If it ain’t broken…

November 11, 2010

This article originally appeared in American Society for Deaf Children’s The Endeavor, Fall 2010.

I saw a post on Facebook recently that made me pause. A friend wrote that she had told her two-year-old son, “Mommy’s ears are broken, cannot hear…can’t hear, I use my hands to talk.” Her son then looked inside her ears to “see” what was wrong.

As the parent of three Deaf children under the age of two, I thought this was a cute anecdote. I also liked how she said, “I use my hands to talk.” But what made me pause was the mention of “broken.”

Let me go off in another, but relevant, direction. In recent issues of Reader’s Digest, which I have read faithfully since I was yea high, there were letters from parents of deaf children who proudly proclaimed that their children never let being deaf stop them. While I understood where the parents were coming from, I thought to myself, “Why in the world would they think in that framework?” [Read more…]

Filed Under: Culture, Language, Parenting

Name that company

April 15, 2010

When I see a company name that includes the word “Deaf,” I automatically assume that it’s a Deaf-owned company. And more often than not, I’m disappointed to learn the opposite is true. I once worked with an individual who ran a company that I’ll call Deaf 123. Given the company name, I assumed the company was Deaf-owned. The owner and I had never met in person, though; everything was done online. As I asked about her background, the owner realized I thought she was deaf and took that as a personal compliment. In fact, she said she was honored that I thought she was deaf because she had worked so hard to achieve this status.

I had to quickly backtrack and explain that my mistaken notion was based primarily on her company name. I also reminded her to be careful about misleading people, even if unintentionally, into believing she was deaf when in reality she was hearing and could hardly sign. Even today, this company has a lackluster reputation among many Deaf people because the owner doesn’t respect the culture and language. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Business, Culture, Language

Can we all just get along?

February 3, 2010

Perhaps Rodney King isn’t the best person to quote, but “Can we all just get along?” is what keeps running through my head as I learn of more and more stories of rivalries between deaf schools and programs – especially those in the same state.

I’m not talking about fun athletic rivalries, but rivalries where families and staff go to great lengths to badmouth other schools, criticizing the quality of education, communication levels, and even the students. This blows my mind. What do people think they accomplish by condemning families and students for choosing specific schools?

A few years ago, I watched a teacher’s face twist in disgust as he said to a student attending a rival school, “Why do you go here? It’s a terrible school. Why don’t you come to my school? It’s got better education, better opportunities. Why would you want to lower yourself by staying at this school? You can do better.” This teacher – who I considered an honorable man until that conversation – didn’t realize anyone was watching him. I was floored because I had never seen this side of him, although I had heard stories. The student’s school was actually a great school with a solid enrollment size; on the other hand, the teacher’s school was struggling with enrollment. To this day, I find it sad that the teacher felt an aggressive pressure tactic was the way to recruit students. But what broke my heart was how the student looked defeated, even embarrassed, by the teacher’s words. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Childhood, Culture, Deaf education, Language, Parenting

‘Non-traditional’ students are becoming the norm

May 1, 2009

This article originally appeared in Gallaudet Today’s Spring 2009 issue. Click here to view the print version.

In the changing face of higher education, a student body composed mainly of new high school graduates is being replaced by students of all ages and experiences.

Stepping onto a new campus with hundreds – or even thousands – of other students is frequently a daunting experience for students attending their first day of college. When different ages are added to the mix, their apprehension may increase: Can they relate to a student body made up of younger or older students who may be light years apart in interests and life experience? Will they be accepted or find themselves in isolation on the fringe of the campus social scene?

Fortunately, these first-day jitters are becoming a thing of the past. “Non-traditional students,” as they are often called, are growing in numbers; in fact, they are steadily becoming part of the norm for the student body at colleges and universities.

Although the average age of a college student is 18 to 25, the number of students over age 25 has skyrocketed at colleges and universities everywhere. According to Back to College, an online resource for adults returning to college, 28 percent of all college students were 25 years old or older in 1970; in 1998, this increased to 41 percent. The National Center for Education Statistics states that students 35 years or older soared from 823,000 in 1970 to an estimated 2.9 million in 2001 – an increase of 19.2 percent. Current estimates put the number of students who are over 25 at 47 percent of the college student population.

An early start
Very little research exists on college students who are younger than 17 years old, but one study by the University of Washington found that young students – specifically, those between the ages of 12 and 14 – “don’t fit the stereotype of unhappy ‘nerds’ who are humorless, isolated misfits,” but rather, “extremely versatile, interested, interesting, and sociable.”

Tom Holcomb, ’80, a professor in the Interpreter Preparation Program, Center for Deaf Studies and Special Services at Ohlone College in California, came to Gallaudet at the age of 16. “Although I had family nearby, which was a huge help, I often felt left out and almost disconnected from the other students,” he said. “But in retrospect, I realize it was mostly a self-inflicted perception.” He also noted that there was more attention given to four of his fellow freshmen – who were all female and all 16 years old. “Most of the campus community was focused on them instead of me, which I consider a blessing in disguise because I was able to blend into the scene a bit more than they could.”

David Kurs, ’98, a filmmaker and scriptwriter in Hollywood, Calif., also enrolled at the age of 16. Like others who were younger than the typical freshman, Kurs did not want to call attention to his age. “I tried to make my age a secret upon arriving on campus – and failed miserably,” he said. “The kids I had gone to camp with knew how old I was and told everyone else. As is probably the norm, I never made an issue out of my age, but everyone else did.” There were advantages to being young, though, he said with a chuckle. “I loved that because I was younger than the others, everyone thought I was a genius. Rumors spread about my photographic memory, that I had received a job offer from NASA, and that I had memorized the dictionary – none of which were true. Instead of denying these queries, I would just smile, vaguely affirming the truth of these rumors.”

Both Holcomb and Kurs credit extracurricular activities such as sports and student government with helping them fit in. Holcomb added that when he joined a fraternity, he “finally felt accepted, even though I realize I was accepted all along. It was simply a confirmation for me that I really did belong there.” Kurs said, “I was probably more suspectible to influences. I think the only difference, if any, between myself and the other students was that I sought ut role models with more effort. I was more eager to participate in the rituals and traditions of the freshman class, probably because I didn’t bother to question the point of these activities. I wanted to be able to say that I took part in everything.”

Timothy Jaech, ’61, a retired school administrator, stepped on campus in 1957 when he was 15 years old. Although he had an older sister who kept an eye on him, he had his share of humbling experiences, particularly one evening as a freshman watching a lively discussion in the Men’s Reading Room of College Hall. “I loved those bull sessions, and it was fascinating to watch the upperclassmen match wits. After watching much intellectual ‘bull’ going back and forth, I raised my hand to toss in my two cents’ worth,” he chuckles. “One of the upperclassmen looked at me and remarked, ‘What does a little kid like you think you can add to this discussion?’ Miffed, I shot back, ‘I’m not a kid! I’m 15 1/2 years old!’ I think the whole room broke out laughing, and I was sorry the minute I said it.”

Other notable young alumni include Astrid (Amann) Goodstein, ’65, and her husband, Board of Trustees member Harvey Goodstein, ’65, both of whom retired from Gallaudet after long and distinguished careers and reside in Scottsdale, Ariz. They both began their years at Gallaudet as 16-year-old preparatory students. It is interesting to note that Harvey’s sister, Roslyn Rosen, ’62, and Astrid’s brother, Franklyn Amann, ’64, also attended at a young age. Astrid, who graduated from the California School for the Deaf in Berkeley (CSD), said, “I was probably more or less a prima donna at CSD. Upon arrival at Gallaudet, I wasn’t used to competition in and outside of class, so I felt humbled and even insecure. Besides, there were no summer programs like Youth Leadership Camp or Junior NAD back then, so leadership skills in those days were developed by trial and error. Even so, I’m forever grateful for my unique, non-stop and holistic education at Gallaudet.”

The Goodsteins noted that they would probably have different experiences if they were students at modern-day Gallaudet. “Back then, the campus was so small that everyone knew everyone,” Astrid explained. “We were really like a family, and people were always watching out for and supporting us. We also had a curfew and study halls. I don’t know how I’d handle it today, in such a different culture and world,” she said, adding that the university has organizations and programs implemented to support student success.

Never too late
On the opposite end of the spectrum are students who decide to either start or return to college after their adult lives are well underway. A commonly cited reason for enrolling at college at this stage of life is to improve employability. This was the case for Catherine Garbacz, ’97, of Sacramento, Calif. A single mother of two daughters, Garbacz was laid off from her job in 1993 and decided to complete her college degree at age 43 by coming to Gallaudet. An active member and president of the Never Too Late Club, Garbacz found her experiences as an older student double-majoring in government and English to be unique.

“The biggest challenge for me was competing with younger minds, and sharing a room with kids who did not have the life experiences that I had already attained,” she remembers. “But I dealt with it by receiving support from other older students, especially the Never Too Late Club, and becoming a resident assistant.” To stay informed about campus life issues, she became even more active with organizations such as the Student Body Government.

Tom Benziger, ’94, of Woodridge, Ill., originally attended Gallaudet in the 1960s, but left before completing his degree. Benziger was working as a deaf services advocate at Access Living in Chicago, Ill., an independent living center, supervising several staff members who held master’s degrees. Some of them felt Benziger, despite his experience, should have at least a bachelor’s degree.

After many hours of discussion with his wife, Benziger made the decision to return to Gallaudet. “It wasn’t easy, because I knew I’d have to maintain a long-distance relationship with my wife,” he explained. “You have to remember that in the early 1990s, we only had the TTY for live conversation, and that was cumbersome. It was harder than anything I’ve ever had to do,” he said, adding that it was well worth it. The Never Too Late Club, he said, gave him unparalleled support when he missed his family.

On campus, Benziger quickly became a strong advocate for non-traditional students, but sometimes found it awkward when his teachers were younger than him, not to mention the realization that his classmates were the children of people he had attended Gallaudet with in the 1960s. “As a government major, it was always strange being in classes with students who had no idea of how real-life advocacy or governmental matters worked,” he recalled. “They also complained about so much, even though they had access to computers and other modern-day technology. Back in the 1960s, I had to do everything by hand or on a typewriter.” Even so, Benziger found the experience enriching. “I learned a lot from my classmates, regardless of age, and from professors such as the incomparable Dr. Mary Malzkuhn, a wonderful teacher.”

Both Garbacz and Benziger agree that their personal sacrifices have paid off. Benziger was promoted as soon as he returned to Access Living; Garbacz attended graduate school at Gallaudet and San Diego State University, and is now a rehabilitation counselor for deaf, hard of hearing and deaf-blind individuals with the California Department of Rehabilitation.

Until recently, the majority of non-traditional students did not have services catering to their unique needs. Benziger recalls how difficult circumstances could be for older students living off-campus: “There was a fellow student in her 70s, and she lived off-campus. She often had no place to go in between classes, so she had to wait hours and hours wandering the campus. It was physically difficult for her to lug around so many textbooks.” Benziger provided the use of his dorm room so that she could have a place to go in between classes.

Today, Gallaudet offers many other services to accommodate its changing student body, including non-traditional students who live on campus. The Commuter Lounge, where lockers and computers are available, is one example; it serves as an ideal place for them to stay between classes.

Identifying needs
The Hobson electronic communication system, used by over 1,000 colleges and universities – including Gallaudet – tracks student participation and ensures that students don’t fall through cracks. It has given invaluable insights in meeting students’ needs, said Associate Provost for Enrollment Catherine Andersen. Hobson has provided useful information for non-traditional students regardless of age, Andersen said; the university can send out communications tailored to students who are in specific age brackets, have children, or possess other unique characteristics. Additionally, incoming freshmen are required to take a first-year course as part of the general studies requirement, which assists in determining areas of interest for study, first-year concerns and challenges, and more. “When we did a research study of persistence, we found that those who took this course had a 11 percent higher persistent rate into the second year,” Andersen said.

Retain is another web-based system that helps Gallaudet communicate with current students in ways that encourage them to stay focused on their academic pursuits. “We can connect them to areas of interest, or communicate with them in areas of concern,” said Andersen. “Faculty can report attendance patterns, and coaches can interact with faculty and students so that everyone is supporting the persistence of students.”

In all, the Gallaudet experience provides to be unique for each student, regardless of age. “I don’t look back and evaluate whether entering Gallaudet at such a young age was a mistake,” Kurs said. “My development adjusted around that event. It made the way I am. Looking back, I had the opportunity to take the time to develop personally and professionally after graduation a bit longer than others did. For the first time in my life, I had the luxury of time – I traveled a lot, and hopped from job to job.”

He added, “I think that all of us who entered Gallaudet at earlier ages realize that there are no absolute rules. We can adapt to the situation, or not. We all have it in us to prosper on campus at any age.”

The author: Trudy Suggs, ’95, owns T.S. Writing Services and came to Gallaudet as a 16-year-old freshman.

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Filed Under: Culture, Gallaudet, Language

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

Protests 1,000 miles away have local ties

October 26, 2006

This article originally appeared in the Faribault Daily News, Faribault, MN.

FARIBAULT – More than 1,000 miles away from Faribault, protests at Gallaudet University, the world’s only liberal arts university for deaf people, in Washington, D.C., have been of keen interest to local residents.

When Dr. Jane K. Fernandes, a deaf woman, was chosen as the university’s ninth president, protests erupted on campus in May and again this month. Students and faculty shut down the school’s main academic building and blocked entry to the campus before being arrested.

The protests stem from claims that the presidential search process was flawed, and faculty, staff, students and alumni have pointed to Dr. Fernandes’ turbulent track record as provost and drastic drops in academic achievements during her administration. On Monday, 82 percent of the faculty voted that Dr. Fernandes resign as president or be removed; last spring, 68 percent of the faculty voted no confidence in Dr. Fernandes. Current university president Dr. I. King Jordan has insisted that the president-select will not step down.

Faribault has a large number of Gallaudet alumni and prospective students who have kept a close eye on the events in Washington.

“I support the protest because Gallaudet needs a capable leader. Jane Fernandes has proven she cannot lead,” said Bobby Siebert, a senior at MSAD. “When the protest first started, it took maybe more than a week before Jane came in contact with the protestors. She didn’t take action and preferred to talk with the media instead. What kind of leader is that?”

His sister, Amy, is a MSAD graduate and a freshman at the university.

“There are so many reasons the protests are happening. The process in selecting the next president was flawed,” she said, referring to objections that the selection process was rushed and unreasonable. “The protest has been going on for a long time. This is pretty frustrating. And Jane has done nothing. This is not something a president would do.” The Sieberts’ parents are also graduates of the university.

One week ago, upon Dr. Jordan’s orders, 135 protesters were arrested, including several Minnesotans, such as Priscilla Saunders’ sister. Saunders, a Gallaudet alumna whose 5-year-old son is seventh-generation deaf and attends MSAD, said, “My sister asked me first if she should join the people getting arrested, and I told her it wasn’t a good idea but the more people I knew who were getting arrested, I then encouraged her to be involved. When she was bailed out, she e-mailed me saying it was worth it. My heart was set on attending Gallaudet since I was three, four years old. Now my heart’s aching on how the president and the upcoming president have been handling this situation.”

The mother of three deaf children and a Gallaudet graduate herself, Lisa Skjeveland explained the impact of the protests. “Gallaudet University is part of our Deaf community and we have the duty to help protect the futures of our deaf children. Gallaudet was and is still very much part of my life. It has opened up a world of friends and connections with many bright deaf people.”

Bobby Siebert added, “Gallaudet has a major impact upon MSAD. Some of our students aspire to be future Gallaudet students, and many teachers and faculty members are Gallaudet alumni. So much of the Faribault community has ties to Gallaudet. I admit I do feel uneasy. Gallaudet’s my future college, and to have its future in doubt frightens me. Still, I feel that the protest’s cause is justified and I want it to continue until we find better leaders at Gallaudet.”

Filed Under: Culture, Gallaudet, Language

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?

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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

True Allies

August 9, 2006

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

I’ve never felt as deaf and alone as I did a few weekends ago.

That’s because I was at the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf (RID) Region III conference in Milwaukee. The conference itself was fabulous and the workshops were terrific. The committee must be applauded for pulling off such a well-coordinated conference.

There were signs everywhere reminding people that they should use American Sign Language (ASL) (which I think is perplexing — shouldn’t this be automatically the case in any situation involving deaf people or ASL? But that’s another article). The majority of attendees, of course, were hearing interpreters, although there were quite a few deaf people in attendance — like me, a Certified Deaf Interpreter (CDI), and others who were supporters/allies of the interpreting community.

I’ve been to many RID events, sometimes as a presenter and sometimes as a participant. They’re an enjoyable way to see how far the interpreting profession has come, and a terrific place for me to learn new things about ASL and English. But this one was where I felt the loneliest in my life.

I arrived in Milwaukee on Thursday afternoon, and made my way into a workshop room. As I sat at the end of a row by the doors, five people — I counted — began to sit in the seats next to me. As they squeezed their way by me, they each spoke, “Excuse me.” None of them signed.

Later I walked the hallways browsing exhibits and looking for people I knew. I saw not one single person signing, except for deaf people. I sat down and watched all the conversations from afar. I couldn’t understand a thing because nobody was signing. It was the same on Friday. On Saturday, when I was again in the hallway, one of the exhibitors bumped into me and spoke , “I’m sorry!….blahblahblah.” I looked at his lips, analyzing how they looked while moving. When he had finished speaking a full minute later, I signed, “Maybe you’d like to sign that? I’m deaf.” His eyes widened, and his mouth formed a small “o” before he signed, “I’m so sorry!” I smiled, nodded and walked on.

I talked with several interpreters about this lack of access to communication. Most of them said, “Yeah, that’s what always happens at RID, although it’s usually not this bad.” I had a healthy dialogue with several of them, discussing about when it was necessary to sign and when it wasn’t. I don’t think it’s necessary for people to sign at all times if deaf people aren’t present. But how do they know if a deaf person is there? If you didn’t know me, you likely would not have known I was deaf at that conference. Yet, I didn’t sign because I didn’t know who signed other than the deaf people there. It was almost a catch-22 situation.

At a forum during the conference, deaf people were asked how we felt about the conference. I said I felt absolutely left out, and one of the few hearing interpreters in attendance looked guilty and shocked. Another deaf person said, “In this room, I’m normal. In that hallway, I have no arms because nobody is signing.” The shocked interpreter teared up as she said, “I’m so sorry. When I’m at these conferences, I see old friends and forget immediately about signing. I feel so awful.” An hour later, I saw her speaking to another interpreter without signing, even though a deaf person was within five feet.

A week later, I went to a five-day, intensive legal interpreting workshop. Again, the presenter, and the workshop coordination were fabulous. When the sponsoring agency let me know that this workshop was taking place, I immediately signed up. I then asked about interpreters. “You don’t need an interpreter; the workshop is going to be conducted in ASL only,” I was told.

I was thrilled. Upon arrival, I was disappointed to learn that the other CDI had backed out, making me the only deaf person out of about 30 interpreters. The presenter announced the communication policy, saying that in small groups, people could speak if there was no need to sign (translation: if I wasn’t in the group, they could speak). That was fair enough. I didn’t really want people to sign all the time just for the sake of signing if nobody deaf was there. One of the participants — a long-time community interpreter notorious for habitually signing and speaking at the same time — raised his hand and signed-spoke, “Can we sign and speak at the same time?”

The presenter said to him, “When you tell people that you interpret two languages — ASL and English — and that they’re separate languages, yet you sim-com, you’re contradicting yourself and not giving full credit to the languages.” I stood up and said, “I literally can’t understand when people sign and speak at the same time. I prefer one language at a time. If you prefer to speak, that’s fine, we can work with an interpreter.”

A few days later, one of the participants, a CODA who always signed in my presence — which made me gain so much respect for him — notified me that several interpreters were complaining about how I “demanded” that ASL be used at all times. They thought it was unfair that the entire workshop revolved around my communication needs. I was hurt, because this rule was established by the presenter before I signed up. Besides, as the presenter said, if they wanted to work in legal settings, they’d better be ready to use sign language for days on end.

I also, uncomfortably, had to often politely remind people not to use their voices during small groups, or I had to ask someone to interpret for me. I felt frustrated that I had to ask interpreters, of all people, to accommodate my communication needs when a policy had already been established by the organizers. They had the option of using one or the other language; I did not. Some of them asked me to join them at lunch or after the workshop for drinks, but I always declined, because I knew I’d be the factor that messed up their communication styles. It’s similar to when deaf people go out; it’s just easier for us to be together without having a person not fluent at our language be part of our group.

When I was told of the interpreters’ comments, I realized just how far we have not come in the interpreting profession. There is still that level of disrespect towards deaf people, and this realization is heartbreaking. Interpreters are such valuable allies, such assets to our community.

Even though I felt left out and even ostracized, there were some good things that evolved from these experiences. At both events, I learned who the true allies of our community were. They were interpreters who respected my experiences, my language needs, and my position as a deaf person. They went out of their way to accommodate my communication needs, knowing that I would work around theirs as well. It was a marvelous feeling to see these interpreters who had the right attitudes and levels of respect for such a fragile yet strong community, culture and language.

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

Filed Under: Culture, i711.com, Interpreting, Language
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