Deaf History Isn’t Silent: How Sign Languages and Deaf Culture Were Pushed Aside by Oralism

In most classrooms, Deaf history is barely a footnote. Names like Laurent Clerc, Thomas Gallaudet, or the bold visual artists of the De’VIA movement don’t show up in standard history textbooks. The story we’re usually told is one where Deaf people were passive recipients of help from hearing saviors — a distorted narrative that centers speech over signing and conformity over culture.

But the truth is, long before hearing institutions tried to dictate how Deaf people should communicate, Deaf communities had already been building languages, traditions, and identities on their own terms. Sign languages have been around for centuries. Deaf people have always created culture — in art, theatre, storytelling, and education — long before oralism hijacked Deaf learning and tried to silence those roots.

It’s time to tell the real story.

Sign Languages Came First

Let’s start with this basic truth: sign languages are not new, and they are not simplified versions of spoken languages. They are full, rich, visual languages developed naturally within Deaf communities around the world. Some sign languages, like Old French Sign Language, were already in use by Deaf people before formal Deaf schools were even established.

In fact, the first known mention of a sign language used by Deaf people comes from Plato’s Cratylus in ancient Greece. Later, in 16th century Spain, monks developed fingerspelling systems to communicate while keeping their vows of silence, which were adapted by Deaf individuals. In Martha’s Vineyard, an island off the coast of Massachusetts in the 18th and 19th centuries, Martha’s Vineyard Sign Language (MVSL) was used by both Deaf and hearing residents because Deafness was genetically common and sign language was simply part of everyday life.

These weren’t primitive gestures or stopgaps until speech could be taught. They were languages. And they were central to thriving Deaf cultures.

Deaf Communities Have Always Created Culture

Long before mainstream institutions even acknowledged the Deaf, Deaf people were telling stories, performing plays, and passing on their values through sign-language storytelling, theatre, folklore, and poetry.

Storytelling and Theatre

Signed storytelling is a powerful art form — not just a translation of spoken narratives, but a uniquely visual and spatial way of constructing meaning. Deaf storytelling uses facial expressions, body language, rhythm, and space in ways that have no equivalent in spoken language. These stories often center Deaf experiences — both real and mythological — and affirm shared cultural identity.

Deaf theatre groups began to emerge in the 20th century, including The National Theatre of the Deaf (NTD), founded in 1967. NTD became a launching pad for Deaf actors and playwrights, many of whom reshaped the perception of what theatre could look like — not by imitating hearing productions but by revolutionizing them visually.

Visual Art: De’VIA

The 1989 launch of De’VIA (Deaf View/Image Art) was another cultural landmark. De’VIA isn’t just art made by Deaf artists — it’s a movement. It expresses Deaf experiences, often highlighting the struggle against audism (discrimination against Deaf people), the pressure to conform to hearing norms, and the pride in Deaf identity.

Artists like Betty G. Miller, often called the “mother of De’VIA,” and Chuck Baird, a prolific painter and actor, helped define the genre. Their work often incorporates handshapes, eyes, ears, and vivid visual metaphors that speak directly to the Deaf experience — pain, joy, language, oppression, resistance.

Oralism: When Deaf Education Was Hijacked

Despite the richness of Deaf culture, Deaf education took a sharp turn in the 19th century — not toward empowerment, but toward control. That shift was driven by oralism: the belief that Deaf people should speak and lipread rather than use sign language.

The goal of oralism wasn’t just communication. It was assimilation. It was rooted in the belief that to be accepted in society, Deaf people needed to act like hearing people. Sign language was seen as a barrier to that — not because it didn’t work, but because it didn’t fit the hearing world’s idea of normal.

The Milan Conference of 1880

The turning point came at the Milan Conference in 1880, where a group of mostly hearing educators — with no Deaf representation — voted to ban sign language from schools in favor of oral education. This decision devastated Deaf education globally for over a century.

Before Milan, sign language had been the foundation of many Deaf schools, especially in the United States, thanks in part to Laurent Clerc, a Deaf French teacher, and Thomas Gallaudet, an American educator. Clerc brought Old French Sign Language to the U.S. and helped blend it with MVSL and other regional signs to create what would become American Sign Language (ASL).

But after Milan, schools across the U.S. and Europe abandoned sign language. Deaf children were forced to sit on their hands. Some were punished for signing. The damage was enormous — linguistically, emotionally, and culturally.

Who Gets to Teach Deaf Children?

There’s an underlying question here: who gets to decide what’s best for Deaf people?

Historically, hearing professionals — doctors, teachers, therapists — have controlled Deaf education and policy. Often with good intentions, but usually with harmful results. Oralism didn’t just erase sign languages from the classroom; it denied Deaf children access to their own identity and culture.

Generations of Deaf children grew up without a full language — not because they couldn’t learn one, but because they were denied the right to. Research now shows that language deprivation in early childhood leads to long-term cognitive and emotional harm. Meanwhile, Deaf adults who had access to sign language from a young age consistently show higher educational outcomes and stronger social-emotional development.

Deaf educators, activists, and parents have been fighting to reclaim this narrative for decades. But they’re often sidelined or excluded from the decision-making processes that affect their own communities.

Deaf History in the Margins

It’s no accident that Deaf history is largely missing from mainstream curricula. Textbooks often mention Helen Keller, but rarely note that her first real language wasn’t speech — it was tactile sign language. They might reference Alexander Graham Bell, but not his campaign to eliminate sign language or his eugenic beliefs about Deaf people marrying each other.

They almost never mention Black Deaf history — like the segregated schools for Black Deaf children in the U.S., or the existence of Black American Sign Language (BASL), which has its own distinct grammar, style, and cultural nuances.

Nor do they cover Deaf clubs, which were once the cultural heart of many cities — spaces where Deaf people gathered for community, performance, activism, and connection. These were self-sustained hubs of Deaf life, not “programs” or charity cases. They were vibrant, self-directed communities.

Resilience, Resistance, and Reclamation

Despite the setbacks, Deaf people have never stopped resisting erasure. They’ve built institutions, advocated for civil rights, created world-class art, and reshaped entire fields — all while fighting for the right to be heard in their own language.

Gallaudet University, the only liberal arts university in the world designed for Deaf and hard-of-hearing students, was founded in 1864 and remains a center of Deaf scholarship and activism. In 1988, the Deaf President Now protest forced the university’s board to appoint its first Deaf president — a major victory for Deaf self-determination. The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), passed in 1990, codified many accessibility rights for Deaf people in employment, education, and public life. But those rights were fought for, not handed down. The rise of social media and video platforms has given Deaf creators new platforms to share their voices — in ASL and other sign languages — without needing permission from mainstream media.

What’s Next?

To move forward, we have to start with truth. That means acknowledging that Deaf history is not just a sidebar in disability studies. It’s a rich, complex, and ongoing story of culture, language, resistance, and resilience. And it’s far from over.

Here’s what that means in practice:

Sign languages must be recognized and respected as real, full languages. They’re not translations or tools. They are culture. Deaf education should be led by Deaf educators. Representation matters — not just symbolically, but structurally. History curricula should include Deaf history and culture. Students should learn about Laurent Clerc, De’VIA artists, the Milan Conference, and the legacy of oralism. Deaf culture should be celebrated, not just accommodated. From theatre to visual art to storytelling, Deaf expression is part of the human creative canon. Language deprivation must be treated as a preventable crisis. Every Deaf child has a right to a fully accessible language from birth.

For too long, Deaf history has been told through a hearing lens — one that sees sign language as a backup plan, Deaf people as broken, and culture as optional. That’s not just inaccurate. It’s harmful.

But the truth is louder than that. Sign languages came first. Deaf people have always created language, community, and culture on their own terms. The push to suppress that — through oralism, through exclusion, through erasure — was never about helping. It was about control.

And yet, despite it all, Deaf culture survives. It evolves. It speaks — in hands and faces, in paint and poetry, in protest and pride.

It’s time we start listening.