New Americans Deaf
New Americans Deaf follows the everyday lives of members of Deaf New Americans Advocacy (DNAA), a Syracuse-based nonprofit led by Deaf immigrants and asylum seekers from South Asia. The project explores how this community reclaims agency in a world that often renders them invisible.
Many DNAA members arrived in the United States after years in refugee camps, carrying limited access to education, healthcare, or even formal sign language. In Syracuse, they must navigate a second language shift—from Nepali Sign Language to American Sign Language—while confronting structural barriers to basic services, cultural recognition, and social belonging.
DNAA members build community not through words—but through hands, care, and presence. The farm “Asha Laaya” (Farm of Hope) becomes both metaphor and method: a place to heal, to grow, and to resist erasure through cultivation and connection.
These photographs do not aim to speak for the Deaf New Americans community—but to witness, honor, and stand beside them. In their hands, we see more than survival. We see what it means to build a life on your own terms.
Deaf New Americans gather on the farm for the first time this year, discussing how to clean up the land and prepare for spring planting. For many, the farm is more than soil—it’s a space to reconnect, rebuild, and belong.
In a greenhouse filled with hanging plants, members of DNAA prepare seed beds for the upcoming growing season. With quiet focus and familiar hands, they ready the soil for a new cycle of growth—rooted in skill, resilience, and hope.
Members of DNAA work the land at Asha Laaya (Farm of Hope), a leased farm where each family tends their own plot. For Monu and others, farming is more than food—it’s healing, heritage, and a way to reconnect with a sense of self and belonging often denied in their daily lives.
Bundled against the lingering cold, members of DNAA clear the land in preparation for the spring planting season. With each pull and cut, they reclaim the soil—turning labor into possibility and persistence into growth.
In the greenhouse, a Deaf New Americans member carefully selects seeds to place into trays for germination. Each seed holds a story—of survival, tradition, and the quiet power of starting again.
Monu and her husband, Jay, shop at a local Asian grocery store, picking out fresh ingredients for a traditional Nepali meal. For many Deaf New Americans, food becomes a bridge—connecting new routines with the flavors and memories of home.
Every Tuesday night, Deaf New Americans host a tutoring program for children of Deaf adults (CODA) at Syracuse Nepal Church. During breaks, the church’s garage transforms into a soccer field—where laughter and motion replace words.
Inside the Nepal Church community room, an older Deaf couple shares a quiet game of pool.
During his sister’s birthday celebration, Monu’s young son burst into tears, wanting to be the one celebrated. A volunteer gently offered him a cupcake with candles of his own—his tears faded into curiosity and calm.
At the New York State AAPI Commission conference, Monu and Tamla speak out about the lack of accessible interpretation services for Deaf immigrants in Syracuse. Their message—delivered in sign language—calls for equal access to healthcare, public services, and government support.
A framed chart of Nepali Sign Language hangs in the DNAA office. Most Deaf New Americans arrive fluent in their home country’s sign system, only to face the challenge of learning American Sign Language to navigate life in the U.S.—a transition that deepens the communication barriers they already face.
Monu’s children sit on opposite ends of the living room—her daughter covering her face in playful frustration after a long day with her younger brother.
A CODA (Child of Deaf Adults) runs from home to catch the DNAA van—known affectionately as the “school bus”—on the way to the weekly tutoring program.
Every Tuesday afternoon, Jay, Monu’s husband, drives community members to Nepal Church for the weekly Deaf New Americans gathering. His van is often full—of people, stories, and the quiet rhythm of routine.
Every week, members of Deaf New Americans arrive at Syracuse Nepal Church—a modest building that has become a cornerstone of connection. Inside, they find language, laughter, learning, and one another. For a community that has crossed continents in search of belonging, this space offers something deeper than shelter: it offers home.