American Sign Language is a fuggly language.

Yes, you read me right.

It is not beautiful. It is not poetical. It is not transdescental. It does not sweep its acolytes into waves of ectasy.

Let me illustrate for you (using painterly strokes of the beautiful language otherwise known as English) my case:

Last December, I’m sitting in some hotel conference room at the Modern Language Association Conference listening, via ASL terp, to a quite enlightening panel on Disability Studies and Contingent Labor. Enlightening, yes, but exciting, no. So the entire time I’m listening, I’m also having this internal monologue about realizing how vastly different from Disability studies Deaf studies really is, and I really have almost no common academic ground with these people.

Anyway, the Q and A session begins, and a woman stands up and launches into this impassionated speech about how society is invested in “pair bonding” and sees every person as part of a couple; if you’re single, you’re, unfortunately, only half. She is intelligent and using words I don’t know; I’m sufficiently impressed with her.

Until she pauses and enthuses, “Oh, I just want to take a moment and really thank the sign language interpreters — they’re so wonderful! I’ve been watching what they do and they’re really skilled and what they do is beautiful and I couldn’t do it, so let’s all clap for the interpreters!”

The entire room, full of disability scholars, bursts into applause. I don’t. She goes back to her little commentary, and I ignore the rest of it, rolling my eyes along with the terps, who tell me later that this happens to them all the time.

Ugh. Gag me with a spoon.

Yes, let’s give the terps all the credit they’re due; they have a tough job, but they do it to earn a paycheck. They are not saints, nor are they miracle workers. They are not missionaries sent to communicate with the unreachable masses. They are skilled professionals serving in a field always looking for qualified recruits.

The exoticness of an unknown language is not an unknown thing. It is, after all, what turned Gerard Depardieu into a reluctant sex symbol once he started acting in English-speaking movies. Though, to me, he looks like a funny guy with a big nose who needs a haircut, I keep running across comments from American women that translate into swoons upon hearing him open his mouth.

Similarly, people who say ASL is broken English are guilty of interpreting ASL through their limited framework of English knowledge, just the same way we’re guilty of class/ethnic misunderstanding when we say Spanish has truncated grammar just because speakers may put the adjective after the noun.

But I say “ugh” not because people who call ASL beautiful are guilty of misunderstanding the overall elan of the language; but because when they say “ASL is such a beautiful language,” I cannot help but ascribe to them some (often condescending) variant of the following description:

Can’t learn it for whatever reason, so peppers us ASL-speakers with compliments so we know they mean well.

So of course I’m a bit sensitive when I read that Michael Chorost started his recent presentation at Gallaudet in the following manner:

“Open, in sign: ‘My name is Mike Chorost. Thank you for inviting me to Gallaudet.’

I wish I could continue in sign, because it’s such a beautiful language. My thanks to the interpreters and captioners for enabling everyone here to understand me.”

Stop giving ASL such a Narcissus complex. Next thing you know, it’ll have an eating disorder and die, and we’ll all blame the the world we live in for pressuring it into an unrealistic ideal of beauty.

Yes, sure, ASL is beautiful when rendered so by our community’s equivalent of Robert Frost or Nikki Giovanni. It is also butt-ugly when rendered so by our community’s equivalent of Howard Stern or Sacha Baron Cohen.

ASL is used when instructing a two-year-old in proper toilet paper application, differentiating between post-colonialism and anti-colonialism, and when asking directions or about weekend plans. Simply put, to the daily user, ASL is not an artistic endeavor: it is simply language — ours.


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