 I'm Freda Norman, your host. I want to welcome you to the fourth program in our series, American Culture, The Deaf Perspective. In this program, we will be surveying minorities within the deaf community. America is made up of many minority groups, and one of these is the deaf community. And within this community are members who identify themselves with more than one culture. They will be talking to us about what it's like to be a minority within the deaf community. Their cross-cultural perspectives will provide us with some unique insights. Now what do I mean by minority? There are four basic characteristics that identify minority group. I'll explain each by applying the criteria to deaf society. First, the group shares a common physical or cultural characteristic, such as color of skin or language. Deaf people share not only the common physical characteristic of deafness, but also its own language, American Sign Language. Second, individuals identify themselves primarily as members of the specific group, as does the rest of society. We who are deaf see ourselves as a distinct group, and society also defines us separately. Third, members of a minority frequently face discrimination, and discrimination has certainly been an integral part of the deaf experience. And finally, there's a general tendency to marry within one's own group. Among deaf individuals, this is very common, approximately 80% of all deaf marriages are deaf marrying deaf. However, the deaf community is by no means a homogenous group. By focusing upon a few individuals, we'll sample a variety of deaf minority experiences. I feel part of many cultures, because I'm Hispanic, deaf, a woman, and hard of hearing. When I was young, I went to a public school, and people saw me primarily as being deaf, because I wore a hearing aid and had a speech problem. Later at the school for the deaf, I was placed in the remedial class, not because I was deaf, but because I was Hispanic. My Hispanic family thought, oh no, female and deaf. They were afraid I wouldn't be able to marry and have a family. So they sent me to Gallaudet College, hoping that at least I'd get an education and a job. I feel at home in the deaf community. It's easy to communicate, and they accept me as I am. There's less prejudice, it seems, to me among deaf Americans. I think that's because they're less exposed to the stereotyping that occurs in the hearing world. My identification with deaf societies helped me to become more independent, to think for myself, to do what I want, to feel what I want. I'm accepted as Hispanic, deaf, a woman, and hard of hearing. I can be myself. I'm Cuban. We moved to Miami when I was three years old. My parents never explained the relationship between Cuba and America, or why we moved, until my grandmother came. I didn't know anything was wrong. I remember going to the airport to meet her, and noticed she didn't have any luggage. It seemed strange. I knew something was wrong. The only thing communicated was Castro bad, Castro bad. I had to figure it out for myself. When I meet another deaf Cuban, my first response is great. We're both deaf and we're both Cuban. I want to connect with them, but when I try, I meet resistance. Their lack of formal education makes it difficult to really communicate, especially Cubans who've come here later in life. They're set in their ways and are overwhelmed by the differences here. They could accept me more if they had come younger. In American deaf society, the most important thing is that you're deaf, and it doesn't matter if you're black or Chinese or whatever, that you are deaf and can sign. That is most important. In Cuban culture, you have to be Cuban, dress the same, act the same, but it's too late for me. I'm obviously Americanized even in the way I dress. I feel it's my responsibility to take what I've learned of American ways and pass it on. But others are afraid to let go of their Cuban traditions. In Cuba, there's no such thing as a deaf professional. Just one more reason why I'm seen as an outsider. When I was about five years old, I was in a fire. As a result, I became deaf. And if you're wondering about the scars on my hands, they're obviously from the fire too. Anyway, I went to a public school until I was 10. Then I transferred to a school for the deaf. I never really learned anything in public school. The teachers gave me passing grades just because I was deaf. Deaf school was segregated. All black, all deaf. There weren't any students who were blind or had other disabilities. Even the teachers were black. But none of them were deaf. There was all, I'd say, only one teacher who was any good at sign language. He was one of my, quote, role models. I was there until I was maybe 18 years old. I know it seems pretty old, but around that time, they started having integrated schools. And they required me to transfer to another deaf school. An all white one. This all happened back in the South, in Georgia. Unlike the black deaf schooled, where I'd lived in the dorm, I had to commute to this one. At first, I was a bit nervous, but I kept telling myself, if the other kids can do it, so can I. I was determined to get through it, and I did. You can imagine my surprise to find out I was the first black woman to pass a God of Deaf college interest exam. I know it shocked me. Really, that first year was a hard one, because there was a lot of hostilities toward me. But I said to myself, just think positive. How I feel, how I think, is different from what my parents taught me. What society taught me. I think for myself now, deciding what's right and what's wrong. I stand up for myself and can confront anyone I see doing something wrong. Before I would have been scared to death. If someone said, by doubt, I bowed. No way they're going to bother me. I can stand up to anyone. I could tell even the president he's wrong. If I had to. When I was a little girl, I remember my family taking me back to the deaf school. We always made dropping me off a family event. And this time, my grandmother came along. She's an American Indian and hearing. My parents are both deaf. Anyway, we all went together to school. At the dorm, one of the girls kept staring at my grandmother. I've always been proud of my grandmother. But the girl turned to me and she started making fun of her saying, she's just a dirty, stinking Indian. Indians, they're no good. And she kept on insulting her. I felt so hurt, so confused. I loved my grandmother. But I thought, why is she an Indian? Why should I have to be an Indian? I felt such conflict. Grandma was an Indian like me, only hearing. And my deaf friends were like another family. Their insults just tore me apart. I was deaf like them. Indian like her. It was very confusing. It was very upsetting. Much later, those same feelings still haunted me. Because I wanted to become politically active. And I faced a difficult decision. I could align myself with the American Indian movement. But did I really belong there? All of its members were hearing. And besides, my relatives were already involved. I felt it was more their movement. Since they're both Indian and hearing. They didn't need me. And the deaf community did. I felt a need to be involved in the deaf movement. I feel a sense of solidarity with the deaf. So I'm putting my efforts there. I decided, for me, it's more important to devote myself to the deaf movement than the Indian movement. Steve, do you feel the deaf community discriminates against the deaf-blind community? It seems as though the deaf community discriminates against the deaf-blind community. First, there's a problem of the deaf community not accepting deaf-blind people. I think for the same reasons as they don't accept hearing people. Deaf people who grew up in residential schools are accustomed to an all-deaf environment. An insular environment. When they leave school, they have difficulty adjusting to people different from them. They have a hard time trusting hearing people who, to them, seem so worldly, and often fear hearing people will take advantage of them. Also, I think another reason deaf people don't feel comfortable with deaf-blind people is that they don't know what to do with us. Because we're deaf, they feel an obligation toward us that they resent. It's a conflict for them. As a result, deaf-blind people are socially excluded from the deaf community. So we miss out on the kind of support we need, along with opportunities to socialize or communicate. The deaf-blind are left out. And I also think the deaf community looks at deaf-blind people as being primarily part of the blind community. Not the deaf, which isn't so. Deaf-blind people really belong to the deaf world because we can sign. Communicate. That's our link with the culture. I remember 41 years ago when I was nine years old, soldiers marched into town and posted notices informing Japanese Americans that they must attend a meeting. At that time, I didn't know the reason for the meeting and I didn't understand. During the days that followed, we were given vaccination shots. Then I was taken to Arizona. I did not know the name of the town and I didn't know why I was going. The next day, we packed all of our belongings. I never did know the reason for the transfer or where we were going or even the time we were leaving. All I could do was just wait. When we finished packing, we took a train to Klamath Falls. An agent met us at the station and took us to Tule Lake Camp. By the time we arrived, we were exhausted. In the following weeks, I started school. At this camp, there was a special class with about 15 deaf students. They taught us to read, write, just a few words, to play piano and clean the mouse cage. Oh yeah, we played softball and went hiking. We were taken from Tule Lake to another relocation camp in Jerome, Arkansas. We had to go because my mother was going to have a baby and the camp had a hospital. We stayed in Jerome for one year. At the school there, we had a deaf teacher who stayed for only three months. One year later, we were moved to yet another camp, Ruer Place. At that camp, there were no teachers, no schools. Only two women who would appear once a week to tutor us in reading and writing. Things continued that way until the war ended. I'm active in both the hearing gay and the deaf straight communities. I feel more of a bond with the deaf straight community because we're all deaf. We have the same language. My being gay is secondary. I respect deaf straight people regardless of whether they're black, white, whatever. We're all different individuals. I respect you for who you are and I expect no less in return. I think that the main reason that many gay, deaf people are still in the closet is because they're afraid to lose in their jobs as teachers, as dorm supervisors, or as counselors. And in order to hold on to their jobs, they try to keep that part of their lives private, but the community is too small. The hearing community, on the other hand, is so large that people can be openly gay and still be a police officer, be a firefighter, be in Congress, be a senator, or anything else. There is more freedom and there's more possibilities. The deaf community is so tight that gay people don't have the freedom to come out. So you see, it's a totally different reality. I think it's important for the staff in all deaf schools to be sensitive to their kids' sexuality regardless of whether their feelings are gay or straight. They shouldn't come down on the students or even punish them for trying to figure out who they are. They should let the students know it's all right. They should help them. Let them share their feelings with each other. Be supportive. Today, you all are very active fighting for deaf rights. And that's very good. I'm in favor of that. We want a place for the deaf, whether it's in the deaf world or the hearing world. We have many different kinds of cultural and interest groups. But I'm telling you, all of these different cultural and interest groups will eventually merge into just one group. We'll all be under this group's banner because we'll all be senior citizens. You see, when you become a senior citizen, your political work in fighting for deaf rights can finally come to an end. You can pass on your work to the younger people. Let them follow in your footsteps. You know, when I was younger, we didn't have what you have today. No. Deaf people didn't fight for accessibility. We had very little contact with the hearing world. You see, we concentrated our efforts on improving the deaf world. So, we established the National Association of the Deaf, the National Fraternal Society for the Deaf, the California Association of the Deaf, and other state associations. But nowadays, we don't limit ourselves. We'll fight with anyone for the betterment of our lives, for making ourselves happier. That's a very important difference. Today, national leaders no longer view deaf people as second-class citizens, but as equals. Leaders are now helping us to secure our civil rights, to prevent discrimination in employment, in education, and in entertainment. As an example, today, you can see television programs that have closed captioning, which began only very recently. When I was a youngster, we never had that kind of entertainment. We also now have captioned film and subtitled movies. We have plenty of sign language interpreters to help us communicate with hearing people. During my time, we had none of these things. Now, Joanne, I understand that you were involved with the ERA movement. I'm really curious about it. I'd like to know more. I was involved in the International Women's Year Conference in Texas in 1977 or 1978. I went with a coalition of disabled women, including those who were blind, physically disabled, and in wheelchairs. We went as a contingent. All told, there were about 20,000 women delegates from all over the United States who gathered together. There was a full range of issues discussed and voted upon for several days. Our group had a resolution regarding disabled women's rights. Since we haven't had many rights as women and even fewer as disabled women, we wanted to fight to demand all rights for parity. Everyone was active, discussing and voting upon each special interest issue throughout the conference. We kept waiting for our resolution, and finally, on the last day, when it came to the floor, many delegates had already gone. I'd say only 300 of the 20,000 were left. That made me stop and think, what's happening here? I turned to my coalition to find out why there was so little interest. Their response was, it just shows you what other women's attitudes towards us as disabled women are like. It struck me that we have a double discrimination to face, as women and as disabled women. It really threw me to realize the general attitude towards us as women and disabled women is that bad. Yeah, but you know, I think it's important. We have to remember that we are here for one reason, and for one reason only, for deaf women's rights. We have to come together as one, and when we do that, we can focus our energy on women's rights. If we're successful, then we'll have our own deaf women's group. We can bring about change, I know it. But if we hesitate, or if we hold back, well, then we're not going to be able to make any progress. Well, I don't know if I could participate in any group exclusive to deaf women. I'm already active in different organizations, and I'm more comfortable in groups that have both deaf and hearing women. I feel like it's a better way to get information, a better way to improve myself. Then I can come back to my friends and other deaf women in the community, bringing them this new information which can help us raise our consciousness. That's my way of doing it. Yeah, I agree. I also find that sharing personal experiences has been very helpful for me. Lois? Yes, but if I were an Asian woman, I don't know if I would be interested in joining an all-white deaf women's group. I don't know the white world. As a black woman, I'm not sure I'd be interested. My people have their own culture, and I would feel more comfortable being with women of my own culture. I think I'd get more out of it. Yes, I might feel more comfortable in my own cultural group, and there are a lot of groups that are forming along racial lines. But I think it's important we need to join together, regardless of our cultural differences, and concentrate upon being deaf women. We can be strong if we pool our collective resources, our perceptions, and the contributions from each of our races. If we could make it work, it would be great. In this series, American culture, the deaf perspective, we've been able through each program to explore the richness and diversity of our culture. Just as our logo symbolizes, our programs have been a video excursion through our past and present, allowing us to observe our heritage from a deaf perspective. Throughout, we've seen deaf people talk about their experiences, their history, and their traditions. It is often difficult for people to study themselves with objectivity, but we've had a special opportunity in this series, American culture, the deaf perspective, to take a close look at ourselves through disciplines of the humanities. Through the study of cultures, we can gain a deeper understanding of ourselves as members of a group and as individuals. Once gained, this insight helps us to transcend our differences and acknowledge the unifying elements of all human experience.