Translator: Ilze Garda Reviewer: Peter van de Ven
My mum and dad have never heard my voice,
but they like to see me singing in the car.
They couldn't listen to my latest interview on the radio,
but they were proud that other 60,000 people could.
After the interview, I went straight to my parents
and translated everything in sign language.
It doesn't matter how you listen, all that matters is that you truly listen.
Today,
I will share with you some lessons I have learned about listening
from the deaf world.
Both of my parents were born as hearing persons.
My dad remembers playing with his toy car
and the sounds it made - vroom, vroom, vroom! -
as he was driving it.
But all that's left now is the memory of the sound.
He was three years old when he got sick with pneumonia.
In order to cure the sickness, he was given medicine.
Unfortunately, doctors could not save his auditory nerve,
which caused his loss of ability to hear.
My mother had a similar destiny.
She was born prematurely.
Her mother was then asked -
what others would call a dilemma, but for her a heart-breaking choice -
whether to save the life of her child or the ability to hear.
Well, my granny's choice was clear;
she said, "It's better she lives and hears in a different way
rather than die in my arms."
So, my dad still remembers the sound of the driving car
but can no longer make it himself.
Neither does my mother.
They both lost the most of what we are so used to in our daily lives:
the ability to hear.
And with that, it marked the life path of my parents and also mine.
Knowing and experiencing all those things that a normal child does not have
made me feel special among other kids.
But then I realized I'm not alone,
there are more of us, CODAs, or children of deaf adults.
I was learning how to spell "cochlear implant"
long before I mastered the word "house."
Once, my parents took me to a store
where I saw a very little but beautiful doll I wanted.
My mum, of course, asked me if I could help her to talk to the salesman.
Of course, I did.
"Sorry, could you please tell me how much that doll costs?"
Silence.
And then, "Oh my! Look at that child!
So little but so grown up; your parents must be very proud of you."
Well, I must admit
I was very happy my parents dragged me everywhere they went
so I could translate for them.
It is, in truth, also a big responsibility for us, CODAs -
we have to tell our parents what the world sounds like.
We try to interpret the sound of a singing bird,
the sound of a car engine,
or whether the customer service lady is nice on the phone or not.
In some way, my career choice was almost inevitable;
I became a sign language interpreter.
Although I made a conscious choice at age 21,
I was doing this job since I was three years old.
That's when I remember becoming fluent in sign language,
my second mother tongue or rather mother hand.
Being raised by deaf parents taught me so many things.
First, I learned to love other people's eyes;
I adore to make eye contact.
Why? Because they listen with eyes.
If I want to know what my mum says to me, I must see her face, her hands,
listen to her emotions, her voice, the sound she makes.
And when I make an eye contact, I give a clear message:
"I'm listening carefully."
And do you know what else I like to do?
Read without words.
You see, all of us are like books.
We can be read without speaking out about how we feel or what we think.
Once, while doing my job, I had to go to a court.
A deaf person was arrested for murder, and the court reviewed the case.
Of course, the judge read out the defendent's rights and obligations,
and he was very strict, so my interpreting was strict as well.
I was concentrating on how the judge was acting,
so I made clear to the deaf person how serious the situation is.
Suddenly, the person I was translating to was not looking at me anymore
but gazing around.
Of course, I could try to draw his attention back to me,
but that would mean I'm not concentrating on what the judge says.
The deaf person was finally arrested for murder;
at that moment, my duty was to focus exclusively on the deaf man.
Sitting in the court in front of all those people
who decide what kind of punishment to order to a deaf criminal
takes all of my attention
because I must see him, I must express his emotions
as if they were mine,
in order to carry correct message between two worlds:
the deaf and the hearing.
And also his body language
helped me not to get lost in translations and emotions.
Like I almost did once.
I had to take a deaf person to the doctor's.
We waited in the line,
we watched all those people sitting with a smile on their face,
and we were talking about the weather outside.
Finally, we got into the examination room.
"Hello, my name is Elza, I'm a sign language interpreter.
This is Baiba, she's deaf;
so today, I will help you to understand each other."
Standard questions were asked, blood samples were analyzed,
and then the doctor looked at me, at Baiba,
gave her something to read, and then whispered to me,
"She has cancer, but maybe don't tell her now."
I was left speechless
because my job was to take that situation as neutral as I could
and interpret everything in the conversation,
and, of course, put aside my own opinion, but I didn't.
I told the patient everything.
Yes, sometimes it takes me to be brave enough to do the right thing,
though it may be unprofessional.
Talking about braveness.
On a warm spring day, I went to the store with my mum.
We took a bus,
and in the front seats of the bus, there were a bunch of kids.
After a few seconds,
they noticed that me and my mum are using sign language.
After another few seconds,
they tried to copy it, like they were mocking it,
but it was really wrong.
So, yes, you can be a clown,
but I was brave enough to go to them and offer to help.
"Hey, perhaps I may help you how to use the sign language
so one day you could speak to real deaf people."
The children were shocked and unable to utter a word.
And now, I wish to teach you something, but first I need a volunteer.
Anyone?
Oh, great!
Haralds Burkovskis: I will.
Elza Volonte: Great.
(Applause)
Please, watch me and repeat after me.
Hello.
Everybody, everybody ...
Nice
to meet
you.
You're doing really great. Let's repeat.
HB: Should I repeat?
EV: Yes, of course.
Hello.
Nice
to meet
you.
Great, except one thing - the sign "you," not "go away."
So, next time when you meet a deaf person, be brave, talk to them!
Pay very close attention to their body language and eye contact,
and try to truly listen.
Thank you.
(Applause)