April 2007 Archives

I haven’t been able to make much progress reading The Scientists since the long return flight from Sydney, let alone blog about it. I’ve gotten to the turn of 19th century (late 1700s - early 1800s), and Young’s double-slit light experiment. Assuming the laws of physics apply to human behavior (and why wouldn’t they, since they encompass everything else in the universe?), I find this experiment fascinating. It’s historic note for science is that it provided the proof that light is composed of waves, not particles, but I am intrigued by the way it interacts with itself in the double-slit experiment to create an interference pattern: a sequence of alternating light and shade. The light (from two different sources or directions, the separate slits) results from the peaks of each wave adding together, marching in step, being aligned. The dark spacings are not – as one might guess – where the valleys of each wave converge, but when “the waves from the two slits are out of step with each other (out of phase) so the peak in one wave is cancelled by the trough in the other wave” (2002: 405).

Young explained how to calculate the exact spacing of the resulting light/dark pattern based on the light’s wavelength, calculable by measuring the width of the strips. I haven’t yet wrapped my head around the formula (it seems to be a straightforward proportional equation; the interference link enables play in order to see the results). Nonetheless, two points gripped me: one, that darkness is the result of adding beams of light, and two, this elegant notion: “The middle (of the pattern) is always light” (Thomas Young, in Gribbin, p. 406).

Perhaps I stretch too far to suggest that one person’s “light” (soul, spirit, mind, intellect, intuition) can “cancel out” another’s, but it seems to me this is what occurs in relationships as individuals undulate along a continuum (wavelengths?) of intimacy. Young’s quote includes something about “bright stripes on each side…at such distances”, which I think means at the edges of the patterns. I guess the two-slit experiment is always a matter of light enclosing spaces of darkness rather than darkness at the boundaries limiting light. This is worth further thought. :-) Of course, the experiment is predicated, actually, on a single source of light that is shone through first a single slit in one barrier, and then a double slit in the second, so my analogy may break down at the most crucial point.

Unless one imagines that all life originates from a common source . . . or . . . that peak intimacy/enmity (closeness) occurs when the "middles" of each respective interference pattern overlap. There is less connection (relatedness) when waves at the trough encounter waves at the peak - interactions that cancel each other out = a zero sum?

I was lucky enough to catch the last day of this Aboriginal artist’s exhibit at the Contemporary Museum of Art in Sydney, Australia (because I skipped the closing ceremony at the Critical Link conference, oops). But what I saw instead!

My favorite works: Merrewoon County (waterhole), Janterrji (Dolly Hole 2003), and Lightening Creek (2004). Just enough time has passed (since I was physically there, on 15 April) that I’m not sure of all the cryptic arrows in my notes, but it seems that Merrewoon Country is about the spearing of the crocodile. My favorite is Boonoonggoowirrin, (lower left image), “which invites us to think about how we perceive the world.” I sat a long time absorbing the play of perspective in this piece.

There were paintings about the Emu Dreaming Cycle (how day and night were created), and a few of Mt. King, depicting a “complex web of relations.” I was especially intrigued by the fact that Aboriginals conceive of time in spatial terms:

“The interrelationship between painting, country, and dreamings…is complex. Time is not conceived in a linear way, as in Western culture, but spatially, incorporating memory, tradition, history, and contemporary activities and events with the rhythms of the land, through changing seasons and conditions, providing an underlying structure. Ancestral beings formed the features of the land and are embodied in them, continuing to effect the present. The stories of these traveling beings and t heir relations to particular sties are evoked in painting, which renews and regenerates the connection of artist to country.” (From the audiopresentation accompanying Paddy Bedford’s exhibit.)

More paintings are on exhibit at Mora Galleries, Raft Artspace, Artdaily.org, Art Right Now2, and there is an exhibition catalogue. (I can wander among these for a long time!

Waloorrji (Big Wind Dreaming) Winterrji (Police Rock Hole)

There are some stunning black-and-white photos of the artist and others at Monsoon Australia.

This color photo shows a man upon whom the world has etched itself deeply.

(I sent a bunch of these gorgeous giftcards around.)

Do we have enough vocabulary to specify the unique relationship that writing teachers form with students? Do we need a precise specification of what the relationship ought to be in order to be the best that we can be as instructors, mentors, even "nurses" to undergraduate writing students? The notion of being a nurse was raised by a colleague based on the pedagogy of Paulo Freire:

"...Freire [has a] strong aversion to the teacher-student dichotomy . . . what Freire suggests is that a deep reciprocity be inserted into our notions of teacher and student. Freire wants us to think in terms of teacher-student and student-teacher; that is, a teacher who learns and a learner who teaches, as the basic roles of classroom participation."

We're struggling with the aftermath of the mass killing at Virginia Tech. What does such an horrific event mean for us as teachers? Could anything have prevented the tragedy? Would we recognize the potential danger? If so, is any action possible that would make a difference? And if there was an action, would it not also depend on language?

How much are we willing to say?

I had to ask my partner in crime about this. Strong Minor Bridge The Brilliant explains:

"Ordibehesht is a month in the Persian calendar, and 1386 is the current year (2007 in our Gregorian era). And Ordibehesht overlaps parts of our April and May. Ordibehesht ends on May 21 - so that's "the end of Ordibehesht 1386."

Yes, I'm still trying to get to Iran and isn't it cool they use a solar calendar? :-)

I forgot to include this speech by Nikki Giovanni at last week's Virginia Tech Memorial Service in yesterday's post.

Her talk is moving. She effectively contexts this tragedy with all the other tragedies being experienced even now, this moment, by families and communities around the world. A friend last night reflected on his own reaction to the event, his surprise at the depth of shock and surprise so many feel. And indeed, the shock is deep. That we - Americans - can be so stunned by senseless violence illustrates how insulated we are from the indescribable acts violence occurring regularly around the globe, sometimes even in our name.

While I don't think any one person could have done the magic thing that would have stopped Cho, I do think his actions give us an opportunity to reflect on the way our social system operates. His action occurs in a context - and I don't mean the immediate environment of the English Department at Virginia Tech, indeed, their efforts seem laudable. I do not know what else, what more, the faculty and students who knew Cho could have done. When I say "context", I mean the larger, macrosocial forces that establish such incredible stakes for survival, such extreme differences in access to goods and pleasure, and the constant pressure of figuring out where one will fit in the economic machine and be the least grinded by it.

As long as our system is as ruthless as it (and the current form of capitalism is as heartless as a system can be), it will inevitably bring pressure on particular individuals who will crack. Cho was not just an extremely unhappy and distressed individual; he is the blatant and incontrovertible evidence of the "hidden" costs of neoliberal capitalism.

I asked my students yesterday if they had discussed what happened at Virginia Tech in any of their other classes. They shook their heads, no. Do you want to? They nodded, yeah.

We covered and added to some of the ironies named (in an email, below) by Virgina Tech English Professor Paul Heilker, including the "wrong way" the television media is going about reporting, such as potentially fueling copycat crimes, leaping to the politics of gun control, and competing for audience attention by packaging the news as entertainment.

Questions arose about the intersection of democracy (individual rights to, for instance, confidentiality) and general safety (how could this have been prevented?) Students wondered if UMass might create some new kind of policy, but we puzzled over what that policy might cover: when do principles of disclosure, intuition, and prevention cross the line of freedom and choice? How much do we want university authorities to be able to inform/manage us? Do we want a PA system like most high schools? Videocameras everywhere? Constant surveillance and mutual spying? When does reasonable fear become irrational paranoia? How much control is necessary, desirable?

Of course I wonder what might have been different if Cho's writing for his English classes had been publicly available? What if a wiki or other online technology opened certain spaces of intentional learning to broader scrutiny? What if an audience had been created, or allowed to construct itself, for Cho in a modality he obviously felt able to use to express himself? Why the insistence on speech when writing was how he did make himself accessible?

A NYTimes article from April 19, Anger of Killer Was on Exhibit in His Writings, details efforts by English department faculty and students to intervene and connect with Cho. Some students who did not make much of an effort now wonder if they should or could have done something, or tried harder. While I do agree with another professor English department from Virginia Tech, Edward Falco, that there is "a huge difference between writing about violence and behaving violently", I question the premise that suggests "more of the same" might have succeeded in averting this tragedy. Clearly, what was needed was something else, something different, another mode of communication, varied interlocutors, even a particular type of interlocutor not present or evident to Cho in a graduate level English department.

I am not now interested in Cho. I am intrigued by the range of individual and institutional responses to his action. Can we engage forms of collective responsibility and creative resolution? How deeply can we learn from this event and transform its aftermath from meaningless media hype to co-constructive citizenship?

Olivier set up an online forum for Research in Interpreting Studies: Resources for researchers working in the field of interpreting studies. Let's see if it goes anywhere - feel free to join!

I almost always tip street musicians. At least, I have since beginning to travel in Europe where one encounters them fairly frequently. I give more to those I truly enjoy, but I tip everyone because I like the idea. I wish it happened in the States more often. In fact, I was thrilled last fall when a guy was outside Puru's favorite burrito joint (Bueno y Sano) playing a 12-string guitar (I think that's what it was). You bet I tipped him! Sure, sometimes I can't or don't linger, but it is the idea: art-between-the-moments, squeezed into rush hour, a reminder that pleasure is possible, a reprieve from the cacophony of traffic, cellphonechatter, and silent stares.

I would have loved to have wandered past Joshua Bell during this experiment by The Washington Post.

Honest.

I was talking with Rachel just before the final panel on primary participant’s views on quality in interpreting. I asked if she was going in and she said, “No, we’re going to the ballet. Want to come?”

At the Sydney Opera House? What was I supposed to say?

“We’re leaving now,” she added.

Done. :-)

And what a show it was! Don Quixote: a romantic comedy as perfect prelude to my presentation on Saturday in which I dream of planting seeds to change the world. (shhhhhhhhhhh!)

Henry is as hilarious in person as he was during his spiel on opening professional membership to those least skilled and least qualified individuals whose job performance as interpreters brings down the public perception of the lot of us. (This is the only way to entice them into line, on the principle that “they have to be into you before they’re going to change,” with the caveat that “even then it might not work.”) Hannah is a firebrand: she told me about the Russian grandmothers who buy the least expensive tickets for classical shows, enter early, and watch like hawks for open seats, dashing for the front row just as the curtain rises.

Rachel, lo-and-behold, was a participant in the online conference where Anne Potter and I presented on American Deaf consumers’ perceptions of interpreters’ interrupting or even, unculturally-incorrect, “TAKING OVER.”

En route to the grand venue (which appears alive from up close under the stars), we stopped for a meat pie; a “very Down Under experience.” A bit greasy but rather tasty, similar to fast-food everywhere.

I grinned through most of the entire show by The Australian Ballet. The dancers were talented, the choreography fun, and the music delightful. The Australian Opera and Ballet Orchestra is conducted by Nicolette Fraillon – the first female conductor I’ve witnessed in action! Post-show, we avoided what looked like a gathering sting operation by Australian paramilitary at the train station by exercising the “get out on time (or early)” principle, which is somewhat in contrast to my mode of living “in tomorrow, here.”

;-)

We were welcomed to the country by a member of an Aboriginal group native to the Parramatta area, the Darug. She shared some of her story, sang a song and then was joined by a cousin she called brother for a duet (guitar and didgeridoo). He finished with a solo called “The Hitchhiker,” leaving us in the cab of a tractor-trailer truck driving into the sunset.

The speakers were all passionate about the need for quality and high standards in community interpreting, as well as the need for adequate funding and training. Sandra Hale, Chair of this Critical Link Congress (which has drawn more than 500 delegates, the largest in history) made a nice parallel between the Critical Link and Parramatta. This is the first time the conference has been held in the southern hemisphere, and Parramatta is where the landmark first reconciliation conference the Darug and European settlers was held in 1805.

Professor John Ingleson provided a stellar local idiom: "teaching my grandmother to suck eggs." This morning I met Catherine, a New Zealand Sign Language interpreter, who explained the phrase means teaching someone something obvious, that they already well know how to do. Who would have guessed! (By the way, New Zealand Sign Language became an official national language of the country nearly one year ago: historic!)

The keynote given by Stepan Kerkyasharian was informative and compelling, particularly on the themes of quality of interpretation, adequate funding, and concerns of ethics. In particular, he spoke passionately about interpreter neutrality: that we are "not the guardians of the interests of one party or the other." This is in some contrast to Christopher's talk yesterday about minority language users desire to know that interpreters are working "on behalf of the community" instead of merely in the service of interpreting.

I was interested that both Australian speakers' first comments were in honor of the indigenous people of the land. I've not experienced such recognition in the US unless at an event of, by, and for American Indians or at certain progressive lesbian events. Neat!

I walked to the Opening Ceremony at The Roxy with (Spanish-English interpreters) Nancy, Carmen, Elizabeth and Ron (the token husband). After snarfing down an orange juice and some canapes, I turned in: an early evening.

Claudia Angelelli asked this during the workshop "Program quality in interpreter education." I like it. :-)

According to the list of participants, there are people here from more than thirty countries: Australia, Austria, Belgium, Canada, China, Denmark, England/UK, Finland, France, Iran, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Japan, Jordan, Kenya, Malaysia, Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Peru, Saudi Arabia, Solomon Islands, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Thailand, United Arab Emirates, and the US. Who knows how many languages!

Sydney reminds me of two places, in different ways: first, Hawai’i – the feel of the air, perhaps a faint olfactory recognition, and the presence of palm trees; second, Istanbul – riding the train and looking out on blue sky and the curve of coast along the bay. Walking along a broad pedestrian way toward the conference hotel this morning, I recalled Brussels, even Madrid. Of course there are distinctions, but my American sensibilities take in the similarity of pace and priorities in contrast with the hurry-burry hustle-bustle never-slow-down-and-take-a-break rush of typical days in the States.

I went to the wrong room for the pre-conference (!) but it was fortuitous in one regard: a discursive theme around shifting from linguistic (information-based) transmission-type interpreting to more something else appears to be underway. For instance, Angelelli discussed how interpreting training programs tend to do well in three areas: information-processing, linguistics, and professional conduct; while not yet doing well in the areas of interpersonal communication, setting-specific features, and socio-cultural factors in the intercultural communication process. This was also a theme of the pre-conference (I caught the last half): “Beyond the linguistic conduit” by Izabel Arocha, one of whose final recommendations is that interpreter training programs need to implement "a practice framework instead of a linguist framework."

After lunch (where Helena instigated a last-minute move from the Rockabilly to the Quake, she's also responsible for hooking me up with "the young man" in Marsden), I caught the last ten minutes of Christopher Stone's presentation on "Collective notions of quality of Interpreting: Insights from the British deaf community." As usual he was crisp in delivery and sharp with time management, not to mention being a strong ally. Chris fielded some complicated questions very well, discussing how much more of a "global identity" deaf persons have with deaf people from other parts of the world, and how the UK is fortunate to have so many well-traveled deaf people who can generally establish some level of communication with deaf refugees with unfamiliar signing.

The main point of Christopher's talk was on consumer choice in selecting interpreters (and how this has been diminished by processes of institutionalization - governmental legislation). Jemina Napier (who presented in the first workshop with Angelelli and others), noted the frequency of this emphasis on consumer perception of interpreting services through the conference program. :-)

Hanneke Bot in her presentation, "Quality in interpreting as a shared responsibility," presented a fascinating comparison of three interpreters with different styles in a mental health setting. Her point is to illustrate how necessary it is for the users of interpreting services to participate in repair and be knowledgeable of and responsive to the characteristics of an interpreted situation. She listed four things all USERS need to be aware of and act upon:

1. management of turn-taking
2. the equivalency problem (she quotes Pollard, 2005:265 - a great quote I've seen before about consumers responding to the choices (judgment) of the interpreter, not to any "original" utterance)
3. encourage the interpreter to ask questions (!!!)
4. ask questions and use repair

The main source of communication breakdown was lack of repair - an element that is common to all language-based interaction: even without an interpreter we misspeak, repeat ourselves, add, clarify, and alter things we've said. This should be an integral part of the interpreting process that everyone present, users and interpreters, need to exercise. (Good stuff, Maynard!)

Meanwhile, I’ve seen some LSF (French Sign Language) which seemed almost comprehensible (!) and met a few deaf women and interpreters from Canada (some using ASL as well). I’ve watched some BSL and Auslan from a distance – that two-handed alphabet really throws me off. :-)

For instance, carefully looking at the travel zones to be sure that the week pass I bought (for all trains, ferries, and buses) actually goes all the way out to my hotel! (Not quite, argh! Seems the only way to upgrade it is to go all the way back to the airport!???!) So, my six a.m. decision-making after a twenty-two hour journey is not so hot. :-/

Going on the SBS tour, however, was an excellent idea. :-) They broadcast in sixty-eight languages, which puts them in a class by themselves. They use the phrase “mini-UN”: perhaps this is true in terms of written translation? Yet, it seemed to me that the daily production of so many different language group voices is much closer to the language regime of the European Parliament. SBS does television and radio, with radio described as “the mother of the organization” and subtitling as “the key” to delivering the organization’s charter, which is to “bring the world to Australia.”

Two aspects of the visit captured me: the parallels between subtitling and sign language interpretation, and meeting with Francis Lee, Head of the Cantonese Program for SBS Radio (Sydney).

I have never thought deeply about subtitling as a craft. What struck me today is the challenge of coordinating the written text with the rest of the visual imagery. For instance, coordinating chunks of text with the matching scene is similar to what sign language interpreters do by minimizing visual noise and identifying speakers. Additionally, there are huge challenges in timing and the need to manage - even weed out - various sound inputs: such as overlaps in speaking (turn-taking dynamics), recomposition to work within differential time constraints (it takes longer to read text than to hear speech; just as simultaneous interpreting requires processing time), and having to create sense (meaning) even when speakers utter something extemporaneously that actually doesn’t make sense (all interpreters must do this, not just sign language interpreters).

The SBS also does closed-captioning – only in English – for the Australian Deaf Community. I wanted to ask if they combine closed-captioning with subtitling but the moment did not arise. The presentation was educational concerning the intent to be verbatim and neither give more information than the average non-deaf television watcher would receive nor less; to be cautious of condescension but aware of cues that would be obvious to a hearing (non-deaf) person but not accessible at the same time to a deaf person, such as recognizing George W. Bush’s voice before an image of him appeared visually.

After tea, I tagged along with a few folk who work into Arabic, including Arda (English, Armenian, and Arabic), to check out the Arabic language group’s desk for radio. As luck would have it, there was no one there. :-( Most of the group went downstairs to subtitling but, on a whim, I joined Diana to visit the Cantonese and Mandarin desk. What a happy turn of events! Francis has been fulltime at SBS for fourteen years, prior to that he was an engineer. He entertained my attempt to link homomorphisms to repeating dynamics in social interaction, “That is very abstract!” he said, smiling. Guilty as charged! I picked up a copy of his bilingual (Chinese/English) book on “English Idioms: under the lucky stars”, which I am eager to read and share with a few friends (yes, George, I’m talking about you!)

Diana (who doesn’t need business cards because she already has so much work with Mandarin!) spent most of the time talking with Martin (?), after awhile Francis introduced me to Jennifer, a part-timer. I learned from her that access to spoken language as well as signed language interpretation appears to be a widespread practice in Australia, although underused either because people do not realize the service is available or “trust their friends more.” Seems that the law is much more progressive here than in the US or even most European countries, as she said interpreters are not only available for court proceedings, but also medical (“even private doctors”) and educational (if parents want to find out how their children are doing in school, for instance). Anyway, Jennifer said of Francis, “Life comes your way,” while talking about how he manages to pull in subs when he needs them. I like that saying. :-) The Cantonese desk runs nine, hour-long television show per week. They draw most of their material from English sources and create the shows themselves. The shows are done live with some pre-recorded segments.

I met some nice “Critical Link” people during and just after, including Emmanuelle (researching pragmatics in court interpreting), Gaëlle (an administrative type, hmmmm!), and Helena (who I’ll have to tease next time). Arda introduced me to Micaela (?) over tea; we had an interesting talk about Sign Languages). By the way and talk about serendipity! – the folks at SBS had placed stacks of two volumes near the cakes and cookies for our perusal: their annual report and (go figure!) a report, Connecting Diversity, by Ien Ang and Greg Noble (who was also at the Crossroads conference)! (There are two more co-authors, Jeff Brand and Jason Sternberg.) I glanced through it already and it looks sharp – high production value (not surprising) and fascinating information on media use across language groups and generations in Australia.

I like when these things happen!

Soon I will go to the Special Broadcasting Service for an special pre-conference activity. I learned about this organization last summer at the Crossroads Cultural Studies Conference in Istanbul. The presentation by Ien Ang, "Is a Cosmopolitan Multiculturalism Possible? The Australian Context," was given on the first day.

I'm curious about the langauge situation on the ground, here in Sydney. Alex and Dan pointed me toward some folk who know about Australian Indigenous languages, we'll see if I get a chance to meet up with them or not. Meanwhile, I'll do a bit of touristing. :-)

First flight (all the way) across the Pacific. First trip to the southern hemisphere. First time to take a twenty-two hour trip and arrive two days later, because I crossed the international date line. According to Betty, the time shift works out to “only three hours of Easter.” :-) Australian currency is pretty: bright and colorful. As far as I know, my car arrived in Amherst on time and in one piece. (I cannot say the same for the drivers.) There is no mail drop anywhere in the LA airport. Hello?! I refuse to take this personally.

Betty’s on her way to China. We talked about languages and translation. She mentioned Steven Pinker (who I suppose I really must read someday. I have even already bought The Language Instinct.) Later, in preparing for my presentation, I re-read this datum from my interviews with interpreters at the European Parliament:

“[Mentalese is] a level of communication that doesn’t necessarily have to be expressed in words. It’s the kind of gray area, the 'you know what I mean' area. He [Steven Pinker] talks literally about mental ease and almost refers to it as a language in its own right that we all possess, and some use it more effectively than others. I don’t think he expressly refers to interpreting per se, but with the background it automatically occurred to me that it’s something that is very relevant to any kind of interpreting, inference, that can be expressed through gesture, facial expression, obviously words as well, but not necessarily any of those. Even just the tone of voice. It’s a mode of translation, if you like, that is probably one of the most powerful tools that an interpreter possesses.”

Hmm. :-) Not exactly what I will present on this time around, but it might work it's way into future analysis!

On the second, longer leg of the journey I had a brief, also pleasant conversation with a woman on her way to surprise her family with a visit for the first time in eight years. Reminded my of my trip west a year and a half ago. She grew up in Mombasa, married a military man, now lives in Florida; her family is in New Zealand. I asked her about colonialism and race relations; she responded about the beauty of nature and that the natives were always all around. I thought we might not see as eye-to-eye as Betty and I had, but the connection was still warm.

I took my time departing the airport and finding my hotel in the western suburbs of Sydney. It was nice wandering the city pre-rush: quiet, mildly humid, only barely chill. I hope to make my way to Newtown tonight.

By the way, it is 9:45 on Monday morning here, some fourteen hours ahead of my friends in New England, who are still enjoying Sunday evening.

Shakespeare might have known it all.

Dada recently told the story of a friend of his who compared the duration of a dream to the duration of the universe. Our lives are short, whether considered on the timescale of the universe, or in the human terms of birth, development, aging, and death. What can one possibly accomplish when the hours of the day must be split among discharging and unlearning emotional residue, taking care of business, and trying to contribute to something larger than oneself?

I’ve just read the Introduction to John Gribbin’s “general interest history of science”: The Scientists. He is appropriate, limiting his scope to Western Science while acknowledging “the achievements of the Ancient Greeks, the Chinese, and the Islamic scientists and philosophers who did so much to keep the search for knowledge about our world alive during the period Europeans [and North Americans] refer to as the Dark and Middle Ages” (xix).

The logic of scientific thinking and technology are closely intertwined. Gribbin opens with the stark statement that “the most important thing that science has taught us about our place in the Universe is that we are not special” (xvii). Even humanity’s genius is conditional on technology, because “it is possible to make machines by trial and error without fully understanding the principles on which they operate” (xx). Here, Gribbin approaches a key tenet of the communication discipline. I am eager to read his subjective account of “stories that represent the development of science in its historical context” (xx), particularly because he believes science has been achieved “in the most part, by ordinarily clever people building step by step from the work of their predecessors” (xxii).

He proposes “to give a feel for the full sweep of science, which has taken us from the realization that the Earth is not at the center of the Universe and that human beings are ‘only’ animals, to the theory of the Big Bang and a complete map of the human genome in 450 years” (xxi).

A mere blink of the eye.

I had the most phenomenal conversation with a team interpreter recently, which carried into revelations during my next working gig with another peer.

The topic was the moving around (while interpreting) instead of sitting-in-one-place experiment that I've been doing for the past year and a half. I was able to do this with a very experienced interpreter who had never done it before: she discussed her resistance to standing and following the turn-taking of non-deaf interlocutors, while acknowledging that at least one source of her resistance was never having done it before, admitting, "this is not a good reason not to do it!"

Before she agreed to do it, she asked the opinion of the deaf interlocutor, who responded, "it would be nice" for us to physically move to be near the actual speaker. We did note some periodic confusion as the deaf person looked to see which one of us was "on", especially when the turn-taking jumped from one side of the room to the other. (My team and I experimented with moving together, in order to preserve the ability to whisperfeed, but wound up dividing the room: one of us sticking more-or-less to one half-circle and the other one to the other half-circle of participants.) My own guess is that

a) this is a matter of the deaf person's visual practice and breaking old habits (of looking to a stationary, fixed location for the interpretation) and/or

b) an area for skills development in the team to indicate when the teams switch (because this occurs more frequently than the standard 20-30 minute blocks of time).

What this means is that both members of the team really are "on" all the time, and feeding does not happen in the usual way. (Getting support from one's team has been the most common complaint from colleagues that have tried this style with me). An effect of all of this is an actual shift in the philosophy of communication governing the delivery of interpreting services. Instead of privileging the transmission model - which insists that accuracy of message is the highest value (hence, why a team is necessary to monitor and "guarantee the accuracy of the message"); physically moving to follow the flow of the actual turn-taking privileges the identity-enactment model of communication, described by James W. Carey as "the ritual model." (Much more detail: Communication as Culture.)

My teammate was not only game to try out this new system, but thoughtful about what this change did to our work as a team. She concluded, "it changes the distribution of tasks in the team." Later that week, I worked with another interpreter who was reluctant to change. As I watched her sit and work, I realized I have not actually been in this situation for some time (all my other teammates and the interlocutors involved have been willing to humor me, smile). My ideas about how sitting (as the interpreter in an interactive group) stops the flow were completely confirmed, especially after having considered how the functions change from the mode of sitting close for backup and moving around to physically mirror the dynamics of the communication process.

I will need to do some focused research to confirm my hunch, but my mind jumped to what seems to me an inevitable conclusion: by fixing a stationary location for communication to be filtered through (sitting in one place to interpret many different voices), sign language interpreters establish a visual object of worship. The deaf gaze is restricted, confined to the narrow (sacred?) space established by the interpreter's management of the communication process.

This is power.

I will be in Sydney!