Archives for July 2003

This originally in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

Here’s what I think is one of the best resources on deaf history.

Program books.

Yup. Program books. As I wrote last week, I’ve just moved to a new house, so this has been a summer of unpacking for me. I spent a lot of time today going through the boxes of program books picked up over the years from family and friends. The program books are from various places: basketball camps, athletic tournaments, conventions, conferences, and even pageants–dating back decades.

As I looked through these pieces of history, I marveled at all the details. I pored over listings of presentations at various conferences and read the biographies of renowned individuals. I also giggled at some of the photos of high school athletes at various tournaments–kids who are now community leaders and at the forefront of their professions. In these photos, they looked so innocent yet determined. Did any of them know exactly where they would be in ten, twenty years when they posed for these pictures?

Program books are also a great reflection upon how far we’ve come in certain areas, especially in the development of community identity. Workshop listings are also a great way to see who presented what, and see where these people are today. More often than not, these people are still working doggedly in their fields, still championing their causes, and still working for a better community.

And most important of all: these program books are genuine. They aren’t scholarly. They aren’t “research.” They aren’t fancy stuff. They’re simply developed by deaf people who want to have a successful gathering.

Being able to revisit history and remember events–whether present or not–and reading about people’s hard work are the sole reasons I think program books are the real remnants of deaf history.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I just moved into a new house, so my partner, Randy, and I have been constantly unpacking, organizing, and going through stuff from decades ago. A couple of weeks ago, we opened a box that had some things from Randy’s days at the Wisconsin School for the Deaf.

Among the things was a stack of letters and reports about certain pranks Randy and his friends had pulled in school. I laughed as I pored over them, appreciating the fun times the kids had.

But as I read on, I noticed something interesting: all the reports from the hearing resident advisors or teachers were negative and discouraging. Those from deaf resident advisors or teachers were full of high praise for Randy. “Excellent communicator; great leader; focused; excellent athlete; has strong sense of principles,” they wrote. Mind you, they didn’t excuse Randy from the pranks, but they clearly knew the difference between a troublemaker and a fun-loving student.

So I asked Randy about the negative comments. His nonchalant response was the same for each person: “Oh, he couldn’t sign very well. Hearing.”

With this response, I was reminded of a story I did once about a deaf football coach who also worked as a dorm resident advisor at a deaf school. A student came to school one day with a bruise, which had been caused by an incident outside of school. A hearing faculty member asked the student what happened, but misunderstood what the student said. The faculty member then reported to school officials that the coach had inflicted the bruise.

The coach was suspended and banned from campus until the facts were finally cleared up. Needless to say, the coach was humiliated, especially since he was from a prominent deaf family who had all attended the school. All because the hearing faculty member couldn’t understand ASL.

And we wonder why deaf education has failed for so many years.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

“Education of the deaf.”

“The field of deafness.”

I used to consider these phrases absolutely acceptable. But then a friend pointed out that people wouldn’t dare to say, “Education of the oriental” or “the field of blackness.”

She further said that if we truly want to be considered a cultural entity, then we need to stop accepting “the deaf” or “deafness.” She reminded me that we are individuals, not “the deaf,” so we should be called d/Deaf people. Also, we are not afflicted with “deafness” (such as one would be afflicted with dizziness); rather, we are d/Deaf. I found her comments absolutely eye-opening.

Of course, this opens up a can of worms. Do we change “School for the Deaf” to “School of Deaf People”? What about “Club for/of the Deaf” – would we need to change that, too? Self-Help for Hard of Hearing People (SHHH) doesn’t say, “of the Hard of Hearing.” How about the National Association of Deaf People? Hmm.

I think I’ll stop using “the deaf” and “deafness.”
_____

On a separate note: In an earlier issue, I asked if anyone knew of deaf people working at captioning companies. So far, only one has mentioned a deaf/hard of hearing person (who can speak well) working for NCI. Yes, folks. ONE person.

Copyrighted material. This article can not be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the written consent of the author.

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I was reading the newsletter of a deaf organization the other day, which reported that the organization was experiencing a $350,000 deficit.

I wrote to this same organization many years ago asking what they did for the grassroots deaf community. When I wrote them, I was thinking of my own upbringing within that community. They responded, insisting that their advocacy was beneficial for grassroots deaf people. They also reminded me that they didn’t provide direct services.

Okay. But here’s what bothers me.

In the newsletter, some of its “Grassroots Advocacy” activities are listed. They:

• Gave a presentation at a graduate program for deaf education on “the need to improve services for Low-Functioning Deaf [sic] adults.”
• Participated in a reception honoring new members of the Brown vs. Board of Education’s 50th Anniversary Commission at Howard University.
• Keynoted a state Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf conference and the Parents, Resources, Interpreters, Deaf and Educators Conference.
• Attended a world conference on disability.
• Presented at a judicial college on rights of deaf people in court.
• Worked on revitalizing the Political Action Network.
• Spoke at a Transportation Research Board meeting session about making airports accessible.

I can see, in the big picture, how these affect grassroots deaf individuals. But are these activities really “grassroots advocacy”? I looked up the definition of “grassroots”: The ordinary people in a community or the ordinary members of an organization, as opposed to the leadership.

Maybe it’s me, but when I think of grassroots deaf people, I think of people at bowling events, sporting events, and smoke-filled deaf clubs–people that I grew up with and socialize with today. These people usually don’t give a damn about conferences or university receptions; they just want to make ends meet and to have a good life.

I say this organization needs to understand what “grassroots” means before claiming it performs grassroots advocacy. Only when the organization can really reach grassroots deaf people will its membership grow.

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