Land of Opportunity

June 8, 2006

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

The buzz those days is about how many people around the nation are moving to Indianapolis in order for their children to attend the Indiana School for the Deaf. Numbers being churned through the rumor mill range from 25 new students to over 100 for the 2006-2007 school year. It’s not just Indiana, though; there are other families moving to areas near the Maryland School for the Deaf, California, even Iowa. And this trend across the nation fascinates me.

Sure, this isn’t a new phenomenon. Both deaf and hearing parents have been moving for decades to wherever the best school is for their kids, although deaf parents have considerably fewer choices in terms of American Sign Language environments. Back when I was younger, it wasn’t uncommon for deaf children to go to the next state for school. For instance, during the 1980s and 1990s, many kids in the Chicago area attended the Wisconsin School for the Deaf simply because it was geographically closer than the Illinois School for the Deaf. Even my husband’s parents moved from Chicago to Wisconsin, so that both my husband and his brother could attend the Wisconsin School for the Deaf; the school experienced a surge in students from the Chicago area after St. John’s School for the Deaf in Milwaukee closed in the early 1980s.

Parents – in particular, deaf parents – nowadays are much more empowered about language choice and educational quality. Many move to send their children to ASL-English schools. Or they move because they like the superintendent, such as at New Mexico and Maryland Schools for the Deaf. Parents may also move because at these new schools, jobs are aplenty for them – dormitory staff, teachers, administration-level jobs. Family and friends being concentrated in largely “deaf-populated” areas is yet another reason for moving to those areas; social events have always been a major part of the Deaf community. And let’s not forget athletics. Sports is yet another valuable commodity at deaf schools and within the community. In fact, when renowned football coach Andy Bonheyo left the Model Secondary School for the Deaf to take a job at Texas School for the Deaf, a cluster of his players followed him to Texas.

Are there drawbacks to this trend? Sure. Elitism among deaf families at certain schools has proliferated to the point where there are wild stories of great divisions at these schools. I remember a deaf friend – who is from a large deaf family –being furious when a birthday party was listed as “for deaf children only.” His children were hearing and had always socialized with these same deaf kids at community events, yet they were suddenly ostracized because they weren’t deaf. There also seems to exist a level of trying to always better each other at certain schools across the nation. Of course, this isn’t just a ‘deaf school thing’; hearing parents do it too.

It’s also interesting that when a deaf family leaves a deaf school for another, there’s also a degree of resentment by the people left behind who say, “What, they think they’re too good for our school? Wait and see, the kid’s going to turn out bad.” But this isn’t a new thing, either. That was what people said about me when I left the Illinois School for the Deaf in order to move with my mom to Chicago; I like to think I’ve turned out okay.

Even so, this desire to give our children better decisions comes with a amount of agony. I’ve been watching many parents who have deaf children wrestle with their decisions. Since I’m at that age in life where almost all of my friends are new parents, many of them are suddenly rudely awakened that the plan they’ve laid out for their children has to be discarded in favor of the best situation possible for their children simply because they’re deaf. They have the best advice available: their own experiences. My husband and I come from similar family backgrounds but very different educational experiences. We’ve had many discussions about what we’ll do if our children happen to be deaf. For us, and many others, it boils down to key factors such as who the peers in our children’s classes are, who and how good the teachers and support staff are, our children’s needs, and what the educational philosophy of the school is.

As I look at this trend happening across the nation, it impresses me how more and more families are willing to uproot their entire lives, sacrifice good-paying jobs for sometimes lower-paying jobs, postpone or give up their own dreams and goals and move so that their children can attend a deaf school with a top-notch quality. Never mind all these drawbacks; the families are doing this willingly, all so that their children can have better opportunities than they did.

That, to me, is parenting at its best.

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Filed Under: Childhood, Culture, Deaf education, i711.com, Language

The Value of a Pen and Paper

January 30, 2006

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

Growing up in Chicago, I often took Amtrak rides to my grandparents’ house in Quincy, Ill. When I was 15, I went there for my spring break. These rides were leisurely for me, because I could nap, read, write, or play games.

That evening, we were at top speed after leaving the next-to-last stop in Macomb, a college town about an hour away from Quincy. I was hunched over with my head resting on the seat in front of me, playing on my GameBoy. I realized that I had better move my head up, because my neck could snap if something happened.

As I leaned back, there suddenly was a phenomenal screeching, with a foul stench filling the train. What I remember the most was the screeching and grinding of brakes; it seemed to go on forever, with every passenger leaning forward in sync with the train’s bumpy motions. After the longest time, the train finally came to an angry stop as we all snapped back into our seats. Time froze; the air was eerily quiet.

Slowly, people started standing up, looking at each other, picking up luggage that had fallen. I stayed in my seat, trying to see if I could figure out the situation. Everyone looked dazed. I was absolutely clueless and trying to figure out my next step, then I remembered I had what proved to be the most valuable tool that night.

I took a notebook out of my backpack, scribbled, “What happened?” and leaned over to a young woman across the aisle. I now realize she probably was in her late 20s, but at the time it seemed like she was so much older. She shrugged and wrote, “I have no idea!” She spoke with her co-workers, who also shook their heads. After a long wait, an announcement was made. I waited as the woman wrote, “They said we hit a pick-up truck.” The smell of gas and rubber continued to float in the air, and I didn’t really know what to do. I decided to stay put.

By now, people were going to the food car, getting beer, pizza and talking. It was a festive atmosphere, much to my puzzlement. I kept worrying about how I could notify my grandparents, who were probably in their car at the station. The woman’s boss gestured, asking if he could play with my GameBoy. This 20-year-old drummer sat next to me, fascinated by the fact that I was Deaf. He offered me beer, saying he could get me more. I politely declined and was given an ink-stained business card if I “ever want[ed] to just talk…”

After about an hour, the woman said that the driver was dead, and that the truck had been dragged half a mile. She also said that we could look at the truck. Being the rubber-necker that I am, I went outside with my notebook in hand. There were blinding red lights flashing everywhere. The red truck, hit at a rural railroad crossing without gates or lights, was smashed flat in the middle, wrapped around Amtrak’s trademark pointy front. There was a hole in the window where the driver had been ejected. In the bed were gloves and a toolbox. I stood there for the longest time; I felt helpless. I went inside, and for the next two hours, the woman kept me constantly updated on how we would get to Quincy. We finally got to Quincy at nearly two a.m.

The driver was a man named Ron, 51 years old with two kids.

I think of Ron and that night often. But what I always remember more was the woman’s willingness to keep me updated. She even called my grandparents the next day to make sure I was okay. If I had not brought a notebook and pens and if I had not taken the initiative to ask her, I probably would have been scared beyond belief that night.

I used to make fun of how my dad would always carry around a notepad and pen in his shirt pocket. I don’t do that anymore; I now carry around paper and a pen with me everywhere I go.

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Filed Under: Childhood, Culture, i711.com

Proud to Be Ordinary

December 17, 2005

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

A couple of weeks ago, I chatted with a friend who said, “Ah, that event isn’t worth attending; it’s mostly most grassroots deaf people…” The friend meant no offense, but I knew that s/he meant those who weren’t necessarily college-educated or cultured—in other words, not the type of people s/he would socialize with.

I wrote an article in July 2003 discussing the word “grassroots.” I wrote back then, “Maybe it’s me, but when I think of grassroots deaf people, I think of people at bowling events, sporting events, and smoke-filled deaf clubs—people who I grew up with and socialize with today. These people usually don’t give a damn about conferences or university receptions; they just want to make ends meet and to have a good life.”

Hmm. While that stereotype persists today, I now think it’s somewhat inaccurate. I’ve come to change my views of what characterizes “grassroots” in the Deaf community and elsewhere. Educated people often label those who are uneducated—whatever that means—and not always socially refined as “grassroots.” I’ve done that myself, shamefully. This, of course, is terribly wrong and misleading.

Let’s look at the history of grassroots as provided by answers.com:

An 1876 book about the Black Hills says that “gold is found almost everywhere, in the bars, in the gravel and sand of the beds, even in the ‘grass roots,'” that is, the soil just below the surface. But by the turn of the century we thought of grass roots as more than just a place to dig. Beneath the visible blades of grass, keeping the grass alive and making it grow, are the simple roots. Getting down to grass roots meant looking at the “underlying principles or basic facts of a matter,” in the words of Charles Earle Funk, the lexicographer, who remembered the phrase from his Ohio boyhood in the late 1800s. It was in the grass roots where you could truly understand a situation and effectively respond to it. Politicians often presented themselves as getting down to grass roots. They also talked about themselves, and the measures they favored, having support from the grass roots, that is, from their constituents–ordinary people, the salt of the earth. Grass roots lobbying takes the form of letters, phone calls, and visits from these constituents.

Indeed. The definition I used in my 2003 article was from a dictionary on my shelf: The ordinary people in a community or the ordinary members of an organization, as opposed to the leadership. And here’s another from www.dictionary.com: People or society at a local level rather than at the center of major political activity. The groundwork or source of something.

Okay. Based on these definitions, I’m a grassroots Deaf person—something I’ve always maintained I was. After all, I was born into the Deaf community and have generations of Deaf relatives behind me. Besides, like I said, I grew up at bowling alleys and in Deaf clubs. Heck, I spent the first five years of my life in a trailer park. I’m not always at the forefront of political activity, nor do I always actively get involved with organizations. I think I’m as ordinary as they come.

So why does the mention or use of “grassroots deaf” automatically conjure up negative, grimy images of Deaf people who aren’t cultured, educated or “up there among the ranks?” This is probably one of many things that hurts the Deaf community as a whole, especially when we’re trying to bring about change in various ways. There is so much emphasis on developing leadership within the Deaf community that we forget that we need non-leaders, too. With only leaders and no non-leaders, we have no collective strength.

Think about it. Let’s use videophones as an example. The value of videophones has absolutely exploded within the Deaf community, and the majority of users are those labeled grassroots by “educated people”—and those educated people are usually in positions of leadership, whether it be at the local, state or national levels. They’re also often videophone users themselves. But without the ordinary videophone users, the impact of videophones may not have been as strong, and video relay service providers know this. That’s why they’ve targeted everyday citizens in their marketing campaigns and succeeded.

Once organizations for Deaf people begin developing activities that start at the grassroots level, we’ll probably see further major changes and strengthening of services. Maybe then we’ll be able to really see a difference in equality and accessibility in our lives, grassroots or not.

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

Filed Under: Culture, i711.com, Language

Certify This!

August 18, 2005

This article originally appeared at i711.com.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Apple a Day Keeps the Doc Away…

July 7, 2005

This article originally appeared at i711.

A friend recently referred to the head of a major deaf services agency as Dr. Smith (Smith, of course, being a fictitious name). I asked why he was referred to as a “Dr.” when he didn’t have a doctorate and wasn’t a medical doctor. “But this guy has a honorary doctorate, so of course we should call him Dr.!” was the e-mailed response.

When I edited Silent News back in 2000, I got an e-mail from a representative of the same agency requesting that I refer to its CEO as “Doctor” in all printed materials. You see, they often sent in press releases and articles referring to the CEO as “Dr. Smith” and I would always remove the “Dr.” before printing stories. Apparently this didn’t make them happy, and the e-mail reflected this displeasure.

I replied by quoting the Associated Press Stylebook, a book that has stringent guidelines on how to word or spell things in an article, such as abbreviations of state names or words and how to spell/use certain words. On the page listing “doctor,” it says:

Do not use Dr. before the names of individuals who hold only honorary doctorates.

After I faxed a copy of this page from the stylebook, I never received a complaint from that agency again.

Honorary doctorates are bestowed upon those who have performed a great service in certain fields. I have no question or doubt that individuals who have earned honorary doctorates deserve the recognition that comes with being granted such a privilege; they usually have done so much for the community. An honorary degree is just a meager but valuable recognition of their work and contributions.

However, in our quest as Deaf citizens to become as intellectual as and equal to our hearing peers, I’m afraid some of us have lost sight of the appropriateness of being called “Doctor,” especially when an individual has an honorary doctorate rather than an academic doctorate. I don’t have a doctorate and doubt I ever will have the energy to pursue one, but I recognize just how much work is involved in earning such a degree. Years of research, meetings, writing, and presentations, at the very least. I think to call someone who has received an honorary doctorate “Doctor” may be a bit of an insult to those who have actually earned their academic doctorates or those who are in the medical field (including dentists and veterinarians).

Even actress Marlee Matlin received an honorary doctorate soon after she won an Oscar. Should we dare call her Dr. Matlin for being able to swim naked and scream her character’s anguish out in the landmark film Children of a Lesser God, putting her in the same categories with individuals who have academically earned a doctoral degree? I’d prefer that we recognize her for her sudden and impressive surge to stardom at the age of 19, her impact upon the community, and recognize what work she has done to date — and say, “Oh yeah, by the way, she’s got an honorary doctorate. Isn’t that great?”

We should absolutely laud the achievements of individuals who earn honorary doctorates. But unless an individual actually has a doctoral degree that s/he earned through years of academic sweat and toil, let’s not get ahead of ourselves and call that person Doc.

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Filed Under: i711.com, Language

Hi, I’m H.I.XXX Deaf.

May 26, 2005

This article appeared at i711.com.                                                                                                                

I think it’s a never-ending struggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch.

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

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

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

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

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

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