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The Rebuttal

Tag: life

  • Hats Off to Interpreters

    adefinty2

    Hello, I am Gary Kerridge author of The Rebuttal. Today my article is called “Hats Off To Interpreters.” Today’s article is really about interpreters. However, before I talk about interpreters I will talk a little bit about myself.

    Ok, I have worked in this space of community services for almost 40 years. I have had many different jobs. I have worked in the NDIS. I have worked in community services. I have worked as an advocate for individuals. I have also supported families. I have worked in employment support and in education.

    Through my work I meet with many people. Sometimes my work with them is great and we achieve good outcomes and that is very rewarding. But, it is not always like that. Why? Because often I witness their pain. I see their trauma.

    Everyday Deaf people all over Australia are experiencing barriers. At hospital they cannot communicate with their doctor. Maybe they need to call an ambulance but they cannot. Sometimes their NDIS is cut or Centrelink cut their benefits. Sometimes they need specialist counselling about their deafness but they cannot find a counsellor that understands deafness.

    Many have different barriers and are experiencing trauma because of these barriers. Some of them tell me their stories about sexual abuse. Some tell me about their experience of domestic violence. I see their frustration and anger because their income has been cut by Centrelink. I see many people frustrated because the NDIS has cut their support. Through my work I witness many things.

    When I see their trauma and they describe to me their experience, I feel it too. This is called vicarious trauma. Whether it’s NDIS, Centrelink, personal issues or whatever – I feel it too! How do I survive this?

    Well, I need self care. How? Sometimes I speak with my boss and offload my experience to them. Sometimes I speak with colleagues and seek their advice and empathy. Sometimes I have sought professional support through counsellors and my works EAP. In this way I can discuss issues with a neutral person. Sometimes, I just take a break and go for a walk. Self care is important.

    I am not made of stone. The experience and trauma of the people that I work with impacts me. For me to survive and continue in my work, it means I must look after myself. If I didn’t do that, it is unlikely I would have survived 40 years in this job.

    Let’s forget about me for the time being and talk about interpreters. Many people think that interpreters have this cushy job. They get to interpret theatre or rock concerts. They get to interpret emergency announcements on TV. They are almost super hero’s.

    This is far from the case. They have to do a variety of jobs. They interpret at hospitals. They have to interpret at the NDIS. They interpret at Centrelink. They have to interpret at counselling appointment’s. They do mental health and marriage counselling appointments. They witness relationship breakdowns, sexual abuse and domestic violence.

    Like me they see and feel the trauma of the people that they support. Like me, they experience vicarious trauma.

    Recently, Expression Australia released their Auslan Emergency Interpreting App. This app allows Auslan users to dial 000 and connect with ambulance, fire or police in the same way that hearing people do. This happens through an Auslan interpreter. If you have an emergency like a car crash or a heart attack you now can call 000 with an Auslan interpreter. It is fantastic. Congratulations to Expression Australia on this terrific initiative.

    Recently, I spoke to an Auslan interpreter about this app. They said that they would never, ever work as an interpreter in this service. I was a little bit taken aback.

    They explained to me that the emergency calls would be extremely visual. Imagine, for example, someone involved in a car crash. They call for an ambulance. They might be severely injured with blood pouring everywhere. The interpreter will experience and see everything.

    Or they may receive a call from a person experiencing abuse and need the police. Through the call they will see the stress and trauma of the caller. They may actually through the call hear and see the abuse happening. Someone might have attempted suicide and are calling for assistance, the interpreter will see and experience all of this.

    My friend, the interpreter, said that there is no way that they could cope with that. The trauma would be too much. So they have taken a decision to never work in that environment. They made the point that the visual aspect is so much more impactful than just hearing things over the phone. Good on them in recognising these important issues.

    It made me wonder, wonderful as AEI is, have they considered the support that the interpreters will need in dealing with the stressful situations that they will experience. Counselling? Peer support? Debriefing? All these things need careful consideration.

    I am confident Expression Australia are across all these things. I know that the interpreting and Deaf relationship is a symbiotic one. One can not exist without the other. However, I really empathise with just how difficult and complex interpreting can be.

    That’s why I say – Hats off to interpreters!

    With respect!

  • Silence Was My Way of Surviving ~ By Donovan Vincent Cresdee.

    adefinty2
    Image is of a little boy in old convict uniform. he has a convict cap and the number 207693 on the front. The image is super imposed to make it look like he is standing out the front of St Marys Portsea school.

    I have known Don for many years. He has a PhD so is more correctly a Doctor. He has worked hard over many years for the Deaf community and is an absolute icon. This is part of his story and I am proud to share it. With his permission.

    When I was boarding at St. Mary’s School for the Deaf, people often called me “the quiet boy.” Older girls said it, my Deaf family said it. But the truth? I wasn’t naturally that quiet. I just didn’t speak orally, and I didn’t sign in that environment either.

    I think my dad believed I got my quietness from my mum. She grew up with language deprivation too, and it made her reserved and soft-spoken (and not because she signed quietly, she just didn’t say much). But in my case, I don’t think it was inherited. It was shaped by the school’s oral-only rules and the punishments that came if you broke them. Still, maybe my father had a point. I’ll talk more about my personality, especially my quietness and shyness and how these traits might have been switched on by an epigenetic marker in my next Facebook post.

    When I was about four, I started questioning who I was. At home, I used Auslan naturally. It was my language. But one day at school, after being punished for signing, a nun and a priest used a few signs to tell me Auslan was banned. I didn’t fully understand why, but I understood enough: signing was not allowed.

    So I made a choice no speaking, no signing at school. Silence became my shield. If I stayed quiet, I could avoid punishment. But it came at a cost. I couldn’t follow instructions or keep up with conversations by lipreading, so I often ended up in trouble anyway.

    When I left St. Mary’s at eight, my personality slowly shifted. Over the years, my quietness turned into defensiveness, stubbornness, and sometimes even anger. Later, learning about the history of oralism and language deprivation helped me change again. I became more assertive, calmer, and more patient. I even learned to forgive people who still choose to communicate only through speech.

    But the triggers never fully go away. I remember once going to a police station and asking the officer for a pen and paper. She gave me a look that “you’re stupid” look just because I couldn’t lipread. Another time, about ten years ago, I was at the funeral of my lifelong friend Barry Priori’s oldest oral-deaf brother, Peter. When people were offering their condolences to the family, Barry’s brother-in-law told me I should “learn oral and lipreading.” In that moment, it all came flooding back, the judgment, the exclusion, the feeling of being “less than.”