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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 *** 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. 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]