Jordan Sangalang

Tag: LSQ

  • Why Winnipeg Roars “TRUE NORTH!” (And Why I’ll Sign It That Way Tomorrow)

    Why Winnipeg Roars “TRUE NORTH!” (And Why I’ll Sign It That Way Tomorrow)

    Here’s the story of how Winnipeg lost its Jets… and how a quiet, stubborn group of locals brought them home.

    It starts with a sound you’ll only ever hear in one building on the Prairies.

    The lights are low. Fifteen thousand people are on their feet. The anthem singer reaches the line that every Canadian knows by heart—the True North strong and free—and the entire arena erupts as one:

    “TRUE NORTH!”

    It’s not in the official lyrics. It never was. Yet it feels more Winnipeg than almost anything else in the song. That shout is pure gratitude, pure pride, and a little bit of unfinished business. To understand why it hits so hard, you have to go back to the night the city went quiet.

    In the spring of 1996, the Winnipeg Jets played their last game at the old Winnipeg Arena. The building was aging. The team was losing money. Ownership couldn’t find a way to stay. On a warm July day the franchise was sold to American interests and shipped south to become the Phoenix Coyotes. Just like that, the Jets were gone.

    For a lot of people here, it felt personal. Hockey wasn’t just entertainment. It was the winter heartbeat of the city. Kids had grown up dreaming of wearing that crest. Parents had spent paycheques on season tickets. When the moving trucks left, something in the civic spirit left with them. Downtown felt emptier. Winters felt longer. People still talk about where they were when they heard the news, the way people remember where they were during a blackout.

    What followed were the lean years. No NHL. No big nights. Just the ache of what used to be. Some cities might have let the dream die. Winnipeg didn’t. A small group of local business people, led by Mark Chipman, refused to accept that the story was over. In 1996—while the wounds were still fresh—they brought the Minnesota Moose north and rebranded them the Manitoba Moose. It wasn’t the NHL, but it kept the ice cold and the seats full. It kept the habit of gathering under one roof for hockey alive.

    Then they did something even more important. They built a real arena.

    The MTS Centre (now Canada Life Centre) rose in the middle of downtown in 2004. It wasn’t flashy by big-city standards, but it was modern, intimate, and owned by people who actually lived here. True North Sports & Entertainment was never just a company name. It was a statement: we’re staying. We’re investing. We’re not waiting for someone else to save us.

    For years they watched. They studied the economics of the new NHL. They talked quietly with the league. Twice they came painfully close to bringing the original Jets franchise home from Phoenix. Once, Chipman later said, they were “within ten minutes” of sealing the deal before Glendale found more money to keep the team. The near-misses hurt, but they also proved something: Winnipeg was ready. The arena was ready. The ownership group was ready. All they needed was the right moment.

    That moment arrived in the spring of 2011.

    The Atlanta Thrashers were struggling. True North moved. On the morning of May 31, Mark Chipman stood in front of the media at the MTS Centre and said the words the city had waited fifteen years to hear. The NHL was coming back. The team would be called the Jets again.

    Tickets went on sale a few days later. Thirteen thousand season tickets sold in seventeen minutes. Grown men cried in the ticket lines. Strangers hugged. For the first time in a generation, Winnipeg felt whole again.

    A few months later, during one of the very first home games, something spontaneous happened. When the anthem reached “the True North strong and free,” a few voices in the crowd shouted the company name that had made the miracle possible. The next night a few more joined in. Then the whole building. No one organized it. No one asked for it. It just happened—the purest kind of thank-you a city can give.

    That’s why, every single time the national anthem plays at a Jets game, the same roar rises. It’s not marketing. It’s memory. It’s the sound of a city that lost something precious, refused to stay broken, and quietly, stubbornly, brought it home.

    So the next time you hear fifteen thousand people shout “TRUE NORTH!” in the middle of “O Canada,” know what you’re really hearing.

    You’re hearing the long winter that followed 1996.
    You’re hearing the people who kept showing up for the Moose.
    You’re hearing the risk of building an arena when no team was guaranteed.
    You’re hearing the almost-deals that fell through and the one that finally didn’t.
    And you’re hearing a city that still remembers what it felt like to lose its team—and refuses to take having it back for granted.

    That’s the story. And every time the chant hits, Winnipeg tells it again.

  • International Mother Language Day: From Recognition to Redesign in Canada

    Today is International Mother Language Day.

    Across Canada, institutions, schools, and organizations marked the occasion by celebrating the languages that shape identity and community. Notably, the Office of the Chief Accessibility Officer publicly acknowledged that communication is one of the seven priority areas under the Accessible Canada Act — and that American Sign Language (ASL), Langue des signes québécoise (LSQ), and Indigenous Sign Languages are recognized as the primary languages of Deaf people in Canada.

    This matters.

    It matters because the Accessible Canada Act formally acknowledges what Deaf communities have always known: our languages are sovereign, complete, and foundational to who we are.

    But let’s be clear.

    Deaf people did not begin existing when legislation recognized us.
    Our languages were not born when they were written into law.
    We have always been here.

    Beyond Celebration: A Strategic Opening

    International Mother Language Day is not simply a celebration of linguistic diversity. It is an opportunity — a strategic opening — to shift from recognition to redesign.

    Recognition says: We see you.
    Design says: We build with you.

    There is a profound difference.

    For generations, Canadian systems — education, healthcare, employment, media, and policy — were constructed on an assumption of speech supremacy. Deaf presence was treated as an exception to accommodate rather than a design reality to centre.

    Now, with ASL, LSQ, and Indigenous Sign Languages acknowledged within federal law, we stand at a threshold.

    The question is no longer whether our languages are valid.

    The question is:

    What will Canada look like when Deaf presence is embedded by design?

    What Does Deaf Presence by Design Mean?

    What would it mean to:

    • Build policies that begin from visual language, not retrofit it?
    • Structure organizations where sign language is not a service line item but a foundational operating modality?
    • Design businesses where Deaf professionals shape strategy, not merely participate in it?
    • Create public communications that assume visual-spatial language users from the outset?

    This is not about “inclusion.” Inclusion implies an existing structure with space made at the edges.

    This is about architectural influence.

    Deaf Canadians are not guests in this country. We are co-authors of it.

    Language as Activation

    International Mother Language Day reminds us that language is identity.

    But within the Sumain frame, language is also activation.

    When ASL is centred in a household, it is not an accommodation. It is inheritance.
    When LSQ shapes community in Québec, it is not a special feature. It is culture in motion.
    When Indigenous Sign Languages are acknowledged, we are reminded that Deaf presence has always intersected with land, nationhood, and sovereignty.

    Recognition under the Accessible Canada Act is significant. It gives us a legal foothold. It gives advocates leverage. It gives institutions direction.

    But legislation alone does not redesign landscapes.

    People do.

    Moving From Gratitude to Authorship

    This moment is an invitation — especially for Deaf leaders, entrepreneurs, educators, artists, policymakers, and families — to move beyond gratitude and into authorship.

    How will we influence:

    • The next generation of policy?
    • The structure of Deaf-led enterprises?
    • The training of architects, urban planners, and technologists?
    • The narrative Canada tells about communication, cognition, and human diversity?

    We are not waiting to belong.
    We already do.

    International Mother Language Day is a reminder that our languages are not peripheral to Canada’s story. They are integral to it.

    The future Canadian landscape — socially, economically, and politically — can be shaped with Deaf presence by design.

    The law has acknowledged our languages.

    Now we activate them.

    Start reframing now.

  • “It’s Accessible—It Has Captions”: Why That Assumption Still Excludes Deaf People in Canada

    As a Deaf dad, accessibility is not an abstract concept for me. It shows up in my work, my parenting, my community involvement, and in the everyday digital spaces my family and I navigate. It also shows up in conversations—often small, well-intentioned ones—that reveal how misunderstood Deaf accessibility still is.

    One such conversation recently took place on a social media messaging platform, and it highlighted a gap that many hearing content creators don’t realize exists.

    The creator reached out to me first, likely in the context of business, leads, or collaboration. She shared about her regular content posting and YouTube channel. As someone grounded in Deaf culture and accessibility work, I saw an opportunity to gently raise awareness about how her content could be more accessible to Deaf audiences—particularly Deaf leads, prospects, and clients.

    I suggested incorporating American Sign Language (ASL) for key videos, such as signed translations or interpretations.

    Her response was:

    “But it’s accessible with captions! And it’s my understanding most Deaf people can read English.”

    The exchange was polite and not hostile. Yet it reflected several deeply rooted misconceptions about Deaf accessibility—misconceptions that remain widespread in Canada. This experience is worth sharing not to single out one person, but to raise awareness about a systemic issue that continues to shape who is included and who is left out online.

    Captions Are Important—But They Are Not the Same as Access

    Captions play an important role in accessibility. They help many Deaf and hard-of-hearing people access spoken content, and when done well, they can include speaker identification and sound cues.

    However, captions alone are not an equivalent solution for the Deaf community.

    ASL Is a First Language for Many Deaf People

    For many Deaf Canadians—especially those who are prelingually Deaf and culturally Deaf—ASL is their first and primary language. ASL is not English on the hands. It is a fully developed visual language with its own grammar, syntax, and cultural meaning.

    ASL is experienced through movement, facial expression, and spatial relationships—not through reading text. When captions are presented in English, they assume fluency in a language that may be a second language for many Deaf people.

    In the Canadian context, this also includes la langue des signes québécoise (LSQ) and Indigenous sign languages used in some communities. Deaf Canadians are linguistically diverse, and English is not automatically the most accessible option.

    Captions Increase Cognitive Load

    Reading captions while watching visuals requires constant eye movement and mental processing. This can be especially challenging for fast-paced, technical, or emotionally nuanced content—particularly when captions are auto-generated and inaccurate (often referred to as “craptions”).

    ASL naturally conveys tone, emphasis, emotion, and intent through non-manual signals. For native signers, ASL often provides a clearer and more complete experience than written English captions.

    The Deaf Community Is Not One-Size-Fits-All

    Some Deaf people rely on captions. Some rely on ASL. Many prefer both. Needs vary depending on age of language exposure, education, identity, and access history.

    The statement “most Deaf people can read English” reflects a common assumption, but it oversimplifies reality. Research consistently shows wide variation in English literacy among Deaf individuals—largely due to language deprivation and systemic barriers in education.

    Assuming captions are sufficient for “most” people inevitably excludes those who already face the greatest barriers.

    What Canadian Deaf-Led Advocacy Has Long Said

    These issues are not new. Deaf-led organizations in Canada have been clear for decades:

    • The Canadian Association of the Deaf – Association des Sourds du Canada (CAD-ASC) advocates for the recognition and use of ASL, LSQ, and Indigenous sign languages. CAD-ASC played a key role in shaping the Accessible Canada Act, which explicitly names these sign languages in federal law and affirms the right to accessible communication.
    • The Canadian Hard of Hearing Association (CHHA) promotes accessible communities while recognizing the diverse communication needs across Deaf and hard-of-hearing populations.
    • Canadian service providers such as Asign demonstrate how sign language interpreting, translation, and on-demand solutions remove real-world communication barriers in workplaces, education, and digital spaces.

    These perspectives align with international standards like the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines (WCAG), which recognize sign language as a necessary accessibility option—not an enhancement—for prerecorded content.

    “But It’s Accessible”: A Hearing-Centred Starting Point

    The response I received reflects a common hearing-centred mindset: captions are seen as “doing accessibility,” often based on general advice rather than Deaf input.

    The phrase “my understanding” matters. It signals reliance on assumptions rather than lived experience or Deaf-led knowledge. This is not about blame. Many hearing creators simply haven’t been exposed to Deaf linguistic realities.

    As a Deaf dad, I see how these assumptions show up everywhere—from online content to education systems to public services. They are rarely intentional, but their impact is real.

    Moving Toward Meaningful Accessibility

    Accessibility is not about perfection. It’s about choice, equity, and listening.

    Practical steps for Canadian content creators include:

    • Providing accurate, well-timed captions as a baseline.
    • Offering ASL or LSQ options for key content through signed videos, picture-in-picture interpreters, or separate sign language translations.
    • Consulting Deaf ASL/LSQ professionals and Deaf community members.
    • Asking audiences what they need instead of assuming.
    • Learning from Deaf-led organizations and Canadian accessibility frameworks.

    When accessibility is done well, everyone benefits. Deaf people gain meaningful participation—not partial access. Creators expand their reach and build trust with communities too often overlooked.

    Let’s Keep the Conversation Going

    If you’re a content creator, educator, employer, or organization in Canada, I invite you to reflect:

    Who might your current accessibility choices unintentionally exclude?

    This post isn’t meant to end the conversation—it’s meant to open one.

    As a Deaf dad and community advocate, I believe real accessibility grows through dialogue, curiosity, and a willingness to learn. If you have questions, reflections, or experiences to share, I welcome them. Let’s continue building digital spaces where Deaf people are not an afterthought, but an integral part of the audience from the start.