Experience: I put on the world’s first deaf rave for deaf ravers like me | Life and style

I’ve spent my life determined to be one of a kind – perhaps because I’m a twin. During our birth, my younger-by-two-minutes brother’s umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. It cut off my air supply, which left me deaf, while his hearing was unimpaired. That’s sibling rivalry for you.

I use hearing aids and am a strong lip reader, as well as being fluent in British Sign Language. When I take my aids out to sleep, you could fire a gun next to my ear and I wouldn’t stir. But with them in I have fairly clear access to sound.

I grew up in Hackney, east London, and had been fascinated by raving ever since I spied my older cousins coming home from illegal parties at six in the morning. On New Year’s Eve in 1993, I finally went to my first one. The second I walked through that door, I was hit by the lights and smoke, the throbbing beats, the bodies moving joyfully as one.

I was hooked. I spent weekends bouncing about like a ragamuffin in airport hangars, basements and disused factories all over the country. I started learning to DJ, spending the wages I earned from working in a warehouse on UK garage and reggae records.

Yet, despite being a dedicated raver for a decade, I hardly ever encountered other deaf people on those dancefloors. I think I met a grand total of two.

I tried to convince friends from a deaf social group to come out with me. “Nah, that’s hearing culture,” they said. “It’s not for us.” I could understand: I’d once been turned away by a club bouncer for being deaf. But I wanted them to discover the same thrills I had. I also knew they’d appreciate a late night plus chances to bond with other deaf adults were thin on the ground. So I decided to set up the world’s first rave by deaf people, for deaf people.

Finding a venue was a headache. Bookers were clueless about the concept. Some thought it was a joke. Others worried we’d DJ at dangerous volumes. Many deaf partygoers connect with music by feeling the bass thump through them, so we do play tracks with meaty basslines and amp up the deep beats, but not to a level that’ll get anyone a visit from the council for noise pollution, or damage any eardrums.

Eventually we got a yes from the International Students House in central London. The date was set for May bank holiday 2003. My whole family slapped flyers everywhere, and 700 tickets sold like wildfire. Deaf culture is very visual; there also needed to be plenty to see, so I hired deaf dancer mates to breakdance on stage.

I cried that inaugural night. I was so moved. Everyone was constantly hugging – not because of any pills, but because of the pure joy of being immersed in deaf community. Deaf people are usually the minority; at Deaf Rave, everyone was part of the same tribe.

Drum’n’bass beats weren’t the only thing that got mixed and matched that evening – it was the start of a long legacy of Deaf Rave romances. Over the years, some ravers have got married, had babies, and settled down away from the club scene. They’re missed, but it’s the sweetest goodbye.

Deaf Rave has grown in ways that boggle my mind. I’ve expanded my crew – bringing in new members like MC Geezer, a deaf rapper who signs BSL as he spits bars – and we’ve played major festivals, such as Glastonbury and Boomtown. We’ve consulted on a vibrating floor installed at the nightclub Fabric, and worked with a company that makes haptic vests that tremble in sync to music. We also travelled to Shanghai to perform as part of a deaf cultural exchange. I’m a quarter Chinese myself – plus Vietnamese, Guyanese and English – and am known as DJ Chinaman, so it was an especially poignant trip.

In 2024, I was awarded an honorary master of the arts by Falmouth University, then earlier this year, I was made an MBE. The shock knocked me sideways. It’s given me the boost to keep supporting deaf identity, culture and community. We’ve started working with children – we teach DJing workshops to deaf kids in schools, and are holding a Deaf Rave family day festival in London this weekend. Whether we’re in the clubs, or in the classrooms, the deaf must be heard.

As told to Alix Fox

Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com