small, little known society. I wanted to take back to the hearing world accounts of my adventure, just like Oliver Sacks had, in the form of his book, on returning from Gaulladet.
The willing acceptance for this silent mode of communication reminded me of Martha’s Vineyard. “Sign language was so accepted on the Vineyard that a newspaper marvelled in 1895 at the way the spoken and signed languages were used so freely and easily by both deaf and hearing residents. People moving to Chilmark had to learn sign language in order to live in the community. Deafness was so common that some hearing residents actually thought it was a contagious disease. Deafness was never considered to be a handicap”.
The one example that I can think of is the KFC outlet at the University Road (which has been so well written about by this newspaper), which is run entirely by young deaf boys and girls who communicate by sign. One has to order by pointing and by using the simple signs painted on the walls. The fryers do not have audible alarms. Instead, they have lights which blink when the food is ready. I must admit, that it has become my favourite choice of restaurants, not because of the food it serves, but out of admiration and respect for those cheerful boys and girls, who have something new to teach me every time I go there.
Mr Irfan, the President of PAD, is himself profoundly deaf. He also communicates in sign but trained himself to verbalise after he was 18. He is a graduate of DEWA, a school and college for the signing deaf. A humble man but one with great conviction, told us about the efforts he had put in to get recognition of this despised, oppressed and rejected population.
Till as late as the 1970s deaf people were often misdiagnosed as mentally challenged/handicapped. This belief stemmed from the results of IQ tests given to deaf children, without adapting them to their special requirements. Often, deaf people grew up in special institutions and were later transferred to asylums. By the time they were discovered to be only deaf, not mentally challenged/handicapped, it was often too late. All the treatment and all the money in the world could not bring back their lost childhood nor give them the language skills they needed to survive in society. Unfortunately, this is largely true in Pakistan even today. People still consider deafness a great disability and are reluctant to accept sign language as an alternative mode of communication.
Irfan sahib was very unhappy with the present system of education. “All these students are very intelligent, their major drawback is the poor quality of education they have received in the special institutions they have studied in”, he said. PAD started English language and computer classes for young boys and girls to enable them to get better jobs. Mr Irfan considers PAD’s ability to gain recognition and affiliation with the World Federation of the Deaf (WFD) as his great achievement.
PAD has not only further developed PSL (Pakistan Sign Language), but has been able to get it recognised as any other internationally recognised sign language like ASL (American Sign Language) or BSL (British Sign Language). Work is being done to develop the International Sign Language, which is yet another step to make the deaf in Pakistan part of the global deaf community, and to provide them a single platform from where to fight for their rights and privileges. While the campus, academic and technical facilities at PAD could not be compared to those at Gallaudet, and the location was not quite as breathtaking as the islands of Martha’s Vineyard, the great sense of people-hood was equally strong.
The purpose of this article is not to discourage the Deaf from acquiring verbal communication skills, but to promote and accept the signing Deaf, not as a segregated, inferior segment of the society, but as a thriving and vibrant culture in its own right. At the same time, the so called normal world should discard the notion that the deaf are deficient in any way, and instead should accept and embrace their “difference” very much as the different colours that make a rainbow as brilliant as it is. And perhaps recognise, as Dr Sacks puts it, that “...the deaf have something to teach us.” (P. 167)
The author is a speech therapist and works with children and adults who have speech and language disorders. Email: sadaf_sh@hotmail.com
“I had to see all this for myself before I could be moved from my previous ‘medical’ view of deafness (as a condition, a deficit that had to be ‘treated’) to a ‘cultural’ view of the deaf as forming a community with a complete language and culture of its own.”
— Seeing Voices by Oliver Sacks
There are a few experiences more exhilarating than discovering an unsuspected new world. My visit to The Pakistan Association for the Deaf (PAD) was one such experience. I had always been a strong proponent of mainstreaming and verbal communication for the deaf. I too, had always viewed deafness as a deficit, though I denied accepting it as one. I spent years trying to convince the world, and myself, that the only acceptable mode of communication for the deaf should be verbal. Because this, I mistakenly assumed, was the only way they could become compatible with the hearing world. This belief was perhaps driven by the fear of discrimination they would face in an already prejudiced society, if they are unable to communicate in the “normal” way.
Visiting PAD wasn’t a coincidence either. It was the profound impact of Oliver Sacks’ “Seeing Voices” that led me to explore this continuously evolving area of culture and language. I had no previous experience or knowledge; it represented a new paradigm. The visit turned out to be an experience that changed the way I viewed deafness. There are a few people more captivating than the community of the signing deaf. In Seeing Voices, Sacks’ takes us into the silent, at times strange, though culturally rich world of the congenitally and pre-lingual deaf.
Sacks’ narrates the cultural breakthrough at Gallaudet University in March 1988, where, after massive student protest, the first ever deaf president of the university was appointed. Sacks witnessed this social change first hand, and it formed the basis of much of his work.
My appointment with the President of The Pakistan Association for Deaf (PAD) was at 7 pm, which I assumed would be a relaxed time. Far from it, it was the busiest hour for the centre. Hundreds of young boys and girls, carrying knapsacks, were pouring in. I discovered later that they come here for English and computer classes from their day jobs. I was greeted in sign language by the person who opened the door. I stood there, unable to respond, for the first time in my life unable to communicate. Seeing my confusion, he gestured again, asking if I could hear and talk. Of course, I could. He pointed towards a chair asking me to wait.
The wait itself was an education. A few employees and students were busy in an animated discussion. A discussion without verbalisation, communication without one spoken word, without a sound being heard. Oliver Sacks had called it a “Silent and Strange” communication and I was witnessing it. The glowing and confident faces, the expressive body language, the smooth sharing of ideas, thoughts and feelings changed much of what I thought I knew about communication. I was the one “different” here. It was then that I realised how it is a “Culture”. In all my training and clinical practice, I had never considered deafness as anything but a medical problem. That people could build a whole society, indeed a whole way of life, around a physical adaptation had never occurred to me.
I was still absorbing the impact of this new world, when one of the teachers came and said that he was the only one in the centre who could talk but would prefer to communicate by writing, as he offered to take me around. I was now getting accustomed to the silence at PAD. The computer section was brimming with students, everyone engrossed in the silent lecture being delivered. The movement of the fingers on the key boards was silent testimony to the fact that the message was being conveyed and understood. Not one student turned around as we entered. Again, I realised, they hadn’t heard my footsteps. I stood there mesmerised by this small, little known society. I wanted to take back to the hearing world accounts of my adventure, just like Oliver Sacks had, in the form of his book, on returning from Gaulladet.
The willing acceptance for this silent mode of communication reminded me of Martha’s Vineyard. “Sign language was so accepted on the Vineyard that a newspaper marvelled in 1895 at the way the spoken and signed languages were used so freely and easily by both deaf and hearing residents. People moving to Chilmark had to learn sign language in order to live in the community. Deafness was so common that some hearing residents actually thought it was a contagious disease. Deafness was never considered to be a handicap”.
The one example that I can think of is the KFC outlet at the University Road (which has been so well written about by this newspaper), which is run entirely by young deaf boys and girls who communicate by sign. One has to order by pointing and by using the simple signs painted on the walls. The fryers do not have audible alarms. Instead, they have lights which blink when the food is ready. I must admit, that it has become my favourite choice of restaurants, not because of the food it serves, but out of admiration and respect for those cheerful boys and girls, who have something new to teach me every time I go there.
Mr Irfan, the President of PAD, is himself profoundly deaf. He also communicates in sign but trained himself to verbalise after he was 18. He is a graduate of DEWA, a school and college for the signing deaf. A humble man but one with great conviction, told us about the efforts he had put in to get recognition of this despised, oppressed and rejected population.
Till as late as the 1970s deaf people were often misdiagnosed as mentally challenged/handicapped. This belief stemmed from the results of IQ tests given to deaf children, without adapting them to their special requirements. Often, deaf people grew up in special institutions and were later transferred to asylums. By the time they were discovered to be only deaf, not mentally challenged/handicapped, it was often too late. All the treatment and all the money in the world could not bring back their lost childhood nor give them the language skills they needed to survive in society. Unfortunately, this is largely true in Pakistan even today. People still consider deafness a great disability and are reluctant to accept sign language as an alternative mode of communication.
Irfan sahib was very unhappy with the present system of education. “All these students are very intelligent, their major drawback is the poor quality of education they have received in the special institutions they have studied in”, he said. PAD started English language and computer classes for young boys and girls to enable them to get better jobs. Mr Irfan considers PAD’s ability to gain recognition and affiliation with the World Federation of the Deaf (WFD) as his great achievement.
PAD has not only further developed PSL (Pakistan Sign Language), but has been able to get it recognised as any other internationally recognised sign language like ASL (American Sign Language) or BSL (British Sign Language). Work is being done to develop the International Sign Language, which is yet another step to make the deaf in Pakistan part of the global deaf community, and to provide them a single platform from where to fight for their rights and privileges. While the campus, academic and technical facilities at PAD could not be compared to those at Gallaudet, and the location was not quite as breathtaking as the islands of Martha’s Vineyard, the great sense of people-hood was equally strong.
The purpose of this article is not to discourage the Deaf from acquiring verbal communication skills, but to promote and accept the signing Deaf, not as a segregated, inferior segment of the society, but as a thriving and vibrant culture in its own right. At the same time, the so called normal world should discard the notion that the deaf are deficient in any way, and instead should accept and embrace their “difference” very much as the different colours that make a rainbow as brilliant as it is. And perhaps recognise, as Dr Sacks puts it, that “...the deaf have something to teach us.” (P. 167)
The author is a speech therapist and works with children and adults who have speech and language disorders. Email: sadaf_sh@hotmail.com