The Importance of Storytelling to Address Deaf Disempowerment

June 1, 2018

Chapter One in Deaf Eyes on Interpreting (2018) edited by Thomas K. Holcomb and David H. Smith.

View the ASL summary of this article here.

When my two-year-old son broke his leg, I took him along with my one-year-old to the orthopedic doctor for a follow-up. At the time, I lived in a small town that had a deaf school. What this meant was there were hundreds of Deaf residents and practically everyone in town knew how to sign or at least how to work with interpreters. 

After an unusually extended wait time, I had the certified and certainly very qualified interpreter, who I had worked with in the past, accompany me to ask the receptionist about the delay. The receptionist, typing on her computer, said that the doctor’s schedule was backed up. I asked if we could see the doctor sooner rather than later since my children were restless and hungry. On top of that, my son, in a body cast from chest to toe, needed his medicine at home. She refused, so I asked to speak with the doctor or nurse. She again refused. 

Throughout this entire interaction, she never once looked at me. Frustrated, I said, “Could you please look at me?” She turned her head and looked at the interpreter, who quickly pointed at me. I then asked, “Could you please offer a resolution? We’ve been here an hour.” At that very moment, my youngest began crying. The receptionist, sighing, called a nurse, who was far more courteous and apologetic. I asked to file a complaint about the receptionist’s behavior, and the nurse nodded, saying she’d get back to me. The interpreter and I returned to our seats where my son was.

A few minutes later, the receptionist called the interpreter over for a phone call. The interpreter answered the phone, beckoned me over, and said it was the office manager. She interpreted as the office manager began asking questions all the while the receptionist was looking at me with dagger eyes. I asked the office manager if I could email her, since the receptionist was listening in. The office manager agreed, and we hung up. Walking to my seat, I looked back and saw the interpreter casually cover her mouth as she whispered to the receptionist. Once the interpreter returned to her seat directly across from me, I asked what she had said to the receptionist.

“Nothing, why?” the interpreter said.

“I saw you whisper to her, what did you say?” I asked.

She again said, “Nothing.”

I was puzzled. “No, I saw you whisper. What was it about?”

She relented. “Uh, she began apologizing to me for her behavior, and said she didn’t mean to talk to you like that. I told her it was okay.” 

I was surprised. “But it isn’t okay how she treated me. Why didn’t you tell her to apologize directly to me?” As realization of what she had done dawned over her face, we were called into the examination room and the appointment was over fairly quickly.

Such a simple act of trying to mediate a situation—when the interpreter really didn’t have the right to—became a disempowering experience for me. Had the interpreter been in my shoes, would she have told the receptionist this delay and behavior was okay? I don’t know, but this was the start of my extensive work on understanding disempowerment and how we have become complacent with its role in our lives. And there’s been one crucial thread throughout the hundreds of stories shared with me about disempowerment: the importance of storytelling, or autoethnography. (1)

Autoethnography and the Importance of Storytelling

Rachel Freed said, “We tell our stories to transform ourselves; to learn about our history and tell our experiences to transcend them; to use our stories to make a difference in our world; to broaden our perspective to see further than normal; to act beyond a story that may have imprisoned or enslaved us; to live more of our spiritual and earthly potential.”

This is exactly why it’s so important for Deaf people to share stories with each other and with others such as interpreters: to learn about the never-ending history of oppression, audism, and disempowerment.  Yet, interpreter education often consists of academic, on-the-job, and formal, research-based learning about Deaf culture, linguistic aspects of American Sign Language (ASL), ethics, test preparation, and Deaf history—but very rarely does it involve Deaf people telling stories about life on a day-to-day basis. The few stories that are shared often come in the form of mass-produced videos, well-orchestrated interviews, and/or discussion panels focused on generic “What is it like to be Deaf?” discussions, each broad enough to cover the entire community, but not quite capture the intricate experience of being Deaf. In “Being Scheherazade: The Importance of Storytelling in Academic Writing,” authors Pollock and Bono stated, “One impediment to effective storytelling is the lack of a human face—actors acting and the human imbuing all of our experiences. All too often, academic writers remove the human elements from their storytelling in an effort to sound ‘scholarly.’ They engage in arid, context-free theorizing, of interest only to the most ardent specialists in their domains.”(2)

As Pollock and Bono pointed out, it is the day-to-day stories that are so crucial to understanding the challenges Deaf people face, particularly with interpreters — that is, the stories they share in the privacy of their homes and through vlogs. Deaf people’s frustrations are often discarded by hearing people who say, “My gosh, I’d never do that, how horrible!” and then perform this very same disempowering behavior minutes later.

Many interpreter education courses and workshops pertain to stereotypes or “what if” situations, but very few actually focus on the countless examples of disempowerment, and the consequences, simply because the disempowerment is so deeply embedded into their mindset of “it’s just how things are” — much like the example shared at the start of this chapter. Another factor is that many programs emphasize the positive aspects of the field, rather than the nitty-gritty of what Deaf people experience at the hands of interpreters. On top of that is the severe lack of data, resources, and education available for Deaf people. Most of the money for training and data goes to hearing-led interpreting projects, programs, and studies geared towards hearing interpreters. Even if such projects, programs, and studies involve Deaf people at lower levels, they are still hearing-led and therefore hearing-influenced at the final decision-making level.

Therefore, this anecdotal discussion and the subsequent chapters center on personal narratives, rather than statistics or research-driven evidence. “One of the main advantages of personal narratives is that they give us access into learners’ private worlds and provide rich data.” (3) The autoethnographic approach in this book, with each author contributing a personal experience, is “a useful qualitative research method used to analyse people’s lives, a tool that Ellis and Bochner define as ‘. . . an autobiographical genre of writing that displays multiple layers of consciousness, connecting the personal to the cultural.’ There are different uses of the term and it varies according to the relations between the researcher’s personal experience and the phenomenon under investigation. Autoethnography can range from research about personal experiences of a research process to parallel exploration of the researcher’s and the participants’ experiences and about the experience of the researcher while conducting a specific piece of research.”(4)

Researcher and popular speaker Brene Brown said, “Vulnerability is about sharing our feelings and experiences with people who have earned the right to hear them. Being vulnerable and open is mutual and an integral part of the trust-building process.” (5) Since I first spoke on disempowerment some years ago, hundreds of stories about disempowerment have been shared with me to the point where I have felt overwhelmed, even drained, at the gravity of their experiences. So many Deaf people have told me of their discomfort in sharing their experiences with hearing people, preferring Deaf people like me who have been in the trenches of disempowerment. By sharing my vulnerability through my stories both in my presentations and my blog, Deaf people and quite a few hearing interpreters have come to trust that I understand and validate what they share.

It is my hope that by having Deaf people share their disempowerment stories along through various channels such as this book, articles and blogs, workshops, social media, and in autoethnographic research, we can all recognize that sharing stories does not always imply anger, bitterness, or vengeance. Rather, it is a profound way to share experiences that are rarely told because of fear of so many things: denial, judgment, and worst of all, dismissal of their experiences. Deaf people also often hesitate to share such stories with outsiders for fear of being called militant, bothersome, complainers, or any other number of labels. Let us not forget that many have grown up being indoctrinated with feedback that they’re expecting too much when they ask for equal treatment, that it’s not important to know what was just spoken, or that they’re not as valued as others. Talking about real-life instances of disempowerment, ordinary or extraordinary, can help challenge the status quo, and create greater opportunities for increased societal equity among Deaf people.

Disempowerment and Hearing Privilege

The word disempowerment has quite a simple definition for such a powerful concept: to take away power. Disempowerment takes place on a daily basis for most deaf people, and runs the gamut of seemingly meaningless incidents to life-changing situations. When we think of disempowerment among Deaf people, we usually think of things like being denied interpreters, watching films or TV that aren’t captioned, being told not to sign, or seeing hearing actors in roles portraying Deaf people. Yet there are smaller, everyday acts (microaggressions, if you will) that hold just as much capacity, if not more, to disempower Deaf people. And these everyday acts are often performed by perhaps some of the most powerful allies of the Deaf community: interpreters. 

A crucial element to understand before delving into disempowerment is hearing privilege. Much like “white privilege,” hearing privilege is an emerging topic. Tiffany Tuccoli, in her master’s thesis, described it as “…advantages or entitlements that are enjoyed by people who can hear which are denied to those who are Deaf. These advantages give hearing people power and authority to decide how society should be designed” (emphasis added). (6)

This power and authority of designing society is what is often taken away from Deaf people as we go about our daily lives. Worse yet, we often aren’t sure if it’s because we’re Deaf or not. This is often found among other minorities as well:

To use a non-interpreting example, Oprah Winfrey was denied access to a store in Paris. She felt that she had been discriminated against because she was black. The store claimed that they were setting up for a private party and couldn’t let her in. Tim Wise suggests that the reason doesn’t matter. What is more significant is that “Oprah Winfrey, with all her money, all her power, and all her influence, still had to wonder, even if only for a moment, whether her race had trumped all that in the eyes of another person” (Wise, 2008, p. 72). Deaf people frequently have similar thoughts and experiences when encountering systems and institutions that favor the ability to hear, or hearing privilege. No matter how competent or powerful those individuals are, the risk of encountering doubt and insecurity is simply a part of living in a hearing-dominated society. (7)

Another example of hearing privilege is illustrated in a video featuring Roger Claussen (8), who led a National Association of the Deaf committee disseminating a survey about open-captioned films instead of having to use devices such as rearview captioning. In his 10-minute video, Claussen shared a humorous, yet realistic, narrative about the annoying factors hearing people never have to deal with or even think about. He talks about how, with rearview captioning, Deaf people are required to leave their driver’s licenses if they want to use the captioning equipment, struggle with holding refreshments because the device installs in the refreshment holder leaving no place to put drinks, fiddle constantly with placement of the device for optimal viewing, have to carry the device to and from the bathroom, and have to stay well after the movie’s end just to retrieve their driver’s licenses.

Hearing privilege is natural for most people, and while it is often automatically integrated into a hearing person’s life, it needs to first be recognized and understood before addressing disempowerment. Yet even this seems to be fraught with resistance. In 2016, a social media campaign took place focusing on “#hearingprivilege,” in which people posted their experiences and how they were affected by hearing privilege. Some expressed discomfort at seeing hearing people posting their own experiences with #hearingprivilege, commenting that this was yet another example of hearing people intruding upon Deaf people’s safe space and not necessarily honoring this space or their experiences. What was more striking was that there were others who felt this #hearingprivilege campaign was simply another way for Deaf people to complain and even attack hearing people. This goes back to the aforementioned act of dismissing Deaf people’s experiences, and the vulnerability they faced in posting their experiences, as Brown stated.

For another example of disempowerment, let’s go back to when I was 13 years old. I went to a public high school that had eighty deaf students and eight full-time interpreters. I took a theater course with three other deaf students and maybe twenty-five hearing students; it was interpreted by one of the better interpreters. She criticized my signing every single day, saying that I signed “too ASL.” She even went as far as voicing gibberish if she didn’t understand me — often causing the hearing students and teacher to break out in laughter.

For an extremely insecure teenager struggling with her identity, having attention called to her like this was beyond horrifying. This was humiliation, pure and simple. The interpreter, to compensate for her lack of fluency, purposefully disempowered me. Interpreters should be accountable for their lack of fluency and not put this on the Deaf person’s shoulders. Unfortunately, this is an all-too-common scenario among mainstreamed students. As a Deaf person from a Deaf family surrounded by Deaf role models, I still didn’t know what to do. One morning, I refused to go to school, dreading the thought of dealing with such humiliation. When I explained what I had to endure every morning in what was the first class of the day for me, my mother immediately contacted the guidance counselor, who was a CODA and also the interpreter coordinator. The counselor brought the interpreter in for a meeting with my mother and me. He scolded the interpreter for what she had done, saying she had no right to demean my language and that she needed to respect my language. That was one of the first times I had ever seen someone advocate for my native language to be left alone.  While the interpreter did stop mocking me, her disempowering acts as a whole did not cease for any of the students and still affect me to this day.

To take away a deaf person’s power, whether intentionally or unintentionally, is unacceptable.  One common feedback from hearing participants and readers is that the disempowerment examples I share — not all my experiences, but also other people’s experiences — shared are “extreme examples,” or that there must be reasons or more details I didn’t share. Unfortunately, they aren’t extreme; every single time I’ve shared an story, there is a chorus of, “I went through that, too!” from so many Deaf people. Simply because hearing people don’t necessarily encounter disempowerment or recognize the rawness of the experience, doesn’t mean the examples are extreme, far-fetched, or explainable. 

Knowledge Imbalance

Many people, both Deaf and hearing, have appropriately lauded the interpreting profession, namely the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf (RID), in raising its standards especially within the past few years. Yet there is one act of disempowerment throughout this progress that has been deeply, and easily, overlooked: the knowledge imbalance, creating a major disadvantage among Deaf people.

RID now requires its interpreters to have bachelor’s degrees, among other criteria; this is a fantastic requirement because it ensures that interpreters are educated even if not in interpreting. Yet this automatically places them in a more educated position than Deaf people who don’t have bachelor’s degrees. Add to that the fact that many Deaf people don’t have the same access to education as hearing people. 

Interpreters, to receive certification, must also have the necessary (even if minimal) training in all the aspects involved with interpreting.  Are Deaf people given interpreters with top-notch fluency in both languages? Frequently, the answer is no. This education and the lack of full ASL fluency create a major imbalance in knowledge and power. After all, do Deaf people have the same access to education as interpreters? No. 

Are Deaf individuals generally trained to work with interpreters on advocating for interpreter quality, and on how the interpreting process ideally works? No, absolutely not.  Is there any training provided to Deaf people in elementary school through adulthood on how to work with interpreters in various settings, or on self-advocacy? The answer is no once again; any existent curriculum is typically very limited in its availability. Consider that many interpreters receive formal, professional training in everything from ASL to ethics to business practices. Interpreters are also tested on their knowledge and skills, and then maybe certified.

Meanwhile, Deaf people have had to constantly educate each other on a grassroots level on how to deal with interpreting dilemmas because there is simply no formal training for Deaf people of all ages in working with interpreters. It’s a catch-22 situation for most Deaf people: they can’t get access to the very education they should have for the employment they should gain.  Yet, through educational programs, interpreters are given the knowledge that Deaf people so greatly need and deserve. When Deaf people do not receive this same knowledge about interpreting, linguistics, their rights, and everything else under the sun, this has deep-seated repercussions.

Like it or not, interpreters have an incredible amount of jurisdiction over Deaf people’s access to people, medical appointments, education, employment, phone calls, and pretty much everything else. This isn’t necessarily bad, as long as they use this power appropriately and without malice. But this so-called jurisdiction can create even further potential for conflict and division. Making things even harder is how this power imbalance can become magnified in small towns where interpreters might, by default, rule the roost because they know everyone, Deaf or hearing, in town. This has happened time after time, where Deaf people lose jobs, are rejected for jobs, are perceived as unintelligent, and so much more, all because they had conflicts with interpreters.

This, then, leads to incidents as shared by so many Deaf people, demonstrating how interpreters are often among the most common disempowerers, even if unintentionally.   Keep in mind that there certainly are many hearing people who take power away from Deaf people deliberately, and may believe they have the right to do this and express shock and disbelief when Deaf people react negatively. 

Consider medical appointments as an example. Often, interpreters are trained and/or instructed to wait in the hallway whenever the nurse or doctor leaves instead of staying in the room with the Deaf patient. From the interpreter’s perspective, this is necessary given the potential for ethical dilemmas to arise. Suppose the Deaf patient says something to the interpreter that is medically relevant, but doesn’t share this information with the doctor. Is the interpreter bound to tell the doctor? Yet, is it really fair to keep the patient isolated in a room where there’s no visual access to all the sounds and conversations that a hearing patient could overhear? Many Deaf people say no.

Anita Buel, a certified Deaf community health worker (DCHW) in Minnesota, has an ongoing frustration (personal communication). CHWs are certified, trained advocates who accompany patients in their own communities (in this case, the Deaf community) and provide advocacy, information, and clarification for patients who may feel overwhelmed by medical jargon, procedures, and the overall health system. DCHWs, however, are not certified deaf interpreters; they have as much of a need for interpreters as the Deaf patients. Buel said she gets frustrated when she knows interpreters are in the hallway waiting and then enter the room already deep in conversation with the doctor or nurse. This, to her, shows that the patient already is at a disadvantage because interpreters often build relationships with medical professionals and therefore aren’t always perceived as neutral parties or allies. Interpreters, by doing this, also have a rapport established with the medical staff that Deaf patients themselves often want to have.

This is also true for many other settings, such as courtrooms, where interpreters often are on a first-name basis with the judges, bailiffs, stenographers, and other individuals. Perception can have a major impact, and when a Deaf person sees that an interpreter has an already-established relationship with someone in a setting, it can create a power imbalance along with all the other challenges already in place. 

So what’s the solution to this imbalance? There must be some kind of education in place for Deaf people, starting at early ages in schools. Education, in the form of classroom lessons and children’s workshops, could include how to work with interpreters as well as knowledge of rights to communication access (such as interpreters), of the interpreting process, of the opportunities to work with interpreters, and of the other aspects involved in working with interpreters.

There are continuously multimillion-dollar grants provided for interpreting projects, expansion of interpreter programs, increasing people of color and diversity in the interpreting field, curriculum development, and much more (and of course, the majority of such funded programs is hearing-led). Yet very little, if any, of that money is devoted to educating Deaf people — especially young children who don’t have deaf family members — on how to work with interpreters, on knowing their rights, and how to act if their rights have been obstructed in any way. Numerous possible ways can make this happen, such as having curriculum in place at Deaf schools, having interpreter preparation programs teach students how to arrange such a training with Deaf community leaders, and so on. The best way to accomplish this would be to work together as allies.  

Creating Alliances

Interpreters have a very delicate line to walk on the job: they have to figure out how to mediate culture, conflicts, personalities, and so many other components all at the same time as interpreting. This is on top of constantly striving to respect the culture, language, and community values they work in. At best, this is a difficult task for many. Robert Lee said in his keynote at the RID Region III conference, “As a hearing, late-second-language learner of ASL, I have been invited into the lives of Deaf people, and I could just as easily be invited out. I have no intrinsic ‘right’ to be an interpreter, just as no outsider can claim the right to be a member of another culture, like people don’t have the right to be part of a Swahili [sic] or a Native American tribe.” [Note: Swahili is a language, not a tribe.] So how can “outsiders” be allies to a community they might not feel as if they’re allowed to be part of? 

The best thing interpreters or hearing “outsiders” can do in their quest to respect the Deaf community while providing as much support as possible is to become cognizant of the many manifestations of their individual and collective power and privilege, and to know that Deaf people do not need saving. This can be rather difficult to embrace especially if one has entered the profession with the noblest of intentions.  Deaf people also should understand their own roles in the relationship dynamics of disempowerment, and that interpreters are not always trying to claim ownership. 

Transactional Relationships

Martin Buber, an eighteenth century philosopher, explored the concept of how people treat each other. He identified two types of relationships among people engaged in transactions: the I-It Relationship and the I-You Relationship. The I-It Relationship is what we create when we are in transactions with people whom we treat like objects—people who are simply there to serve us or complete a task. An example of this would be when interpreters look at consumers (Deaf or hearing) as simply opportunities to earn money and go home, and/or when Deaf people look at interpreters as simply there to serve their every whim (such as during video relay service calls). The other relationship, the I-You Relationship, is characterized by human connection and empathy. Over the years, the interpreter profession has moved from the helper model to the machine model to a continuum of sorts.

Brene Brown, who often cites Buber’s work, said, “When we treat people as objects, we dehumanize them. We do something really terrible to their souls and to our own. I am suggesting that we stop dehumanizing people and start looking them in the eye when we speak to them. If we don’t have the energy or time to do that, we should stay at home.” 

Interpreters might also feel discouraged by what they perceive as constant negative opinions of the interpreting field (which are in actuality Deaf people’s lived experiences, not necessarily personally about interpreters—prompting the need to separate the interpreting work from themselves). Interpreters can either become complacent and maintain the status quo, or they can recall their original passion for the community. This book contains many new ideas, approaches, and models that can help interpreters get out of this complacency. 

Understand, Analyze, and Act. 

Brown said, “Trust is a product of vulnerability that grows over time and requires work, attention and full engagement.” (9) Yet how can we come together to prevent disempowerment, especially if someone is mistrustful of interpreters (or hearing people)?  It’s easy to become discouraged, especially as an interpreting student or someone new in the field. As an outsider to the community, it quickly becomes overwhelming to realize that you, a hearing person, are entering a community so fraught with emotion, oppression, and triggers that were in place long before you were even born, and that you may perpetuate, knowingly or not, many of these triggers or stereotypes. This in itself is a daunting realization, but this awareness is the first wonderful step towards minimizing disempowerment.

Concluding Thoughts

To come together, we can first become aware of disempowerment of Deaf people in all of its many forms, especially situational, and how we contribute to this whether we’re Deaf or hearing. By actively resisting the almost automatic temptations of empathizing with hearing consumers, or even Deaf consumers, we can minimize, even eliminate, potential disempowerment. In addition to educating ourselves, it’s crucial that we recognize that disempowerment doesn’t always happen on purpose; it’s often by accident. Still, as renowned vlogger and blogger Franchesca “Chescaleigh” Ramsey says, “It’s not about intent. It’s about impact.”(10)

By refusing to engage in conscious disempowerment, deferring to the Deaf person whenever appropriate—especially when being asked about anything relating to the Deaf community, and allowing Deaf people to be primary decision-makers when appropriate, we can take steps towards ensuring that Deaf people retain their power. Interpreters can also serve as allies by supporting Deaf leadership, businesses, and agencies, and by operating under the assumption that a qualified Deaf person should be the automatic choice—and if this isn’t the case, be among the first to question why not.

It is also crucial to remember that if a deaf person expresses frustration about an experience of disempowerment, it doesn’t necessarily mean she or he is angry, divisive, or separatist. Nor does it mean that an interpreter is the worst person in the world. Rather, take a look at the situation, and figure out how, if at all, interpreters or hearing people might have contributed to the situation.  More importantly, do not instinctively blame the frustration on the Deaf consumer or say that the Deaf person is pulling a person down or is working against someone.  Instead, support each other, recognize (and validate) frustrations and vulnerability, and possess cultural competency. Listen to Deaf people’s stories, even if the emotions are raw and may sting for any number of reasons. 

Even the seemingly small acts of disempowerment that deaf people have become so accustomed, almost immune to, have major impact on their everyday lives. It is crucial we all become fully educated as early in our lives as possible about acts of disempowerment, the interpreting process, legal rights, and how to deal with conflict or oppression. In addition to reducing disempowerment, this education and the tools it would put in place for the Deaf person would help reduce the ingrained frustration that often comes from encountering such disempowerment. 

By understanding the gravity of each situation, small or large, through a storytelling or autoethnographic approach, we can then come to identify the steps leading up to that situation. By analyzing all the parties involved and their perceptions, and by figuring out what resources we have, we can then determine the best steps of action. By embracing what may seem to be difficult ideas, opinions, and stories from Deaf people, we can move forward together. 

This mindset of understanding, analyzing, and acting is precisely what this book strives to achieve through personal stories, along with academic and real-life knowledge. By sharing stories and working together to develop solutions addressing the constant disempowerment that Deaf people experience, Deaf people and interpreters can stand on a more level playing field with equal knowledge, access, and power.

NOTES

  1. Rachael Freed, “The Importance of Telling Our Stories,” The Blog: Huffington Post, November 17, 2011. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rachael-freed/legacy-telling-our-story_b_776195.html.
  2. Timothy G. Pollock and Joyce E. Bono, “Being Scheherazade: The Importance of Storytelling in Academic Writing,” Academy of Management Journal 56, no. 3 (June 2013): 629.
  3. Mariza Méndez, “Authoethnography as a Research Method: Advantages, Limitations and Criticisms,” Colombia Applied Linguist Journal 15, no. 2 (June-December 2013): 282.
  4. Méndez, “Autoethnography as a Research Method,” 280-81.
  5. Brene Brown, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead (New York City: Avery, 2012): 45.
  6. Tiffany Tuccoli, Exploring Hearing Privilege, (Master’s Thesis, Gallaudet University, 2008), 23.
  7. Doug Bowen-Bailey and Trudy Suggs, “To Lead or Not to Lead: Sharing Power in the Field of Interpreting,” RID Views, 31, no. 2 (Spring/Summer 2015): 28-29.
  8. Roger Claussen, “Movie Caption Survey,” YouTube video, 10:08, published March 18, 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQ1JHyP_jYE.
  9. Brene Brown, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead (New York City: Avery, 2012): 45.
  10. Franchesca [Chescaleigh] Ramsey, “5 Tips for Being an Ally,” YouTube video, 3:31, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dg86g-Q1M0.
Filed Under: Blog, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Disempowerment, Humanity, Language, Media, Politics, RID, Stereotypes

Nearly 50 Years Later: The Chicago Fire that Killed Two Deaf Students (Part 2)

January 26, 2018

By Trudy Suggs (Click here for my thoughts on this story in ASL and English).

PART 2 (Read Part 1 here)

Zee Beranek in 1970 on the phone in the aftermath of the fire.

Zeke Beranek was the sole chaperone, along with the school bus driver, for 40 boys. Many credit him for his calm demeanor during the crisis.

Zeke Beranek: The Unsung Hero
Zeke Beranek was the sole chaperone of 40 boys — something that would never happen today. “Well, how I did it was I set up a buddy system. I had the older boys be responsible for the younger students,” Beranek explained. “The boys who went on this trip had been allowed to go based on their grades and good behavior. But I had more faith in the dorm parents, who were with them all the time, than their teachers, so I trusted who the dorm parents said should go on the trip. It worked out well for the most part.”

Only 37 at the time of the fire, Beranek looked older than his age, although he was rarely without his sense of humor or smile. A well-respected gentleman from Nebraska, he was popular among the students. As a Boy Scouts leader and school teacher, Beranek often took the boys camping and on trips. “The way I saw it was that whenever the boys achieved the Eagle Scout rank or did good things, this was good publicity for ISD,” Beranek explained. “It helped bring awareness to the school.”

And then the fire happened. “I can’t remember how I knew there was a fire, but I woke up and opened the door. There was smoke, and I began trying to do what I could,” Beranek said. “I wanted to wake as many boys up as I could, but it wasn’t possible.”

He continued, “I opened Freeman Harper’s room, and I saw him talking with a few scared younger kids near an open window. One of them started to jump, and Freeman told the kid, ‘Don’t jump! Don’t forget about me!’ That was his way of convincing the kid to not jump.”

The boys learned later that after being rescued Beranek had gone above and beyond in his role as chaperone. “Mayor Daley provided a police escort when he learned who I was and what group I was with, and I instructed [junior] Pedro Medina to be in charge of the boys,” Beranek remembered.

Pictures of written notes between ISD students and newspaper reporters

Written notes between ISD students and newspaper reporters.

He saw a group of reporters clamoring to interview the boys at the hotel, and was disgusted. He told the reporters, “Leave the boys alone, they’ve already been through enough.” When they didn’t cooperate, Beranek immediately notified hotel security. “Someone from the Hilton hotel did physically have to pull the reporters away.”

The church service the group was supposed to attend that morning had secured an interpreter. Beranek said, “The church didn’t know yet about the fire, and they actually held off starting the service for about 20 or 25 minutes, waiting for us.”

As soon as the church learned of the fire, the interpreter went to help Beranek as much as possible. “In fact, when I left Chicago, the interpreter said he’d keep visiting the kids still in the hospitals until they were all gone,” Beranek recalled.

The Smoke Clears
After all the chaos eventually settled somewhat, Beranek also had to make arrangements for that evening’s lodging and transportation. The boys clearly could not attend the Bulls game, so some boys had been picked up by their parents, and the remaining boys relocated to the Palmer Hotel, also owned by the Hilton family. Reynolds wondered if his parents, who lived just over an hour away, would come. He had no way of contacting them; although they were Deaf, they didn’t own a TTY.

ISD boys surround entertainer Connie Stevens.

The ISD boys went to Connie Stevens’ performance the night after the fire. Reynolds is fourth from left in the front row; Albert Jones is second from left in the back. Robert Perry, who later drowned, is third from right in the back behind Connie Stevens.

Entertainer Connie Stevens was scheduled to perform at the Palmer Hotel that evening. When she learned of the tragedy, she invited the ISD boys to come to her performance. Saline remembered, “We were given free food on Mayor Daley’s tab. We were treated like royalty. We were also asked to fill out insurance forms to get reimbursed for our belongings and clothes.”

Yet most of the boys were too dazed and could not eat much. Reynolds’ throat hurt too much to eat, and he had lost his sense of taste. They tried to keep their spirits up despite the horrible tragedy. “She sang all evening, and when she spoke to the crowd, we were seated in the upper balcony and she made sure to look at us,” Reynolds said. “After her performance, she came to us and posed with us.”

That evening, the boys retired to their rooms. Five firemen, including a fire chief, stood guard by their doors overnight. Reynolds roomed with Jim Gurley, and as they got into bed, Gurley kept saying, “Look at the door. I see smoke. Do you?” Reynolds indeed could have sworn he saw smoke coming under the door, too.  They decided to leave the light on and try to get some sleep. They didn’t get much, of course.

Monday Morning
Beranek woke each of the boys up, telling them it was time to return to Jacksonville. They got early editions of the Chicago Sun Times and Chicago Tribune, and there it was for all of the world to see: two “deaf-mutes” had died. It was a punch in the guts for the boys. Although they already knew Zanger and Kennedy had died, they now felt a mixture of sadness and survivor’s guilt.

The group gathered in a conference room, and Beranek told the group, “As I woke each of you up, I noticed that more than three-fourths of you left your lights on overnight.” When Reynolds learned this, he let out a sigh of relief. He had thought he was going crazy with the need to leave his light on. They all had suffered a horrible trauma that was intensified by the lack of communication access. Worst of all, they had no psychological support. There were no counselors, no trauma advocates, and no family nearby. Although some parents had already picked up their boys, many of the boys’ families lived too far away (some as much as eight hours away) and others had no idea what had happened. They only had each other.

Reynolds later learned that his parents didn’t know about the fire until Sunday evening, when his hearing brother told them to look at the TV. The news reported on the fire, and his parents began to worry. They made his brother call the school, but there was no information yet. When they saw the newspaper on Monday and Reynolds’ name was listed among those hospitalized, they panicked, thinking he had been badly burned. They couldn’t sleep all night, trying to figure out what they should do.

As the boys climbed silently back on the yellow bus, Reynolds looked up at the overhead bins and realized that Kennedy’s pillow, streaked with mud, was still there. He sadly remembered how Kennedy had thrown the pillow at his friends, laughing, as they rode to Chicago.

Beranek stood up as the bus rode along, and talked to the boys in his SimCom style of what had transpired over the weekend. He shared that he knew some students were in their rooms, but he didn’t realize that several, including Zanger and Kennedy, had gone into the hallways. He didn’t know until later about Bright’s jump, which continues to be a legend in the Illinois Deaf community even today.

Saline and Reynolds both remembered how Beranek shared the rumor that Zanger and Kennedy had been found near each other by the elevators, but that this hadn’t been confirmed. (Newspaper articles reported Chicago Fire Commander Robert J. Quinn as saying that the two boys’ bodies were found outside a room on the north end of the corridor; Quinn added that had the boys stayed in their rooms, they likely would have survived.) Beranek also told of how he had to go to the morgue to identify the boys’ bodies, which were badly covered in soot.  As Beranek spoke, every boy on that bus shed tears. The ride to Jacksonville was eerily quiet, with Kennedy’s pillow literally hanging over their heads.

The Aftermath
Reynolds remembers vividly how upon arrival, the school bus was swarmed by other ISD students, and the sense of dread he and the other boys felt. “We should’ve had trauma counselors on the ready for us, instead of kids wanting to know every detail about our experience,” Reynolds says. He saw many cars, mostly driven by hearing parents, waiting to pick up their boys. He walked to his dorm and as he put away his things, a houseparent notified him that his family had called.

Reynolds quickly went to pick up the phone and call his family. When his brother picked up, “It was at that moment that I realized I couldn’t speak. I had lost my voice, and could only speak a few words.” His brother asked, “Are you okay? Are you okay?” Crying, Reynolds responded that he was okay and that he loved them.

Meanwhile, Saline’s mother and niece drove down from Rio to see him that evening, and took him out for dinner at the local Hardee’s. They wrote back and forth, talking about what had happened.

The next morning, the survivors went to class on the second floor of the main building. Saline said, “So many people hugged me, and it was weird. It was really hard on me, knowing that Donald, who was my roommate at the hotel, and Bruce both had died. I wondered about them for a long time, and it took a while for that feeling to wear off.”

Soon after class began, Reynolds was thrilled to learn that his parents and brother were there to pick him up. As soon as he made his way to the first floor, his brother ran to him. Reynolds recalls bittersweetly, “I never had that hard of a hug from my own brother before that, and it was the best feeling.” He went home for a week.

Upon his return, Reynolds practiced with the school basketball team. On game day, on the court in uniform, he had one of many epiphanies. “I was warming up, and as I was dribbling, I looked around the gym. There were people in the bleachers, I was playing with my teammates, and I thought, I’m alive. I have another chance to play basketball. My view of the world changed at that moment, and I embraced my newfound maturity. I ran and did a lay-up, never forgetting the boys we lost in Chicago.”

Bright went home after seven days, where he had virtually been isolated from the world. After all, back in those days, TVs were inaccessible and no interpreters were provided. Newspapers reported that he would not return to school that year. After two weeks, though, Bright was going stir-crazy. He was the only deaf person in his family and town, and missed his friends. He begged his parents and ISD superintendent Dr. Kenneth Mangan — who wasn’t too fond of him, since he was somewhat of a troublemaker — to let him return.  Bright’s doctor felt he wasn’t ready, either, but Bright lied and told Mangan that the doctor had given approval.

Mangan still refused. Dean of Students Lawrence Huot spoke on Bright’s behalf, and finally convinced Mangan to let Bright return. Mangan finally agreed to let Bright return. Bright walked using specially fitted crutches for about a month, but was overjoyed to be back. Reynolds and others were stunned to see Bright back so soon after his near-death experience. “We all thought Bright would be crippled for life, and even today, I am astounded he survived,” Reynolds said.

Bright was thrilled to be back, and wasted no time in healing. He went on to have a noteworthy athletic career both in the last years of high school and in adulthood, and graduated with his classmates in June 1972.

Charles Bright, shown here with his mother and their family lawyer, had to return to Chicago for a medical follow-up visit. (Courtesy of Charles Bright)

Bright also remembers how a lawyer representing the Hilton corporation showed up at his house and convinced his parents to sign a $10,000 agreement, although today he isn’t sure what the agreement stipulated. When Bright returned to Chicago for further medical care, his family lawyer accompanied him — and his mother wouldn’t leave Bright’s side during an overnight stay at the hospital; she was too afraid something would happen again.

For decades, Bright refused, and still refuses, to stay overnight at the hotel where the fire took place, even when softball or basketball tournaments were headquartered there. In 2014, Reynolds and Bright returned to the hotel, now named the Hilton Chicago. Although they had been back to that hotel for various events, this time was different: they were going to confront their memories and visit the ninth floor. Bright says, “I had a sense of trepidation, and it was difficult to see that floor again. So much of the hotel looked the same, yet so different.” Reynolds echoes this, which is why he wants to create a film based on this experience.

“It’s the little things that jump out at you,” Reynolds said. “I still have my room key from that night.” For Bright, one of the small details was that he had borrowed his good friend Ronald Sipek’s suit for the weekend, which then was destroyed in the fire. 

Beranek, when asked how he recovered from the terrible events of that weekend, said, “It bothered me for so very long, yeah. It bothered me until that kid, what’s his name? Perry. Robert Perry drowned.” In August 1970, Perry, of East St. Louis, had gone swimming in a quarry with fellow survivor Frank Bazos of Aurora. Despite desperate efforts by Bazos, Perry drowned — just a day before he was to start a new job.

“When Perry died after having gone through the fire, I realized that when it’s your time to go, it’s your time,” Beranek continued. “There’s nothing I could have done.”

Kennedy and Zanger were the only two fatalities of the fire; the 14 injured ISD students included: Charles Bright, 17; Thomas Byrnes, 15; Michael Davis, 15; Freeman Harper, 16; Albert Jones, 18; David Newcum, 14; Scott Noyes, 14; Larry Peterson, 16; David Reynolds, 16; Danny Thomas, 18; Michael Tonner, 17; and Michael Ubowski, 14.

The cause of the fire was never confirmed; it was later revealed that there had been a fire on the same floor two years earlier.

Today

Beranek in 1970, with horn-rimmed glasses and in a suitA white man stands in front of kitchen cabinets. He is wearing a white t-shirt, and is smiling.

 

Zeke Beranek, who turns 86 in February, lives in Jacksonville, Ill., with his wife of 55 years. After 32 years, he retired from education and now works with H&R Block as a tax preparer when not walking his dogs.

 

Bright as a 17-year-old

A balding white man smiles as he wears a Superman t-shirt. To his right is a little girl, his granddaughter.

 

Charles Bright, 65, has worked for the U.S. Food and Drug Administration for 40 years, and is considering retirement. He has two children and one grandchild, and makes his home with his wife Genevieve in Schaumburg, Ill.

 

Freeman Harper in 1970A brown-skinned man in a suit jacket and purple button-down shirt is smiling, his hair gray, in front of a blue cloud-filled sky and trees.

 

Freeman Harper, 64, retired from a career as an educator at the Phoenix Day School for the Deaf, and resides in Iowa City, Iowa.

 

 

David Reynolds in 1970A brown curly-haired man sits in front of a moving river.David Reynolds, 63, became an educator and worked for years at the Indiana School for the Deaf before moving west to Fremont, Calif. He has three sons, and has an acting career, most notably as Dr. Wonder on Dr. Wonder’s Workshop.  He and his wife, Alyce Slater Reynolds, recently relocated to Riverside, Calif., where he intends to create a movie about the Chicago fire, among other films.


A white man is in his car, looking at the camera. He has a blonde/grayish goatee, glasses, and a baseball cap on.


Dale Saline, 62, retired from the U.S. Postal Service after 20 years. He now works at his family’s pig farm in Rio, Ill. and lives with his wife.

 

 

Click here for my thoughts on this story in ASL and English.

All photographs are taken from the Chicago Sun Times, Chicago Tribune, Chicago Daily News, the Illinois Advance, and the interviewees unless otherwise indicated. Special thanks go to Joan Engelmann and Rosa Ramirez.

Filed Under: Blog, Childhood, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Disempowerment, History, Humanity, Language, Media, Notable People

Nearly 50 Years Later: The Chicago Fire that Killed Two Deaf Students (Part 1)

January 25, 2018

Illinois School for the Deaf Main Building

Illinois School for the Deaf Main Building (Courtesy of 1969 Illinois Advance)

By Trudy Suggs

PART 1 (Click here for Part 2)

It was going to be a splendid trip. Forty boys from the Illinois School for the Deaf (ISD) were headed to Chicago to watch a Chicago Bulls game. In past years, they had gone to watch the St. Louis Hawks and visit the St. Louis Arch — both a mere 90-minute drive away — but the Hawks had moved to Atlanta, so Chicago it was.

The boys eagerly packed their suitcases. On Saturday, January 24, 1970, they climbed onto the school bus; it was nothing fancy, just your standard yellow school bus with green seats that bounced so hard at times you felt as if you might shoot through the roof.

The ride took nearly five hours up I-55. The boys joked and talked excitedly about what they would see. For some, it was their first time to the big city. They came from rural towns, and had only heard gangster stories about the city. For others, it was their hometown. Chaperoning the trip was Zeke Beranek, a teacher and coach who spoke crisply as he signed each word.

They arrived in blustery Chicago and checked into the Conrad Hilton Hotel on Michigan Avenue, a stately building overlooking Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan. The boys were abuzz with excitement as they explored their fancy surroundings, and went sightseeing. Beranek immediately chose older kids as leaders to help the younger kids. He collected each room’s key in the event of an emergency and so he could wake them up for church the next morning.

Four boys were assigned to each room on the ninth floor; Beranek roomed with the school bus driver. Most of the boys slept in one wing, with the remainder spilling over into another wing. Charles Bright, a 17-year-old sophomore, was with roommates Bruce Kennedy and Robert Perry as they flirted with hearing girls from Ohio in the fifth-floor lounge. When some hearing guys came up, unhappy with the unsolicited attention the girls were getting, the boys went back to their room and headed to bed.

David O. Reynolds, a 16-year-old sophomore from rural Kankakee, was having the time of his life fooling around with his friends in the hallways and elevators, as teenagers are apt to do. “I was a huge Chicago sports fan, and always read the newspaper every day,” he said, “and I was so excited for the game.” Reynolds decided to go to bed and get ready for the next day — but not before he read that day’s newspaper.

Bruce Kennedy

Bruce Kennedy (Courtesy of 1970 Illinois Advance)

The Beginning of a Nightmare
At 3:00 a.m., feeling unusually warm, Bright woke up. He walked to the window and opened it before walking to the door and propping it open. Even in the 1970s, this was still a bold move in the big city. The dangers of leaving the door wide open didn’t occur to Bright, a naïve small-town kid who was the sixth of eight kids from Moweaqua, 20 minutes south of Decatur. Bright noticed it was rather warm in the hallway as well, but climbed back into bed without a second thought.

Two hours later, the fire alarms finally went off. Back then, hotels weren’t required to provide visual fire alarms, so none of the deaf boys had any way of knowing unless someone woke them up or they smelled the smoke. Kennedy, who was hard of hearing, shook Bright awake, saying, “Fire! Fire!” Groggy from deep sleep, Bright saw the room filled with smoke. Seeing that Kennedy was ready to run from the room, Bright clutched Kennedy’s wrist and said, “Don’t go!” But Kennedy wriggled free and ran out, never to be seen again.

B+W photo of firemen looking at charred corridor

The ninth-floor corridor was the most damaged of all the hotel floors.

Bright, who had become deaf from spinal meningitis and had terrible balance as a result, began coughing and choking on the smoke. He later realized the room was so filled because he had his windows open, which sucked in smoke from the hallway. He saw Albert Jones, another roommate, running into the wall three times, desperately looking for the door. Although the sun had begun to rise, the room was pitch black.

Bright panicked. “I had never experienced a fire drill at school and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” he recalled. He ran to the bathroom to grab a wet towel, and crawled back to the window. He tied three bed sheets together to lower out of the window, thinking maybe he could climb down somehow. The sheets immediately dropped to the ground below, and Bright began to sob, fearing death was inevitable.

Room 909
Reynolds was soundly sleeping when roommate Mike Davis tapped him awake. Smoke had already seeped into the room. “I woke up coughing, and ran to the door to open it,” Reynolds remembered. “That was a big mistake, because there was a wall of blackness right there. I remember this clearly. There was just this black wall, and I was so confused. I stumbled backwards and fell down.”

Reynolds began crawling, recalling a movie he had watched at school about how to stay safe by crawling under the smoke. “I thought I could easily beat the smoke,” he said. “But even as I crawled, the smoke still came down on me.” He figured he would open the two windows, but they had been illegally sealed shut with insulation tape. After giving it a few tries, he knew it was futile.

“I fell back on the floor, and put a pillow over my face. I couldn’t breathe, and I could feel the smoke filling my lungs,” Reynolds said, lost in thought as he remembered the sensation. He had no idea where his roommates were, but became focused on saving himself. “I got up and went to the window again, and tried again to open it to no avail.” He desperately pulled down the curtain rod and tried to break the window with it. He succeeded, creating a baseball-sized hole. “I put my mouth to that hole, and it was the very first time I had ever given up. I remember thinking, Okay, God, it’s now my time. I have good parents and good faith. And then I passed out.”

Floor map of ninth floor where the fire started

Floor map

Donald Zanger

Donald Zanger (Courtesy of 1970 Illinois Advance)

The Second Fatality
In a corner room, eighth grader Dale Saline of Rio, near Iowa, was about to celebrate his birthday. He had gotten special permission from his parents to go on this trip, and roomed with high schoolers Donald Zanger, Michael Ubowski, and Dennis Lovstad. “At about 5:30 or 6:00, I woke Donald up,” Saline said. “Donald immediately ran out in a panic, and I woke Mike up as well. He did the same, and ran out.”

Saline, unsure of what to do next, put a wet towel by the door. Fortunately, Ubowski returned a short time later, and a lost Danny Thomas wandered into their room. “We weren’t that close to the elevators where the fire started, so it wasn’t as bad as in the other rooms,” he said. “We waited for the longest time and I was really scared. A fireman tried to get a ladder up to us, but it only went up to the seventh floor and we were on the ninth floor.”

Some time later, their door suddenly burst open. A fireman had arrived to lead them to safety. As they made their way through the hallway, Saline kept tripping over the many hoses on the floor. They took a service elevator to the kitchen where all the others had congregated.

B+W photograph of hotel with smoke coming out of the windows. At bottom is the concrete terrace that Bright jumped to.

Charles Bright jumped from his ninth floor room onto the concrete terrace, located at the top of the ladder in this photograph. Miraculously, he survived.

Jumping to His Future
Meanwhile, Freeman Harper, 17, of Quincy, was in another room with three other boys. Their room was near the elevator shaft where the fire originated, so their room filled with smoke quickly. “I suddenly woke up, terrified, and screamed in fright,” Harper said. Unlike Reynolds, he and his roommates opened two large windows and waited approximately 45 minutes until firemen rescued them.

When Harper was safely on the ground, he and the many others looked up at the hotel searching for survivors. He watched in horror as Bright climbed out of his window.

Bright, still sobbing, made a split decision. He scampered onto the ledge, and saw a woman on a lower floor waving, “No, no! No!” He lowered himself, his fingers tightly gripping the edge of the ledge, and hung on for dear life. He looked down and then back at his window that was emitting more smoke than ever. He could feel his fingers slipping, so he let go. “I blacked out and can’t remember anything after my fingers left the ledge,” he said. 

“I screamed, ‘Oh, my God!’ and watched his body fly down the four floors,” Harper recalled. “I remember his lifeless body on the balcony and fearing the worst.” Bright crashed into a fifth-floor concrete terrace and vaguely remembers waking up and trying to take a few steps before falling to the ground where he passed out for the final time.

Firemen eventually carried Bright into a fifth-floor room, where he waited for an ambulance to take him to the hospital.

A black and white photo of Charles Bright wrapped up in blankets on a hotel bed after his fall.

After Charles Bright fell four stories onto a concrete terrace, firemen carried him to a hotel bed. Miraculously, he survived the fall.

Fighting for Survival
Back in his room, Reynolds was regaining consciousness. He said, “I woke up, after I don’t know how long, because of the draft. I don’t think if I had stayed passed out for another minute, I would have survived.” The draft was coming from an opened window. Roommate Larry Peterson had ripped the tape off and then snapped open the window in a fit of super-strength. Reynolds scrambled to the window and leaned out. As he took deep, painful breaths, he looked in all directions, and saw others sticking their heads out of their windows as well. He also saw people making their way down fire escapes, and wondered if he could do that. He returned his eyes to his roommates, Davis and Peterson, and realized that their faces were completely covered in soot. He said, “There were lines going from inside their noses to their lips. It was surreal, and I knew I probably had them, too.”

The boys quickly talked about what to do. They also worried about where their other roommate, Mike Tonner, was. Tonner had cerebral palsy, and had run out into the hallway in a state of panic. Just then, the boys realized that the open door and open window created a cross-breeze that helped clear the smoke. The wind slammed the door shut, and Reynolds said, “Against all common sense, I ran to open the door. I could see that same wall of smoke, but the open door helped clear the room of smoke.”

Michael Tonner is shown in a hospital gurney surrounded by two nurses.

Michael Tonner, who had CP, was carried to safety by a fireman and taken to the hospital.

At that moment, Tonner returned, badly shaken up. The soot-covered boys grabbed him and brought him inside the room. The room was quickly becoming cold from the window, so Reynolds — at that point dressed only in his underwear — went to put on his clothes and his glasses. Since he could speak and hear a bit, Reynolds picked up the rotary phone and spoke to whoever was on the other end, “Please come get us, we’re trapped!” He had no idea if anyone was listening.

The boys stood at the window, screaming at people and waving to other people trying to get some help. By then, it was past 6:00 a.m., and daylight had almost fully arrived. Davis was confident that they would be safe by then, reasoning that Reynolds had called for help so people knew they were in that room. They waited for what seemed like a very long time when suddenly Peterson said, “I can feel footsteps!”

Sure enough, the door opened and a big, burly fireman came in, coughing. Reynolds immediately pointed to Tonner and said, “He has CP, he can’t walk.” The fireman easily swung Tonner over his shoulder, and told the boys to follow him. “As we went down the hallway, thinking everyone else had died, I noticed that the hallway carpet was frayed from the fire. There was smoke billowing everywhere,” Reynolds said. The floor was also covered in water from fire hoses.

They walked down the long hallway, and Reynolds saw a splintered exit door. Reynolds, Davis, and Peterson ran to the door as the fireman went in a different direction. “We never saw the fireman again,” Reynolds said. They ran down the fire escape to safety. Reynolds said the first thing he noticed when they got outside was how cold it was — this was Chicago in January after all — and then he thought, “I’m alive! I’m alive!” People were waving at them, and they had to jump a few feet from the bottom of the fire escape to the ground.

Fire trucks were parked everywhere they looked, their lights flashing like no tomorrow. Water hoses were blasting cold water in every direction. “It was like a movie, that’s the best way I can explain it,” Reynolds said. He stood there for a few minutes, taking in the stunning event he had just survived.

“We all had suddenly become men. And we weren’t ready for that.” – David O. Reynolds

Collecting Themselves
As Reynolds stood figuring out what to do next, he was directed to a mailroom where the other guests were. As he walked towards the ISD group sitting off to the side, he saw how every face looked exceptionally sorrowful and sad. Looking at each boy’s grim, shell-shocked face, Reynolds realized something startling. “We all had suddenly become men. And we weren’t ready for that.”

Word had already gotten out that there had been some fatalities, but nobody knew for sure. Many had been whisked off in ambulances to area hospitals, and the rest kept checking on each other, making sure they all were okay. Reynolds, still coughing up soot, declined a trip to the hospital.

Details began coming together. The boys began ticking off names, trying to figure out who was missing and who was accounted for. They wrote back and forth with emergency responders. Saline, who had roomed with one of the two missing ISD boys (Donald Zanger), was interviewed by emergency personnel with Beranek interpreting. Shortly after that, Beranek left.

Firemen examine the room where the fire is suspected to have started.

Firemen are shown examining the area where the fire supposedly started. Charred remains of furniture are visible in this photograph.

Information began trickling in. The fire had started in an elevator shaft on the ninth floor, and since that floor was undergoing renovations, there were furniture and other things piled up near the elevator, creating an extremely flammable area. Theories began piling up: Was it arson? Did the boys who got angry at Bright, Perry, and Kennedy throw a cigarette to start the fire? Or was it just an electrical failure?

“We were in deep shock, us boys. We couldn’t believe what was happening,” Saline said.

The boys sat there waiting for someone to tell them something and wondering what would happen next. Reynolds suddenly began to feel sick, and realized he probably should get some medical attention. He was quickly taken to an ambulance, where he put on an oxygen mask and was driven to a hospital.

There, Reynolds was told to put a tissue to his mouth and start coughing. He did, and was shocked to see piles of soot coming out of his mouth. His lungs had completely filled with soot, and his larynx had been burned by the smoke. He later would learn that he had blood in his lungs for several years because of this smoke inhalation, which caused him to have nosebleeds often for many years. After several hours sharing a hospital room with Albert Jones and Freeman Harper, a somber-faced Beranek appeared at their hospital room door.

Click here for Part 2. All photographs are taken from the Chicago Sun Times, Chicago Tribune, Chicago Daily News, the Illinois Advance, and the interviewees unless otherwise indicated. Special thanks go to Joan Engelmann and Rosa Ramirez.

Filed Under: Blog, Childhood, Culture, History, Humanity, Language, Media, Notable People

My letter, 26 years later

July 15, 2016

Video description: Trudy Suggs, a white woman with brown shoulder-length hair, is wearing a purple v-necked sweater that ties at the neckline.  She is seated in a corner with brown bookshelves on her right and a sea blue wall on her left.

One of my favorite teachers, Barbara Turner, found an October 1990 letter I wrote to Silent News, a newspaper I later served as editor of for two years. As I re-read the letter (found at the end of this article), I was struck by what I wrote back then, especially given that I was only 15 years old.

My letter to Silent News, October 1990In 1990, I was deep in the trenches of what was then a deeply emotional discussion taking place everywhere. I remember sitting down in frustration after reading a few articles in Silent News, and pecking away on my electric typewriter. My perspectives stemmed from what I saw on a day-in, day-out basis. Today, I have mixed feelings about what I wrote (especially some of my word choices), although I do staunchly believe, as I did 26 years ago, that “a student’s best educational setting can only be determined by the individual — the child.”

I’ve also come to understand so much more about the mainstreaming versus deaf school controversy, and I’ve watched the pendulum swing back and forth. I’ve recognized that one of the challenges is ensuring that each family has full awareness of all the consequences of either choice. Most importantly, I’ve become a mother to four deaf children.

Looking back, I realize now just how oppressive many of the teachers were towards us Deaf students, except for Ms. Turner, in terms of audism, linguicism, and the most basic of respect. To be fair, that was the norm back then and still is the norm at so many schools today. This oppressive attitude spilled over into our daily perspectives of ourselves; I’ve written extensively about how I struggled with my self-esteem and identity because of these teachers. It’s bittersweet to think of how Deaf students, including me, thought we were “lucky” to be mainstreamed when in reality, this was dysconscious audism at its finest. We simply were indoctrinated to believe that hearing was better.

With that said, I was so fortunate to have had access to a Deaf family, the Deaf community, publications like Silent News and Deaf Life, and most importantly, Deaf friends and role models. My classmates didn’t necessarily have this same access, except through the three deaf families at my school. After all, the nearest deaf school was about four to five hours away. The school we attended didn’t really expose us to deaf role models on a consistent basis, although we did have guest speakers and attended a very few events with deaf students from other schools.

Let’s take a quick look at some of what I wrote.

“Some deaf students, in my opinion, will perform at their best abilities in mainstreamed settings, such as I do.”

Actually, I sucked at school. I was never a great student, and I never felt as if I was academically or even personally smart. I would struggle in class, trying to understand why I couldn’t follow along. I had to put up with teachers’ scorn, because they had higher expectations of me given that my papers said I was gifted and had skipped two grades at another public school. Today I realize I struggled because the interpreters weren’t qualified for the most part, and I didn’t have direct communication access. I had attended a deaf school for a year, but it wasn’t the best option at the time; also, my mother got remarried and we relocated to the Chicago area. Even though I was one of those students who participated in a million extracurricular activities and had a lot of hearing friends and even a hearing boyfriend, I never felt as if I really fit in. In between classes and after school, I would always run to my deaf friends and drink up every minute with them.

If I could do it all over again, I would probably have requested better interpreters, or perhaps homeschooling — or found a way to go to a deaf school again. Even with the best interpreters, the access still would not be equivalent to the access at deaf schools.

“I think all the controversy over whether to mainstream or to put a child in a residential school is overly absurd. . .

But I think it is totally ridiculous that people battle endlessly . . . Come on, let’s stop whining about this issue and concentrate on other things such as bringing deaf awareness into the hearing world and promoting deaf rights.”

Yikes. “Absurd,” “ridiculous,” and “whining” aren’t words I’d use nowadays. The controversy, which persists to this day especially in light of so many deaf schools closing, is a very serious topic — especially given the dramatic increase in solitary mainstreaming of deaf children. Even so, I thought, and still believe, that this controversy is putting the horse before the cart. The more pressing issue is ensuring that every child has access in the form of sign language along with whatever other communication mode(s) are accessible, and that every family has full information and is fully educated and aware of the importance of cultural and linguistic access in all aspects of the child’s life. Only when this has been achieved can we focus on educational options.

“Going back to my statement that a child can succeed in a setting that he feels most comfortable in, I can say that I know of many people who are thought of as role models today that come from both types of school. . .I do have a lot of hearing peers. So do a lot of the other deaf students in my school. But those deaf students and I socialize with deaf people outside of school — which counteracts with the often-found misconception that students who are mainstreamed are not proud of their deafness, do not socialize with other deaf people, and are sheltered from the deaf world.”

I still agree, but I also recognize that even with the oppression students at my school faced, we still had access to resources that are not available to many deaf mainstreamed students, such as direct instruction in ASL, Deaf-centric extracurricular activities, and even books and publications about ASL and Deaf people. Unfortunately, it’s even more of a fact today that so many mainstreamed students do not have access to or awareness of the Deaf community.

My high school also had a critical mass of deaf students — about 80 — as opposed to only 5 or 10 students. This was imperative, because it enabled us to have our own sub-groups, our own culture, and even our own vocabulary (just ask me how we signed “fump” or “gross”). The most important thing is that we developed a network among ourselves, and through the deaf families and extracurricular activities at school found other deaf people. Even so, this critical mass is nothing like the one I see at my children’s school nowadays, and I now fully realize just how much I missed out on.

“And I also know that residential schools are very remarkable in producing people that achieve so much for the deaf world. This does not need to be even said because it is almost a granted fact.”

Unfortunately, we do have to say this, because residential — or rather, Deaf schools — have gotten such a bad rap especially in the past 50 years. We need to go back to basics, and recognize that many people’s ideas of what deaf schools offer are often outdated and rooted in the outdated concept of “institutionalization.” Many Deaf schools offer a variety of programs and services, including audiology and spoken language, and offer comprehensive education. It’s also imperative to recognize that most of the community leaders in our storied Deaf history came from deaf schools, and that many community leaders also come from deaf schools. For example, the receptionist at the White House, Leah Katz-Hernandez, attended a deaf school. Claudia Gordon, a White House lawyer, attended a deaf school. Nyle DiMarco, the hottest star to hit Hollywood, graduated from a deaf school. The recent chair of the FCC disability office, who left the position a few weeks ago, Greg Hlibok, also comes from a deaf school. The list goes on and on.

Nowadays, that demographic may be changing — through no fault of our own. With mainstreaming forced upon more deaf students as a result of an increased reliance on technology, the closing of Deaf schools, dissemination of naccurate information, and a general lack of resources in many parts of the country, more and more community leaders will come from mainstreamed settings. Some of them have or will become successful leaders if they have tremendous resources and support at home; others will probably struggle with all the same issues of fitting in, self-esteem, language barriers, trying to do what others expect of them —on top of normal development challenges such as puberty and socialization. So it’s important for us to continue identifying successful people who have happily embraced the Deaf community and its culture, heritage, and language.

“If we could get more people to be aware of deafness and its glorious culture, then we could get parents to make the best and RIGHT decision about where to put their child for the best possible education. We do, after all, have to realize that each child is an individual and each has his own way of learning.”

Even as passionate as I am about the importance of Deaf schools and reviving the critical masses that once existed at every Deaf school, I still believe that each child has to have choices. If we could bring Deaf school numbers back to what exists at schools like Maryland, Texas, and Indiana, we’d have choices at each and every Deaf school instead of “resorting” to mainstreaming as a choice. By choices, I mean choices in educational methods, communication modes, services, courses, social circles, and so much more. Every child should have access to these choices without having to sacrifice full, complete, direct access to education and every aspect of school — especially socialization and world knowledge.

I will say this, though, as a final statement: many of my fellow Deaf students at Hinsdale South High School went on to have Deaf children. The majority of us, including me, have chosen to enroll our children at deaf schools. This alone speaks volumes.

Letter to Silent News Editor, October 1990

Dear Editor:

In response to all the letters about whether to put a deaf child in a mainstreamed setting or a residential setting, I would like to add some of my own comments, if I may.

I am a 15-year-old senior at Hinsdale South High School in Darien, Illinois. Yes, I am mainstreamed for all of my classes with the use of an interpreter, but I am also a former residential school student. So I can safely say I have an idea of what both worlds are like. And regardless of all the arguments I have absorbed about which school gives a student a higher reading/writing level, I strongly believe that a student’s best educational setting can only be determined by the individual — the child.

Some deaf students, in my opinion, will perform at their best abilities in mainstreamed settings, such as I do. Others will find mainstreamed settings too difficult or too easy and lean toward the residential school. I think all the controversy over whether to mainstream or to put a child in a residential school is overly absurd. If one scoffs at mainstreaming and says that deaf schools are the only way to go, or vice versa, then I believe that is a very subtle kind of discrimination. Who is one to say what another can do? This is a free country, and every one of us is an individual. I believe that a child can succeed anywhere he feels like he fits in the most.

My most vivid memory of leaving the residential school I attended was a staff member coming up to me and calling me a “traitor” to my face — simply because I was transferring to a public school with a program for deaf students. I will never forget the disgust and fury in his face as he spelled out that word to me. I was only 10 at the time. I think that’s exactly the type of picture that someone would NOT want a child to have.

Going back to my statement that a child can succeed in a setting that he feels most comfortable in, I can say that I know of many people who are thought of as role models today that come from both types of school. I come from a deaf family; so I know a lot of deaf adults who are very successful individuals and many of them come from public schools with a program for the deaf; and yet others tell me of their residential school experiences. I do not have an outstanding and superior level of speech — I firmly believe in the use of sign language, so do not think that I am a deaf person who marches around in life being oral. But I do have a lot of hearing peers. So do a lot of the other deaf students in my school. But those deaf students and I socialize with deaf people outside of school — which counteracts with the often-found misconception that students who are mainstreamed are not proud of their deafness, do not socialize with other deaf people, and are sheltered from the deaf world.

True, many mainstreamed people do need to be educated about the deaf world, but we are fortunate to have very many teachers at Hinsdale South who are knowledgeable about this. And there are students who have participated in all kinds of sports, such as soccer, basketball, baseball, and so on. And I am one of the editors of the school paper. And there are countless clubs that our deaf students have participated in. The program at Hinsdale South is living proof that NOT all mainstreaming programs are total failures.

And I also know that residential schools are very remarkable in producing people that achieve so much for the deaf world. This does not need to be even said because it is almost a granted fact.

But I think it is totally ridiculous that people battle endlessly about whether mainstreaming or residential schools are the best way to educate our deaf children. Come on, let’s stop whining about this issue and concentrate on other things such as bringing deaf awareness into the hearing world and promoting deaf rights. If we could get more people to be aware of deafness and its glorious culture, then we could get parents to make the best and RIGHT decision about where to put their child for the best possible education. We do, after all, have to realize that each child is an individual and each has his own way of learning.

Trudy Suggs
Westmont, IL

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

Filed Under: Childhood, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Disempowerment, Humanity, Interpreting, Language, Media, Parenting

A Quick Look at Everyday Disempowerment of Deaf People

May 10, 2016

A page from NADmag's Spring 2016 issue showing my articleThis article originally appeared in the Spring 2016 issue of NADmag; download a PDF version of the article.

Video description:  Trudy, a white woman with shoulder-length brown hair, is wearing a navy blue shirt with a red, white, light blue, tan, and navy blue striped scarf. She is seated in the corner with brown bookshelves on her right and a sea blue wall on her left.

Image description: The article as it appeared in NADmag is shown on a yellow page with the headline in yellow text, and the body text in black. Nancy Rourke’s painting of DEAF DISEMPOWERMENT is shown, in her trademark red, yellow, blue, white, and black colors; a woman resembling Trudy is shown in black with a huge hole in her chest.

The Deaf community certainly has come a long way over the decades, even if the pendulum constantly swings from one side to the other in terms of education, discrimination, access, and equality. It is so important that we all are aware of the rights we hold as humans who are Deaf. That itself is a given; nobody would argue otherwise with us. Yet, we allow ourselves to put up with everyday disempowerment, especially for small, seemingly innocent situations. In order to reduce this, we need to first understand what disempowerment is.

Everyday Acts of Disempowerment
The word disempowerment has quite a simple definition for such a powerful concept: to take away power. When we think of disempowerment, we usually think of things like not being provided interpreting services, watching films or TV without captions, being told not to sign, having our lives decided or even dictated by people with no knowledge of ASL or Deaf culture, or seeing hearing actors in roles portraying Deaf people. Yet there are smaller, everyday acts that hold just as much capacity, if not more, to disempower us.

How many times have you logged onto Facebook or Twitter only to find that your (hearing) friends, parents, relatives or even spouses have posted videos that aren’t captioned? Then when you ask them for a transcript, they say, “Oh, darn, I never thought about that,” yet they do it time after time. Another example is when hearing parents speak about their deaf children in front of the children, yet the children don’t realize the conversation is about them.

Countless examples of everyday disempowerment happen in the workplace, of course. Meetings that aren’t interpreted, water cooler conversations where the Deaf person can’t participate, the annoyance factor (when a boss rolls his eyes at a request for an interpreter), being underestimated because you’re Deaf, the office dialogue that takes place over cubicle walls as you’re sitting at your station working; the list goes on and on. Sure, there are accommodations, but it’s just not the same as direct communication access.

How about if you’re writing down something at a fast-food restaurant or even a store—perhaps your order or a question—and the employee, as you’re writing, starts working with another customer? This tells not just you, but also other people, that you’re not worth the wait. Maybe you’re talking with someone who knows that signing and speaking at the same time is combining two separate languages, making it difficult for you to easily access this information. Yet you know if you ask that person to turn off his/her voice or remove his/her speech privilege, that person might be offended. So you end up simply saying nothing as you struggle.

These are minor acts of disempowerment that we’ve become so accustomed to, and we usually don’t do much about them because it’s just not worth the battle. The cycle then continues, because by just accepting these incidents, we are in essence telling the other people that they can continue doing this, even though it’s really not okay.

Disempowerment Through ASL
Teaching ASL is another example of everyday disempowerment that many have come to accept as the status quo. There are thousands of ASL teachers in the nation. How many are deaf? No real statistics exist on this yet. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of certified Baby Sign Language instructors. How many are deaf? A very small percentage. Just go to the bookstore and take a look at all the baby signs books, or look up local baby sign language classes; the majority is taught by hearing people who aren’t necessarily fluent in ASL.

Are all the Deaf Studies and ASL programs in the nation run by Deaf people? No. How about agencies serving Deaf people, state commissions for Deaf people, and organizations focusing on things like baby signs? Are there more Deaf administrators than hearing in these positions? Probably not. How many deaf-run interpreting agencies can you name off the top of your head? What’s wrong with this picture?

A common response to why a deaf person isn’t at the helm of a program or agency working with deaf and hard of hearing people is, “We advertised the position and couldn’t find anyone qualified.” That certainly could be the case. Still, such situations have ripple effects: deaf people aren’t hired, and those outside of the deaf community, in turn, continue to have beliefs and perceptions shaped by hearing people. These hearing people then believe they can educate others about us, rather than bringing in appropriate Deaf community representatives.

If no qualified deaf person applies for a position, there needs to be a short-term and long-term remedy. One possible solution is to keep the position open for as long as possible until someone who is qualified and deaf is hired. Another potential solution is to have an interim director in place, hire someone who is definitely capable of doing the job, and train that person until she or he is ready to take the helm. Is that costly and cumbersome? Perhaps. Cost-beneficial and cost-effective in the long run? Absolutely.

Interpreters: An Imbalance
Interpreters have always been, and likely will always be, a great source of disempowerment. One challenge for many Deaf consumers is at medical appointments, when interpreters go into the hallway whenever the nurse or doctor leaves, instead of staying in the room with the Deaf patient. From an interpreter’s perspective, this is necessary given the many opportunities for ethical dilemmas. For instance, if the Deaf patient says something to the interpreter that is medically relevant, but doesn’t share this information with the doctor, is the interpreter bound to tell the doctor? Yet, is it really fair to keep the patient isolated in a room where there’s no visual access to all the sounds and conversations that a hearing patient could overhear? Many Deaf people say no.

Anita Buel, a Deaf community health worker (DCHW) in Minnesota, has an ongoing frustration. CHWs are certified, trained advocates who accompany patients in their own communities (in this case, the Deaf community) and provide advocacy, information, and clarification for patients who may feel overwhelmed by medical jargon, procedures, and the overall health system. DCHWs, however, are not certified deaf interpreters (CDI); they have as much of a need for interpreters as the Deaf patients. Buel says she gets frustrated when she knows interpreters are in the hallway waiting, and then they come into the room already deep in conversation with the doctor or nurse. This, to her, shows that if the patient already is at a disadvantage, because oftentimes interpreters build relationships with medical professionals and therefore aren’t always perceived as neutral parties. Interpreters, by doing this, also have a rapport established with the medical staff that patients often struggle to establish because of the three-way communication.

An Imbalance in Knowledge
Many people, both deaf and hearing, have appropriately lauded the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf (RID) for increasing its standards and professionalism among interpreters within the past few years. Yet there is one act of disempowerment throughout this progress that has been deeply, and easily, overlooked: the knowledge imbalance, which creates a major disadvantage for Deaf people.

The RID requires its interpreters to have bachelor’s degrees, among other criteria; this is a fantastic requirement because it ensures that interpreters are educated. Interpreters, to receive certification, must also have the necessary (even if minimal) training in all the aspects involved with interpreters. Yet, this creates a major imbalance in knowledge, and power. Think about it: do Deaf people have the same access to education as interpreters? No. Are Deaf individuals generally trained to work with interpreters, on advocating for interpreter quality, and on how the interpreting process ideally works? No, absolutely not. Deaf people have had to constantly educate each other on a grassroots level on how to deal with interpreting dilemmas.

Is there any training provided to Deaf people in elementary school through adulthood on how to work with interpreters in various settings, or on self-advocacy? Unfortunately, the answer is no once again. There is a deaf self-advocacy training curriculum available through the National Consortium of Interpreter Education Centers, but even this curriculum is limited in its contents and availability. On the flip side, sometimes Deaf people aren’t fully educated on the interpreter’s role. Those individuals might mistakenly claim interpreters are oppressive or not doing their jobs, when in reality they are doing exactly what their jobs require.

Keep in mind that most interpreters receive years of formal, professional training in everything from ASL to ethics to business practices. Interpreters are also tested on their knowledge and skills, and then maybe certified. Interpreters are given the knowledge that Deaf people so greatly need and deserve. When Deaf people do not receive this same knowledge, this has deep-seated repercussions.

Whether we like to admit it or not, interpreters have an incredible amount of jurisdiction over our access to people, interviews, medical appointments, education, phone calls, and pretty much everything else. This isn’t necessarily bad, as long as they use this power appropriately and without malice. But this so-called jurisdiction can create even further potential for conflict and division. On top of that, this power imbalance can become magnified in small towns where interpreters might, by default, rule the roost because everyone knows everyone. This has happened time after time, where Deaf people lose jobs, are rejected for jobs, are perceived as unintelligent, and so much more all because they had conflicts with interpreters.

Understand, Analyze, and Act
The NAD has fought for equality among Deaf people for more than a century, and has produced some of the most remarkable leaders in American history. Yet each and every leader within the NAD, both at the state and national level, is guaranteed to have at least three stories of disempowerment running the gamut of minor to major incidents.

In addition to educating ourselves, we need to learn how to come together to prevent or reduce disempowerment in any form or shape. It’s crucial that we recognize that disempowerment doesn’t always happen on purpose; it’s often by accident. Even so, that doesn’t mean it’s okay. As renowned vlogger and blogger Franchesca “Chescaleigh” Ramsey says, “It’s not about intent. It’s about impact.”

What can we do, as Deaf people, to help lessen disempowerment ranging from simple acts to in- depth, intentional acts? First, we must understand what disempowerment is, how it affects us, and why it affects us. Even the seemingly small acts of disempowerment that we’ve become so accustomed, almost immune to, have major impact on our everyday lives as Deaf people. It is crucial that we, as Deaf people, become fully educated on acts of disempowerment, the interpreting process, on our roles, on our legal rights, and on how to deal with conflict or oppression. This kind of education should start at the earliest stages of our lives as Deaf people, so that we go throughout life knowing what we’re supposed to do. This would help lessen so much of the disempowerment that takes place. It would also help reduce the ingrained frustration that often comes from encountering such disempowerment, because we would have the tools to take the next steps. We must also be careful to remember that if a deaf person expresses frustration, it doesn’t necessarily mean she or he is angry, divisive or separatist. Rather, take a look at the situation, and figure out how all parties have contributed to the situation.

By understanding the gravity of each situation, small or large, we can then come to analyze the steps leading up to that situation and what we can do next. By understanding all the parties involved and their perceptions, and by figuring out what resources we have, we can then determine steps of action. Finally, we can then act on the disempowerment through appropriate steps. We must always strive for access to the same education as our hearing allies (interpreters, parents, friends, and other supporters). By working to minimize disempowerment, we can then have access to equality, to communication, and most importantly, to being human.

The original disempowerment article can be found here.

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

Filed Under: Business, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Deaf-Owned Businesses, Disempowerment, History, Humanity, Interpreting, Language, Media, Politics, RID, Stereotypes

Deaf Life Magazine Person of the Month

May 14, 2015

How awesome. At the risk of tooting my own horn (does it make a difference if I don’t hear the horn?), I learned that I had been chosen as Deaf Life Magazine’s Person of the Month for May 2015. It’s a bit startling to open up a magazine and see your face spanning the entire page. When I showed my kids the magazine, their faces lit up and they said, “Mama’s in the newspaper!” Close enough.

Filed Under: Blog, Culture, Deaf-Owned Businesses, Media

An email from sComm

April 2, 2015

My hosting company sent me this earlier today.

Hi Trudy –

We were contacted by the below company with the stated concern. Can you address this right away? Thanks.

Posted today at 10:42
sComm Inc. are the exclusive owners of copyrights or distribution rights for our content, including but not limited to “Communiphobia.”

You are receiving this notice because a hosting account associated with your services was identified as having been recently used illegally to make and/or distribute copies of our intellectual property identified at the bottom of this letter. Such content theft is a serious offense that carries the risk of substantial monetary damages and, in some cases, criminal prosecution. We ask that you forward this notice to the subscriber who was assigned the applicable hosting account and to take appropriate steps to deter future infringement, including:

Require the subscriber to remove or delete all unauthorized copies of sComm property;
Ensure the account is no longer used to copy or distribute sComm Property in the future;
Require the subscriber to confirm the above steps have been taken; and
Take appropriate action against the subscriber under your Abuse Policy/Terms of Service.

The content exists of all images within the article located here:
http://www.trudysuggs.com/doingmoreharmthangood/

We appreciate your efforts to reduce copyright infringement on your networks. Please send us a prompt response indicating the actions you have taken to resolve this matter. Please reference the above noted Notice ID 2225001 in all correspondence, which should be directed to:

Email: jonathan@sComm.com

The undersigned has a good faith belief that use of sComm Property in the manner described herein is not authorized by sComm, its agents or the law. We hereby state that the information in this notification is accurate and, under penalty of perjury, that the undersigned is authorized to act on behalf of sComm with respect to this matter.

Please be advised that this letter is not and is not intended to be a complete statement of the facts or law as they may pertain to this matter or of sComm’s positions, rights or remedies, legal or equitable, all of which are expressly reserved.

Regards,

Copyright Officer for sComm

Filed Under: Business, Deaf-Owned Businesses, Legal, Media

Beyond Face Value

February 20, 2014

I was a latecomer to Facebook. I created an account in 2007, but didn’t really use it until 2009. I had just given birth to my third child, who had a rough start and I was often up late worrying about him. To pass time in the wee hours, I spent hours poring through people’s Facebook pages and photographs.

Over time, Facebook became a key social media tool for my company. When one of my presentations went viral on the Internet, I started getting hundreds of friend requests from people I had never heard of. I decided to create a public page, so that people could follow my work if they wanted to—and I didn’t have to hurt anyone’s feelings by not accepting their friend requests.

I’m not going to repeat what many others have written about how Facebook took up their time, took them away from their children, and so on. Even so, the temptation to check the latest statuses was strong, and I started to see how Facebook really ate up time I could use for other things.

At that time, I lived in a small town. Everyone used Facebook to communicate, and this had its drawbacks: people would air conflicts online and use pictures or posts against each other both online and in person. Several times, I posted blanket statements that weren’t directed at any single person, and was quickly accused of talking about specific people in town. After repeated incidents of rumors running amok because of something I posted online, I didn’t feel good about Facebook anymore. I also didn’t like how the privacy settings weren’t really private. My husband, who has no interest in Facebook, suggested that I close my account. I agreed, and in early October, I started unfriending people in preparation for the account deactivation, reasoning that if I whittled down my friends list to zero, I could then be more selective once I reactivated my account someday.

The response was astounding. In late October, I had just presented a workshop in New York City, and was at LaGuardia Airport waiting to board my flight home. While waiting, I posted a message explaining that I was planning to deactivate my account, but people could find me on my other accounts. A few minutes later, I got a furious message from someone who lived in the same town, very upset I had unfriended him. His over-the-top email told of how I was unwelcome in some of the local Facebook groups, and that I wasn’t liked in town at all.

I burst into tears reading his message. People sitting next to me looked at me, startled at this sudden reaction. I was blown away by his email, and how it was so personal when my actions were not directed at anyone in particular—rather, it was an attempt to safeguard my family’s privacy. I posted another message, clarifying that I was shutting down my account and that it was nothing personal against anyone. After all, if people really wanted to stay updated on my doings, they could view my photos on Instagram, follow me on Twitter, “like” my public page, and visit my websites.

Since then, it’s been a marvelous experience, albeit a bit of a sociological experiment. I’ve received quite a few messages asking if I was okay and why I had shut down my Facebook account. The interesting thing was that these messages came about several months after deactivation. I also got a couple of messages from friends who were upset with me for allegedly blocking them. Once I explained that I had simply closed my account, they were virtually red-faced, apologizing for jumping to conclusions. It fascinated me that they were quick to assume instead of learning the facts first. I also found my family excluded from many local events, mainly because people forgot I wasn’t on Facebook anymore and didn’t have access to their invitations.

Still, something interesting started to happen. I started getting messages from friends who genuinely wanted to know how I was. They asked how my children were. They asked about my work. I was thrilled, because now I could have a meaningful email or even video conversation with them instead of quick soundbites here and there. I felt comforted that they took time out to check in on me, that I actually meant something to them.

Will I ever go back on Facebook? Sure, although technically, I never left—I still have my professional pages. When I do reactivate my account, I’m certainly going to be a lot more selective in who I allow in on my friends list. I don’t like being overwhelmed by messages coming at me from all directions, as if I were at a party saying hi in passing to 50 people and having in-depth conversations with none. I much prefer building, and nurturing, relationships with people, even if I don’t know them that well.

And that is the takeaway, for me, from this whole experience: that we all need to start reaching out to each other outside of social media. It’s so easy to feel like a social media minion, one of thousands and even millions of people on Facebook. Today, send an email or text to someone (or even call), and ask how that person is. It doesn’t have to be a long message; simply a, “Hey, how you doing?” will go a long way.

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

Filed Under: Community resources, Culture, Humanity, Media

Questions emerge about Deaf News Today and its owner

November 14, 2013

During the 2013 Deaflympics held in Sofia, Bulgaria, last July, the USA Deaf Sports Federation (USADSF) began receiving reports alleging Deaf News Today (DNT) was plagiarizing articles, photographs and tweets from the USADSF media team. The team, comprised of volunteer writers, editors, photographers and videographers, posted materials on Facebook, Twitter, and the USADSF website. DNT initially reposted the materials, but didn’t directly link to the USADSF website. Rather, DNT pointed all visitors to its own website. It was only after the reader clicked on another link at the DNT website that the original source was revealed.

The DNT website is a no-frills news aggregator blog site featuring articles from news sources around the world, and boasts over 1 million page views and 12,000 Twitter followers.

The person behind Deaf News Today

By clicking on the “About” link, visitors learn that Stephen Goforth runs the website:

DNT (Deaf New Today) provides clear and concise news coverage about deaf-related issues. Former CNN anchor and current journalism professor Stephen Goforth started the site more than a decade ago. We are committed to follow [sic] the highest standards of journalism. The goal is to bring you objective news reports. We do not take sides, but try to present all the facts we have in our possession and let the readers decide for themselves. DNT avoids sources that are not authoritative and issues corrections whenever necessary (though this is a rarity).  If you do not see a story on DNT, it might be that the information has not been verified or the information does not rise to the level of reportable news. If you have questions or suggestions, feel free to write us at DeafNewsToday@gmail.com.  And thank you for visiting! We hope you are better informed and empowered by what you find here.

plnu faculty profileGoforth appears to have an impressive background, according to the Point Loma Nazarene University’s Department of Literature, Journalism and Modern Languages faculty page:

Stephen Goforth teaches multimedia journalism, news writing, reporting, and digital newsgathering. In order to help students better grasp the move toward digital communication, he authored a textbook titled Media Shift: Journalism in a Connected World. His website Media-Shift.com helps students and professionals stay abreast of changes and trends taking place in new media. He stepped into teaching after working more than seven years at CNN as a [sic] anchor, writer and producer, covering stories such as 9/11 and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, sharing in the network’s Peabody Awards for Hurricane Katrina coverage and the tsunami disaster in South Asia.  Stephen maintains several news sites including ChristianNewsReport.com and DeafNewsToday.com, which is considered one of Deaf Culture’s most influential sources of information.  He launched his media career with his father, who owns three Christian-formatted radio stations in Mobile, Alabama.  Stephen went on to earn his Masters Degree [sic] in Journalism [sic] from The American University in Washington, DC. While in the nation’s capital, he anchored radio network news for Salem Radio Network and worked in a variety of TV positions covering Congress and the federal courts. Stephen combines provocative videos, intense discussion and the latest research to encourage students toward critical thinking about the media and its influence on American society. [Note: A few days after this story was posted, this biography was updated at the Point Loma website.]

According to the Peabody website, the George Foster Peabody Awards are the world’s oldest awards for media that recognize distinguished achievement and meritorious service by broadcasters, cable and eklybcasters, producing organizations, and individuals. To confirm the two Peabody Awards Goforth claims to have shared in, an email was sent to Peabody Awards Collection Archivist Mary L. Miller. She stated in a Nov. 4th email that CNN “did not win a Peabody for coverage of the 2004 Boxing Day Tsunami.” In fact, CNN has never received any Peabody awards for any tsunami event coverage; it is unclear how Goforth can share in an award that doesn’t exist.

goforth about meHowever, for CNN’s Hurricane Katrina Peabody Award (link no longer active), Miller explained, “When a program or series wins a Peabody Award, everyone who contributed to its creation does share in the award.” According to Miller, CNN submitted at least 12 programs and Goforth’s name is not on any of the entry forms. This could mean one of two things: Goforth’s role was so minor that it did not warrant a mention on the entry form, or he was not involved in any way.

Except for several self-promotional websites, including one at about.me/stephengoforth, Goforth has no published articles anywhere on the Internet aside from his “Media Shift” book. Almost all of the websites mentioning Goforth are either his own, or operated by his colleagues; Goforth has several blog sites, mostly Christian-focused or technology-focused.

There apparently also are no published works at the two universities at which he is known to have taught: the University of Mississippi and Point Loma Nazarene University. Efforts to verify his statement that he was a regional CNN news anchor and producer and an Associated Press editor were unsuccessful, although it was confirmed that he attended The American University and taught at the University of Mississippi. The College of Arts and Sciences Dean at Point Loma Nazarene University, Kathryn McConnell, also confirmed Goforth’s present employment at the university.

At Point Loma Nazarene University, for the Fall 2013 semester, Goforth teaches a yearbook workshop, television news writing, and media ethics and law. He is slated to teach two introductory journalism classes along with a college composition class and a yearbook workshop during the Spring 2014 semester.

Transparency: Goforth’s connection to the Deaf community

Goforth cites his website as “one of Deaf Culture’s [sic] most influential sources of information,” yet he seems to lack a direct connection to the Deaf community. While that may seem insignificant to the average reader, this is of paramount importance within the Deaf community.As is true for many other cultures, transparency is key in the Deaf community.  In the 1995 book, “Journey into the DEAF-WORLD” by Harlan Lane, Robert Hoffmeister, and Ben Bahan, the authors explain:

When members of the DEAF–WORLD meet, they introduce themselves and their companions. . . They give capsule life histories so that each can see how the others are connected to the DEAF– WORLD network. For unlike other cultures, Deaf culture is not associated with a single place, a “native land”; rather, it is a culture based on relationships among people for whom a number of places and associations may provide common ground. (p. 5)

Benjamin Bahan, Ph.D., a professor of Deaf studies at Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C., said, “Since Deaf culture is based on relationship-building, it often becomes necessary for one – especially if hearing – to explain how he or she gets to be involved in the deaf community. One also typically has to explain what role he or she has in the community: member, teacher, interpreter, visitor and so on.”

Although Goforth has declined to explain his involvement, an April 23, 2007 post at The Weekly Standard (link no longer available) offers a possible connection, referring to the 2006 Gallaudet protests:

“AS A JOURNALIST WORKING at CNN with friends who attended Gallaudet, I became aware of a lack of reputable information about the school and about Deaf Culture [sic]. That led me to start a website focused on news related to the deaf (deafnewstoday.com). Having closely followed the protests at Gallaudet, I was impressed with Charlotte Allen’s analysis. While some of it misplaces emphasis and elevates radical opinions to an undeserved level of importance, she nevertheless provides an excellent review and well-stated summary of the identity issues facing the deaf community.

STEPHEN GOFORTH
 Atlanta, Ga.”

Goforth was emailed on Aug. 5 and again on Aug. 11 about his background and his involvement with the Deaf community. He  responded on Aug. 16 with,  “I appreciate your reaching out and interest in the website, as well as sharing your background with me, but will decline the offer because making myself the center of attention would take the focus off of the news stories. To that end, if you see an inaccuracy in a story or have a story idea, please let me know.”

Goforth, whose DNT email address has the alias of “Neal Down,” did not respond to further requests. Even so, he apparently continues to advocate for the Deaf community. On Oct. 3, an uncaptioned video – which since has had captions added – was posted on the Voice of America website. Goforth left a comment:

by: Stephen Goforth from: San Diego
October 03, 2013 4:55 PM
Captions on the video would be good for your deaf readers–especially since the story is focused on the deaf community.

Stephen Goforth

Interestingly, Goforth’s video at his own blog promoting his “Media Shift” book isn’t captioned, unless automatic captioning is turned on. However, automatic captions, such as those used in his video, are notoriously of poor quality. Videos on his other websites also aren’t captioned.

Not in it for the money

It is curious, then, why Goforth, a hearing person with seemingly no, or very limited, connection to the deaf community, wants to, as he described in an email, “try to help people know what’s going on in the deaf community because there is [sic] not a lot of places you can go to find stories.”

Lest anyone think he’s in this for the money, he was quick to clarify in an email to a deaf-focused media outlet, “By the way, I have never sold an ad on the site, I have never gotten a donation from it (despite the button on the site that allows donations) and have only get [sic] a few dollars every six months or so from third party Google ads. Implying that I’m trying to make money. . .is kind of laughable.”

dnt ad pricesIn addition to the Google ads, Goforth sells advertising space on the DNT website, as shown in this graphic taken from the DNT site on Aug. 19. Banner ads are available from $150 to $350 per month. The website also has a PayPal donation button. The information he reposts is freely and readily available through news feeds.

Furthermore, the DNT domain was purchased on Feb. 16, 2005, and the website only has articles dating back to 2007. There seems to be no clear evidence that DNT began in 2001 as Goforth claims. If the DNT website was indeed created in 2001, his claim that “there is [sic] not a lot of places you can go to find stories” is hardly accurate. In 2001, there were numerous publications specializing in deaf news, including Silent News, a community newspaper, and USA-L, an email news aggregator run by the late Phil Moos. There also were several other email news aggregators as far back as the 1990s.

site originationEven if 2005 is DNT’s actual start date as shown in his domain registration, there were multiple news outlets in 2005, including SIGNews, another community newspaper.

The Deaflympics coverage

When the USADSF media team, on location at the Deaflympics in Bulgaria, learned that their hard work was being reposted by DNT without direct credit, they were understandably unhappy. They were, after all, working on a volunteer basis.

DNT was taking USADSF content – articles and photographs – from the USADSF Facebook page and re-posting them on the DNT Facebook page and website.  Instead of just “sharing” the information – by making a single click on the SHARE button on the USADSF Facebook page, DNT was copying/pasting the photographs and contents onto the DNT Facebook page. The links didn’t point to the USADSF website; rather, they pointed back to the DNT website. It was only after arriving at the DNT website that a link to the USADSF site was seen. By one USADSF media team member’s account, there were at least 48 instances of taken information from both the USADSF Facebook page and USADSF website, all with no direct link to the USADSF website.

DNT1 DNT2 DNT3 DNT4 DNT5 DNT6 DNT7

A similar pattern was followed with the USADSF Twitter feed. Instead of simply retweeting USADSF’s posts – where USADSF would be clearly identified as the original source – DNT duplicated the message in its own account with direct links to the DNT site. Again, it was only when a visitor clicked through to the DNT site, and then clicked again on yet another link, that the original USADSF source finally appeared.

This was at best misleading, and at worst, plagiarism and copyright violation. When confronted by USADSF, Goforth claimed that since USADSF was a non-profit entity, he was in fact helping them by using their “promotional materials.” In numerous emails with the media team, Goforth – whose emails seemed condescending at times – responded that he had done nothing wrong. He also stated that he had contacted USADSF prior to the Deaflympics to ask where he could find their news updates. USADSF responded to his inquiry and said that the information would be on the USADSF website, Facebook page and Twitter account. There was no further communication until USADSF contacted him during the Deaflympics.  Additionally, USADSF never gave Goforth explicit or implicit permission to copy and paste the articles and photos to his own sites.

Goforth also wrote, “I created the site and maintained it for a decade to try to help people know what’s going on in the deaf community because there is [sic] not a lot of places you can go to find stories. I suppose it would make you feel better if you could dismiss this as some sort of financial scheme. But it seems to be mostly my misunderstanding your purposes. And my experiences simply don’t line up with what you believe is typical.  However, since my goal was to help and not hurt, I’ve taken everything down about Deaflympics and will avoid the subject in the future.”

Some may argue that since Goforth did have a link, albeit buried, on his website to USADSF’s original content, he was not violating copyright. While clicking “share” on Facebook is allowed as a sharing technique (covered by Facebook’s terms of usage, and supported by the fact that “shares” on Facebook lead back to the original source), any copying and pasting onto individual Facebook pages or external sites is a copyright violation. Copyright law is something that a journalism professor teaching media ethics and law would likely be familiar with and discuss in class.

bisondancenov9Articles, photographs and videos from some of the larger “mainstream” media sources, such as ESPN, are credited clearly on the DNT website. Yet Goforth, a media ethics and law professor, continues to repost content from other sources at DNT, without clear attribution to the original source. For example, on Nov. 9, DNT posted a video of “The Bison Dance.” Even after one clicks on the video, it is not clear who originally created this video. It is only when one goes directly to the YouTube site that the original source is identified: Gallaudet University’s athletics department.

Current status

Numerous emails from various individuals to Point Loma Nazarene University’s dean and provost have gone mostly unanswered. As of press time, DNT has 12,906 followers on Twitter, 3,721 likes on Facebook, and 1,250,243 page views on the DNT website.

– Robert Weinstock, Bill Millios, Tara Schupner Congdon, and Rosa Ramirez contributed to this article.

curlicue_sm

My thoughts on the DNT story

I had never heard of Deaf News Today (DNT) until the 2013 Deaflympics. Although I have no affiliation with the USADSF media team, I was perplexed anyone would do this to USADSF, so I went to check the DNT website out. I figured this was simply a case of misguided hearing people trying to either help and/or profit from deaf people. Now, especially with the claim of receiving the Peabody Award for the tsunami coverage proven false, I’m left with even more questions:

  1. Privacy concerns aside, why is Goforth so resistant to talking about his cultural ties to the deaf community?
  2. Why is he running Deaf News Today if he’s not in it for the money as he says? Altruism?
  3. Why are there so many discrepancies between his claims about who he is, what he’s done, and what is verifiable?
  4. Why does DNT claim to have been around since 2001, when the evidence shows Deaf News Today has been registered only since 2005?
  5. Why is a professor of journalism violating the very principles he is presumably teaching?
  6. Why are there no articles or videos by Goforth anywhere online from his time with CNN and Associated Press?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. I don’t know why Goforth isn’t being accountable or transparent. It’s not for lack of opportunity; I have offered him at least two opportunities to tell his side. I’m hoping there is a simple explanation to all this. Joining, or at least allying with, a community should come with an inherent respect for that community’s traditions and cultural norms. I continue to invite Goforth to offer an explanation for the discrepancies in his biographies and on the DNT website.

Filed Under: Business, Community resources, Culture, Language, Media, Silent News

Why Not For Kids, Too?

August 8, 2007

rallyThis article originally appeared at i711.com.

An Alton Telegraph (Illinois) article reads in part:

Springfield, Ill. (AP) – About 100 deaf citizens carried placards and used their hands to talk at a silent rally in the State Capitol aimed at supporting legislation that would affect the deaf.

The demonstrators came from all over the state to…testify before an Illinois House committee and meet with Gov. James R. Thompson.

The Human Resources committee then voted 18 to 1 in favor of a proposal to provide communication devices for the deaf in at least one emergency facility in communities with more than 10,000 residents.

I don’t quite remember my first rally, but I do remember Mom sitting me down and talking with me about how we could make our home safer in the event of a fire or other emergencies. Back then, we were too poor to own a TTY, so we had to rely on alternate methods. The next day, a group of deaf people gathered to make signs and flyers; I colored the fireman’s hat on my sign a bright red. Then we went to the state capitol. I remember meeting with Governor Thompson in his office and being in awe of how tall and friendly he was. I was only three years old; Mom was 25. The rally and governor’s meeting were crucial lessons for me.

Today, nearly 30 years later, I continue to believe in the value of children participating in peaceful rallies and demonstrations. As a result of that early exposure – and many other rallies or demonstrations – I developed a lifelong interest in advocacy. I stay active with both state-level and national-level associations serving deaf people not because it’s a “cool” thing to do, but because it’s the only way we can ensure our rights.

There was recently some discussion recently among bloggers and vloggers about whether children should be involved in demonstrations or protests. This dialogue emerged from an incident during the A.G. Bell conference in Virginia last July. A group of people, including an A.G. Bell member, passed out flyers at the conference site promoting the teaching of sign language to deaf babies. The Marriott hotel manager, Jenny Botero, was captured on video trying to take flyers away from one of the people. Botero also grabbed paper from a frightened deaf eight-year-old daughter of a deaf woman, though this wasn’t captured on video. The girl’s mother was understandably furious. One blogger questioned the mother’s judgment and integrity in having her daughter participate, yet never once questioned Botero’s integrity. Regardless of the circumstances, no adult should ever try to intimidate an eight-year-old – or any child – into doing anything to further a cause.

When I read the blogger’s article and people’s comments agreeing that children shouldn’t be involved in events like this, I was saddened. The deaf community is now beginning to associate the word “protest” – or other forms of activism – as aggressive, dangerous and harmful. And this association has serious consequences.

I certainly don’t support dangerous tactics, regardless of results. Not all activism include dramatic events like what sometimes happened during the Gallaudet protests or even the civil rights movement of the 1960s. I should, however, point out that many of the children who were involved with the Deaf President Now protest are now adults, even parents, who have become even more cognizant of the importance of advocating for issues important to them. Many of them have become outstanding community leaders in individual ways. I was 13 when DPN happened, and the protest certainly left its mark on me. It didn’t teach me that we had to resort to violent methods. The protest taught me that deaf people like me were just like anyone else who deserved equal respect and access, and that we could play smart in order to get what we wanted, or rather, needed. It’s still that simple today.

So, to bring the kids or not? Again, it’s simple: the parent has the responsibility of gauging the safety level of each event, whether a rally, demonstration or a protest. The parent also has a responsibility in developing a safety plan should things go terribly wrong – whether at the hands of the protestors or the police or management. And the parent also has the right to decide if a child should be involved or not. Let’s be real: there’s a degree of risk in everything we do, from carrying signs at an event to riding a car (anyone want to compare the likelihood of dying in a car accident to being hurt during a demonstration?).

Besides, any responsible parent would do what my mother did: sit with the children, talk about the issues at hand in as neutral and factual a manner as possible, and then explain why the event is taking place. Then the parent could ask if the children want to be involved or not. Safety should always be a priority, but so should education and awareness.

Even though my first rally was three decades ago, I find myself advocating for the same issues we did back then, which was pre-Americans with Disabilities Act, pre-captioning, pre-Internet, and pre-everything: equality. And if it takes another 30 years of peaceful demonstrations and rallies to achieve equality, so be it. Our children should not face inequality at any time, so what better way to educate them than to include them?

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

Filed Under: Childhood, Community resources, Culture, Deaf education, Media, Politics
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