A thumbs up for District One Hospital

January 30, 2008

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

It was a question that lingered in many people’s minds, including ours. We all wondered, given that my husband is a third-generation deaf person and I second-generation, whether our new baby would be deaf or hearing. My husband and I threw out the obligatory “The important thing is our baby’s healthy” to anyone who asked. We had sent in our blood to Gallaudet’s genetics program for testing in the fourth month of my pregnancy, but knew the results would arrive after our child’s birth. Either way, it wouldn’t have made a difference for us if the baby was deaf or hearing. Even so, we couldn’t help but wonder in the back of our heads. All we could do was wait.

Meanwhile, I worked with area agencies to enact legislation a statewide early hearing detection and intervention program (EHDI), knowing it’d have an impact upon thousands of lives, including mine. I also made sure I stayed in good physical shape, and counted down the days.

The day after Eavan was born, we asked about her hearing test as mandated by the EHDI law. The nurse said unconcernedly that Eavan had tested as deaf earlier that morning, but had also been fussy so the test would be redone. My husband and I nodded, then we moved onto other topics.

Distracted by a million things, we didn’t give the test another thought until the following morning when the nurse came into our room. When asked, the nurse smiled with an enthusiastic nod, giving us a thumbs up. That threw us off momentarily—what did the thumbs up mean? After a short pause, I asked, “She’s deaf?” The nurse nodded and went to check my blood pressure. Nothing more was said, and we busied ourselves getting ready to go home.

Our own mothers and countless people had told us horror stories of how nurses were sad, uncomfortable, or even domineering in sharing hearing test results – which then affected the parents’ reactions. We were astounded—and encouraged—by the optimistic “it’s no big deal” attitude at District One Hospital. In fact, a couple of times throughout my pregnancy, we were asked about genetic ‘defects’ in our families. Whenever we mentioned our deaf families, the nurses always said, “No, that doesn’t count as a genetic defect.” Our doctor was equally nonchalant about the hearing issue.

Of course, this is very different for hearing parents with no prior history. But think about it: what if medical folks everywhere were as laid-back and optimistic? What if they were empathetic with parents faced with the often-overwhelming news of their child testing as deaf? What if nurses and doctors didn’t rush to engulf parents with so-called solutions or doomsday predictions? Would this make a difference in how parents initially react? I think so, although I can never put myself in those parents’ shoes.

If doctors were neutral but encouraging, perhaps parents wouldn’t respond with the same amount of shock or negativity that they typically do; human nature is hard to predict. All too often, how we react to something is fueled by the amount of negativity involved, or the lack of.

Maybe my husband and I shouldn’t have been so surprised by District One Hospital’s matter-of-fact approach. After all, this is a town with a large deaf population and the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf. The hospital has had hundreds, if not thousands, of deaf patients over the years. The staff there knows being deaf isn’t a death sentence, and they were prepared in what resources to offer.

Even so, it was a relief to us to not have to deal with uninvited negativity upon learning Eavan’s hearing status. We were simply more concerned about her jaundice, whether she was pooping enough, and if she was warm enough. The hospital provided all the right resources, support and information for us – without a trace of pity or sorrow. That was exactly how we wanted our birth experience to be, especially with such a healthy baby who delights us every single day.

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

Filed Under: Community resources, Culture, i711.com, Language, Parenting

Welcome Addition, Indeed.

September 19, 2007

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

I received a coupon booklet in the mail recently from Similac, a company that produces infant formula milk. Typically, I put junk mail in the recycle bin, but I opened this one – and I’m glad I did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen this on the included flashcard:

photo of baby signing "drink alcohol"Yup, that’s a baby signing DRINK, as in “drink alcohol.” At first, I laughed at the picture because of its sheer silliness. I thought maybe Similac had the world’s worst illustrator, because many of the other signs were also inaccurately drawn. Then I thought, Obviously a hearing illustrator working with a hearing consultant.

But then I remembered how I had been at Babies R Us, trying not to feel greedy about registering for everything in the store. There, I walked by the books section and saw a whole bunch of baby signs books. I skimmed through them, and not surprisingly, the majority of signs in the books were incorrect, or at least not part of any sign language I knew.

This isn’t about the controversy of teaching sign language to hearing babies but not deaf babies. Amy Cohen Efron’s The Greatest Irony has become one of the most referenced commentaries on this issue, so, I won’t even get into that; we must teach signs to both deaf and hearing babies. I began signing when I was six months old, thanks to my parents having signed to me from day one. That alone shows me the benefits of teaching babies sign language.

The real issue here, for me, is something I’ve mulled over for quite a while. Should we worry about correct sign production, or should we simply try to get babies and toddlers to communicate in whatever ways they can? I used to think that it maybe didn’t matter, as long as babies were being taught signs at least. Now, I think otherwise.

With this flashcard and the books on the market, I am even more convinced that the correct American Sign Language signs must be used, regardless of whether the child or parents are deaf or hearing. While I am aware of how babies and toddlers (including me when I was a tot) often cannot produce “full” signs – i.e., using one finger to sign EAT instead of the whole hand – this doesn’t mean we now have leeway to teach them whatever we think is easier.

After all, ASL has its own grammar, signs/words, and rules. I don’t know how many times I’ll say this for the rest of my life, but people have to learn that. They can’t just make up words and expect the nation to accept the new words, especially if they don’t know the language. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had parents say to me, “Oh! My kid knows sign language!” and then proceed to show me all the wrong signs while I nod with a polite smile.

We, deaf or hearing, should at least try to use correct signs with babies while getting them to communicate in any way possible. This has nothing but positive benefits: they grow up already knowing ASL, even if rudimentarily, and this eventually leads to a more cohesive ASL community for both deaf and hearing people. And we certainly don’t want to mislead people into thinking they can simply invent signs at any time.

A friend, expecting her second child, pointed out that the overused “I Love You” sign is also harder for babies to produce than simply signing “love.”

I thought about all this as I chuckled at the flashcard. I e-mailed Similac and explained what this particular version of the DRINK sign meant. I also mentioned that they would probably benefit from having a fluent, even native, Deaf person involved in this flashcard project, which I thought was a great tool. I also ignored the recommendation that the parent “say the word while signing to emphasize…”; obviously they don’t think deaf children are included in the “baby” category.

I, of course, did not get a response other than a form e-mail. Meanwhile, they’re going to make money off showing a baby how to drink alcohol.

But hey, anything to bring about awareness of sign language for babies, right?

UPDATE (September 21, 2007): I typically get a lot of e-mail after each column, but this one took the cake! Thanks to the group of teachers and deaf people who contacted Similac about the pictures/signs. I was just notified, and I confirmed this by looking at the website itself, that Similac has removed the file from its website.

It’s my hopes that this will lead to more work for deaf ASL teachers who are truly fluent in the language and the techniques of teaching babies (regardless of if they’re deaf or hearing) ASL. And of course, it’s my hopes that this will lead to increased ASL awareness. But I didn’t expect this outstanding response rate, so I must thank each and every one of you who contacted Similac or e-mailed me.

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Filed Under: Business, Childhood, Community resources, Culture, i711.com, Language, Parenting

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?

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

Adopt a Deaf Dog Today!

November 22, 2006

January 2, 2009: This organization is apparently inactive. Donations to the organization have not been returned nor acknowledged; complaints have been filed with the state of Florida and the Better Business Bureau. Even so, do consider adopting a deaf dog today.

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

I avoid www.deafdogs.org like the plague.

Otherwise, I end up having a broken heart because I can’t adopt all of the dogs on this site.

Page after page shows pictures of gorgeous, photogenic, lovable dogs – all deaf and needing homes. Every year, thousands of dogs are killed because they’re deaf, and this pulls at my heart. Maybe it’s because I’m Deaf, or maybe it’s because I have a weak spot for all furry creatures, or maybe it’s just the basic idea that someone (or an animal) would be discarded simply because of the inability to hear.

The website is run by Deaf Dog Education Action Fund (DDEAF), a nonprofit, educational organization based in California, incorporated in 1997. DDEAF is “dedicated to provide support and information to deaf dog owners around the world who, thanks in part to the Internet, were discovering that they were not alone,” the DDEAF website says.

As someone who shares a house with a deaf dog, I first learned about deaf dogs years ago when I was surfing the Internet. When I saw the DDEAF website, I immediately wanted to adopt a deaf dog, but I already had a 75-pound dog and was living in an apartment that only allowed dogs up to 40 pounds. I promised myself that when I moved to a house, I’d get another dog, a deaf dog. Meanwhile, I checked the site every week, bemoaning all the adorable dogs staring at me from my computer screen.

Then fate smiled upon me. I got an e-mail from a woman in Atlanta who had seen my name on some deaf dog list. She asked if I’d be interested in adopting seven-month-old Malcolm, who was hours away from being euthanized because he was deaf. I immediately said yes, especially after seeing pictures. My mother agreed to take Malcolm in until I could take him; Malcolm was brought to Chicago via a dog run – when people drive dogs from one point to another, and then transfer the dogs to another person who then drives the dogs another distance, until each of the dog is transported to the final destination. It’s a remarkable service. Malcolm came into my life in August 2002. As I write this more than four years later, Malcolm is happily chewing on rawhide next to his best friend, Isre.

Filed Under: Community resources, Humanity, Uncategorized

Deaf Instructors in ITPs: An Investment in the Community

October 21, 2006

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

There’s a new interpreter training/preparation program (ITP) in Quincy, Ill., at Quincy University where my grandmother worked for 35 years. When I learned of this ITP’s establishment, I was flabbergasted for a number of reasons.

First, Quincy only has about 20-30 deaf people in a population of 40,000. The town is also surrounded by farmland and the Mississippi River; it’s not a bustling metropolis or anything of that nature. What this means is that students in the ITP base their skills on a very small handful of Deaf people, who might not always have time to socialize for “silent suppers” or to be part of these students’ immersion in the language or culture. Besides, there’s MacMurray College in Jacksonville, which has a prominent ITP and is a short drive away on I-72. Jacksonville is also where the Illinois School for the Deaf is, and has a large community of native, fluent signers.

To add insult to injury, the Quincy University ITP has only one Deaf teacher. While I won’t get into the politics of the administration there, this trend of ITPs with a few or no Deaf teachers is disturbing. We’re in an age of awareness, where so much has been discovered about the wealth of American Sign Language (ASL), the Deaf community and its culture, and the profession of interpreting.

I recently learned about an ITP here in Minnesota with no deaf teachers; there are deaf teachers at the college, but they teach ASL, not in the ITP. In the past, this college had Deaf teachers in the ITP, but has pretty much pushed them aside in favor of hiring hearing teachers—some of whom don’t really have the best interpreting skills.

This again disturbs me. In an earlier column, I wrote about how ASL teachers must have three traits: fluency, the right attitude, and teaching skills; this, I believe, also applies to ITP instructors. Before I go into that, let’s get one thing clear: without the Deaf community, there would be no need for interpreters and no need for ITPs. Period.

ITP teachers—Deaf or hearing—should be fluent in ASL and English, have an intricate knowledge of the interpreting process, have an outstanding attitude of respect, and yes, teaching skills. Yet, ITPs (and ASL programs) around the country consistently hire hearing teachers over deaf teachers; many of those hearing teachers lack some or all of the aforementioned traits. This isn’t due to a lack of qualified Deaf teachers; there are plenty. And it’s not because deaf people don’t understand the finer points of interpreting and the process, either. There are plenty of Deaf people—Deaf interpreters, for instance—who have all the qualifications and qualities that an ITP instructor should have. Any ITP coordinator who believes otherwise shouldn’t be in that position.

Besides, Deaf instructors bring such valuable insight into the interpreting classroom. They can teach ethics courses, voice-to-sign courses, interpretation courses, and an array of other topics. In situations where they may need someone hearing to be involved—for instance, to listen to voiced interpretations—why not bring in a hearing team teacher? There are plenty of solutions to listening-based units or activities in these situations.

I’m not saying that Deaf instructors should always be chosen over hearing instructors; quite the contrary. I simply think that ITPs need to stop hiring for the sake of convenience, and begin to proactively recruit Deaf instructors. It’s so important to have a balanced, diverse staff. When an ITP has an all-hearing staff, regardless of the hearing staff’s involvement with the Deaf community (i.e., CODA or spouse of a deaf person), it’s imperative to bring in deaf instructors to alleviate this stark gap. We all can agree that Deaf people bring a unique perspective to an ITP, since they themselves are consumers of interpreting services and can bring distinctive insight to the hearing students’ perceptions of the Deaf community and ASL. More importantly, when an ITP has a balanced staff, the ITP invests in its own future and community.

It saddens me to see so many ITPs returning to the Dark Ages when Deaf people weren’t considered valuable parts of an ITP’s curriculum and identity. Without Deaf people, there is no need for interpreters. ITPs must remember this, and must practice what they teach students: that Deaf people are independent, intelligent and dare we say, typical people. How better to illustrate this than to employ Deaf people at every level?

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

Filed Under: Community resources, Interpreting, Language

Prison Within a Prison

September 21, 2006

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

In 1995, I had to go to the police station after I was assaulted. I was pretty shaken up, and barely in the mood to deal with bureaucracy. I was put in a room where there were seven empty desks and one desk with a typewriter. The policeman said he’d be back in a minute.

Did I mention that this was at 3 a.m.? The station wasn’t exactly hopping, and I didn’t have a two-way pager back then. I sat there for the longest time all alone, with nothing but the walls to look at. After about 30 minutes, I walked to the front desk and asked what the deal was. “Yes, ma’am, sit down and someone will be with you in a minute,” I was told. I asked if an interpreter was coming; yes, one was. After two hours, I again asked. Same response.

I was in that room by myself for agonizing hours. Believing an interpreter was coming, I kept worrying about whether the interpreter was qualified, the situation that had just happened, the medical attention I had gotten but still needed, and a million other things. Eventually, even with my mind racing, I ran out of things to think about, and began debating about whether I should leave or stay. I could have gotten up and walked out, but I was badly hurt and needed to file the report if I wanted the others to be caught. So I decided to stay and put up with the isolation – and that’s what it was, isolation – for another hour. Finally, at the four-hour mark, the policeman came back and slowly typed up a report before sending me on my way. I left bewildered, because there had been no communication and no explanation of what would happen next. I did call back that following week, but nothing ever happened. Yes, I could have sued – and I would probably have won – but I didn’t.

That experience has never left me. Five years later, I visited a maximum security correctional facility in New York as part of a poetry series developed by Peter Cook and Kenny Lerner of The Flying Words Project developed. While there, I was impressed by the large deaf inmate population. They were inmates who were in for murder, rape, robbery, you name it – but what impressed me was how it seemed like an equal community in that prison. The deaf inmates had something valuable: access. The prison had American Sign Language classes for hearing inmates, interpreters, captioned television, and other accessible options for the deaf inmates.

Fast forward to a couple of years ago. A friend got sent to prison where he was the only deaf inmate out of about 700 inmates. The differences at that prison from the one I’d visited in New York were startling. For one thing, he didn’t have anyone to talk with in sign language, except for the occasional visitor. That, for me, is the most isolating act, in or out of prison – especially after what I went through in 1995. I became extremely lonely and isolated after only four hours. What would it be like for weeks upon months upon years? The emotional effects of that lack of sign language were almost immediately apparent with my friend.

Even though he was a convicted felon, he still needed the same basic rights as every other inmate to survive and to do his time. He didn’t have an interpreter for counseling sessions. When he did finally get a TTY, he had to ask for permission and then go into a locked room; however, the person whose office the TTY was located in wasn’t always in. Hearing inmates had more access to phones than he did.

He became increasingly isolated in this prison within the prison. His letters and phone calls became increasingly despondent. Fortunately, with the advocacy from community supporters, my friend was able to get a videophone installed at the prison. I’ll never forget that first phone call. He was absolutely thrilled, and was so much more motivated to serve his time with the new support system he had.

Another story: I remember going to a prison once as a deaf interpreter, and watching the sergeant at the front desk asking why we were there. When the lawyer said, “The consumer is deaf,” the sergeant went pale and said, “He’s deaf?!?!” and ran to a phone. It turns out the system had placed the deaf guy in a maximum security section filled with hardened criminals simply because he wouldn’t respond to their demands. They thought this guy was being difficult and decided to teach him a lesson, even though he was accused of a minor crime. By the time we were there, this guy had been inside for seven days. Later, the charges were dropped when evidence showed he didn’t commit the crime. But the emotional trauma inflicted upon him was permanent; he was terrified when he came out to meet us.

It’s frustrating to think of all the deaf inmates in the country who may be isolated simply because they think they have no rights as criminals or they don’t understand what’s happening. Regardless of the gravity of their crime, criminals are people and we need to ensure they receive full communication access and equal opportunities. It’s only humane.

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

Filed Under: Community resources, Interpreting, Language, Legal, Uncategorized

You Never Know…

September 8, 2005

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

Last year, my boyfriend had what we thought was a kidney stone attack. We called 9-1-1 from our house, which is in the country about 12 miles from the nearest hospital. The 9-1-1 center hung up on me. I was frantic, trying to think of another way to get Randy to the hospital. Fortunately, the dispatch center had traced my call and sent the police, who arrived about ten minutes later. Another ten to fifteen minutes later, EMTs finally arrived and took Randy to the hospital in an ambulance. So it was nearly 30 minutes before we had any medical assistance. It turned out to be nothing serious, and Randy is just dandy today.

I was concerned about the 9-1-1 hang up, so I contacted the dispatch center manager. Guess what? It was actually my TTY that didn’t work, not their equipment. Apparently my TTY was so old – it was purchased in 1991 – and when I pressed the space bars or keys, they made none of that high-pitched beeping that signals dispatch centers that the call is on a TTY. I was very impressed with how the 9-1-1 center manager worked closely with me to resolve this problem.

This experience taught me a hard lesson: we need to be prepared, and yes, we still need our TTYs. Up to that point, Randy and I hadn’t really touched our TTY in literally two years, other than making quick calls when our Internet was down. Both of our families are all deaf, so we communicated mainly using videophones and e-mail. We did get a new TTY, and have peace of mind now.

After that experience, and after working with the Community Emergency Preparedness Information Network (CEPIN) Project for the past six months, I’ve come to realize how horribly prepared we are as Deaf or hard of hearing people. The CEPIN Project is a $1.5 million grant given to Telecommunications for the Deaf, Inc. (TDI) by the Department of Homeland Security.

But because of this project, I have come to realize just how many people have misconceptions about being prepared for emergencies. Many assume that 9-1-1 calls can be traced to their cell phones (or Sidekicks), that relay services (Internet, video or traditional) can make 9-1-1 calls, and that ambulances or police will automatically come rescue them in the event of an emergency. I also heard of several stories from people living in my town, Faribault, which has approximately 150 deaf people and the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf with its staff and students.

So I decided to try and to ensure my community’s safety.

First, for my household, I created an emergency kit – one that I can leave near the door and grab if something happens around my house. It contains emergency supplies lasting me up to 72 hours, such as food, water, dog supplies, medication, contacts, my glasses, paper and pen, and so forth. I also made sure I had fire extinguishers throughout the house, and took other safety precautions, such as putting together a list of emergency phone numbers and e- mail addresses and putting that list in a Ziploc bag.*

Even so, I still was worried about what would happen if the entire town lost its power, was attacked, or God knows what other scenario. So I contacted a local deaf leader, and we set up a series of meetings with the fire chief and the local answering service that handles dispatch calls and mass notification of emergencies. From these meetings we devised a few solutions. Although they’re not the most ideal solutions, they’re a start.

The local answering service company created an e-mail list for people with hearing loss living in the county. Those who sign up receive emergency notifications, such as weather reports, prison breakouts (there’s a state prison in our town), Amber Alerts, and any other emergency – via e-mail.

We also set up an emergency preparedness workshop in September for deaf residents. It’s hoped that, at this meeting, in addition to learning basic emergency preparedness strategies, we’ll decide a few other things as a group. For instance, if terrorists or a natural disaster attack our town, we need to choose a central meeting point in town to gather to get medical assistance or get further information with interpreters and assistive devices standing by. We also need to designate a alternate meeting point if that first area is destroyed. Other things that will be discussed include how we can communicate with each other if our pagers and phones aren’t working and how we can get emergency information if we don’t have electricity for the television or computer. Things like that are what we think of in our wildest imaginations but never really do anything about.

We are also working on checking into other solutions, such as Reverse 9-1-1 (where the town contacts each person in the town – deaf or hearing – via phone, TTY, fax, e-mail or any other method, for an emergency). Although these solutions are sometimes costly and time-consuming, at least something is being done.

With the recent devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina, it’s become more and more apparent that being prepared for emergencies has become our best hope of survival. We could wait for officials to take care of ourselves, but we still need to learn how to survive in the meantime if they don’t come rescue us in the event of a disaster – whether it’s a snowstorm, heat wave, flat tire, house fire, or a terrorist attack.

Since it’s National Emergency Preparedness Month, let’s try to have deaf people in each community talk with town or county officials and see what can be done for deaf or hard of hearing residents. If the county or town officials in your area aren’t receptive or don’t think you’re worth their time, find someone else. Contact the CEPIN Project regional center for your location and ask for assistance in getting something to happen. As evident from the fiasco in the hurricane- devastated areas, officials might not be prepared themselves. So maybe it’s more important for you to take care of yourself. You may be your own best rescue. You never know what could happen.

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

Filed Under: Community resources

Certify This!

August 18, 2005

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

Nowadays, teaching American Sign Language has taken on more prestige than back when it was volunteer-taught, and standards have been raised – albeit slowly – in teaching the language. This is largely due to the increased research, training and understanding of the complexities of ASL and its impact as a stand-alone language.

American Sign Language Teachers Association (ASLTA), a terrific organization, has worked diligently to promote the field of teaching ASL as an esteemed, authentic career choice by offering various resources and certification for its members. Out of 710 members, just a little over 350 members are certified, according to ASLTA officers. That’s a pretty good number – or is it?

Certification includes, in order of rank: provisional, qualified and professional (for more details, see www.aslta.org). The requirements for each category are actually quite fair — if you teach on a full- time basis. It’s my suspicion that the majority of ASL instructors in the nation do not teach full-time; rather, they’re adjunct faculty at colleges and universities or in community education programs. I’m one of them. And I’ve heard story after story from many other people who let their ASLTA memberships lapse for that very reason: they, as part-time teachers, weren’t able to achieve certification beyond provisional because the opportunities just aren’t there for them to meet the requirements.

The facts are simple. If you aren’t able to find enough ASL-related teaching or training gigs as a part-time teacher, you’re screwed. It doesn’t matter if ASLTA’s certification systems are in accordance with other foreign language certifications or systems; ASL, unfortunately, has not yet achieved equal standing in the community in many states. Teaching opportunities aren’t quite as widespread as, say, Spanish classes.

It’s a Catch-22 situation: there are plenty of qualified (and that’s the key word, qualified) ASL instructors who can’t find teaching opportunities due to various reasons — location, the lack of full-time positions in their areas, positions requiring them to teach full-time when they’re only available part-time, etc. Therefore, they’re unable to get or maintain their ASLTA certifications. Keep in mind that many teaching positions require ASLTA certification. So part-timers who can’t get certification are once again out of luck.

Is this really fair? Aren’t we losing qualified instructors this way? And hurting the profession’s evolution as a consequence?

I strongly believe that ASLTA’s numbers will grow by leaps and bounds — and ASL teaching as a profession will gain credibility — if they add a new certification category for part-time instructors. This category would continue to uphold ASLTA’s high standards of professionalism, but acknowledge the limited opportunities that part-time instructors face.

In fact, about a year ago, I e-mailed President Leslie Greer about this possibility. She asked me to write a formal letter that she’d share with the board. Excerpts of my Sept. 10, 2004 letter are below:

…for part-time or adjunct teachers like myself who want to continue promoting the teaching of ASL as a profession, [meeting the hours required] is difficult… I have discovered that many individuals have not pursued their certifications for this reason, and that they in turn decide not to pursue membership of ASLTA.

…The professional development requirements are of no problem for most part- time teachers. It is the teaching requirements that others and I find to be an obstacle.

In addition to my being employed full-time in a profession that is not in the field of ASL teaching, another obstacle preventing me from being able to meet the required hours of teaching is that I live in a rural area… and most of the teaching positions are already “taken” by other long-time ASL teachers or residents of the area. Even if I tutor on a regular basis, that would only amount to maybe five hours a month at the most. I provide workshops nationally on an occasional basis, usually three to four times a year. This is not enough for the requirements of each level beyond provisional. These obstacles are true for many other part-time teachers…

I would like to request that ASLTA consider forming a new category for those who are very much in need and want of ASLTA certification, yet do not want to be forced to work full-time and/or sacrifice their current professions in order to maintain the certification. A new category or categories for part-time ASL teachers would create a new wave of membership, and in turn maintain the professionalism so needed in the teaching profession.

I never heard back on this matter; I have no idea if this was shared with the board or not. I personally know of more than a hundred teachers, both non- members and members of ASLTA, who agree with me on this matter. We recognize the sheer importance of maintaining high standards for the profession of teaching ASL. With these standards, ASL will gain even more respect and prestige that still hasn’t quite been achieved in many schools or places.

With ASLTA’s drastic drop in membership from over 1,000 during the 1990s to only 750 today, this addition of a new category would help membership and ensure that professional standards are maintained for all ASL teachers, part-time or full-time.

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Filed Under: Community resources, i711.com, Language, Politics

Hi, I’m H.I.XXX Deaf.

May 26, 2005

This article appeared at i711.com.                                                                                                                

I think it’s a never-ending struggle.

I’m, of course, talking about the persistent use of “hearing impaired” and other related terms. Tom Willard, a writer who is also Deaf, published an amusing article in August 1993 about how Deaf people are portrayed in the media. He wrote that journalists have a tendency to use the same words in stories about deaf or hard of hearing people (i.e., “silent” or “through an interpreter”), and that they also tend to write as if “deafness” is something to be overcome. 12 years later, his article continues to ring true.

Someone recently sent me a real estate ad that upset some people. The ad said:
HEARING IMPAIRED? [Agent’s name deleted for privacy] now has hearing impaired agents to work with your needs.

I decided to fax this agent in case she wasn’t aware about the inappropriateness of using “hearing impaired,” and included a print out of the National Association of the Deaf’s comments on correct terminology (available at www.nad.org/site/pp.asp?c=foINKQMBF&b=103786) I appreciated her attempt at reaching out to deaf and hard of hearing people, though.

The faxed response said (all typos are hers), “Hello, Thank you for your informative fax. I hire hearing impaired agents and secretaries. They are the Ones that set up the ad for me. You might want to educate whom ever wrote you this letter. May God Bless you today!”

I replied that that this “letter” was actually an article from the NAD website, and that I was preparing to write a column about the use of ‘hearing impaired’ in general. I got a second fax, apparently from one of her agents, saying:

PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU ADD THIS TO YOUR ARTICLE AS WELL. THANK GOD FOR A COMPANY THAT HAS A TTY FOR REAL ESTATE. My name is [deleted] and I work for [name deleted]. I instructed [name deleted] to use the Words hearing impaired and tty numbers. We are most thankful to have a real estate firm that Cares about our needs. I am proud to be working for [agency] and we want our hearing impaired friends to Contact us via our tty or stop by our office any time. God Bless You All.

Hmm. This is an intriguing matter. Even with Deaf people’s complaints about the labels pasted on our foreheads by society, we’re shot in the feet (often unintentionally) by people who have hearing losses but prefer to identify themselves as “hearing impaired.” Maybe they aren’t educated on the history behind the use of ‘hearing impaired’, or maybe they choose to use those words.

I completely understand, and respect, how the majority of people with hearing losses do not identify with the Deaf community. I also have no problem with people who identify themselves as ‘hearing impaired’ – it is their choice, after all. Still, shouldn’t my identity be respected? Each time someone insists on calling me hearing impaired, it’s a slap in my face. And ironically, most of the slaps in my face come from individuals who have hearing losses themselves or from families of deaf people.

This has nothing to do with whether if they identify with the Deaf community, the hard of hearing community, the late-deafened community, the DeafBlind community or the hearing world; it’s about respect. Maybe it’s just semantics, but terminology has a huge role in how one’s self-respect is revealed. Words also reveal how far a group has come – especially a cultural minority like the Deaf community.

In school, I called myself “H.I.” simply because the teachers at where I was mainstreamed told me “deaf” wasn’t a good thing to be. I look back on those days with disbelief. How could I have allowed hearing people, who could barely sign, dictate my cultural identity? Would they have done that to a hearing kid from a different culture?

For us to be able to call ourselves Deaf without backlash is a major step forward, and enables us to reclaim our history, identity, and opportunities. How I identify myself really should be respected by everyone, deaf or hearing. Just because people don’t identify with Deaf culture doesn’t mean they can speak for us, or us for them. Why is it even an “us versus them” mentality, anyway? Shouldn’t we all mutually respect each other regardless of label and identity?

Perhaps this mutual respect is so difficult to achieve because people still do not accept the idea that there is a culture among Deaf people. Take the recent letter in the May 23 issue of People in response to a story about Marvin Miller’s plans for Laurent, S.D.:

Has activist Marvin Miller lost more than just his hearing in “Building a Town for the Deaf”? Through the miracle of the cochlear implant, my deaf child lives in the world of hearing. Deafness is not a culture but a disability. Miller gives new meaning to the expression “deaf and dumb.”_- Deborah Gideon, Pepper Pike, Ohio

Ouch.

Would this letter have been published had it contained racial or ethnic slurs? I think not. Yet the editors of People found it fit to publish, calling us “deaf and dumb.” It would have been equally hurtful had the writer said “hearing impaired” for me, because it represents so much more than just an insult for me.

So, yeah, it’s a never-ending struggle. The bottom line here is that even if people call me hearing impaired, I am Deaf.

UPDATE: The real estate agency mentioned in the above article quickly changed the wording to ‘deaf’ as soon as they learned the implications and history of using ‘hearing impaired.’ Kudos to them!

People has also sent me e-mail saying they will be printing an apology in the next issue.

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

Filed Under: Community resources, Deaf Community, i711.com, Language, Media, Stereotypes

ON HAND: Two Worlds Apart

June 1, 2004

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

At Deaf Way Illinois in Chicago two weekends ago, I watched TWO WORLDS APART, a short movie produced and directed by Bernard Bragg.

The movie is about a respected leader in the deaf community, Robert Wilder (Bragg), who is confronted by his former classmate’s son Ken Cook, Jr. (Matt Ellis). Cook, harboring resentment against Wilder for not “helping” Cook’s dad succeed in life, submits a proposal for Wilder’s approval. However, Wilder turns him down. Cook is enraged, and tells Wilder that he has some information that will destroy Wilder’s reputation. There’s a shocking secret revealed at the very end.

Although I desperately want to give away the ending of the movie because it’ll help make my point, I won’t.

I was fascinated by how different educational and family backgrounds brought about different reactions to the movie. When Wilder’s secret was revealed, those who grew up within the Deaf community–especially those who used to attend deaf clubs–gasped in shock. Even I sat there wide-eyed, thinking, “What a sick, sick man!” But those from mainstreamed settings thought, “Okay, so what?” They just didn’t understand the impact of this nasty secret, even after I explained my perspectives.

I believe this absolutely stems from different experiences within the deaf community. I grew up in deaf clubs–I’m probably part of the last generation that saw what the “real” deaf clubs were like. I remember watching how people would identify the “good” and “bad” leaders of Deaf clubs. Bad: “Tend pocket money, strong lie-lie, dirty business, think big-head.” Good: “Good work, involve deaf many years. Good.”

Anyone who has seen or read TALES FROM A CLUBROOM will get a wonderful insight into the various characters that often make up deaf clubs–not the deaf clubs of today (gatherings at bars), but the “real” deaf clubs of yesterday.

Even though TWO WORLDS APART wasn’t about deaf clubs, it made me think of the labels that we so quickly put on people–and how often we can be wrong. . . It doesn’t matter what type of background we come from–deaf, mainstreamed, oral, whatever–we should always be wary of people who claim to be something they’re not. Especially those who lead lives of deception like Robert Wilder.

___________________________

I finally identified at least one more deaf person working at captioning agencies. Special thanks must go to David Pierce for helping me in my search. But this convinces me even further that deaf people are sorely underrepresented at these agencies. It doesn’t matter if closed captioning benefits hearing people in addition to deaf people; these agencies should employ several deaf people at all levels, especially administration.

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Filed Under: Business, Community resources, Culture, Media
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