If the telephony could be worked out, I don’t see why a phone couldn’t be made to run on a thin, browser-like OS that accesses almost all its content on the Cloud. As HTML5 is helping web content become more app-like, and as more of users’ content is stored online, there may soon be little need for onboard apps at all. We may be doing everything we need with Web apps. This may be the end of the OS as we know it. No more bloated platform-dependent apps. Microsoft never was a trailblazer, and Apple isn’t blazing trails anymore, either. Apple is announcing iCloud and OS X Lion tomorrow, and I’d say they’re just playing catch up. Microsoft say Windows 8 is going to have an HTML5 panel screen instead of a desktop, and by the time it comes out in a year or so, it will be as old news as Windows 95 = Mac 84.

As someone who embraced platform-independent Web development before it was popular, I am thrilled to see that HTML and CSS have now taken us to the point where just about any app can be a Web app. Pretty soon, there won’t be a need for five different Facebook apps; there will just be Facebook as a web app anyone can use the same way on any device. You won’t have to wait for your favorite Website to come out with an app for your device’s operating system, because web standards and powerful web functionality will make the question of device and OS moot.

I’m already doing just about everything online with the Chrome browser now except for editing photos and videos and opening Office documents on my iMac. The only thing I do on my laptop other that the Net is Microsoft Office if I have to, and I’m already using that less as I use Google Docs more. I’m ready to move away from bloated software and over to something simple, fast, and standard. Chrome is the OS of today.

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… the deaf community (and by that I mean, the deaf, not the interpreters, etc because I believe its ridiculous that a party who benefits heavily from the community be considered a part of it)…

First, let’s dispense with the fallacy that a party who benefits heavily from a community should not be considered a part of it. The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker are members of their community even though they prosper by selling their wares to other community members. A Rabbi is a member of her Jewish community even though she benefits from their synagogue dues. But the interpreter requestor has a point: why are people who are not deaf considered a part of a community of those who are?

The short answer is that hearing people are members of the deaf community when deaf people say they are. We interpreters do not presume to be members of the deaf community, but deaf people invite us to be, and we are proud to be. The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker are not members of the bovine, flour, or iron communities because inanimate materials do not form communities as people do. Deaf people, on the other hand, are people, and their language is inseparable from them. An interpreter must, therefore, enter the deaf community in order to possess an intimate knowledge of their language and culture; otherwise, they cannot be bilingual. And more important, they will not be trusted by deaf people who rightly view hearing people as potential threats to their way of life.

When I went to the Conference of Interpreter Trainers in San Antonio last October, I attended two presentations that spoke to the issues of interpreter identity and community membership, by Robert G. Lee and Arlene Gunderson, respectively. Allow me to share some insights I gleaned from them.

Lee, in his presentation “Across the Pond But on Familiar Turf: Sign Language Interpreters and the Nature of Identity,” emphasized that our identity as interpreters is granted to us by deaf people. Also the interpreter identity is a lasting one that persists even while we’re not interpreting or even, in Lee’s case, if we’re in a deaf community abroad. Lee shared three powerful statements by Richard Jenkins about identity: “Individual identity – embodied in selfhood – is not meaningful in isolation from the social world of other people” (Jenkins, p. 20), “…what people think about us is no less important than what we think about ourselves…” (Jenkins, p. 20), and “Social Identity is never unilateral” (Jenkins, p. 21). [Lee's Reference: Jenkins, R. (1996) Social Identity. London, Routledge.] In other words, it is deaf people who say whether or not interpreters are members of the deaf community. I don’t brag that I’m a member of the deaf community, but I gladly accept the membership deaf people give me and I accept the responsibility of the interpreter identity.

Gunderson, in her presentation “Understanding & Teaching Avenues & Membership into the Deaf Community – Past & Present,” stressed the importance of ensuring that all interpreters have a strong understanding of both cultural and medical views of deafness both past & present. She talked about the Four Avenues to Membership in the Deaf Community— audiological, political, linguistic, and social. This model was constructed by Dennis Cokely and Charlotte Baker–Shenk in American Sign Language: a teacher’s resource text on curriculum, methods…. Deaf members of the deaf community may grant hearing people membership as long as those hearing people have the right attitude. Obviously, audiological is not an avenue for hearing membership into the deaf community, but political, linguistic, and social are. Also, Carol Padden wrote in 1980 that “a deaf community may include people who are not themselves deaf but actively support the goals of the community, and work with deaf people to achieve them” (Padden, C. in Gregory, S., Deconstructing Deafness). Interpreters do actively support the goals of the deaf community and work with deaf people to achieve them. Interpreters do have political, linguistic, and social avenues to the deaf community. That is why deaf people consider interpreters to be members of the deaf community.

Frankly, I’m amazed that in 2011, the best we have to offer the deaf is ASL interpreters. With all that technology has to offer, I’d be upset we didn’t have better systems than one that relies on expensive human interaction.

Far be it from human interaction to take the place of all that technology has to offer! Seriously, though, this statement is also addressed by language and community. For many deaf people, sign language is the best form of communication the world has to offer. The visual–gestural mode of communication suits their abilities, and sign language is much more than a mode; it is a language, and entwined in every language—be it ASL, French, or Swahili—is culture. History. Identity. Deaf people give us sign language so that we can give it back to them. It is what they want. Of course there are deaf people who prefer realtime captioning, but that is just as expensive as interpreting. Anyone who thinks technology trumps human interaction should never have anything to do with a conference, since a conference is all about human interaction.

And, yes, human interaction is expensive. Not to brag, but to demonstrate the commitment to professional growth that I and other professional interpreters have, it was very expensive for me to attend the Conference of Interpreter Trainers. Registration was about $400 for four days, and four nights’ stay at the St. Anthony Hotel was about the same (half of what it cost to stay at the conference hotel, the Omni La Mansion del Rio). In addition to this $800, there was the airfare of about $300. Add to that a week’s worth of lost wages, and you get a grand total of about $2500. If an interpreter is willing to spend that much time and money on human interaction for the sake of professional development—that is, to be a better servant to the deaf community—then perhaps conference organizers and others who request our services should respect what we are worth.

[Comparing deaf people to other groups is an] unfair comparison to other special rights groups. Those groups, say, based on color or religion or sexual preference are asking for equal rights, not special rights. That’s not what [the deaf attendees] were asking for.

Oh. I must have heard wrong when people were saying that gays were demanding special rights. Hm. Ahem… Be that as it may, even if deaf people are asking for special rights, that doesn’t make them wrong. Hearing people don’t need to demand special rights (because they already have them). For deaf people, access to communication in the hearing world is a special right— a right granted them by the American people when our government passed the ADA— and given them by generous people even when the ADA doesn’t require them to.

If anyone reading this blog post thinks it is an inadequate representation of the issues, that’s because it is. Interpreters spend years learning the medical and cultural views of deafness, the intricacies of sign language, and new trends in the deaf world and the profession of interpreting. I have been interpreting for over twenty years and I am still learning. There are many times I feel inadequate, and sometimes, for certain assignments, I am. Any professional interpreter will admit the same. We interpreters who are certified by the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf (RID) know that we are never done learning. We complete 80 hours of continual education every four years. Our field is constantly changing as the language and culture of deaf people is ever changing. Many articles, dissertations, and books have been written on sign language, deaf culture, and interpreting. I cannot hope to comprise it all here.

If I still feel I have so much to learn this many years into my career, I can only imagine how baffling it must be for hearing requestors of sign language interpreting services for the deaf. I am happy to do what I can to educate people. I only ask that they admit how little they know.

Are you a hearing requestor of sign language interpreting services who has learned things about deaf people and interpreters that you never knew you didn’t know? Are you a deaf person or an interpreter who has learned that there are things you never knew hearing people didn’t know? I would love to hear from people who have had positive experiences working with deaf people and interpreters to provide equal access.

I first spoke with Amanda, the conference organizer, on Thursday afternoon, January 14, and offered to interpret and coordinate. She told me the budget was $2,000 for a four–track conference which would need a maximum of eight interpreters. I figured I could get four professional interpreters to earn $50 an hour, get four students to volunteer their services pro bono, and that would still leave $400, half of which might go toward compensating me for coordinating services, and half of which might go toward gift cards for students.

That same night, I found out that Amanda had un–registered a deaf registrant because she didn’t like her attitude. I advocated for the ousted registrant, emailing Amanda, “Deaf people routinely face discrimination and have to fight for their rights. In light of this, I find the registrant’s demands assertive rather than aggressive.” I even followed this up another day and asked Amanda if she would please consider reinstating her. Amanda was immovable.

I should mention that the first deaf registrant had approached me around Thanksgiving about interpreting for WordCamp. I had said I would be interested and asked him to send me more information, but the holidays came and went before I saw an announcement from Amanda on the Arizona RID Yahoo Group. I knew how important it was for this deaf person to attend WordCamp, so I decided to provide for him even though I was not happy with Amanda’s handling of the other deaf registrant.

By the end of the week, I had offers from two other professionals and at least four other students. At this point, all I needed was one more professional if (and that’s a big “if”) there were deaf attendees in all four tracks on Saturday.

In the meantime, I wondered whether there were any deaf attendees registered for Friday. Amanda had not told me it was overbooked, only that she didn’t have the budget for it. I figured if we didn’t need eight interpreters on Saturday, we could provide services on Friday as well. On Friday the 14th, I emailed the attendee I knew was going Saturday and asked him if he were going Friday. Note that I didn’t “offer” to interpret Friday; I merely asked him if he had registered. I heard back from the Tuesday after the MLK weekend, and he verified that he had registered for Friday and Saturday both. He knew that interpreting services had not been promised for Friday, and I did not promise them.

Later that morning, I told Amanda that she did indeed have a deaf person registered for Friday, and I proposed that we leverage the budget designed to employ four professionals and four students for one day and instead employ two professionals for two days. Two pros working for $50 an hour for eight hours on Friday and nine hours on Saturday would cost $1700. I could take an honorarium of $200 for coordinating and still come in at $100 under budget.

At the very mention of providing interpreting services on Friday, however, Amanda blamed me for encouraging the deaf attendee to register for Friday and then accused me of promising him interpreting services. I assured her that I had promised nothing, and for all I knew he had registered long before I asked him if he were going (later he confirmed that he had registered for Friday way back around Thanksgiving). She told me the room was too small, was overbooked, and there would be no room for interpreters.

What’s more, she told me she was considering un–registering the deaf attendee for Friday because she would not be able to provide him with interpreters. I told her that we interpreters often fit into cramped spaces, that one of us could stand while interpreting, and the other could sit on the floor. I reasoned with her that it would be a shame to tell a deaf person he couldn’t attend a conference because there wasn’t enough room for his interpreters. She relented. She adamantly refused to let me work with another professional, but she would allow me to provide services on Friday as long as I worked with a student both Friday and Saturday. I relented. Such is the nature of negotiation and compromise.

Yet I was not satisfied, and it wasn’t about the money. I was unsatisfied with giving the client less than the best. This sort of “highly technical” conference is best suited to seasoned interpreters, so I didn’t want to use a student volunteer if I didn’t have to. We weren’t talking about an eight-interpreter deal anymore. We were talking about two interpreters working work two days. I had agreed with Amanda that I would provide all this for a total of $1050, so I was in a quandary: do I earn a normal wage and work with a student or do I see if I could get a pro to split the money with me so that we both made only about $30 per hour? I negotiated with one of the pros who had offered to work on the conference. We were each certified, licensed, experienced interpreters who had worked many “highly technical” events before. We were, if I may say so myself, a “dream team” for WordCamp. I offered to sacrifice my coordinator fee to supplement the two of us to work for 60% of our normal rate. I gave up a job Friday morning and s/he gave up a job Saturday afternoon so we could provide continuous coverage all day on both days. We were in it for the service to the deaf consumer, not for the money. I thought we had arrived at a great solution.

Then I read Amanda’s blog post.

This is what I wrote to her:

I am more interested in providing the *most* service and the *best* service to the deaf attendees than I am in making money. The way I saw it, if you could afford to give less than the best for one day, you could afford to give the best for two days. If I had “taken direction,” I would have made $650 in one day, the deaf attendees would have gotten less than the best, and they would have gotten no service on Friday. Since I advocated for *more* and *better*, I am earning only $525 for two days, the deaf get the best, and they get Friday as well as Saturday.

Call me greedy.

I thought over what a mess this had become. How uncomfortable I had felt ever since finding out that Amanda had un–registered a deaf attendee because she didn’t like her attitude. How Amanda had almost un–registered another deaf attendee because the room was too small. And, finally, how she had let loose upon the world this gross misrepresentation of what actually happened. I talked it over with colleagues. I slept on it. I discussed it with my team interpreter. We decided it would be best to remove ourselves before things got any worse.

Please, hearing readers, do not let Amanda dissuade you from providing interpreting services to the deaf. It doesn’t have to be this hard. And please, deaf readers, consider both sides of the story before you lay the blame on interpreters. (I only wrote that because ridor9th was the first commenter on Amanda’s blog post, and he said, “It is not your fault, the interpreters in Phoenix are to blame. Lately they are intimidating Deaf ppl all over Phoenix on many things” (I have no idea why he said what he said about interpreters in Phoenix, but I was hoping that other deaf people would not blame interpreters without at least hearing my side of the story first). There’s a lot we can all learn from this and still respect each other.

I would hate for the takeaway message from any blog post to be, “Don’t provide interpreters to the deaf if you can possibly avoid it.”

Edmund Berke once said, “Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.” Take a look at John Pozadzides’ 2009 blog post “An Open-Source Look at the Cost of WordCamp Dallas” and the comments that ensue when someone suggests “If you cut out the T-shirts and interpreters, you would break even.” You will learn a lot about complying with the ADA and providing accessibility to a public event.

I hope these two bits of history will help people make future events better for all.

Edited January 22, 2011 for clarity.

My comment:

I think this is great. And I didn’t realize that the conference of Milan was the second quinquennial conference in a whole series leading up to today. I am glad to hear of this “gesture” though I am cautious about looking at an apology as an action. Yes, it is a step in the right direction, but I wonder how much of a difference it will make. Signed language instruction has persevered despite the original edict against it, so what difference will the removal of that edict make? Just a thought.

Then I looked at my DeafRead feed again, and saw a blog post by Robert Mason about Ella Mae Lentz’ response to the ICED apology “rumors” along with a link to her vlog on YouTube:

I guess I’d have to say I’m in Camp Ella on this one (nothing personal, Amy)*. Really, I admire both women and have enjoyed their work. It’s just that I share Ella Mae Lentz’ skepticism. Let’s hope for the best but keep fighting against the worst.

*Whether you’re in Camp Edward or Camp Jacob you enjoy Twilight, right?

As a VI, I notice that one of the most important consumer choices that determine the effectiveness of a call is a deaf consumer’s use of Do Not Announce. It can be quite effective when the deaf person explains VRS themselves or when the person they’re calling already knows them and takes their calls all the time. And it can be indispensable when an ignorant company or agency refuses to accept relay calls. But it can be very difficult for both the interpreter and the person they’re calling when a deaf consumer chooses Do Not Announce but then makes no accommodation for the inevitable changes in communication. Those changes are basically due to unexplained silence and the mismatch of gender–voice and name.

Unexplained Silence

No interpretation is simultaneous, so everything the deaf and hearing person says is going to be interpreted a–few–to–several seconds after they say it. Also, it is more acceptable in Deaf culture to take your time signing than it is in Hearing culture to take your time talking. Since hearing people perceive silence on the phone as a sign that the other party is not there, they will often say, “Hello!” after only a second or two of silence. If they get no answer a second after saying “Hello!” they’re likely to hang up.

Besides, a person on the phone expects immediate answers to questions like “what is your name?” If you take your time to answer and then sign your answer very slowly, there is not much the interpreter can do to make this sound realistic.

Suggested solutions:

1. Explain VRS.
2. Respond more quickly.

Unexplained Mismatch of Gender–Voice and Name

Hearing people can usually tell right away whether they’re talking to a man or a woman on the phone. Men’s and women’s voices differ not only in pitch; they differ in various other ways that only scientists can explain but hearing people can pick up on immediately. Even men and women speaking at the same pitch sound distinctly male or female.

It is disturbingly unnatural for a hearing person to hear a woman’s voice and be given a man’s name. If the hearing person says, “You don’t sound like a Bob” and the interpreter conveys to you the hearing person’s skepticism, it is because you’re saying you’re a man but your interpreter’s voice is female. The voice and the name don’t match. You know how sometimes people in the Deaf community say, “I have to know who I’m talking to; it’s Deaf culture”? Well, it’s hearing culture too, especially on the phone. Hearing people can’t see each other on the phone, so they need to be assured that they can trust the person on the phone to be who they say they are.

Suggested solutions:

1. Explain VRS.
2. Request an interpreter of your gender before you make a Do Not Announce call.

Again, I am writing this as an individual, not as a company representative. As an individual, I feel very awkward with Do Not Announce calls when silence and gender-voice mismatch goes unexplained. It makes my job very difficult as I try to fill in unexplained silences with hems and haws. And there’s only so much silence I can fill without adding things to my interpretation that are not there. Of course Do Not Announce is your choice and your right. I am simply begging the question whether Do Not Announce helps a call to succeed or causes it to fail.

An interpreter I know and respect said, “Eventually our Deaf consumers will learn that Do Not Announce means Do Not Succeed.” This interpreter does, indeed, respect deaf people. But if you’ll forgive the boldness of this statement, what he means is that we interpreters see Do Not Announce calls fail everyday while our consumers don’t. Hearing people who are unaware of why a Do Not Announce call is so awkward are baffled as to why the conversation is not flowing naturally. And the deaf person may not fully grasp how uncomfortable the hearing person sounds — or why they are so uncomfortable — despite how much the interpreter tries to convey this. That’s why I’m sharing this information with you.

When a Do Not Announce call fails; i.e., the hearing person becomes exasperated, tensions rise, and the hearing person — or even the deaf person — hangs up without achieving the goal of the call, it is usually due to the unacceptability of unexplained awkwardness.

Have pity on hearing people. They cannot see you and can only hear someone’s voice on the phone. They are already at a disadvantage because they have to rely only on their hearing to know who they’re talking to and whether that person is responsive, trustworthy, and real (is it live or is it Memorex?). Put yourself in their shoes and think how you would feel if a woman told you her name was Harold or if a man told you his name was Jennifer. How would you feel if you asked a question and didn’t get a response? Finally, imagine how uncomfortable you would feel if you were interpreting between two people who were confused about the very premise of the communication you were trying your best to relay smoothly.

Your Right, Your Choice

Again, I respect your right to choose Do Not Announce; however, I suspect that many people don’t understand what Do Not Announce means, so they’re not really “choosing” it. Maybe the VRS representative who installed their system chose it for them (I’ve heard that sometimes the reps will select Do Not Announce for the test call they make and then forget to deselect it for the consumer’s subsequent calls). Maybe a deaf person they trust told the consumer to use Do Not Announce because it would make calls go better, but they don’t understand how it’s supposed to make their calls go better and why it might make their calls go worse. Or maybe the deaf consumer isn’t paying attention when they set up their profile and they checkmark every option thinking “the more features the better.” I get calls where both Do Not Announce and VCO (Voice Carry-Over) are selected but the consumer doesn’t understand what either of these things means.

My point is that because Do Not Announce is a choice, it should be a choice and not just an accident. You may very well choose to use Do Not Announce and then explain VRS yourself. This, in my experience, can be even more effective than having the interpreter explain VRS. Explaining it yourself establishes rapport between yourself and the person on the phone and ensures them that you are taking responsibility for making communication work. If you choose Do Not Announce and you won’t explain VRS yourself, please know that the success of the call is up to you and only you can choose to make it successful.

Sure, sometimes a Do Not Announce call with no explanation of VRS can be effective. It’s great for short calls like ordering Chinese food or asking what a store’s hours are. And some people manage a Do Not Announce call successfully by picking an interpreter of the appropriate gender and responding to all questions quickly. If you can make a Do Not Announce call succeed without any explanation, more power to you. I just hope I have provided some insight into the choice of Do Not Announce and how to exercise your choice most effectively.

Also please understand that I share this information because I and many other interpreters have noted the disconnect between our profession and our consumers. As interpreters, we learn things that we share with each other but we don’t pass along to our consumers. We espouse changing models and practices, but we don’t inform the deaf and hearing people we interpret for about how our understanding or approach to interpreting has changed. How can we expect our consumers to use us most effectively if we don’t share our knowledge with them? I hope you can take my information in the spirit of just that: information. What you do with it is most certainly up to you.

Here’s a poll. It’s anonymous, so please be honest! Check the reason you most often use Do Not Announce (you might use if for various reason, but pick the one that is most true for you). I’ve included a blank answer so you could write in your own answer instead of selecting any of the available options. I look forward to seeing the results of this poll. Thanks for voting!

One more thing I must share about NAOBI— something that moved me and touched my heart. Now, I know it sounds funny to talk about “black people” and point out the differences between their culture and mine— black people’s and white people’s. It seems “politically correct” to be hush-hush about the differences between black people and white people, but I want to tell you some positive things about what’s different about black culture! And this is so neat. It seems — now, I interpreted for a full week last year at the NBDA (National Black Deaf Advocates, a deaf association) conference, and at the end of the week, we danced!— It seems to me that black people cannot get together and not dance. It seems that every conference I’ve been to — and that’s only two, but still — in my experience, when black people gather for a conference, they’ve got to dance together. And it’s so much fun! They had a DJ playing music loud, and everyone danced together— deaf people, interpreters, everyone. And they line up facing each other while people dance down the aisle, you know, like Soul Train. That’s where everyone lines up in two lines facing each other, forming an aisle, and as people move up to the front of the line, they dance down the aisle and do their own thing, show their personality, express what they’re feeling. Everyone on the sidelines cheers them on, goads them on, and roots for them. You strut down that aisle, you dance, you swing, you move your body, and you do your thing, you express yourself. Oh, it’s fun! And people are fiercely supportive.

One thing I noticed at both NBDA and NAOBI is that they do a lot of line dances and “slides”— you know, like The Electric Slide. Maybe you know that dance, maybe not, but anyway, I noticed a lot of that at both conferences. And not just once, but several times each night. It’s like a form of communal bonding. Loads of fun. And I used to do a lot of country-western line dancing, and I was a pro at it, but that was a long time ago, so I’m rusty. But the black people there helped me, guided me along, and showed me what to do. This one woman dancing next to me in the line saw that I was missing steps and didn’t know which direction to go it, so she put her hands around my waist and gently pushed and pulled me forward and back, took me by the arm and gently pushed and pulled me from side to side. And all the while she was so full of friendship and hospitality. It was like she wanted to include me in her family.

Gah! I get so verklempt every time I think about it. I get all choked up and tears come to my eyes. Because during one of the other songs, everyone stood around in a big circle and danced to “We Are Family”— you know the song, “We are family / I got all my sisters with me”? I’ve been to other conventions where that song was played, but I’ve never felt it so deeply, so truly, as when I was at NAOBI. Deaf and hearing people alike were signing the song together in that circle, and as I gazed around that circle of people — and I know it sounds cliché — I felt the love, I felt the sense of family, I felt the interconnectedness. And even though I’m white, I felt like I was included in that family, that I was helped, led, guided, and beckoned to join that family. That — whew! (tears) — that was a great experience. I felt honored that those people welcomed me into their world.

Now, I know that we’re both human. I know that we’re all part of the human race. I am aware of that. But the truth is also that black people have their ways and white people have their ways. They have different cultures, different skin colors, and different historical backgrounds. And that’s important to recognize. We can discuss race; we can discuss our differences. But likewise we can acknowledge our similarities and what we have in common. And the way they welcomed me, I felt like one of them. I felt like an “honorary black person” that night at the dance.

In fact, it’s funny. I grew up with black people at school, thanks to SCPA, the School of Creative & Performing Arts. That experience — because it was an integrated school (voluntary integration) — that school taught me a lot about singing, acting, and dancing, but it also taught me about respecting the diversity of cultures, races, ethnicities, instilled in me a sense of cooperation and collaboration. When we put on a show at that school, the directors who auditioned the players cast them regardless of skin color. And when two people were cast as a married couple, one could be black and the other white, and their kids could be Chinese or Mexican. They could be any color or ethnicity— white, hispanic (and I know there are white hispanics). But that schooling was really, well, a lot of fun. And it taught me a lot, not just about the acting profession, but about dance, and fun, and jazz.

And, to be honest with you, as a gay person, I’ve been around black gay men and black women, and I’ve seen and studied their ways, their mannerisms, their slang, their dance moves and so on. And what was really funny was there was this one white girl who was doing this — it’s funny, I’ll show you at the risk of embarrassing myself — this “back it on up” dance move. So, okay, I can play with that! So I showed her a move I learned from a black gay man, like this— uh, uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh “shake your booty like a bee.” So, these black girls on the dance floor caught me doing that and cracked up and said, “You just got a new nickname: ‘White Chocolate’!” So, I am White Chocolate! LOL. It’s funny. I felt like I was welcome in their world, like I was an “honorary black person.”

I know I’m white. I’m not trying to be black. But it’s still fun to be included. Anyway, I’d better wrap up this vlog and bring it to a close. Thank you for your attention. And if any of you in NAOBI are watching this vlog, thank you. I felt great to be included in your conference. So long!

Abstract

Reflections on my recent experience at the RID Region V conference, the benefits of the policy of using ASL at all times during the conference (except in a few of the workshops that were interpreted), and the great contribution of deaf interpreters to the field. I also discuss my experience as a workshop presenter and my thoughts on how to make my discussions of interpreting less hearing-interpreter-centric, and more inclusive of all interpreters, especially deaf interpreters.

Transcript

Hi. My name is Daniel Greene, and to be honest with you, this is my third take on this video. I get so flustered and make so many mistakes, but I can’t retake again and again and again, so I hope the third time’s a charm.

I want to let you know about my experience at the RID Region V conference in Salt Lake City. It was awesome! I taught two workshops and that was really exciting. It was my first time presenting at a regional level. I had previously taught workshops on a local and state level, but this was my first time presenting at a regional conference. And, funnily enough, the next week I taught three workshops at NAOBI here in San Diego [Brain fart! I meant Phoenix, where I’ve lived for five-and-a-half years, not San Diego where I lived for 27 years —DG] — the National Alliance of Black Interpreters — and that was a national conference. So now I’ve taught at local, state, regional, and national levels. Anyway, it’s not just about me and my workshops. Yes, it was fun, it was great, and people came up to me and gave me tremendous feedback— this workshop is great, I love it, I’m learning a lot / benefiting from it, etc. And that’s terrific.

But what I really want to talk about is the ASL policy. The RID Region V policy was “all language here is ASL. We will use ASL at this conference.” Not “all language is ASL”– see? I told you I say things wrong. Dug! I mean “Duh!” See? I’m even fingerspelling wrong. Anyway! My point is that, “The language of this conference is ASL.” This means that people won’t speak in spoken language, they’ll speak in sign language. All of the plenary sessions were conducted in ASL. Whenever someone in the audience wanted to make a comment or ask a question — assuming that the speaker invited such participation — they would sign it. The speaker would call on them, they would stay seated, and the person on the stage interpreting for them would be a deaf interpreter. The interpreter would stand on the stage along with the speaker and copy the signing of the person in the audience. This was very helpful, because you could keep your eyes on the stage rather than having to scan the big ballroom to find out who was talking. And you wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to see the speaker or seeing only their back and not being able to see their signs. The best solution was to hire deaf interpreters to do platform mirror interpreting. And they had some fabulous deaf interpreters at that conference— fluent, top-notch, deaf interpreters. And it was really helpful to us hearing interpreters to be required to sign more.

You know, it’s easy when you’re interpreting and you can hear what a hearing person says and then process it, rehearse it, figure out how to sign it— not that you’re consciously thinking “How do I sign that?” but a part of your brain is working it out. But when you talk for yourself in sign, it’s a bit more immediate— it’s unrehearsed, spontaneous. It forces me to express myself in sign more naturally, or whatever. I really sometimes wish I had the native fluency of a deaf person. I wish I could “sign like a Deaf person.” And I aim for that although I doubt I will ever achieve it. But the point is communication.

I remember times when I would say to a deaf person, “I know I’m a little hearie who’s not fluent like you,” and several deaf people would tell me, “The point is to communicate. It doesn’t matter if you’re using PSE, ASL, or whatever, as long as you’re communicating— signing.”

And it was the same with the RID Region V conference. Yes, the conference policy was ASL, but that didn’t mean they would clamp your hands down if you didn’t sign pure ASL. It didn’t mean they would force you to instantly sign with the fluency of a culturally Deaf person who grew up using the language. No, that was not it. Besides, not all deaf people sign with equal fluency in gorgeous “perfect” ASL. So, there’s variety in all of it.

The point of it is so that deaf people know what you’re talking about. If a bunch of hearing interpreters are standing around talking (speaking English), the deaf people are left out of the conversation and it’s not fair. And, actually, nowadays more and more deaf people are interpreters. It’s not like in the past when deaf people were the clients and hearing people were the interpreters. Now it’s more integrated — hearing interpreters and deaf interpreters, HI’s and DI’s — all working together, learning together, improving together. That’s the great benefit of it. That’s big.

Oh, and in my experience as a workshop presenter, one thing I noticed about teaching was that I wanted to including the deaf participants (there were mostly hearing and a few deaf), and I thought, “how can I include them and make them feel it was equally beneficial, interesting, and entertaining?” And that’s hard. It’s a little bit of a challenge. I think most of the time if I sign and deliver the content of the workshop, all will benefit equally. But one thing I recognized in myself was that I tended to talk about the interpreting process as one of watching deaf people sign and hearing people talk. And I kept setting up deaf people and hearing people in signing space that showed the deaf person in front of my and the hearing person to my right. I guess that’s because I do a lot of video interpreting — video relay service — well, actually both VRS and VRI. Anyway, I realized that [division of hearing and deaf in signing space] is “hearing–interpreter–centric.” It would be better that I discuss the interpreting process in terms of “first speaker / second speaker; person expressing communication / person receiving communication; sender / receiver; expresser / receiver… or something.

But not deaf / hearing. Because deaf interpreters interpret between deaf and — well, not deaf, but hearing interpreters, not hearing speakers of English. So, deaf interpreters are not going between ASL and English— not spoken English anyway… well, maybe sometimes, but most of the time between hearing interpreters and deaf people. Both [of their interpreting tasks] are receiving sign and expressing sign. It is a challenge for me to think about how to talk about two interlocutors (two people who are talking to each other) and how to take one language and convey it to another. Maybe using more neutral space (from here to there and there to here), not “deaf in front of me and hearing at my side” or deaf/hearing, but more like “person A and person B” or something.

Maybe we as a profession need to think about how we discuss the interpreting process per se— not focused so much on English-to-ASL and ASL-to-English, but more like “one language to—” well, I know there are words for that, such as “Source Language (SL)” and “Target Language (TL).” Yes, we already have those words, so maybe we need to engage those words more often. Or maybe I have to do that myself as a teacher / presenter.

So, I guess that’s all. I really had fun in Salt Lake City. I did sightseeing and took lots of photos— you can look at my Flickr— I have tons of photos (eleven thousand photos!). I love taking pictures. So, I will post them today. Promise! Anyway, if you want to follow me on Twitter, it’s my name danielgreene. I’m also a member of LinkedIn, and my name on that website is danieljgreene [it's now danieljamesgreene]. Well, I enjoyed talking with you — I mean You, and thanks for your attention to this video!

I was criticized by a deaf person for posting a one-minute long closed-captioned spoken video on YouTube the other day. The deaf person said that they were disappointed that I didn’t sign my video and that, being a sign language interpreter, I “represent the deaf community.” This is my response, signed and closed-captioned.

Sums up how I feel about meeting my life partner, Andy, almost five years before the day I recorded this. From the Broadway musical On The Town, music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Betty Comden & Adolph Green.

I posted this almost a year ago on our family blog via Flickr (no closed-captions), and at the time, I was critical of my own performance. Now, I just enjoy it. I hope you do, too.