Translation | The Real Reality Show Blog

In the midst of non-essential businesses curtailing operations, the temporary closing of schools and businesses, and the actual loss of some businesses already, there are some operations that are operating and operating at full speed and then some.

Grocery stores, general merchandisers, and warehouse clubs are adding personnel to clean, stock, pack, and sell. Delivery services are increasing their driving corps. States across the country are lifting reinstatement and reciprocity criteria so retired and out of state health care workers can fill needed additional positions. Cleaning services, particularly in health care facilities can use every extra body they can get behind a cleaning cart.

But there is another profession nobody saw the need for six weeks ago. And frankly I’m not sure I see the need even now but they have exploded on to the scene. They are the sign language interpreters. Other than at times of natural disasters these are people nobody ever sees. And then they are only seen somewhere in the vicinity of the governor or mayor or disaster relief coordinator. If the interpreter is not close enough to be in the same camera shot as the speaker, he or she gets a special circle superimposed on the screen. Why?

I’m not being callous. I believe the hearing challenged deserve to be kept abreast of the important news of the day but who decided they only need to be kept so abreast during times of major calamity. Apparently that is the only time they matter. There is nobody signing the daily news. If it is important enough for the hearing public to know that the city school prom has been cancelled and there will be a porch concert this weekend, is it not be equally important that non-hearing viewers of the news get that information? Would it not actually make more sense that the weather report that forecasts the coming hurricane be signed for the hearing impaired rather than the after the fact recognition that a hurricane came by and did a lot of damage. In my experience you don’t need to be able to hear to recognize that the beachfront is closed until further notice.

And why are the words of only governors, mayors, or disaster relief coordinators translated. Why doesn’t the President get a sign interpreter. Before you run off with the litany of Trump jokes and “they should be glad they don’t have to hear him” comments, Mr. Obama never shared a television screen with a signer in a bubble either. You’d think the hearing challenged might be interested in an occasional State of the Union address.

Oh, wait a minute. You’re going to say the news and other televised events don’t need an interpreter because they are all available now with closed captioning. Then why are they at the disaster coverages? Are they not captioned also? It can’t be for the reporters who are there and not watching on telelvision, and who else but reporters are at the press briefings? Even so, that would be an extremely difficult position to put a non-hearing reporter. There are actually three common American English sign languages (American Sign Language, Pidgin Signed English, and Signing Exact English) and none is a direct translation of the spoken word. It is estimated that at best 80% of the spoken word can be accurately translated and interpreted as intended, a little over 60% is the average translation rate. Is that good enough for the news?

So you see, that’s why I’m not so sure that it there is such a need for the sign language interpreter. But I’m not so sure that there isn’t either. And all that is okay. At least they are out doing something, even if people aren’t sure what that is. They are out there doing their thing, providing a service, adding to the information pool.

And if it seems like they are there only at disasters and only when the cameras are rolling that gives them a lot in common with those they are translating.

Now,

For the last two weeks I’ve been torturing myself. It started innocently enough with me making a shot of espresso. No, the espresso isn’t torturing me. I don’t make the best espresso but I’ve yet to poison myself or do permanent damage to my remaining insides. No that wasn’t it. What it was was the label. It taunted me into thinking in Italian. Or rather, trying to think in Italian.

I’ve heard the true mark of fluency is thinking the language you are speaking. Thinking in your native language, transposing to the interpreted language, then speaking (or hearing in the interpreted language, transposing, then understanding) works, but you miss the nuances that make any language magical. In its language of course. Now this is all theoretical because I haven’t thought in Italian in well over 50 years. And frankly, back then I wasn’t so good at it. Back then I wasn’t so good thinking in English!

So why the sudden thought to think in some language other than that in which over 100% of my conversations occur? (For the math wizards, I’m including those conversations in dreams.) It was that darn label. Medaglia d’Oro. All together now, Gold Medal. Even those without a non-food Italian word in their vocabulary can think that one through, with or without mental transpositioning. Clearly it’s all the general anesthesia I’ve been given lately that convinced me I could speak Italian again.

Okay, “again” is relative. The last time I really knew as sure as I could what people were saying when they were saying it in that language was 1963. ish. That’s when my grandma, my mother’s mother, the last of the nonne e nonni, passed away. And with her passed the custom of speaking Italian in the house but only English outside. Which was really good advice for even though the little town I grew up in was heavily populated with first generation Italians, the were from a variety of villages from 3 separate regions, each with its own dialect that could be almost as foreign as English. Thus English was the natural language to speak outside the home (imagine that) but Italian was fine for family conversations. As my generation entered school, English became the full time language taking a break only at large family gatherings on Sundays and holidays.

About 10 years ago I had a grand idea of refreshing my familial language and enrolled in “Italians for Tourists” at the local community college. It seemed to fit since there was also the possibility of a Mediterranean wine cruise and I thought it might be nice to be able to understand what was going on in at least one country’s vineyards. Well, that was a waste of $37!

With that failed experiment on my language resume it’s no wonder the last two weeks have been torture. I’ve finally come to realize that linguistic thinking, like playing nice with others, is learned easily in our youths but fades quickly when not in constant use. I think I’ll stop trying to think in Italian. And I’ll think it in English!

As for playing nice with others. That’s something I can keep working on in any language.

20190812_122423