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Most mornings, Turkish-Canadian Mujde Hasimoglu McGuire signs “je t’aime” in Langue des signes québécoise (LSQ), Quebec Sign Language, to her husband before he heads out the door.
Ryan McGuire, who is Franco-Ontarian, always responds with “seni seviyorum” in Türk İşaret Dili, or Turkish Sign Language, which also means “I love you.”
Both were born deaf and grew up communicating in different sign languages, as well as writing.
After they met online, Hasimoglu McGuire learned ASL, or American Sign Language, so the pair could communicate — though they continue to use bits and pieces of the six sign languages they share to get their messages across.
“People may be surprised to know that deaf people can be bilingual or even multilingual,” Hasimoglu McGuire told CBC over video interviews that involved lip-reading, text and the occasional spoken word — a combination the couple said they felt most comfortable with.
Hasimoglu McGuire said just like with spoken languages, there can be communication mix-ups that can lead to some interesting situations.
For example, as with audible homonyms, there are signs that look the same but have different meanings in different sign languages.
“In Turkish Sign Language, raising your hand under your chin means “OK,” but in Quebec Sign Language that same sign means cochon — or pig in English,” Hasimoglu McGuire laughed.
With 300 different sign languages used globally, such miscommunication can crop up regularly.
“Sign language varies around the world, just like spoken languages,” Hasimoglu McGuire explained.
The couple wanted to capture that diversity and richness within deaf culture on camera in their short film The Voice in their Hands, produced with CBC Ottawa’s Creator Network, while also spotlighting their lives as deaf polyglots.
“Our story is not just about speaking differently. It’s about understanding and embracing the varied languages of the deaf community,” explained Mudje.
No signs allowed
Growing up in northwest Turkey, Hasimoglu McGuire didn’t use a lot of sign language — even at the deaf school she attended.
“If we used sign language we would be punished,” she recalled, explaining that her school adhered to oralism, a belief that deaf people should learn to communicate by lip-reading and speaking, rather than through sign language.
In the late 1800s, this concept was championed by Alexander Graham Bell and went on to influence deaf educators around the world. Some countries, including Turkey, banned sign language altogether.
Historians say though acceptance of sign language has grown in Turkey since the 1970s, some schools still prioritize lip-reading.
For deaf advocate Marie-Josée Blier, whose parents taught her to communicate using Quebec’s sign language, that history is frustrating.
“They forced oralism on deaf children, day in and day out, and we as a population were so exhausted with this incessant expectation that we speak,” the Association de l’Ouïe de l’Outaouais coordinator said through an interpreter.
“Imagine if the shoe was on the other foot and we signed exclusively to hearing people every day, and you had to try and figure out what we’re signing.”
At age 16, Hasimoglu McGuire said she asked her friends to teach her Turkish Sign Language so she could communicate with deaf peers who used it.
Since then, she’s become passionate about raising awareness of sign language and life as a deaf person in both Turkey and Canada. She shares challenges she’s faced on social media, including experiences like not being able to hear the teacher calling roll call or not knowing how to get an interpreter for a doctor’s appointment.
Distinctly Québécois
Growing up in a francophone household in Hawkesbury, Ont., near the Quebec border, McGuire said sign language was the first language he learned.
His parents, who were not deaf, chose to communicate with him and his older brother, who is also deaf, using LSQ.
There are approximately 5,000 LSQ signers, which is the common language among Quebecers and Franco-Ontarians, Blier explained. She grew up in northern Ontario, but moved to Ottawa to attend the only school outside Quebec that teaches students in LSQ, Centre Jules-Léger.
Blier describes LSQ as a distinct language, separate from French Sign Language (FSL), used primarily in France.
“LSQ has a very distinct set of rules and structure different from French,” she explained. “For example, in FSL you may sign verbatim: the brown dog jumps over the fence. But that doesn’t exist in LSQ. We’d sign ‘dog brown fence’ and use the space to show where it jumps.”
Because there are so few LSQ-signers, Blier said the community is concerned that without effort, the language could become extinct. She advocates for parents of deaf children to teach their kids multiple sign languages including LSQ — just as a parent of a hearing child may teach their child both English and French.
McGuire now works toward preserving the language as a teacher at the Association de l’Ouïe de l’Outaouais (ADOO) in Gatineau, Que., where he both teaches LSQ and advocates for people who are deaf and hard of hearing.
WATCH: Mujde Hasimoglu and Ryan McGuire visit CBC Ottawa’s radio studios for an interview with Alan Neal, using an interpreter:
A deaf couple share the story behind the video they made for CBC Ottawa’s Creator Network in a filmed radio interview on CBC’s All in a Day, with host Alan Neal and using interpreter Roxanne Whiting.
A community beyond words
After meeting online, McGuire and Hasimoglu McGuire dated long-distance for years, meeting in different countries before marrying and settling in Canada in 2016.
Last year, the pair decided to start spreading awareness of deaf culture on TikTok and YouTube, hoping their videos will show that deaf people are living full lives around the world, and the role sign language plays in that.
“It’s great for everyone to connect and understand each other better,” McGuire said.
“We want people to realize that community goes beyond words and can be visually expressive and inclusive,” Hasimoglu McGuire added.