When Saturday Night Live makes fun of your language...

SNL has made fun of everything American–from Tim Tebow's personal relationship with Jesus to Sarah Palin's moose-shooting skills–and now they make fun of Deaf Americans and Deaf ASL. To me it means you're one of the boys, that we're finally part of the American consciousness. When do you know you're accepted by a group? When they tease you. Marlee Maitlin is frustrated at the signing– and she probably has reason; we've all been at that event where the host waggles his fingers around lamely and thinks he's funny.

But this is different. SNL is a show dedicated to mocking everything weird, from Chevy Chase and Richard Pryor playing racist word association games to Sinead O'Connor tearing down the Pope. This is an important part of being American: we can't take ourselves too seriously. Here's the video:



I laughed (well, snorted.) Many did–and when people laugh at you, you develop a connection. Everyone who laughed at this is going to remember, for example, that ASL interpreters exist (yes, this is still not universal knowledge.) So I'm not going to complain much. I enjoy being part of the national consciousness. Except for one tiny thing.

Don't you think it was classless for SNL to make fun of an interpreter who was sharing disaster preparedness information?

And don't you wish we saw more interpreters on TV–or, you know, actual Deaf people signing–more than just when there's the occasional hurricane and serial killer on Law and Order? Maybe if we had more positive views of ASL-using Americans on TV, we wouldn't be bothered by this at all.

Crushable.com did its own breakdown of what was funny–and what wasn't–about the ASL parody (noting it was followed up by a Spanish parody, and giving Marlee's views the credit they deserve.)

P.S. SNL: Can we have a skit where the ASL interpreter is actually making fun of Bloomberg? Subtitle: Old White Man didn't have time to write speech, is reading from Hallmark card–and still lying!

Fun List: Top Ten Shocking Moments on SNL!

UPDATE: Tons more videos and opinions from DeafYouVideo–most of them against the skit. 

Teaching While Deaf: Understanding Student Situations

It's vitally important for teachers to recognize what happens on the other end, with Deaf kids. This can be tough for a hearing teacher who has no clue what Deaf people go through on a daily basis or what it's like from the Deaf end. This is often exacerbated by the distance inserted by using an interpreter, para, or external aid. Here's some observations from five years working in the mainstream which I hope will benefit teachers:

1. Eyes get tired. Kids in mainstream programs using interpreters sometimes go into zombie mode; their eyes get exhausted and they can no longer make the muscles function (this is especially true with the high-glare halogen lights used in many public classrooms.) I certainly did, and I had students who do. Even kids with teachers who are themselves Deaf will go into zombie mode. Watching interpreters or signing for long periods of time takes practice, and even then, the eyes still need a rest. Looking is active. This can have positive effects; active watchers are more likely to process and analyze information. What to do about this? When I see kids go into zombie mode–and I don't know how easy it is for people to identify this, but I can always see the eyes glaze over–I encourage them to go get water or go to the bathroom. A couple minutes of eye-rest can make sure the student is engaged for all but those two minutes of class–while ignoring the problem means the student may miss half the information provided! Another solution: bring in lamps and use that lighting instead, if legal in your area. Such a solution may not be useable during state examinations, however.

2. Kids with limited communication at home have limited power. I applaud the parents in this article who are trying to learn BSL, but the same situation applies here in the US: while the government will spend thousands on experimental audiological equipment which only works on a functional level for less than half of the recipients, they will not spend a far smaller amount to help parents learn a language which will last forever and works for all Deaf kids.  There is no Deaf student who cannot learn ASL. 100%. (This is why I support the use of both: until the student reaches the age of complex language use, it's tough to determine how functional those audiological aids are on a practical level; I have seen students graduate with very little OR very much benefit, and none have complained about knowledge of ASL.)

When kids can't communicate at home, they often have less power to control their daily lives. This past summer I had students come to me desperate because parents scheduled appointments on days when students had tests–without consulting those students.

Further, when students don't have the ability to communicate they and their needs are often infantilized at home. I've had parents tell me summer school wasn't important, and behind that is the unspoken assumption that the student themselves is limited. I was fortunate to have parents who insisted on including me in scheduling appointments and ensured students had the most opportunities to achieve.

How to solve this? Teachers are sometimes the only voice in support of students having increased responsibility. Pointing out that, later, students need to be independent and self-supporting, and discussing strategies to do so, is very important… but not always successful. Sometimes parents and I will discuss things in depth, and then at the IEP meeting they'll get nervous. Giving parents opportunities to learn ASL, to help bridge the communication gap, are important.

It's also equally important to encourage kids to bridge those gaps. I have students who think there's no point, or who are so overwhelmed by the power dynamics of the family that they don't think of trying to engage in dialogue. Helping students figure out how to frame their needs can be vitally supportive.

3. Hearing aids and audiological aids aren't always pleasant. Mine often sound like someone screaming at me. They demand attention. And the training makes you react to hearing aids the way hearing people react to telephones ringing: GOTTA ANSWER GOTTA ANSWER GOTTA ANSWER! I often take off my hearing aids to think and process. I've discussed this with my students; some of them report no problem at all (about one-third;) others report lots of problems. The design and structure of the hearing aid/implant itself is also an issue: when you are paying attention to a speaking teacher and suddenly your left ear goes WEEEEEEEEEEE TIME TO CHANGE THE BATTERY! and you have to leave class, sometimes you decide to sit there and endure the sirens so you don't miss a point.

And then there's the gym-ey sweat issue... don't get me started!

Talking to students about their needs and experiences is vital. Asking students what works well for them gives them independence and empowerment, and makes them begin the process of analyzing those needs. Is sitting in front REALLY the best place for the student? Not with all hearing aids; some use technology to localize voices. The student might find sitting in the center or on the side more profitable. Or they might want to be in back, because it helps them visually locate other students/teachers/etc.

4. The parent's perspectives, prejudices, and problems with Deafness sometimes extend to the student. Infantilization again; when a parent has an 18 year old, six-foot Deaf son and they require that person to go on the little yellow bus from mainstream school "for safety reasons," what is actually happening? Is the student really more "safe," or is it just the parent's worry that's assuaged? And practically, what happens with that bus? Buses sometimes don't show, and students miss class. Buses need to leave on time, and students leave class early. Those fears spill over into other areas of the students' life–and when you grow up with that kind of hemmed-in limitation, you often don't question it. The result is often a student, already in need of more context, having even less.

How to deal with these fears? Being a Deaf teacher in a mainstream school helped me enormously. Parents saw an educated, capable Deaf adult, and often asked me how I got that way. It's tough to be a model, and it's important to remember all Deaf kids are different: there's plenty who do warrant such fears! Sitting down with parent and student and helping them engage in dialogue is vital.

These are all problems I encountered and experienced as a teacher. There's no easy solutions. Everything occurs in process, and the process will continue for the family and the Deaf student/individual way past graduation. Recognizing this takes some of the pressure off: even a tiny push to create better dialogue is a great step. Recognizing those small achievements makes the process even more beneficial.

31: Is American Deafhood different from British Deafhood?

And no, I don't mean the philosophy.

I mean: Is the American Deaf experience or process of coming to understand oneself by virtue of properly assessing one's place in society, and how that place came to be, different from the British Deaf experience of the same?

And the answer, once you put the question that way, has to be: Yes. Of course it is, because we have different societies, different histories, and different myths, even different influences. And because of that divergence our process and our realization and our understanding of self necessarily has to be somewhat different, even though the principle is the same. This is true for every other Deaf culture in the world, just as it's true that globalization is changing the game for all of us yet again.

To really understand our own Deafhood, we have to understand our society, our history and our myths (the harmful and the harmless and the helpful ones. All of them.)

We have to understand that a lot of our dialogue about ourselves is directly influenced by American society and its own history and myths (and probably French too, and Native American, and German, and all the little iconoclastic cultures which made up the beginnings of the American Deaf experience as they make up, to some extent, the etymologies and histories of our own language.)

I love the book "Deaf History Reader;" regardless of your opinions about Van Cleve, the windows it provides into Deaf American history go past Clerc and Gallaudet to far earlier events. It gives me insight, say, into the true beginnings of American Deaf culture, and why Gallaudet happened here, not in Europe where Deaf people had already been going to college and Deaf exceptions (artists, writers) were known.

What that book reminds me of is that, much like the Pilgrims, early America was all about forming unique communities to escape oppression. And this seems like something elementary schoolish when you put it that way–but it is in many ways a profound realization. Martha's Vineyard's Deaf element was founded by a Deaf man who had achieved unusual success in his career. We don't usually give him the same status we give to other American founders of cities in the wilderness, but isn't that a possible interpretation of Jonathan Lambert's whitewashed life?

Today even Wikipedia says he was nothing but a simple farmer and carpenter. Research has shown he was, instead, the captain of his own ship, a slave ship-the brigantine Tyral (although it's not clear to me that these were racial slaves imported from Africa; it seems that these "slaves" were British prisoners, perhaps a mixed group.) He was a military man and served in the British military for several years as part of expeditions. He did all this as a Deaf man, speaking very little and using signs; visiting dignitaries reported being offended he didn't speak to them–until someone whispered the illustrious leader was Deaf and mute! He bought his own land in 1694 and he passed on his Deafness, culture, and hereditary Kentish sign language to his children, who were brought up in Martha's Vineyard, a place where people apparently had no trouble believing Deaf people could vote and hold political office!

Compare this to the fleeing Puritans who were prevented from practicing their religion or being involved with legal office. They did what - came to America and made sure they had a place where such an opportunity was possible! America has this story again and again: people coming to America to make places for themselves. (Of psychological interest: it may be that Lambert was part of a long line of Lambert captains and sailors which continued in England after Jonathan Lambert's departure. If so, is there a story here of a man who felt less equal in his family, striking out for a new world and new possibilities?)

From as early as the 1700's, then, we had evidence of Deaf leaders in business and politics who fought to establish places where Deaf people had equality. Superiority, perhaps. Does this help us inform the story of Gallaudet? Was the Gallaudet protest part of a long cycle of fighting for equality that began before most even dreamed?

(Note: We might judge Lambert for his involvement with slave activities. I did, at first. But it's important to remember that he too was a child of his time and place. History is an easy place to judge.)

29: conversations on education, over a year

A co-teacher and I walked down a quiet school hallway.

"You need to share your methods with other teachers," she urged. "They're effective. Students are improving."

They were. In the past several weeks I'd seen many positive developments in my so-called "special education" students. These kids were linguistically delayed–an amenable disability, often created by society, when a Deaf child remains extremely unsophisticated in their language use. This disability is caused by many things, but primarily by a lack of two-way communication in the home. Deaf children are talked to or told to do things, but rarely taught to themselves communicate. The literature blames this on lack of speech, but it's more correctly lack of language; ASL, or other signed languages, are equally effective at preventing language delay. I believe this disability can be repaired with an appropriately structured teaching curriculum. It's a question of teaching them to fish and giving them a rod, instead of teaching them to come to you to get a fish. Most people just give them fish because it's faster. But it isn't permanent.

I was frustrated for reasons I couldn't quite name. "I don't know," I said. "There's just so much-" a thought flashed by, and I grabbed it. "It's about support," I babbled. "Some of those teachers don't even believe these kids can succeed–"

"But we have evidence," my friend complained. "They saw the results."

I sighed. My frustration didn't vanish, but it sort of greyed out a bit. "Listen," I said. "A couple days ago I was on a bus and just had a conversation with a strange woman. We talked about a few news items and things. It was pleasant and we understood each other well. Then I took off my hat and she saw my hearing aids and asked if I was deaf. When I confirmed it was as if a switch turned off–she could no longer understand me, no matter what I said or how loudly I spoke–"

"It's okay, I got you," my friend signed, holding up a hand to stop me from continuing. Her face had gone slightly grey. But it's true. Sometimes, who you are and what you do doesn't matter. Sometimes, it's the label that gets in the way.

I think this is unfortunately true for Deaf people in public education. You can have as many degrees as you like. You can learn to speak their language perfectly, even imitating accents. It doesn't matter because what really needs to change is not the Deaf person but the other person's perception of the Deaf person. This perception–maybe conviction is a better word–can sometimes supersede even the evidence of their own eyes, like the Moon eclipsing the Sun. Their perception of the Deaf student and colleague is eclipsed by the perspective of the Deaf student and colleague. You can wash this off, like dirt from a window, but it comes back, inexorable as waves.

I remember two people, one hearing, one Deaf, conversing by notepad, and then the Deaf person's expression of surprise as the hearing person–and this was after a conversation writing about weather and politics and books, mind you–asked the Deaf person if they could read and write.

The Deaf person finally wrote, No. And put the notebook away and left.

Now you could say maybe the Deaf person should have stayed, laughed at the situation, played the clown as we are wont to do. Maybe they should have just waved the papers and conversation in the hearing person's face and asked "What do you think?" Maybe they should have spoken–people sometimes assume you need to speak to be able to think or read or write. I found the actual response more elegant. Smile, write No, and leave. When I spoke with a Deaf writer, once, who I won't name without permission, I asked them if they thought it was possible for hearing people to experience Deafhood. I mean, it did seem to me in many ways to be a range, like sexuality. The writer said something very telling. Whether they did or not, he said, that experience would always be superseded by the hearing person's privilege in society. The private law of society (privilege, I believe, comes from private law) eclipses and distorts the dynamics of reality and experience. In the example I gave, the Deaf person made their own law, embraced the paradox of their own existence in larger society: for, I ask you, if you couldn't write, how could you write No? Or read and respond to the question in the first place?

Sometimes we get exhausted of making peace. Sometimes even embracing the paradox is hard. Sometimes we get tired of always waiting for hearing people to catch up. (And imagine–always, while they're puffing and screaming behind, they're reminding us how slow we are. And don't forget to laugh.)