Why hearing administrators learning sign language and deaf culture benefits all students
The coffee pot at the monthly regional deaf parent meet-up was still warm when one of the high school deaf education teachers pulled out her phone to show us a photo. It was a group shot from the recent NTID (National Technical Institute for the Deaf) conference at RIT, and right in the middle, grinning with a name tag that read “Michael Salamanca, Associate Principal, Madison” was a hearing man, holding a travel coffee mug and signing his name clearly for the camera. I spilled a drop of oat milk latte on my meeting notes leaning in to look.
I’ve been involved in our local public school system for 12 years, ever since my son was born deaf and we chose to keep him in our neighborhood district instead of the state residential deaf school an hour away. In that time, I’ve met exactly two hearing administrators who could sign more than “hello” and “goodbye.” Most don’t even bother to learn the sign for my son’s name, relying on his interpreter to relay everything even when I’m sitting right in front of them. When I was a kid in the 90s, my high school principal once asked me why I didn’t just “stop using signs and try harder to speak” so I wouldn’t “stand out.” Things have gotten better, but not that much. It’s still extremely rare to see a hearing administrator seek out deep learning about deaf culture on their own time, with their own initiative.
The teacher who went to the conference told us Michael didn’t just tag along for a one-hour keynote and check a diversity box for his annual review. He attended all three full days of sessions, joined a workshop on centering deaf student leadership in public schools, and spent his lunch breaks asking deaf presenters questions about how to adjust common discipline practices for deaf students who process language visually. He already had basic conversational ASL before he went, and told the group he started learning three years ago when a deaf student joined his school’s freshman class. He didn’t stop when that student graduated, either—he kept going, and signed up for the NTID conference to deepen his knowledge.
That’s what got me. A lot of hearing people will learn a few signs when they have a deaf student in their building, then drop it the second that student moves on. Most never bother to learn anything beyond basic communication, let alone the history and culture that shape how deaf people experience school. For example, most hearing teachers don’t know that many deaf students don’t pick up the same subtle social cues that hearing kids absorb from offhand comments in the hallway, so small teasing can turn into bullying that goes unnoticed because no one thinks to check in directly. Or that standing between a deaf person and a window makes it impossible for them to lipread or see your signs, a mistake I’ve had to point out in at least 20 different IEP meetings.
What always bothers me is how many educators and administrators say they don’t have the time or money to learn this stuff. Michael’s example shows that you don’t need a huge budget or a semester off to start making changes. There are small, concrete steps anyone can take this month, if you care enough. The first is start learning before you need it. You don’t have to wait until a deaf student or deaf parent joins your school to learn 10 basic signs: how to introduce yourself, how to ask if someone needs a communication adjustment, how to say thank you. That takes 15 minutes on any free ASL YouTube channel, no cost required. The second is don’t just learn signs—learn the culture. Sign language isn’t just English with hand gestures; it’s a full, distinct language with its own grammar and social norms. You can learn the basics by following a handful of deaf creators on Instagram or TikTok, or dropping into a local deaf coffee hour—most groups welcome hearing people who want to learn, no experience needed. The third is pay deaf people for their work, don’t ask for free favors. I can’t tell you how many times a district administrator has emailed me asking me to come do a 2 hour training for their staff after work, for free, because “you’re the local deaf expert.” From what I heard, Michael hired a deaf consultant from the state deaf association to do ongoing training for his staff, and paid them their full rate. If you’re a teacher with a $50 classroom budget, you can buy a handful of children’s books written by deaf authors for your library, that’s a small start that makes a big difference.
My son saw the photo of Michael last week, and asked if we’d ever get to meet him. We still have a long way to go in our own district. Last month, my son had to remind the custodial staff three times to fix the broken strobe light by the gym entrance, so he’d know if there was a fire. Most of our new board of education members still can’t sign their own names. But seeing that photo felt like a small crack in the same old pattern I’ve dealt with my whole life. It doesn’t have to be normal for hearing administrators to ignore deaf culture and leave all the education work to deaf families.
Next month, our district is hosting a regional special education fair, and I heard Michael is coming to lead a small session on what his school has changed since he came back from the NTID conference. My son and I are going to go. I already practiced my introduction sign for Michael, and I’m bringing a copy of my favorite deaf middle grade novel to give him. We’ll see how it goes.
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