Insight: You can’t champion BSL only when it benefits you (BSL)

There’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time as a deaf BSL user who is also able to speak.

I’m bilingual. I switch between British Sign Language and spoken English every single day. I understand it’s not always easy to do both simultaneously.

And so, my blog is not about attacking deaf people who use speech. Nor am I trying to say that BSL is “better” than spoken English.

What I do want to raise awareness of is the responsibility certain people have when put on a platform or in a spotlight – in the mainstream eye.

I want to talk about visibility for BSL and how we can prevent hypocrisy.

I am tired of watching deaf or hard of hearing public figures — especially those who know BSL fluently — suddenly abandon signing the moment they enter mainstream spaces.

It doesn’t make sense to me. In deaf spaces, they choose to sign. Don’t they know those same deaf people are watching them, hoping to also be represented by them?

And when these individuals achieve deaf-led roles in their career, they talk passionately about deaf identity, access, representation, and how important BSL is to them.

But when the cameras are on? When media interviews happen? When hearing audiences are watching? When there’s no other deaf BSL user there in person?

The signing disappears.

Suddenly speech becomes the default and BSL is treated like something optional.

Let me remind you – I use both sign and speech. I am not saying one is better than the other. But compared to English – how much ignorance is there around BSL?!

Therefore we need to make an effort to normalise its use – not drop it in order to “fit in.”

Representing BSL and bringing it into the limelight means advocating for the language at ALL times. Let it be seen!

BSL has spent decades being suppressed, dismissed, and pushed aside. Deaf children were punished for signing. Generations grew up being told speech mattered more.

Even now, BSL users remain massively underrepresented in media, leadership, education, and public life.

So when deaf people who can sign choose not to — especially when they absolutely could sign and speak simultaneously, or ensure BSL remains visible in some way — it sends a message.

Are they saying that BSL only belongs in deaf spaces?

Are they saying that signing should disappear when trying to be taken seriously by hearing people?

And before anyone says, “But it’s their personal choice” — yes, it is.

But if you place yourself in the public eye as a representative of deaf people, if you build careers and opportunities mostly through your connection to deaf identity and BSL culture, then I believe there comes a responsibility too.

Representation is not something you wear when convenient and remove when it might make hearing people uncomfortable.

You cannot passionately champion BSL in one room and then erase it in the next because the audience changed.

I keep wondering: what is the fear?

Do you worry hearing audiences will find signing distracting?

Do you think speaking alone makes you appear more intelligent, more professional, more “normal”?

Do you want distance from visibly deaf identity when status or approval is involved?

These are uncomfortable questions, but I think they matter.

Because young deaf people are watching. Deaf children are watching. Hearing people with no exposure to BSL are watching too.

Every time signing is made visible in mainstream spaces, it challenges ignorance and it normalises deaf existence. It says: this language belongs here too.

And every time it disappears unnecessarily, an opportunity disappears with it.

I know signing and speaking at the same time is not always easy. I know access fatigue is real. I know no deaf person should have to perform their identity constantly to make other people comfortable.

But this conversation is specifically about those who choose to publicly position themselves as advocates, representatives, or voices for the deaf community while pick and choosing when to use the very language they claim is central to their identity.

If BSL matters to you, let it matter when it counts.

Not just in deaf clubs. Not just in funding applications. Not just in interviews for deaf-specific roles.

Not just when it benefits your image.

Be consistent.

Because BSL does not become less worthy the moment hearing people enter the room.

And deaf people should not have to erase visible parts of themselves to be accepted by the mainstream.

This blog has been written anonymously as part of the Insight series – created by Assistant editor Rebecca A Withey.

If you have a story, experience or viewpoint you would like to anonymously share please email Rebecca on  rebecca@rawithey.com

Image courtesy of Pexels