Popular media outlets pay scant attention to the deaf community, and on the rare occasion that is does the reports are often clothed in raggedly mundane observations dressed up in hyperbole. Therefore, when I heard that a new documentary on sign language was being screened in Columbus, I was eager and skeptical at the same. “Voices from El-Sayed” is an honest and simple portrait of life in a Bedouin community in southern Israel, which claims the highest rate of deafness in the world. As a result, sign language is prevalent throughout the community, not just for deaf residents but for the hearing residents, as well, thus avoiding the linguistic isolation and oppression experienced by many deaf individuals around the world.

The movie is filmed deliberately yet passionately by a director that is clearly invested in this project. Oded Adomi Leshem is a young Israeli filmmaker from Tel Aviv, who, in his comments following the screening, demonstrated an admirable sense of justice, not only for the subjects of his film but for the Muslim Bedouin people with whom he interacted. The movie is mostly thoughtful and patient, and when there is action is almost always happens in the foreground, intensifying the visual scene. (Think of the more intense ausbergers-esce moments of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close but without the special effects.) 

Is there anything not to like about this modest and sincere film? With no disrespect to the film itself or its director, the film did not break out of the mold I’ve come to expect from popular representations of the Deaf community. The film is unreflexive at several moments, raising the viewers awareness that the film is not innocently made, but made through the eyes of someone who finds novelty in ways only a hearing person can. In one scene, the main character is sleeping in a room with a loud generator. The camera pans back and forth between him and the loud generator highlighting - in hyperbolic juxtaposition - the inability of the main character to hear.

The story of Oded Adomi Leshem's involvement in this film, which he explain afterwards, confirms this suspicion. He was driving through the desert and stopped off in a village at a bedouin grocer for food when he noticed children signing with one another. He was fascinated and followed them down the path, increasingly intrigued by what he might only have understood as gestures at the time. He later found out that deafness was common in this community and sign language was prevalent throughout hearing and deaf residents. He returned cameraless at first, and then gradually obtained approval by those residents to be filmed. Clearly his personal sincerity is not in question, but this kind of “ah-ha!” filmography is well-rewarded (okay, probably not that well-rewarded) in a society that is generally just ignorant enough about people who are deaf to be wowed by such self-congratulatory revelations.

The take home point for me is that despite decades now of academic research, ASL classes in college, popular movies and literature, religious programs in sign language, and K-12 mainstreaming, people who are deaf are still widely viewed as exceptions, novelties, peaceful savages, and canvasses for cosmopolitan (hearing) people to paint their anxieties upon. But don't let that completely dissuade you; we all have to start somewhere. And Leshem's movie is as good or better than most. Just please don't watch the movie and feel like you now "understand" the lives of people who are Deaf.

***This entry is cross-posted from DeafGeographies.weebly.com on 05/07/2011. Please visit that website for more information.***

by Austin Kocher

I was reminded last night of an important reason why I believe this Deaf geography group is important.

I went to a Deaf mingle last night here in Columbus, Ohio for the first time in a few months. It was satisfying to catch up with old friends and to be social again. I am always amazed by the ability of such a simple event to create a Deaf space on a Friday night in the middle of an otherwise hearing pub. Beginning signers huddled together at tables hoping someone would come by ask them their name. (YOUR NAME, WHAT?) Eager interpreting students flock to fluent signers for a much-needed immersion experience. Deaf teachers and professionals enjoy a beer and full-on conversation after a week of working in hearing offices. Many people will live their whole lives in Columbus and overlook the rich spaces of Deaf cultural that coalesce and dissolve rhythmically each week across the city.

At the mingle, I met an interpreting student who was both excited and concerned about becoming an interpreter. She was excited about learning a specialized, socially relevant, cognitively demanding skill that provided communication access to Deaf and hearing relationships. But she was understandably concerned about being in a position where, as a communication facilitator, she would always be re-presenting other people's ideas and not her own. Being an interpreter entails both empowering others through communication and losing one's own ability to be recognized as a full and valued participant. It is a contradiction that interpreters regularly acknowledge and do their best to mitigate in their careers. Some interpreters move on to coordinator positions or find opportunities to teach or present workshops, while others mix interpreting with another hobby or professional skill. It can even be the source of vicarious trauma when interpreting in crisis-oriented environments or when witnessing repeated discrimination. Some leave the field completely and never look back.

Brenda Brueggemann at The Ohio State University writes about "inbetweenity" as a way of navigating the boundaries of identity which are practically fraught with everyday feelings of un-belonging. This can also happen to geography graduate students - like several of us on this site - who regularly have to give an account to our peers that, yes, sign language is a real language and, no, we are not spending our time 'volunteering for the disabled'. On the other hand, we must also give an account to fellow interpreters, Deaf friends and family members, and former workmates about what geography is, the relevance of geography to Deaf studies, and to somehow argue for ourselves that what we do is valuable for interpreting and the Deaf community.

When I was at the AAG in Seattle with the presenters (listed here), I was enormously pleased - as indeed we all were - to not have to start from scratch with each other. We mostly all knew sign language and had years of experience with the Deaf community, albeit in different capacities. We were, therefore, able to make real progress in thinking through the concept of Deaf/DEAF/deaf space and Deaf geographies. One reason (among many) that makes this project important to me, is that it provides us with a community of colleagues who can engage in real discussion about important questions. For me, it gives me an opportunity that I don't have as an interpreter: to make a contribution to the fields of interpreting and Deaf studies through my own signs/voice. 

As this grows, there will always be a need to carefully and respectfully articulate the diverse experience of people who are deaf, Deaf, DEAF, or any other identity we wish to claim for ourselves. We must be willing to address the basic misconceptions that people have about geography and about what it means to be Deaf - just as many of us once held those misconceptions, too. It is nonetheless important to have a place where we can do the work we seek to do in a community of colleagues. I hope that we can create such a place through this project, and that more will join us and challenge us through meaningful discussion in coming years.