Unveiling The Deaf Experience: Rachel Zemach’s Identity Transformation Journey

Rachel Zemach: I became a teacher because I felt I had something to bring to the table for deaf students—because I’m deaf myself and I also love teaching. I finally got my credential later in life, and I had already had a lot of experience being a student in many different kinds of schools, seeing what worked and what didn’t. 

I knew many deaf people and had worked in many different settings, so I had a lot of knowledge going into the job. But what I learned on that job was mind-boggling. It stunned me. It changed me. I changed my own personal identity because of what I saw and experienced, and I wrote a book to try and make a difference. 

Tim Villegas: Hello friends, this is Think Inclusive. I’m Tim Villegas, and who you just heard was Rachel Zemach, a deaf author and former teacher. 

Her book, The Butterfly Cage: Joy, Heartache, and Corruption Teaching While Deaf in a California Public School, was released in 2023. It describes, in a lively and personable manner, her career, personal identity shift, and the trajectories of individual students, as well as dysfunction in mainstream deaf education. Her book is an attempt to trigger a national dialogue on the topic. 

Rachel lives in Northern California. Thanks so much for being here with us today. We appreciate each and every one of you listening to or watching Think Inclusive—MCIE’s podcast that brings you conversations with people doing the work of inclusion in the real world. While you’re here, make sure to hit the follow or subscribe button so you can keep getting Think Inclusive in your feed. 

In today’s episode, Rachel and I discuss her book, The Butterfly Cage. She highlights the transformative experience of teaching deaf students in both mainstream and deaf schools. Rachel emphasizes the importance of positive deaf identity, sign language, and the rich cultural and educational benefits of deaf schools over mainstream environments. 

She discusses communication barriers and the need for proper accommodations—such as hiring deaf teachers, providing interpreters, and promoting American Sign Language within inclusive settings—to ensure that deaf students can thrive. 

Before we get into my conversation with Rachel, I want to tell you about our sponsor for this season: IXL. 

IXL is a fantastic all-in-one platform designed for K–12 education. It helps boost student achievement, empowers teachers, and tracks progress seamlessly. Imagine having a tool that simplifies what usually requires dozens of different resources. That’s IXL. As students practice, IXL adapts to their individual needs, ensuring they’re both supported and challenged. Plus, each learner receives a personalized learning plan to effectively address any knowledge gaps. Interested in learning more? Visit ixl.com/inclusive. 

All right, after a short break, we’ll get into my conversation with Rachel Zemach. Catch you on the other side. 

Tim Villegas: Rachel Zemach, welcome to the Think Inclusive Podcast. 

Rachel Zemach: Good to be here. 

Tim Villegas: Rachel, you wrote a book called The Butterfly Cage about your experience being a teacher. I know we’re going to talk about your experiences as a deaf person and about teaching deaf children, but you wanted to say something first before we got into the book. Is that right? 

Rachel Zemach: I want to explain a little bit to people who are listening or watching this. I became deaf when I was 10, so I still have speech. But when I’m around deaf people, I sign. I don’t want to use both languages at the same time in this interview because it’s impossible to do it well in both languages at the same time. 

So I’m just signing for now to show you that that is my preferred mode of communication. We are relying on captions for me to understand, and I have a separate device here that is also a backup for captions. So occasionally I might look away. Any deaf person who wants to access this can do so through a transcript. I just wanted to let you know and explain all that. 

Tim Villegas: Thanks, Rachel. And like Rachel said, when we first got onto Zoom, which is the platform we’re using for this interview, there are some captioning issues. So that is why Rachel has the backup. But it just goes to show how difficult it can be sometimes to communicate. 

Rachel Zemach: Yeah, that’s the biggest issue deaf people have—communication. We don’t feel disabled, but society being so focused on sound makes it a disability in the area of communication and understanding. But once we have access to understand what’s going on around us and to communicate with people, then the disability disappears. 

Tim Villegas: Well, thank you for being here, Rachel. I’m wondering if you can share with us what brought you to teaching. What was your journey like to become a teacher? 

Rachel Zemach: I became a teacher because I felt I had something to bring to the table for deaf students—because I’m deaf myself and I also love teaching. I finally got my credential later in life. I had already had a lot of experience being a student in many different kinds of schools and seeing what worked and what didn’t. 

I knew many deaf people and had worked in many different settings, so I had a lot of knowledge going into the job. But when I was teaching in a public school—a mainstream school, where the majority is hearing and there’s a small group of deaf students—what I learned on that job was mind-boggling. It stunned me. It changed me. I changed my own personal identity because of what I saw and experienced, and I wrote a book to try and make a difference. 

Tim Villegas: Could you tell us more about the change that happened inside of you because of your teaching experience and working with children? 

Rachel Zemach: Yeah. In the beginning of the job, I would tell people I was hard of hearing or had a hearing problem. I felt ambivalent—on the fence—about whether I was part of the deaf world or the hearing world, and what I had the right to call myself. 

One way of explaining that is that I was “deaf with a lowercase d.” Ten years later, I left the job and went to teach at a deaf school. It’s a dramatically different environment. Everyone is deaf—teachers, principals, janitors. There’s a sense of deaf pride, a strong sense of positive deaf identity and culture, and a celebration of American Sign Language. 

By the time I left the mainstream school, I was a completely different person. I felt comfortable using a capital D to describe myself. Throughout my book, I use a capital D for the word “Deaf.” 

From the students, I saw that anything to do with deafness brought them joy. If I brought a children’s book written by a deaf author, they got super excited. If I told them a visitor was coming, they were skeptical—until I said the visitor was deaf. Then they were thrilled, like it was a movie star. 

It was the positive deaf identity and sign language—celebrating it, enjoying it, playing with it—that gave them joy. But the environment we were in was quite hostile. The administrators thought they were doing the best thing by telling students not to call themselves deaf, but “hard of hearing,” and by putting them in regular classes with hearing students, teaching them to speak and use listening devices. 

There are two different approaches to educating a deaf child in a hearing world. Most administrators, teachers, speech therapists, audiologists, and pediatricians believe in helping them fit into the hearing world. But most deaf professionals, people at deaf schools, and successful deaf adults believe in the opposite approach. 

Tim Villegas: It sounds like where you ended up with your thinking and philosophy is that deaf children should be educated in a space meant for the deaf community. Is that correct? 

Rachel Zemach: Yeah, basically. Let me back up a moment. Eighty-five percent of all deaf and hard of hearing children in the U.S. are mainstreamed. The belief system that says deaf kids should be educated with hearing peers is so strong. They’re put in regular schools and classes, taught to speak and lip-read, and fit into the hearing world. Most parents go along with this, not knowing any better. 

So 85% of our children are in public schools where they might be the only deaf child—or one of two. In my case, there were about 20 at its peak, often 10, spread across kindergarten to sixth grade. 

In contrast, deaf schools have many deaf people, role models, and linguistic fluency. Everyone is signing all the time. In hearing schools, everyone is talking. Deaf students can’t understand the teachers on yard duty or the hearing kids at recess. They feel different and disabled. They’re often made fun of. Most deaf people don’t speak, and their voices are mocked. They don’t have the confidence to raise their hands in class. They might miss 40% to 100% of the material. Everything they miss has a cost—psychologically and socially. 

Without other deaf kids around, they can’t develop a positive sense of who they are. Communication is a problem. But when some of my students transferred to the deaf school, they flourished. Within months, they were signing better, had friends, strong self-esteem, and the sense of being different disappeared. They were the norm. 

Tim Villegas: I wanted to ask a follow-up question. What you’re describing—this community of deaf individuals and role models—doesn’t last forever. At some point, school ends. The world isn’t like the deaf school. So how does that prepare a learner to live in a world that isn’t like the deaf school? 

Rachel Zemach: That’s a great question. And I have to give you credit—you are the first person who has ever asked me that. 

Rachel Zemach: It’s a wonderful question, and it’s important. I’m very interested in that because right now I’m seeing my former students becoming adults. I’m keeping in touch with many of them and tracking their lives—partly out of academic interest, to see how this is going to play out. 

About half of my students transferred to the deaf school, and half stayed in the hearing school district until they turned 18. So I’ve had a very good opportunity to see the results. 

The kids who went to the deaf school received everything directly from their teachers—in American Sign Language (ASL)—as compared to going through an interpreter, a listening device, or faulty hearing in a hearing environment. That direct communication is a very important aspect. In the hearing environment, they’re missing out. They’re guessing, pretending to understand, trying to fit in—saying, “I’m not deaf, I understood you perfectly,” when they might’ve missed everything. 

In the deaf school, they understand everything. They have immediate access to all communication, and this enables their brains to develop very quickly. The brain development is very different between the two groups. I can’t emphasize this enough—it’s astonishing to see the difference, and it happens within a few months. The brains of the kids in the deaf environment just take off. Their sense of self, their power in the world, their accountability, critical thinking, and abstract thinking skills all grow. In the other environment, everything is stunted. There’s a lot of faking it, a lot of covering up embarrassment. 

So when they enter the adult world—looking for jobs, relationships, etc.—those who’ve had at least a year in a deaf environment (ideally more) have friends, a community, and knowledge of deaf resources. They know where to go for interpreters, how to use phone apps, where to find jobs. That cultural knowledge is shared in deaf environments. They’re much better off. 

Kids from hearing schools often have no clue. They’ve never heard of these agencies. They don’t know how to navigate public interactions with hearing people. Their thinking has been stunted for years. So the tools that deaf school students have are much stronger for surviving in a difficult world. 

I’m generalizing—there are always exceptions—but this is an accurate generalization from what I’ve seen. 

Also, many deaf people from deaf schools end up working with other deaf people. When they get jobs, they know how to stand up for themselves. They know their legal rights to communication access and how to fight for them. Both groups face discrimination and challenges—it’s tough out there—but those from deaf schools have tools, support, and role models who told them, “It’s up to you to make your life a success.” 

One more thing: kids who grow up in mainstream schools often struggle to find a social group or a partner. They don’t sign fluently because ASL wasn’t emphasized—speech was. So they can’t mingle with the deaf community, which could bring them joy and relationships. They also don’t understand deaf norms or identify as proud deaf individuals. And when they try to connect with hearing people, it doesn’t work either because they can’t understand them. They’re just pretending. That doesn’t build real relationships. It’s very sad to see sometimes. 

Tim Villegas: We have a lot of listeners who are interested in inclusive education—educators, administrators—and the topic of deafness and the deaf community is one I don’t have much experience in. 

I’ve been asked whether schools can be inclusive and have deaf learners without expecting them to change to fit into a hearing world—by providing accommodations so they can thrive in any classroom. I understand there are strong feelings about deaf children going to deaf schools, but in your experience and opinion, is it possible for deaf children to thrive in an inclusive classroom that is set up to support them and not change them? 

Rachel Zemach: Yeah, I like that question a lot too—because it is possible. 

How it can be achieved is by hiring deaf teachers. Schools may need to provide interpreters and accommodations for those teachers, which many don’t do. But deaf teachers are where the magic happens. They live the experience of being deaf 24/7. Ideally, they’re also connected to the deaf community and culture, and they bring that into the classroom. 

They show that deafness can be a positive thing—something to be proud of—not a problem to hide. A deaf teacher can bring so much to the table that a hearing teacher can’t. Psychologically and linguistically, if the deaf teacher signs natively, the brain benefits of learning a first language are maximized. That strong language foundation supports academic success. 

So my first strong recommendation is: take the extra step. Be respectful enough of the population you’re teaching—deaf children—to hire a deaf teacher for them. 

Then, create an environment where that teacher is respected by the rest of the staff. The administration sets the tone. Do they look down on the deaf teacher, or do they recognize them as a valuable resource? I recommend the latter. 

Also, when mainstreaming a deaf child into a regular class, I’m not against it. It can work beautifully for some individuals. But it has to be done carefully. Right now, the tendency is to throw deaf kids into hearing classes, assuming they’ll get used to the hearing world. But that disempowers them. 

If you’re going to do it, make sure they have an excellent interpreter—certified, ideally a team of a hearing and a deaf interpreter. That’s the ideal setup. Most interpreters in schools are inadequate, and that pulls the child down instead of lifting them up. 

If you focus on hearing devices, lip reading, and speech—that’s fine. I’m speaking now. I’m married to a hearing person. I wear a hearing aid. I’m not against it. But don’t use that as a reason to eliminate sign language. Give them both. Teach them sign language. Let them decide what works for them. 

Also, include the child in everything—after-school classes, events, field trips. Provide interpreters for all of it. If you’re going to call yourself inclusive, really be inclusive. Don’t just be inclusive during class time and leave them on their own the rest of the time. They may be paying a high psychological price, and as kids, they can’t express it. It’s only as adults that they’ll talk about the trauma of their so-called inclusive childhood. 

Lastly, teach ASL to general ed students and staff. They don’t have to be fluent—just start with five signs a week. Use assemblies, videos, classroom visits. It’s nothing but positive. Sign language has tremendous benefits for everyone. And the deaf child will truly be included when they can go to recess and communicate with the teacher on yard duty. 

Right now, the teacher might come over and say, “What?” and the child feels like the environment doesn’t really care about them—because they can’t understand. 

Tim Villegas: Those are great suggestions and recommendations. Thank you for sharing that. 

Along the same lines of inclusive schools and classrooms—again, deafness and deaf culture isn’t something I have a lot of experience in. But I do have experience supporting learners with autism, intellectual disabilities, emotional and behavioral challenges. 

There’s a sentiment—though not really shared by our listeners—that those learners should be in special schools or classrooms for many of the same reasons you bring up about deafness and deaf culture. 

The problem we’ve seen—again, not talking about deafness—is that those environments often separate and segregate learners from their typically developing peers. Especially for those with intellectual disabilities, they often receive a different, watered-down curriculum with low expectations. 

And when you look at special schools, often nobody knows what’s going on in them. Those learners may not be able to communicate what’s happening or how they’re feeling. 

So I want to make a distinction between what you’re talking about—a special school for the deaf—and special schools for learners with autism, intellectual disabilities, or behavioral challenges. 

Because many people listening want to see inclusive schools, particularly for those learners. So I just want to get your feeling: are you advocating specifically for the deaf community, or are you saying this applies to any disability? 

Rachel Zemach: Wow. Another good question. 

Okay, I have three main points to answer that last question. I’ll start with the last one you asked—whether what I’m advocating is only for deaf kids or for kids with disabilities in general. 

Deaf kids have a very important difference from all other categories: communication is our barrier. People talk, and we don’t have reliable hearing. What we do have is good sight—but the world is run through speech. 

Communication is the main challenge for deaf children. Other disabilities come with different challenges, and while some—like autism—also involve communication issues, those aren’t based on physical access to language. That’s a key distinction. 

There are laws, like IDEA, that were well-intentioned and gave people with disabilities the right to accommodations in public schools. But for deaf children, those laws have backfired. They’ve placed us in environments where we can’t understand our teachers or peers. We’re constantly missing out, trying to lip-read, pretending to understand, hiding the fact that we didn’t. It’s a battle—not an academic one, but a communication one. 

The law’s concept of the “least restrictive environment” (LRE) is interpreted by most hearing people as placing deaf children in hearing schools. But for most deaf people, the least restrictive environment is a deaf school or a large deaf program with deaf teachers—a language-rich environment. We’ve redefined LRE to reflect that. 

You also mentioned assimilation and inclusion. The idea is for a child to be in class with their non-disabled peers to build skills and have similar experiences. I agree that the quality of education should be high for everyone. In segregated classes, sometimes it isn’t—but that depends on the teacher and the support they receive. There should be oversight to ensure quality. 

What you said reminded me of administrators at the mainstream school where I taught. They’d say, “Let’s put this child in a hearing class so they can socialize with hearing kids.” But deaf kids already socialize with hearing people—neighbors, cousins, birthday parties, siblings in the car. Their whole world outside school is hearing. They don’t need that in school. What they need in school is education. Once they have that—reading, writing, math, critical thinking—they can function better in the hearing world. 

We don’t need to interfere with their education by pushing our values on them during the limited time they’re in school. 

Tim Villegas: Okay. 

Rachel Zemach: That’s basically all three questions. 

Tim Villegas: Well again, thank you for sharing your thoughts. This has been a really fascinating conversation. As we wrap up, is there anything you’d like to leave with our listeners—especially those who want to create inclusive schools and classrooms? 

Rachel Zemach: Yes. 

If you come in contact with a deaf child, I urge you not to push them—or their parents—toward assimilation, mainstreaming, and speech. Realize that there’s something called Deaf Community and Cultural Wealth (DCCW). It’s something you may not know about, but it’s beautiful, empowering, funny, lively—a gift to its members. 

By directing a child only to the hearing world, you’re cutting them off from something that could be a source of strength and happiness. You don’t have to worry about them being isolated in the deaf world. What really happens is they go there, get their needs met, and then return to the hearing world better equipped. They’ll be grateful for having both experiences. 

Also, I want to tell people about the book. If you want to learn more—read stories of individual students, see classroom dynamics, follow the trajectory of one particular student, and learn about deaf politics, history, and my personal identity journey—it’s all in the book. And I promise, even though the material is serious, it has light moments and humor. I did that on purpose to balance it out. It won’t wring your heart without giving it a chance to recover. 

The book is available on Amazon, Bookshop, and many other places. It’s called The Butterfly Cage. 

Tim Villegas: Thank you. The Butterfly Cage. Rachel Zemach. Rachel, before I let you go, there’s something we do at the end. I didn’t prep you for this because I was focused on getting the book and didn’t follow our usual guest-host communication. 

But if you’re willing, I ask a “mystery question” at the end of the interview. I have a stack of cards with prompts. I pick one at random, and we both answer it. I try to keep it light. If either of us is uncomfortable, we can skip it. Are you game? 

Rachel Zemach: Yeah, it sounds fun. I’m a little scared, but I’m definitely game. 

Tim Villegas: It’s okay. Usually it’s just fine. I’ll pick the top card here… Oh, this is a hard one. If you were designing your own fragrance to represent yourself, what would you call it? 

Rachel Zemach: What would I call it? Oh wow… 

Tim Villegas: I can go first if you want. I really enjoy walking in the woods—hiking. One of our favorite places to go is national parks. Right now, my favorite is Glacier National Park in Montana. So I’d call my fragrance “Glacier.” 

Rachel Zemach: Wonderful. And you helped me with my answer. I love the smell of redwood trees and forest. I was house-sitting once in Santa Cruz, California, and right outside the house was this incredible forest smell. I wanted so badly to bottle it up and take it home. 

So, to be poetic, I’d call my fragrance “Redwood Relief.” Hopefully, the smell is so enchanting—and the views too—that it helps you release some of the stress and garbage from the rest of your life, even for a little while. 

Tim Villegas: I love that. Honestly, I was nervous about this question, but I think we nailed it. 

Rachel Zemach: Likewise. Thank you for the opportunity. I loved your questions. 

Tim Villegas: Rachel Zemach, thank you so much for this fascinating conversation. I look forward to reading your book, The Butterfly Cage, and thank you for being on the podcast. 

Rachel Zemach: Thank you for the opportunity. And good to meet—or sort of meet—all your viewers and listeners. 

Tim Villegas: That’s all the time we have for this episode of Think Inclusive. Now, let’s roll the credits. 

Think Inclusive is brought to you by me, Tim Villegas. I handle the writing, editing, design, mixing, and mastering. This podcast is a proud production of the Maryland Coalition for Inclusive Education. Our original music is by Miles Kredich, with additional tunes by Melod.ie. 

A big shout-out to our sponsor, IXL. Check them out at ixl.com/inclusive. 

We truly appreciate each and every one of you who tunes in. We’d love to hear how you’re using our episodes. Are they part of your teaching toolkit? Are you sharing them with school administrators? Drop me a line at tvillegas@mcie.org and let me know. 

And hey, if you’re still with us this far into the episode, it probably means you love Think Inclusive and the work MCIE is doing. Can I ask you a small favor? Help us keep the momentum going by donating at our website, mcie.org. Just click the button at the top of the site and chip in $5, $10, $20. It would mean the world to us—and to the children in the schools and districts we partner with. 

Thanks so much for your time and attention. And remember: inclusion always works. 

Download the complete and unedited transcript here.