Tag Archives: ignorance

You’re an interpreter? Do you know Braille?

I’ve been thinking about skepticism and ethics. That train of thought led me back to the code of ethics I followed as a professional sign language interpreter, which led me to reminisce. While I do have plans to write about the first thing, I thought I’d just share a few of those recollections.

The theme of this post is “stupid things people say to interpreters.” Although occasionally things like these are said maliciously, usually they come from well meaning people who are ignorant of – or nervous about – deaf people. It’s of tantamount importance to stay friendly, helpful, and polite. Hearing clients often relate to a hearing interpreter more than to the deaf client, which is why they ask some of these questions, but they can also connect our behavior with that of the client. So if an interpreter is rude or unhelpful, a hearing client may associate that with the deaf client or even all deaf people. (Seriously.)

Thus, a lot of my time as an interpreter included fielding these stupid things people said to me without offending them, much as skeptics often have to educate people, such as loved ones, without alienating them. In both cases you have to do some culture-bridging. Here’s a few examples, and while I may have changed a few identifying details, I swear this is all true. In addition, some of them are extremely common among all interpreters.

Interpreting for Todd Parr in 2005

Question: “Do you know Braille?”
Mental response: Do you know anything?
Actual response: “Braille is used by blind people.” If further confusion results: “Deaf people don’t need a special way to read unless they’re also blind.”

When I was a student, an experienced interpreter once told me she got asked this all the time. I thought she had to be putting me on. Then I started working as an interpreter. Hoo boy.

Question: How much can he hear?/Is he doing his homework?/Can he lip-read?/Does he understand?/etc.
Mental response: What am I, his mother?
Actual response: “I don’t know, but if you want to ask him, I’d be happy to interpret that.”

I take care to say this pleasantly, with politeness and sincerity, and it almost always gets the point across. The one time it went south, I was taken out of a class after saying it to the jackhole of a teacher who asked me something along those lines, and didn’t like the answer. As working in his class entailed having to interpret while he described how lovely his turds were, it wasn’t much of a loss.

Comment: (After a mistake or a joke) “I don’t want you to interpret that.”
Mental response: Then don’t fucking say it!
Actual response: Interpret “I don’t want you to interpret that” to the deaf client. After that, it really depends on the situation.

Question: (waves hands around randomly) What did I just say?
Mental response: Amazing. You hit on the exact sign for “I’m a moron.”
Actual response: Depending on my relationship with people, I’ve gotten away with “You said ‘I don’t know any sign language.’” If I don’t know them well enough to make a pointed joke, I usually let a smile and a shrug answer for me.

Question: Why does he look at you and not me when I talk to him?
Mental response: Were you born this way or was it traumatic brain injury?
Actual response, from the deaf client: “BECAUSE I’M DEAF!”

This came from the worst hearing client I have ever worked for. In this case I was lucky: I only witnessed the comment while my partner was the one interpreting. Lucky because I needed all my mental power to focus on not busting out laughing, which I probably wouldn’t have avoided had I been obliged to interpret all that.

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Heightened awareness

I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of awareness. This is a word that anyone with a chronic or serious illness ends up hearing or using a lot. There are days or weeks, charity events, websites, blogs, and forums dedicated to raising awareness of this illness or that. Often in these cases “awareness” includes money to be spent on research or treatment, but my thoughts about this term go beyond the financial. Three particular instances have given me a lot to mull over.

parkingSeptember 14-20 was “National Invisible Chronic Illness Awareness Week.” (How are people with chronic fatigue meant to read to the end of that title without falling asleep?) When I first heard of this, I thought how wonderful, a week dedicated to the problems faced by people with invisible illnesses, something one of my favorite forums, But You Don’t Look Sick, is also all about. I read some excellent — and secular — articles on the site pertaining exactly to my experiences, such as this one about parking in disabled spots when you’re not obviously a gimp. (I use a cane now, but I still find myself affecting a limp I don’t have when I leave or approach my space.)

But look more closely at the site and you will see a few mentions of Christian resources. It turns out the week was created by the founder of Rest Ministries, which identifies itself as “a Christian organization that serves the chronically ill through a variety of programs and resources.” Now don’t misunderstand: I have no problem with the existence or mission of Rest Ministries. I appreciate anyone, religious or otherwise, who feels moved to help those who need it. But being both Jewish and atheist, I feel doubly disenfranchised by this site. I couldn’t bring myself to participate in Invisible Illness Week, and possibly they lost other non-Christian or non-theist people who were similarly turned off. I don’t like that the Christian connection is not made clear, but rather insinuated in various points on the site, nor is there any balancing message of inclusion towards non-Christians. My several inquiries as to this situation received no response.

“It doesn’t really matter because they’re spreading good information,” I’ve been told. It’s true that they are, and to some extent I agree that it doesn’t matter. But awareness campaigns that do not explicitly include the wide range of people whose lives are touched by illness do a disservice to those they could be helping, including shooing away people like me who would otherwise be moved to help with the campaign.

More: Are we helping or harming?

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