Hi, everyone, As Nick said, I am Dana Mittelman, and I have a very cool job.
As an American Sign Language interpreter, I have had the privilege of interpreting soul-lifting
promotions and celebratory home-settlement purchases.
I have said the vows of deaf couples into microphones, so their hearing families in
the pews behind me could understand what they were promising to each other.
I have been in the delivery room four times to see the babies of deaf parents being welcomed
into the world.
And, as evidenced by the title of this talk, I have had the immense and humbling honor
of interpreting for the president of the United States.
Now before I'm going to talk about that big day, I'm going to talk about what got me there.
My job is unique; it's something that I think people have a sort-of sense of, but may not
truly comprehend.
Hence, I find myself getting asked the same questions over and over again, the first of
which is usually: 'How long does it take to learn American Sign Language?'
This is not a question with an easy answer.
As with any language, they say about seven years of study can result in some sort of
communicative skill.
This can be expedited with things like immersion, which I had the chance to experience in my
two years at Gallaudet University graduate school, in Washington, D.C.
At Gallaudet, the primary language used is ASL, so it was sort of like a study abroad
experience for me, and living in the dorms was kind of like a home stay.
I have been studying the language now for twelve years, my interest was firs piqued
here, at the University of Rochester, when, my freshman year, I took an ASL class on a
whim, and totally fell in love with it.
The program here is really unique: it's sort of like a sink-or-swim experience.
All the professors are deaf, and there's no voice used in the classroom at all.
I am, at heart, a total linguistics nerd, so I used to take that a step further, and
after class, I would go out for silent lunches with my classmates, and we would force ourselves
to use what little signs we knew, in combination with gestures, and spelling and pointing,
to try and tell stories about our new college crushes or our fun weekend plans.
I think that kind of geeky aspiration led me to where I am now, and while I don't love
the word fluent, in regards to language competency, a friend of mine defines it as the ability
to have a deep and meaningful relationship with somebody who only knows that language.
So, if we're using that metric, then yes, I am 'fluent' in American Sign Language.
Another question I get a fair amount is 'Is sign language universal?'
And when I answer that question with, 'No, most countries that have an established spoken
language also have an established sign language,' the next question I usually get is, 'Why?'
And sometimes, I'm snarky, and I respond, 'Well, why isn't there one spoken language
in the world?'
But, really the answer discusses the beautiful diversity of sign languages all over the world,
some of which have made the determined growth from a home gestural system that grew into
an established language, some of which have crossed oceans, and found homes in new countries.
For example, ASL is based in La Sine Francais, French Sign Language, so I could probably
more easily converse with a French deaf person than, say, a British deaf person, who uses
an entirely different sign language than American Sign Language.
Isn't diversity a beautiful thing?
Another question I get with alarming frequency is, 'So you know Braille?'
When people ask that, I usually just look at them like this: [Leans Forward], until
the answer just comes to them.
Some people's only exposure to ASL has been in that little box in the corner of the screen
on the Sunday morning religious broadcasts, so before you ask, no, I have never been in
the little box in the corner of this TV screen, save for some extraordinary events, such as
interpreting for the president, which I promise I'm getting to.
Most of my 'gigs' as I like to call them, because I think it makes me sound like a cool
musician, are typically lower profile.
My average day could be interpreting a meeting about recruiting interns with disabilities
for the government, or interpreting a culinary class at a community college, or interpreting
a physical therapy class for a post-surgical deaf patient, or interpreting a budget meeting
between a deaf economic analyst and his supervisor.
Sometimes my work is fascinating and fulfilling.
Sometimes it is complicated and demanding, and sometimes it is really boring, but to
me, and that's the crux of my job, I don't own the content of the interaction.
While I may not be particularly jazzed about interpreting a government IT meeting, my deaf
consumer has chosen this as her work, and it's my responsibility to make sure that important
information is made accessible to her.
In not owning the content of the interaction, I am ideally supposed to be as inconspicuous
as possible in an interpretive interaction.
I am ideally an invisible participant.
Sometimes this is really easy, and sometimes, it's incredibly difficult.
If a hearing supervisor is reprimanding his deaf employee whom I know has had a horrible
week, I have to suppress my urge to soften the supervisor's tone and language when I
put it into ASL.
If a hearing woman is having a heated debate about gay marriage with her deaf acquaintance,
despite the fact that her words are coming out of my mouth, I have to remind myself that
they, that her words, are not my own.
And when a deaf client is detailing the emotional specifics of her childhood sexual assault,
to her hearing therapist, I have to consciously will my own emotions to abate.
Now, that task of pushing my emotions aside was almost inconceivable on Memorial Day,
2012, when I was totally abuzz with excitement over interpreting for President Barack Obama.
At the time, I was working for a sign language interpreting agency that sent me on different
jobs every day, mostly in the government.
A few days before Memorial Day, they sent out a request to interpret an 'event' at the
Vietnam Wall on Memorial Day.
There was no speaker listed, but I still jumped at the job, because my fantastic mother was
a nurse in Vietnam, and so I felt a somewhat unique connection to the event.
Unfortunately, the job had already been snatched up, again, despite not knowing who the speaker
was going to be.
Interpreters often walk into events not knowing what we are about to interpret.
However, as the days unfolded and the details emerged that the big guy was going to be there,
my dear friend, who had secured the job, offered it to me.
She had already had the opportunity to interpret for the president earlier in the year, and
wanted to provide me with the same unique opportunity.
Needless to say, I sent her a very large bouquet of flowers the following week.
When the holiday arrived, my co-interpreter and I made our way down to the national mall.
It was a balmy 98 degrees out that day, and the mall was teeming with veterans and tourists
and their families.
We lined up to pass through a metal detector, and had our bags poked at, kind of like what
you'd expect at a baseball game.
I was, admittedly, expecting some tighter security, especially when I found out where
we'd be standing, which was a little confusing to figure out.
The coordinators didn't know where to put us.
First it was, 'ok you're on the stage, no, you're off in the corner somewhere, no, you're
going to be near the military band, no, I don't think we need interpreters, no wait,
come back, yes we do.'
We were finally placed right inside the gate surrounding the stage where the president
would speak.
My co-interpreter and I nervously introduced ourselves to the secret service agent who
was standing in our corner, and we explained in gross detail about how we're the sign language
interpreters, and we're going to be switching every 15 to 20 minutes, and he was more than
welcome to check our bags again, or pull up our credit history, or call the FBI with our
social security numbers, whatever he needed, we will totally do.
He literally looked at us like we posed the threat level of a pair of kittens, and he
shrugged, and goes, 'Whatever, guys, that's fine.'
As the sun beat down on the veterans and their families, the program began, moderated by
actor Tom Selleck, whose name sign we joked was this: [makes moustache sign].
Despite my childhood affection for the movie, 'Three Men and a Baby,' and my general awe
for being in such close vicinity to some of the other speakers, such as Secretary of Defense,
Leon Panetta, nothing could match the utter blood rush that occurred when Selleck introduced
the President of the United States of America.
The snare drum of the military band started playing the first few measures of 'Hail to
the Chief,' as Barack and Michelle Obama and Joe and Jill Biden strode through the curtain
at the end of the walkway, down the path and onto the stage, right next to where I was
standing.
I had to bite my tongue and clasp my hands behind me to prevent me from turning to my
co-interpreter, and going, 'Oh my God!'
So, there I am: [Gestures behind her].
Here's the thing: President Obama is really easy to interpret for.
After I took a few deep breaths, to quell my nerves, and calm my shaking hands, I focused
on the task of interpreting, and the president made it really easy on me.
He speaks very slowly and carefully.
His sentences are linear, and his thought processes are so clear that sometimes, you
can predict what he's going to say next.
This is in contrast to former President Clinton, whose keynote address I had the opportunity
to interpret at an environmental conference a few years ago.
Old Billy is jokey and tangential, and sometimes entirely incomprehensible with his southern
accent, but President Obama was an absolute dream.
Towards the end of his speech, he took time to show gratitude to the veterans.
He noted how they hadn't been properly thanked, in the same way that we've honored vets from
Iraq and Afghanistan in the past few years.
I immediately thought of my mother, and her stories of turning returning from Vietnam
to an entirely unwelcoming public.
And so, when the president turned to the crowd and said, and said, because you haven't heard
it enough, 'Thank you.
We appreciate you.
Welcome home.
Welcome home.'
And I signed: [Signs 'Welcome home' three times].
That whole task of pushing my emotions aside became insurmountable.
I, like my mother, am a little bit of a crier, and in that profound moment, my role as the
daughter of a veteran completely trumped the emotionless ethics of a professional sign
language interpreter.
As the president wrapped up his powerful, yet succinct speech, he took his wife's hand,
as the crowd rose to their feet in applause.
He walked down the stairs, right behind me, and a few feet from me he stopped, looked
me in the eye, and smiled broadly, and said, 'Thank you.'
The blood roared in my ears, and I said the only thing I could think to say in that moment,
which was, 'Thank you!'
I think, in retrospect, I was thanking him for honoring my mother, and just thanking
the universe for leading me to that extraordinary experience.
And thank you for letting me share it with you today.
[Applause]