What we lose when Deaf Clubs disappear

As a CODA (Child of Deaf Adults), I grew up in a Deaf club watching my parents walk into a space where everything finally made sense.

The language, the laughter, the stories flying across the room in sign, lights flashing to get someone’s attention, and yes… the noise. Deaf clubs are loud, joyful places.

For my parents, the Deaf club was a place where everyone used the same language. No one had to explain themselves, or was left guessing. It was a place to socialise, to learn, to argue, to support each other, to share news, to grieve, to celebrate. A place full of information, resources, advice, and people who understood without needing a long explanation.

With my CODA friends :)

And in the middle of it all were us, the CODAs. Absorbing sign language without even realising. Playing around, being naughty, thinking our Deaf parents wouldn’t notice. They always noticed. Deaf parents have eyes everywhere!

I saw first-hand how important that was.

Deaf clubs give Deaf people something that is still rare in the world: a fully accessible social space. A place where communication is equal, and where Deaf identity is normal, valued, and shared.

And for young Deaf people, that matters deeply.

My parents left their Deaf school at just 16 (that was simply where education stopped), and suddenly the world expected them to fit into hearing spaces where sign language wasn’t welcome, where speech therapy was advised (none of their family members knew to sign), and where communication felt hard and lonely.

With my parents and some of the Deaf Club members :)

The Deaf club became the one place where confidence grew. The place where they made lifelong friends, found their first jobs, fell in love, and built the foundations of their adult lives. Without that space, school would have ended, and isolation would have begun.

But in recent years, Deaf clubs have been disappearing.

Attendance has gone down. Funding has dropped. Some clubs have had to close completely.

After the pandemic, many people, especially younger Deaf people, found community online instead. Social media groups, video chats, digital spaces. And yes, digital communities can be powerful, as they can connect people across distance, share information quickly, and create visibility, but they are not accessible to everyone.

Not everyone has good internet access. Not everyone feels comfortable online. Not everyone finds digital spaces safe or supportive. And for many people, especially older Deaf people or those who are isolated, online connections can feel shallow and lonely.

Sorry, but virtual spaces cannot replace real human connections!

When Deaf clubs disappear, something important is lost. Not just a building, but a lifeline.

As a CODA, I worry about what happens when those physical spaces vanish.

I worry about Deaf people who are left behind because technology does not work for them.

I worry about isolation, about mental health, about young Deaf people growing up without ever experiencing the joy of Deaf community in real life.

Deaf clubs are not old-fashioned. They are essential, and they need support now more than ever. From the Deaf community, from allies, from organisations, from funders, from anyone who believes that Deaf people deserve spaces that belong to them.

If we care about Deaf culture, Deaf wellbeing, and Deaf futures, we have to care about Deaf clubs.

I saw what they gave my parents.

I saw what they gave our community.

And I believe they still matter.

I would love to hear your experiences too.

Did you grow up in a Deaf club? Do you miss one that has closed? What does Deaf community mean to you?