By Disciple Kap Sian (@Sianpu) | September 2026
When I think about deaf people’s dignity, I remember a woman from my childhood: Pi Cing Awi. She lived in my neighborhood in a small Zomi village. She was gentle and well-mannered.
Some young people did not treat her that way. They made jokes at her expense, speaking to her just to see how she would respond, as though she were something to play with rather than a person to know. At times, they threw rocks and sticks at her, the way someone might chase an animal from a yard.
I remember how painful it was to watch. But I also need to be honest about what happened inside me. Because others treated Pi Cing Awi as though she were foolish or frightening, I began to fear her too. Instead of approaching her with kindness, I kept my distance. I watched from afar.
I was a child, trying to make sense of what the people around me were showing me. Their behavior taught me to be afraid of a gentle neighbor. That is one of the lasting harms of cruelty: children notice whom adults and older children respect, whom they avoid, and whom they make into a joke. Fear can take root where understanding should have grown.
I also remember the day Pi Cing Awi died, and how some young people seemed pleased that she was gone. She had lived among us. She deserved to feel safe among us.
I do not know everything Pi Cing Awi thought or felt. I do know what I saw, and I remember how it shaped me. People who found it difficult to communicate with her treated her as though the difficulty lay in her worth. It did not. We were the ones who needed to learn how to reach her.
What we teach the next generation
In remote parts of Zogam, families and communities have not always had access to information, disability services, or support for people who communicate differently. Those gaps can make it harder to understand someone’s needs. They cannot excuse mockery or violence. When we do not know how to communicate with a neighbor, our responsibility is to learn, to ask, and to treat that person with patience.
Christian missionaries and Zomi believers helped expand education, literacy, health care, and biblical teaching across Zogam. We can be grateful for that work while asking whether its lessons have reached the way we treat one another. Caring people existed before the missionaries came, and cruelty has not vanished since. The question for us now is what we will do when we see someone being excluded or harmed.
Children learn from our actions as well as our words. If we mock a person with a disability, we may teach a child to fear that person. If we greet that person, make time to communicate, and stand up for them, we show the child another way to live. We must be mindful of both lessons.
What our faith requires
Scripture is clear about the conduct Pi Cing Awi deserved. Leviticus 19:14 forbids mistreating a deaf person and connects that command to reverence for God. Proverbs 31:8–9 urges us to speak up for people whose rights are being neglected.
In the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), Jesus shows what it means to act as a neighbor to someone in need. James 2:14–17 reminds us that words of concern mean little if we withhold practical help. These teachings call us to notice harm while it is happening, intervene when we can, and care for one another in ways that can be felt.
Pi Cing Awi did not need to earn our kindness. She was our neighbor.
Making room for deaf Zomi people
Deaf people do not all communicate in the same way. We should ask each person how they prefer to communicate and listen to the answer. Zomi families, churches, schools, media, and community organizations can make information more accessible, arrange qualified sign language interpretation when needed, and include deaf Zomi people in decisions that affect them.
We can also teach children to recognize a deaf person as a neighbor and a full member of the community. If we see someone being mocked, excluded, or threatened, we should step in. The United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities recognizes access to communication and education through sign languages and affirms deaf people’s linguistic and cultural identity. Those principles become meaningful when people can participate fully in ordinary community life.
Let remembrance lead us forward
I remember Pi Cing Awi by name because she was a person I knew. She should have been safe in our neighborhood. I cannot change what happened to her, or the fear I learned as a child. I can speak honestly about both, and help the next generation learn a kinder response.
As we observe the International Week of Deaf People, September 21–27, 2026, let us turn that remembrance into action. The week includes the United Nations–recognized International Day of Sign Languages on September 23 and concludes on Sunday, September 27, with the International Day of the Deaf. Its 2026 theme, “Declaring Deaf People’s Human Rights,” asks us to make dignity and access real in everyday life.
Let us offer friendship where Pi Cing Awi met ridicule. Let us make room for deaf Zomi people to communicate, worship, learn, participate, and lead. And when a child is watching how we respond to a neighbor, let that child see patience and courage instead of fear.
May Pi Cing Awi’s memory help us become that kind of community.