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You may know him from one of the Super Bowls, or maybe from the TV show, Black Lightning . . . PBS? Or maybe, you don’t know him at all. But after this, you’ll remember his name: Wawa. Deaf rapper. Dip Hop originator. Disruptor of silence.
When Warren ‘Wawa’ Snipe performs, the world listens differently. Your ears are not needed to understand what he’s saying. You just need to watch. To feel. To pay attention.
Born in Philadelphia, a city bursting with rhythm, soul and sound, Wawa was immersed in music from the very start. But for him, it was never just something you heard, it was something you experienced. His family played R&B, Jazz, Rock N Roll and Hip Hop. The house was alive with beat and melody and though Wawa is Deaf, he was right there in the middle of it, absorbing it, questioning it, pulling it apart and putting it back together again.
He was a child of the ’70s and ’80s, the decades when hip hop was still writing its own rules. When Wawa first encountered Rapper’s Delight by the Sugarhill Gang, he didn’t catch all the words but he caught the vibe, the rhythm, the flow, the energy and it gripped him. He asked his sister to write down the lyrics, he sat beside the speaker and soaked in the beat through his body. It wasn’t about hearing the music, it was about feeling it, decoding it, and making it his own. This sparked the beginning of a whole new way to experience hip hop. The bass became heartbeat. The lyrics became movement. The music became his.
That’s where the seeds of Dip Hop were sown—hip hop through Deaf expression. Long before the term was coined, Wawa was already carving it into existence. He invented that. Not out of rebellion, but out of need. Nobody made space for Deaf artists, so he carved his own.
From poetry scribbled in the corners of college notebooks to full-blown international performances, Warren’s evolution did not involve thoughts of proving people wrong. It was about showing what was always possible. His work teaches. His voice, spoken through motion, educates. His existence in the industry? It forces the conversation. And when the music stops? He doesn’t. He flips to dance, to acting, to advocacy, to standing up in boardrooms and saying, “Where’s the interpreter?” before you even realised you forgot one.
But his early performances were not met with standing ovations. They were met with confusion. Skepticism. People didn’t understand why a Deaf person would want to perform music. Some even told him it wasn’t possible. But Wawa kept writing. Kept signing. Kept creating. He transformed spoken lyrics into visual rhythm. He developed a performance style where American Sign Language collided with musicality, where handshape, expression and movement worked like instruments. And slowly, he built a bridge across what others assumed was an uncrossable divide.
Today, Wawa is known internationally as a pioneer of Dip Hop. He coined the term, defined the genre and gave it shape. It’s not a novelty or offshoot. It’s a fully formed, thriving expression of culture that belongs to both Deaf and hearing audiences alike. His performances bring language to life in a way that disrupts assumptions and flips expectations. He’s performed for presidents, Super Bowl halftime shows and major festivals. He’s opened the eyes of industries that didn’t even realise they were closed.
But his influence goes deeper than performance.
Wawa is an educator, a mentor, a strategist. He’s had doors closed because people thought Deaf meant “unable.” But none of that has deterred him. He’s spent decades mentoring young Deaf artists, encouraging them not to follow in his footsteps, but to go further. To create boldly, speak visually and take up space.
He’s also an advocate for accessibility, not in a theoretical sense, but in the daily grind of travel, work and performance. From being stopped at airports for not “looking disabled enough,” to advocating/educating venues about the importance of having interpreters for Deaf/Hard of Hearing people attending professional events with the help of the ADA, Wawa knows how much of the industry is still built without Deaf people in mind. And he’s pushing back, not through outrage, but through excellence. Every stage he steps on, every hand he raises, every beat he signs—it’s a declaration: we belong here.
He is deeply committed to inclusion in the arts, particularly for Black Deaf artists, who face an even more complex set of barriers. Too often, he says, roles that should go to Deaf actors are passed over. Stories that should be told from within the community are diluted or ignored. So, Wawa continues to build space for himself, for those like him and for those coming up behind him.
Introducing WAWABILITY 2025!
This will be no ordinary event. It will be a cultural eruption. Taking place on July 11th – 12th, 2025 at The Anthem in Washington, D.C., the birthplace of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). This landmark celebration will mark the 35th anniversary of the ADA with unfiltered brilliance. Conceived by Wawa, Wawability will spotlight a global lineup of renowned artists with disabilities: musicians, dancers, comedians, actors. Each one will walk onstage not to inspire, but to own their narrative. This is not a tribute nor is it a favour. This is equity. From Mandy Harvey to Kodi Lee, Josh Blue to Lachi, to the inclusive marvel of the Omnium Circus, Wawability will not whisper its message. It will shout it from the rafters: creativity knows no limit, and neither do we. Wawa and his team—Foo Dog Productions, Inc and TDIfor Access will be heralding the start of a movement.
Warren Snipe never asked for permission to create music. He just did it. He made music you can see. Music you can feel in your chest. Music that demands your attention, not because it’s different, but because it’s powerful.
He’s not interested in being the exception. He’s interested in shifting the standard. And he’s not done yet. He shares the mic. Shares the stage. Shares the space. Why? Because he knows the grind and refuses to be the only one shining. He’s holding the gate open, even when it slammed on him over and over. He’s been told no. And through all that noise, he made his voice louder than any mic ever could. But Wawa knows the Deaf world isn’t sad, lacking, or waiting for pity. It’s vibrant. It’s powerful. It’s full of stories that just have not been told loud enough.
So, if you’re wondering how to support Deaf artists, start here: show up. Don’t just applaud. Learn to sign “thank you.” Don’t just tweet a hashtag. Buy the music. Share the videos. Amplify the silence you never knew had a pulse.
And the next time someone says, “But how does Deaf people even hear the beat?” point them to Wawa. Better yet, turn up the volume. Watch him move. Listen with your eyes. And feel what he’s been saying all along: We’re not waiting for permission. We belong here!
