The Life-Changing Gift of Sign Language
By Makiko Yamamoto | Translated from the Japanese by Marvin Nauendorff
Published June 16th, 2024.
Languages: 日本語
They say I didn't cry immediately when I was born. It was only after a short while that I finally made a noise, and my mother felt a great sense of relief when she heard me. Looking back, this might have been the first sign of my hearing condition.
(Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
Content Warning: suicidal thoughts of a parent.
I was born in the northern part of Kyoto, which is located in central Japan. When I was about one year old, my parents took me to a large hospital. I was taken by myself into a room with a thick door. Through the glass, I could see my mother looking sad. I wondered why.
"Bilateral sensorineural hearing loss."
That was my diagnosis. It was confirmed when I was one year and ten months old. Additionally, I was slower to develop compared to other children.
Makiko Yamamoto, author and activist, was born Deaf. In her daily life, she communicates through lip reading, gestures, writing, and Japanese sign language, which she learned at the age of 18. Through her various experiences and challenges, she has developed a strong desire to raise awareness about deafness and other hearing conditions and to support the lives of people who are important to her.
For example, when most infants around the age of one are placed on their stomachs, they tend to push up with their arms and balance their bodies as if doing a push-up. However, I couldn't lift my upper body easily. Because of this, some doctors suspected an intellectual or developmental disability.
I didn't respond to my family's voices, and even when there were loud noises, I didn't get startled or cry. Sensing something was different about me, my parents took me to several hospitals in Maizuru, Kyoto, and Kobe. Finally, just before I turned two, I was diagnosed with a hearing condition, and it was concluded that my developmental delays were likely due to my inability to hear.
Editor's Note: While some deaf children might have developmental delays, not all do. There are a lot of ways to help, like early exposure to sign language.
At a large hospital, I underwent tests in a soundproof room with booming loud noises, but I showed no reaction to the sounds at all. My mother was shocked, exclaiming that I couldn't even hear noises this loud. She spent many nights crying after that.
My mother even wished she could give me one of her ears, and at times she wondered, “Should we just die?”
Mr. Imanishi, who had previously served as the vice principal at Kobe School for the Deaf, saved my mother. He advised and encouraged her, telling her that she wouldn't be able to move forward if she kept grieving. Her priority should be to give her child the gift of language.
Thanks to Mr. Imanishi's advice, my mother could focus on a new direction for my future.
Editor's Note: The view on disability in Japan is deeply rooted in Buddhist beliefs of impurities. There is the belief that a disabled person did something bad in a previous life and that is why they are born with a disability. For the longest time, disabled individuals were kept hidden and they were not given the same rights as other Japanese citizens. For example, education was not fully accessible for deaf children until 1953. Access to things like marriage, education, careers, driver's licenses (this movement started in 2005 and the driving ban was lifted in 2011 but still requires hearing aids), and even accessible media was very challenging for deaf and hard of hearing folks. Parents would be very concerned for their children.
(Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
One day, I wore a shirt with a large pocket on the chest. A thin cord extended from a device in the pocket, with round pieces attached to the ends that were placed in my ears. Suddenly, a new sensation filled my ears.
What is this? What's happening?
It was a “hearing aid,” a device worn by people like me who cannot hear. For the first time, I discovered that the world is filled with “sound.”
Cultural Notes: Big D Deaf, aka cultural Deaf, is less common in Japan than in America. While there are individuals who consider themselves culturally Deaf in Japan, Deaf organizations like D-Pro, view themselves as part of the international Deaf movement and their views closely align with American Deaf culture. JFD (Japanese Federation of the Deaf) is more loose with their definition and their members range from hearing to hard of hearing to completely deaf. Like all languages, Sign Language and the people who use it are always changing and evolving, so it is important to note that some of the words used to describe hearing loss/deaf gain are different in other countries and vary by individual.
Our family ran a small liquor store. The phone rang frequently at home. Usually, someone in the family would quickly answer, and the ringing would stop almost immediately. But that day, the phone kept ringing.
"Is it a customer again?"
Normally, someone picks up right away, but today it's been ringing for a while.
"Should I try answering it?"
Maybe I could talk to someone on the phone too!
Excitedly, I picked up the receiver.
"Hello! This is Makko Shop!"
"......"
I couldn't hear anything. I thought I should talk like my mom does!
"Yes! Yes! Got it, thank you!"
I hung up the receiver. Then, my mother hurried over and scolded me. But I was thrilled with my first phone experience! Even though I didn't really have a conversation, talking on the phone seemed like it would be so much fun. I wanted to talk to lots of people too.
Makiko Yamamoto with the late Ms. Azuma. (Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
One day, my mother told me, "We're going to meet Ms. Azuma, who will be teaching you from now on."
The place we arrived at was an ordinary house. A kind-looking woman came out to greet us.
"I'm here to help you," she said.
This was my first encounter with Ms. Azuma. I enjoyed spending time with her. We did more than just study. She read picture books to me, took me on hikes up the mountains, and told me about the plants and trees. She taught me how to make clover crowns during our walks to the nearby riverbank. We would sit on a bank covered in blooming wildflowers, eating the rice balls she made. They were perfectly salted and incredibly delicious.
After graduating from elementary school, I moved up to a nearby middle school. Around that time, my hearing began to deteriorate. Even with my hearing aid, voices became fragmented, and I couldn't understand what people were saying. I often relied on the bits of sound I could catch and tried to read people's lips to make sense of their words.
By the time I reached high school, I was suddenly struck by a severe bout of tinnitus. The ringing in my ears was so intense it felt like my ears were going to burst.
What is happening to me?
From that moment on, I completely lost hearing in my left ear.
Around that time, I became afraid to look at people's faces and started to distance myself from my classmates. The once enjoyable study sessions with Ms. Azuma no longer brought a smile to my face.
In the spring of my high school graduation, I was accepted into a university.
This also meant I was graduating from my time with Ms. Azuma.
The day before I was set to leave, I went to say goodbye to her. Memories of the past 12 years flooded my mind, and tears began to flow. In times of trouble, sadness, happiness, and joy, Ms. Azuma had always been there for me.
As I silently wept, she said to me, "Someday, you will surely have your time to bloom."
(Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
I entered the university gates and joined the Japanese Sign Language (JSL) club. Until then, I hadn't made an effort to learn sign language, but I now felt the desire to acquire it. As I became more proficient in signing, I gradually found myself able to express my thoughts and feelings. The fear of looking at people's faces disappeared without me even noticing. I began to enjoy the time spent with friends who were also learning sign language.
Before I knew it, I was greeting people on campus of my own accord. I made more friends than I ever thought possible. I found myself able to laugh genuinely from the heart.
Editor's Note: Even in the U.S., sign language is often not made accessible to deaf and hard of hearing individuals unless they go to a mainstream school that offers it, a deaf school that uses/teaches sign language, and/or their parents/guardians encourage it, which is sadly rare. A lot of deaf/hard of hearing individuals are not exposed to sign language until they are much older and seek it out on their own.
Sign Language is Amazing
Being able to express my thoughts profoundly changed how I saw the world. I realized that if others like me could express their feelings, they might become much happier too!
I volunteered as a one-day sign language instructor at elementary schools. I wanted to do more to spread happy smiles! I joined the National Deaf Conference and the Deaf Federation and started participating in their work.
Through my involvement, I learned that in many countries, people with Deafness and other hearing conditions lack social rights. In some developing countries, there are hardly any job opportunities for people with Deafness. I wanted to help if I could! I participated in a project in Myanmar. We visited the Mary Chapman School for the Deaf in Yangon. The children at this school could use sign language and seemed to be learning joyfully.
"Our graduates work nearby," I was told.
We visited a shiatsu center operated by the school's graduates. Shiatsu is a style of Japanese massage. It impressed me that despite the lack of job opportunities for people with hearing conditions in Myanmar, this school provided a path to employment after graduation. However, the reality I witnessed was starkly different. They only earned about 200 yen (approximately $2) per hour of shiatsu massage.
They told me things like,
"We're lucky just to have a job."
"People with disabilities like us aren't useful to society."
"Our parents, other adults, and society have always told us that."
What? Not useful to society? It was heartbreaking to realize they felt this way about themselves. As they waved goodbye with smiles on their faces, I couldn't smile back. I left feeling unsure about what I could do. This experience fueled my desire to thoroughly learn about international cooperation and how I could make a difference.
I decided to study abroad. My destination was Finland, a nation with one of the highest happiness levels in the world and home to the Office of the World Federation of the Deaf! The schools for people with hearing conditions in Finland accept students of all ages and nationalities.
(Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
During lunchtime at school, a young man was actively conversing with many people. He made eye contact with me and approached with a smile.
"I'm from Iraq," he said.
"I learned sign language after coming here. I'm very grateful for the support from the Finnish government. Now, I want to help others."
I had heard that everyone here came from difficult circumstances, but his smile was incredibly bright.
"Next year, I’ll start working as a car mechanic! I hope to eventually get permanent residency in Finland and live with my family."
From his hands came dreams and hopes for the future. The memory of the children I met in Myanmar crossed my mind.
"We're lucky just to have a job."
"People with disabilities like us aren't useful to society."
Despite being born on the same planet and in similar environments, their outlooks were vastly different. Finland's support goes beyond just providing money or a conducive environment. It nurtures a mindset geared towards happiness. This, I realized, is the most significant form of "support."
This is what I want to do!
Everyone has the right to dream and hope for the future. I want to convey this to as many people as possible and create spaces where this is possible.
(Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
After returning from my studies in Finland, I started sharing my experiences and thoughts through blogs, social media, and public speaking engagements. I received many messages from people saying:
"The support from the Finnish government is amazing."
"I had no idea that in developing countries, people with hearing conditions have no job opportunities."
"Please share more information."
At the same time, I also heard from people who said:
"I want to get involved in volunteer work, but I don't know where to start."
"I want to donate, but I'm worried whether the funds will be used properly to help those in need."
These messages highlighted the need for more awareness and guidance on how to support and get involved in helping people with disabilities globally.
I realized the necessity of raising awareness about the often-unknown realities of living with a hearing condition and creating a secure system for those who wish to support others. Through my activities, it became clear to me that the realities of the world and the issues faced by people with hearing conditions are still not well known in Japan.
I want every person with hearing conditions, no matter where they live, to feel the joy of living authentically.
My goal is to establish systems and create learning opportunities in developing countries. I aim to contribute to global peace through international cooperation projects and to brighten and support the lives of those around me.
Makiko Yamamoto at the Sign Language Market in Kyoto. April 2024. (Photo courtesy of Makiko Yamamoto)
I also dream of a world where each person is recognized as a valuable member of society and can work for fair wages. I want to continue projects that can serve as turning points for people with hearing conditions and those who have gained Deafness due to age.
I am aware that achieving this dream is extremely challenging. However, what matters most is how we think and act during difficult times. I intend to continue my efforts in the future.
When surrounded by companions and good friends, you truly know your worth. Because I can sense the meaning of my existence, I want to put my all into my work. If I lived a life without taking action, the significance of my birth might fade. I keep this in mind when I open my front door each day. Beyond that door lies a world of brilliant dreams and limitless possibilities.
"Someday, you will surely have your time to bloom."
I want to make sure that hope blossoms for both those who receive support and those who provide it. I have finally found my mission.
Edited by
Brin Sharrar, Marvin Nauendorff, Yuka Kawasaki, Alice Pol, Perla Camacho-Cedillo
Cite This Article
Yamamoto, Makiko. 2024. "The Life-Changing Gift of Sign Language." Linguaphile Magazine, June 16, 2024. https://www.linguaphilemagazine.org/editorial/yamamoto-makiko-jsl.
RECENT
Bibliography:
Nakamura, Karen. 2006. Deaf in Japan: Signing and the Politics of Identity. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
Yamamoto, Makiko. 2022. 静かな国の透明人間 (Invisible People of the Silent Land). Independently Published.