I spent a bit over five years at the National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders (NIDCD), one of many institutes at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland.
My NIDCD career began in October 1998, the time when there were just two of us, Denise and me. We moved from Ann Arbor, Michigan to Bethesda, and Denise was already pregnant with our twin daughters. It was an exciting time, though in retrospect, I wish we had resided longer in Ann Arbor. But hindsight is always 20/20.
For my last few years at NIDCD, I had one American Sign Language (ASL) interpreter almost every day so that I would not have missed much of scientific tattle among my fellow peers working at several neighborly laboratories. We all shared the same kitchen, and we’d go there for meals and/or coffee breaks. Scientific research is often tedious and sometimes frustrating, especially when one works harder and yet shows very little productivity. That was one major criticism of mine from my NIDCD mentor, Bechara, who was already mentioned infamously in a work of nonfiction by his old rival from Northwestern University.1
One would think that having an ASL interpreter almost every day would help me enhance my research career, but it didn’t. There was a great amount of scientific feedback among us research fellows, but the interpreter rarely would get me involved during such discussion. Whenever there was a formal meeting or a planned seminar, the interpreter would come, and there would be no problem. But whenever there was an impromptu gathering, the interpreter might hear about it but couldn’t determine if it was important for me to join there, especially since he or she knew next to nothing about Hearing Research.
For me, I usually didn’t hear an informal meeting coming up, and for almost all such meetings, I was left out. It put me in a tough spot, because I didn’t know how to respond to such a situation. How could I determine whether or not it was important? Did my fellow researchers make an effort to include me, or were they afraid to invite me, because they felt my being part of the meeting might complicate such a meeting? Or they weren’t confident enough to chat with me alone, much less in a discussion group? Would my ‘deaf voice’2 bother one or more fellows? Would my interpreter signing be too much of a distraction during such a meeting?
Towards the end of my NIDCD career, my peer Lanier admitted to me that I had missed out a great deal, even with an ASL interpreter. I just wish that she had told me much earlier during my stay at NIDCD so that the interpreter and I could have discussed up a better plan. It still upsets me whenever I think of that – I could’ve accomplished much more than I did at that point or even now.
Note that I gave the title ‘The Lesser of Two Evils’ again to this blog. Well, the first part described my and Denise’s non-participation during one particular family discussion.3 This time, I’m talking about my participation during one impromptu meeting with Devin the interpreter and other research fellows. We all had lunch at the cafeteria, and we discussed something scientific. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, but while we had our lunches, Bechara had a meeting with his chief, Bob. They had worked in adjacent laboratories for many years at NIDCD, and yet they had not collaborated in any study for over 15 years. I knew they didn’t like each other much, but I kind of hoped they’d co-author at least one paper during my time. They eventually published five papers in the 2000s before Bob’s untimely passing. Three of those publications occurred when I worked at Bechara’s lab.
After his meeting with Bechara, Bob huffed and puffed through the cafeteria. He said something clearly enough that everyone but I could hear him. They laughed it out, but Devin knew I didn’t follow it. Bob saw that too, and asked Devin not to interpret anything to me. Devin replied to Bob, “Sorry, it’s my job to interpret everything that’s being said in any room where Henry is sitting.” Defeated, Bob walked out, and Devin signed to me not only about his brief conversation with Bob but also that Bob just called Bechara a son of a bitch.
That term may seem trivial to people with typical hearing. They’d often hear ‘son of a bitch’ and other slang terms many times during similar informal gatherings, but for deaf participants in a group conversation with people with typical hearing, it was a rarity. It was a truly pivotal moment for me at NIDCD, even it had nothing to do with science!
References
1Dallos, P. (2020) I was here!: Life, science and art in turbulent times.: Dallos, Peter: 9798654897411: Amazon.com: Books.
2Adler, HJ (2020) Frustration Spectrum on Speech – Welcome (the-eagle-ear.com).
3Adler, H.J. (2021) The Lesser of Two Evils – Welcome (the-eagle-ear.com).
Hi Henry…thanks for this….one other remarkable thing is that he didn’t want that remark interpreted! It was OK for everyone to know what he said in real time, but to have it communicated to you through an interpreter somehow must have embarrassed him. Perhaps because it accentuated his rudeness. Your post is very helpful to understand some of the texture of interactions in the hearing world that you missed by not having a permanent interpreter basically interpreting as much as possible all the time…
Hi Ed, thanks for your comment. You should read the previous blog, “The Lesser of Two Evils.” The result of that blog was the opposite of the one you just described — it put my parents in a difficult spot, but it was the right thing for them to do.
I read both essays. Part 2 compels me to hypothesize a similar but opposite situation. Imagine a women’s studies research group, where there was only one woman in the program. And that woman was more or less excluded and ignored by all of her male colleagues. Though, a woman’s studies research group with only a single, ignored and excluded woman would obviously be absurd to all impartial observers today.
However, on the other hand, a deaf Harvard graduate working at an Institute on Deafness, being treated the very same way is completely acceptable to other equally educated persons. There’s clearly a lack of critical thinking, self-criticism and even a lack of common sense among our educated class. No wonder so many Americans are sick of scientists. Frankly, Though I’m a firm believer in science. I don’t blame them one bit. Our educated class has failed us on so many levels. Oy Vey …
That’s a typical example (or two) of tokenism. You can find a reference on tokenism if you go to my blog, Why I Chose Neuroscience over Marine Biology, in the same site. That blog has a reference with its link at its very end, and you can open it there.