We Are the Audience Too: Responsibility As Creators

We Are the Audience Too: Responsibility As Creators
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez
Written in honor of the 20th Anniversary of the Americans With Disabilities Act
Originally published by the Producers Guild of America Diversity
July 26, 2010

As filmmakers, artists, and producers of original content, we have many responsibilities -- a responsibility to our craft, our goals, our team, and our audience--whether we are in film, television, or new media.  We are responsible for continually producing fresh, cutting-edge, and even diverse content for a variety of audiences.  The content we produce is motivated by personal and/or social factors, but whatever those may be, we cannot deny that we are responsible for the process and the end product.

I want to pose this question: who do you want to see your work?  If you answer "the larger public", you know it's not as simple as it sounds.  It involves a lot of thought, paper, and money than most people would think.  We know that there many different types of people who make up an audience.  Let's say that there are two hundred people in a theatre, and one of them is deaf.  This person, for years, has never seen a captioned film in theaters but loves cinema so much that s/he is willing to look past that.  Over twenty years ago, captioned English language spoken films were not standard in theaters.  Silent films were accessible to the deaf and hard of hearing in the pre-talkie era.  Today, there are many theaters and of course television sets in the United States that make captions available to those who are deaf and hard of hearing.  There are several search engines where one can find captioned films, such as Captionfish, which lists to the best of its knowledge all captioned films and the theaters where they are playing.  It appears that we have advanced, but the reality is that there is often the one person of two hundred who is watching an independent film that has yet to be captioned, if at all.  It's too easy to say that they could wait later, rent the film, buy the film, or watch another film that's captioned.  They can, but they shouldn't.  Audience members have the right to choose the films they want to see and when they want to see them.  We know that the size of audiences says a lot about the power of the film, its team, and its marketing.  How about its accessibility?

Today is the anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act, passed on July 26, 1990.  The efforts of those before, during, and since its passage have made it possible for people like myself to thrive in media.  I am a filmmaker and I have a hearing loss.  I understand both sides of the experience: as a creator and as an audience member.

I know how difficult it is to raise money to have the equipment you need, the actors you want, the location that's beautiful, and the crew you know you need to feed and pay.  I'm passionate about the process but what makes it challenging (and ultimately more rewarding) is the responsibilities that I have not only to my goals, my craft, and to my team, but to my audience.  During the process of making my films and even afterwards, I make a commitment to be respectful of the access and communication needs and abilities of my cast and crew. I learn new things every day from them and about them.  When it comes to my audience, I think about the one person of two hundred.  It's easy to forget this person, but I've been this person so I know that I must remind myself of those moments.  I love the experience of making films and I especially love to see the impact that my films have on others and the difference that it makes when they can follow the story.  I know I am not alone in sharing this sentiment.

Visual storytelling speaks volumes about the human experience, and why would it continue to be a form of expression if people did not want to create, enjoy, or learn from it?  As creators, we have a responsibility to the process of creating, but we also have a responsibility to who sees the film.  We know there are distributors, investors, theaters, and various others who are responsible for what, where, when, and how we see the film or show.  We also know that audience members have the responsibility to speak up if they feel excluded or misrepresented.  However, I am reaching out to my fellow creators to say: you have that voice.  You are manifesting stories.  You know who you want to see your work.  Yes, it is true that the Americans with Disabilities Act and other pieces of legislation enforce laws to make your work seen and heard, but a law is not enough.  Regardless of where we stand or work in the industry, we have made a commitment to the process and end product, and we must continue to speak up about making our work accessible during and after creating our work, even to that one person. What are you going to do about it?

"Where Are You From?"

"Where Are You From?"
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez
Originally published on Hearing Loss Nation
October 4, 2010

"Where are you from?"

I find myself being asked this question (or versions of it) often. Perhaps it is my freckles and reddish brown hair, my Welsh name, my Spanish last name, or my accent. It is usually because of the latter. When I respond that I am Southern California born and raised, I am doubted.

"No really, where are you from?" they say.

"I'm really from here."

Sometimes the strangers' curiosity persists and they change the wording to specify: "Where is your accent from?" I can feel the nervousness in their voices and see the confusion in their faces. I've considered fooling them by making up an absurd story about my heritage. I just tell people the truth--that my accent is the result of my deafness. Once, someone felt so bad that he had asked me about my accent that he offered me free chocolate. I declined, even though I do love chocolate. I don't need or want pity.

Some people think I'm Hawaiian, French, Argentine, or from some other South American country. One Turkish man even insisted that I was Egyptian simply because he wanted me to come to his nice beach house. Most of the time, I find it funny, but I'm being asked where I am from on a weekly basis, sometimes two times a week. My accent is not mundane in the sea of many accents, even when I am living in a city rich in cultural diversity; my accent makes me interesting.

I know that I'm not alone. There are many people out there with hearing loss who have been asked the same question and given different answers. Some encounters have been transformative, charming, and hysterical, while others leave you with a feeling of annoyance and disgust. It's not just about the accent. It's also about the sounds we hear or think we hear. It's about the malapropisms that are inevitable as lipreaders and the captionists who are amazing and those who are not so amazing. It's about walking on a line that is neither black nor white.

I want to hear those stories, and I think the world should hear them too.  Interested in sharing your story?  Email me at rhijahfilms@gmail.com.

My So-Called Queer Life

My So-Called Queer Life
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez
Originally published for the Producers Guild of America Diversity on November 26, 2010
Written November 16, 2010

Kurt Hummel (Chris Colfer)
in Glee (FOX).

Rickie Vasquez.  Justin Taylor.  Kurt Hummel.  They are three of a growing list of gay teens in mainstream television shows.  Rickie (Wilson Cruz) hung out with Angela Chase in My So-Called Life, Justin (Randy Harrison) was fiercely political on Queer as Folk, and Kurt (Chris Colfer) is currently one of the stars in the Glee ensemble.  All three characters have storylines dealing with familial pressure, violence, and bullying as the result of homophobia.  Colfer’s Kurt is a standout because of his voice, style, and storyline, which has been one of the more deeply explored ones in the series, such as the bullying that he experiences in school and his relationship with his father Burt Hummel (Mike O’Malley).

The bullying of LGBTQ youth has become an issue of national concern due to the recent suicides of gay youth.  The three actors mentioned above are openly gay and have spoken out about bullying, in particular Chris Colfer and Wilson Cruz.  Many LGBTQ performers and their allies have been involved with such campaigns as NOH8, The Trevor Project, and the It Gets Better Project to pledge messages of acceptance and support.  These issues may be getting a great deal of media exposure now, but the truth is that they’ve been around for a long time.  We’re just now really giving them serious attention.

Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender characters represent 3.9% of series regulars on broadcast television, according to GLAAD’s Where We Are On TV Report for the 2010-11 year.  My So-Called Life only lasted one season but viewers got to see Rickie deal with violence at the hands of a family member.  Queer as Folk was groundbreaking during its five-year run and showed us the good and bad aspects of being out as a gay person: the political and communal pride, the anger from family members, and the pain of relationships.  Glee is a phenomenon in itself.  It features various high school archetypes: the jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, punks, and outcasts all joining together to sing show tunes and dance.  In the episode “Wheels,” Kurt wants to sing a solo but worries that his father will be embarrassed to have a gay son so he intentionally messes up the note on his solo.  In a later episode, he tries to act more masculine by emulating Burt’s hyper-masculine outdoorsy style and making out with cheerleader Brittany.  Burt eventually tells his son that he likes him for who he really is, but not before Kurt has to repress his true desires to satisfy his father’s image of masculinity.  It’s obvious that his father, who is a single dad raising his only son, is unsure of how to react to Kurt’s queerness.  In The United States of Tara (Showtime), Marshall Gregson (Keir Gilchrist) finally declares “I’m gay” to his father, Max (John Corbett).  Max says, “I know” and moves on.  Prior to this revelation, Marshall explored his sexuality with a fellow male student and with a close girlfriend.  His exploration appears natural and, though he does date a girl, he doesn’t do so to please his parents.  The parents’ background and present situation can play a strong role in how they react to their teens’ coming out.  Justin’s father in Queer as Folk threatened to send him to military school because he didn’t like how he flaunted his queerness.  Justin fought back, saying: “I’ll still be your queer son.”  Though initially uncomfortable with his son’s queerness, Burt Hummel does defend Kurt when fellow glee club member Finn (Cory Monteith) utters gay slurs.  He is also more present than any of the other Glee Club members’ parents.

In the “Never Been Kissed” episode, Kurt deals with incessant bullying and finds the courage to stand up against it with the help of a gay friend, Blaine (Darren Criss), who tells Kurt that he shouldn’t leave his school like Blaine did just because he wants to escape the bullying.  He texts him “Courage.”  We see this message also plastered in Kurt’s locker at the end of the episode.  By then, he’s confronted the closeted bully who kissed him and harassed him twice more.  There have been mixed opinions about this episode from viewers and advocates.  Some feel like the issue of bullying is addressed too softly while others applaud the attention given to the issue.  Creator Ryan Murphy told The New York Times that he had long planned to do an episode on bullying because they had shown Kurt getting thrown in the dumpsters and getting slushied.  Kurt’s choices have also been discouraged by other students because of his openness about being gay, most recently when he wanted to do a duet with new member Sam (Chord Overstreet).  In his interview, Murphy talks about how Blaine, despite being talented and openly gay, is actually “tormented” and not a “Clark Kent-like character” and how the homophobic bully who kisses Kurt is actually based on someone that Murphy knew who came out in his 20s.  His interview puts the episode into perspective.  Murphy further states: “At the beginning, it is about the Chris Colfer character, certainly.  But as we get deeper into the episodes, it will be about how all the other kids are tortured and bullied.”  We have yet to see how Kurt’s father reacts to this particular experience (as he is recovering from a heart attack), but I’m a bit more curious to see how the other characters will deal with bullying and if there will even be any parental or administrative involvement.  

Wilson Cruz, when interviewed by Chicago Pride about his role on My So-Called Life (1994), said: “I think it was a little too real and too honest. People want to escape when they come home, and that show wasn't about escaping; it was a mirror.”  The show, which had a much darker tone than Glee, explored Rickie’s experience with a violent uncle in a very real and painful way at a time when AIDS was the topic of concern with gay characters.  I wonder how Rickie’s story would be developed if the show still existed today, and how Kurt’s story will evolve in the coming seasons.  The difference between the two is that Glee, despite having a diverse cast and exploring issues that teens face, continues to feel very much like a fantasy.  I wonder if it will be able to have the right blend of the musical and the serious to get a strong message out to LGBT youth about healthy relationships and bullying?  Is it important for it to do so?  I think so, because our youth are watching.

On Kathryn Bigelow's Academy Award Nomination and Win

On Kathryn Bigelow's Academy Award Nomination and Win for Best Director 2010
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez 
Originally published on the blog Women and Hollywood



On Kathryn's Nomination:
Published February 4, 2010

I think that Kathryn's nomination and strong contention for the actual award is a huge step for women, but what bothers me is that I'm reading articles that are talking about the battle of the exes...James Cameron versus Kathryn. Can't they just be who they are without the media playing out some epic battle of the sexes showdown? Though I am not fond of how they'll likely be drawing attention to Kathryn and the Oscars this way, I see the publicity as a major boost to female filmmakers everywhere to contribute their perspectives on Kathryn's nomination and likely win. Women are intelligent creators who are capable of making a film that is raw, emotional, gripping, and transformative.

I am happy to see women succeeding as directors in an industry that has historically positioned them as objects of sexual fascination rather than intellectual and creative power. Short-term, a win for Kathryn will mean that women have pushed themselves up in the ranks as worthy and capable directors, but what I am really looking forward to long-term is the win of a minority female director--because directors come in all abilities, colors, and genders. I am a triple minority director (female, biracial, and hard of hearing), and I know that what young people really want is to see themselves represented--and not all those people are white males! In seeking the comments of other women regarding Bigelow's nomination, it's important to realize that there are many barriers that still need to be shattered--the strongest being the underrepresentation of people with disabilities in the Hollywood film industry. To be included in technical roles on a production or to act in the same stereotypical, melodramatic supporting roles is, to be blunt, demeaning towards the abilities of people with disabilities. It is not enough. I want to see the most marginalized person in society: the disabled, nonwhite female be a winner for a film that appeals to large audiences.

How can this happen?

Double and triple minority female directors must be visible. The industry must welcome diversity, but not for diversity's sake--but because those who work within it truly do recognize and value the talents of people of color with many abilities.

Thumbs up if Kathryn wins, but us women still have a ways to go to support the growth of ALL minority groups.

In the words of anarchist Emma Goldman: "No real social change has been brought about without a revolution...revolution is but thought carried into action."

Photograph by Paul Buck, EPA.

On Kathryn's Win:
Published March 9, 2010

I went to order lunch in Hollywood this afternoon and, while waiting, asked the two male servers if they watched the Oscars last night. They both replied that they had. I immediately commented that I, as a female director, was pleased that Kathryn Bigelow won for Best Director. They both agreed and offered positive comments. I told them that the best part of her win wasn’t her acceptance speech, but what she said in the press room afterwards. She mentioned how she saw herself as a filmmaker before anything else. I can especially relate to that statement. Female, male, black, Hispanic, white, disabled, non-disabled, gay, straight, deaf, or hearing—we are filmmakers before we are anything else. Certainly any of these labels can inform our choice of subject matter and create communities of people who cheer for us. These labels are powerful indicators of the desire for representation. Kathryn’s win represented a victory for women in film—and she won by creating a film that she believed in. Women everywhere are cheering because they won, too.

When I was presenting on a panel to parents of deaf and hard of hearing children last month, I was asked what I thought about being referred to as a deaf filmmaker. Like Kathryn, I responded that I want to be seen as a filmmaker first. My hearing loss is a part of me, but it does not define my identity as a filmmaker. I won’t deny that it has helped me to not only be sensitive to people of many abilities, but it has also made me an advocate for accessibility and for dynamic, anti-pity representations of deaf and hard of hearing people and people with disabilities on and off screen. When we add a label (or two) to the title of “filmmaker”, we create something much bigger than the individual. We create a movement. I think that Kathryn’s win offers the potential for all sorts of minorities to be active in the change towards Hollywood’s recognition of their filmmaking.

Community Building: Why We Need Young Adults

Community Building: Why We Need Young Adults
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez and Rachel McCallum
Originally published in The Hearing Loss Californian
Winter 2010

What defines a community? We have pondered this ever since we first met two years ago as undergraduates at Chapman University. We’ve talked, listened, blogged, and mingled with new friends at deaf and hard of hearing related events and made it our mission to advocate for greater empowerment, stronger support networks, and more inclusive means of participation in our larger society. In the process, we’ve developed our own vision of what defines a community and asked ourselves what a young adult community would look like.

A hard of hearing community is often interpreted as a gray area composed of many people with varying degrees of hearing loss who may or may not feel entirely comfortable in either the mainstream hearing or Deaf worlds. It presents a challenging and interesting arena for communicating in many different ways. Statistics show that there are significantly more people who are hard of hearing than culturally Deaf, yet we don’t know who these people are because hearing loss isn’t easily spotted on the streets or in grocery stores. We may have to speak, miss more than a few words, show the tech devices that help us to hear and comprehend sound, or communicate with our hands in order to be identified as someone with a hearing loss.

Why is it important to be a part of a hard of hearing community? Sometimes we choose our community; other times, we find it. Maybe we need it to understand ourselves or to feel empowered. Or we simply need to know that our presence in this world matters--that there are others who share our goals and understand our experiences without us having to explain too much. A community is developed and sustained through support from the individuals within it and outside of it.

As members of the emerging younger generation, we’ve witnessed that the accomplished and respected members of HLAA are getting older. We’ve heard the stories that speak highly of the organization’s founder, Rocky Stone, who truly started it as a grassroots movement in 1979 with the name Self Help for Hard of Hearing People. We are grateful that he and many other members have achieved so much for those with hearing loss. Yet, we are cognizant of today’s realities in which technology is an important tool in communication. It shouldn’t replace the face to face companionship that this organization values, but it should not hinder our ability to reach out to those who are miles away and still seeking comfort from someone who understands them. Recently, we have had conversations with many older members throughout the state who have expressed their desire to bring in younger members and their difficulty in doing so. They’ve asked us to give them solutions, but we both have found that these solutions aren’t easy. Goals need to be set and people need to take the initiative to see them through. We know that we can’t accomplish these goals on our own. We need more young people to be involved.

Many people with hearing loss go through a process of denial before they are open to meeting others who also have a hearing loss. For adolescents, the process of self-acceptance is often chaotic. They usually have their core group of friends from school, religious or spiritual organizations, sports, and their neighborhoods, which may or may not include people who are deaf or hard of hearing. The same is also true for college students, but the community options are expanded a bit more to include social groups that focus on a cause or activity. During adolescence and young adulthood, the process of acceptance of one’s hearing loss should not be rushed. It is necessary to have a mentor or person to support and challenge a young adult to do his or her best no matter what.

For working professionals and seniors, communities often center on the home, religious or spiritual organizations, work, neighborhoods, and, in the case of seniors, retirement homes and senior centers. Working professionals may experience isolation if they know no one with a hearing loss. The workforce, as diverse as it is, does not have many hard of hearing people identifying themselves as such. We have met many adults within HLAA who were in this situation. HLAA serves an important role for those members who long for a community that “gets them.”

The older generation does not lack the initiative to bring in younger members. They just need more support to do so. The tools are there but they are often scattered and confusing. There are also issues with having an insufficient amount of members to do specific tasks, the availability of members, or the lack of skills among chapter members either due to age, interest, geographical location, and/or money, among others.

The big question is: how does one bring in new members in this increasingly technological world? Internet and computer skills are necessary to gain attention to one’s cause and to provide resources. We strongly urge members to work towards gaining more technological skills because it will help chapters gain more visibility. Consistency is also important to ensure chapters keep themselves visible.

We believe in the importance of grassroots coalition building. Our organization was founded on it. This is exactly the kind of engagement that we need to see from local chapters. Getting more young adults actively involved will increase the appeal of the organization to other young adults. We know what appeals to other young adults and can teach the older generation how to more successfully utilize technological marketing tools that seem second nature to us. Efforts to get more young adults involved will most likely be slow but will hopefully grow exponentially with the aid of technology.

What we need is to reach a point of critical mass. We need to get enough young adult leaders involved to start our own smaller group within the organization . We must first get the word out that you don’t have to hide your hearing loss because “the only other hearing impaired person you know is your grandmother.” This will take time. The older generation may have to start by getting more working adults in their thirties and forties involved to bridge the existing generation gap. With time, bringing in younger members one small group at a time may lead to more involvement of young adults with hearing loss.

A Universal Desire

A Universal Desire
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez
Originally published on Hearing Loss Nation, September 1, 2010
Modified November 24, 2010


I think about captioning often, as a filmmaker, an audience member, and a student. I’ve made it my mission to advocate for captioning in all its forms, but I didn’t really realize what I was getting into when I made this choice. At the core, it’s something that affects me as a person with a profound hearing loss. I have my preferences for what I want to be captioned, what colors I like, the type of captions (optional versus embedded in the image), and the amount of errors that I allow. I love to see the words, but I don’t particularly like sound effects to be captioned. However, what I like isn’t universal. My desire for captions on the TV, Internet, and in movies isn’t universal, either. What is universal is the desire to feel included, and captions happen to be one way in which deaf and hard of hearing people want to be included.

Still from When I'm Not Alone (2009),
directed by Rhianon Gutierrez.

As a filmmaker, I face a dilemma sometimes because I am a filmmaker with a hearing loss. There are expectations that I have of myself and expectations that others have of me. I remind myself of the necessity of captioning my films to show how useful and unobtrusive captions can be not only for those who are deaf and hard of hearing, but also those who are learning English or even those who don’t want to have the sound on. I can’t just talk about the necessity of captions in mainstream theatrical releases, television, and on the Internet. I can’t just talk about the existing and proposed laws (in particular the new HR 3101, which expands Internet video accessibility). I must set the example in my filmmaking. I’m not obligated to do this simply because I have a hearing loss, but I have made the decision as a person to do this because I care about that universal desire to be included. I can encourage other filmmakers to do the same by tapping into that same desire. My conscience eats at me if and when I leave people out. When people voice their concerns to me, I work hard to make my film accessible with the means that I have, but at the end of the day, I realize that there may be times when I cannot please everyone, and that is natural. I’m learning to accept that.

While I was in film school and even afterwards, I have written about the struggles that I have had to get films captioned for my classes—from silent films to student films to required class films. There were teachers who consciously chose VHS over DVD, teachers who weren’t familiar with the difference between captions and subtitles, teachers who thought it would be ok for me to watch the films at home, and even a teacher who asked me if I wanted Spanish subtitles. I would be quick and foolish to dismiss the actions of the teachers as ignorant, because how would they really know what to do unless they were educated by the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), the Telecommunications Act, other people with hearing loss, and me? It’s another thing when teachers are educated about hearing loss yet blatantly ignore a student’s needs. When I was an undergraduate, I didn’t nearly know as much about captions as I do now. I repeatedly allowed teachers to get away with non-captioned films.

Today, I will not let them get away with it. I was recently assigned a non-captioned YouTube video for a midterm in one of my graduate courses. I got it captioned in less than 48 hours after notifying my professor, advisor, department chair, and several staff members of the student disability center. It wasn't just about the fact that the video was required to be captioned. I could not allow my professor to do that to another student, especially since this was the third time that this professor had shown non-captioned content (and I had spoken to her on both occasions about those videos). When it was suggested that I watch something else instead, I said "No."  Too often, people with disabilities or deaf and hard of hearing people are told to do something else or to not do something at all because of their disability or hearing loss. Teachers need to be thinking about how to work with all students, especially when a student is vocal about his or her needs more than once.

I still have much to learn, and I want to learn because the more that I learn about captioning, the better advocate I can be for myself and for others. I have made the commitment to ask questions, to tell them why I need the captions, to show them that I have a legal right to have them, and even to show them how they can benefit others, too.

I want to turn this discussion to you all by asking you to share three things:
1. How have you advocated for captions in:
A. Academic settings,
B. Theatres,
C. The Internet?
2. What concrete things would you like to see changed in your community?
3. What steps will you take to change them? Are you prepared to modify them if necessary?

Once you establish concrete goals about captioning (or really any service that you need and want) and the steps needed to make the goals happen, share your story with others. What did you learn? What changed, if anything?

Remember, the first step is to recognize that this issue affects you on a personal level, whether you are a person with a hearing loss or someone you care about has a hearing loss. Have you been active or passive about your needs/the needs of the person you care about? Recognize also that your personal needs extend beyond yourself, and that by opening up about your needs and truly listening to the needs of others’, you can really affect change. Establish how you will accomplish your captioning or service goals…and always remind yourself of the universal desire to be included.

On Deafness and Disability

On Deafness and Disability

© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez

Originally published in The Hearing Loss Californian

Summer 2010

My earliest memory is of when I was two years old, curiously reading the Old World Encyclopedia while sitting on my grandmother’s lap.  I remember the musky smell of the pages and the fading black and white image of the stage actress Maude Adams.
         
Not long after this, I lost my hearing.  I can’t remember when I first noticed the difference in sounds, but I already knew how to speak and was naturally curious about language and people.  This curiosity intensified because of my hearing loss, and wherever my eyes focused, they were reading lips and observing emotions and facial expressions.  I loved to read and watch movies.  My dream was to be an actress; I would act out dramatic scenes from plays and screenplays that I wrote.  

Doctors thought that I was emotionally disturbed because I did not respond when my back was turned, only because I passed all tests that allowed me to use my eyes.  I had a CAT scan and was finally diagnosed with a progressive sensorineural hearing loss at the age of four; its cause remains idiopathic.  I am the only person in my family with a profound hearing loss.  I told my mother that I wanted to continue speaking and to get hearing aids.  She listened to my words.  When I was seven, she took me to mainstream schools, deaf schools, and oral deaf schools to find the best placement for me.  I got along well with people in the mainstream.  I enjoyed socializing with the people in the oral deaf schools, but I wanted more from an academic setting.  I refused to step into the classroom of the deaf school.  I saw hands moving and the room was completely silent.  To me, this was foreign, terrifying, and backwards.  Should I communicate in sign simply because I was deaf?

I believe in the power of choice because I was privileged to have had a family that recognized the importance of self-determination.  I recognize that my environment—which consisted of hearing people—influenced my choices, but it was my own decisions that made me who I am.  I grew up oral and excelled in the mainstream.  I am a highly skilled lipreader, and my English speaking, reading, and writing are well above average—even better than many hearing people I know.  The support of my family has helped me to become a strong self-advocate.

I wore hearing aids from the age of four until I was eighteen, when I decided to get a cochlear implant in my left ear.  I struggled in my first year of film school at Chapman University and almost dropped out in the first week.  I disliked how much I had to depend on other people to listen for me while I edited, and I wanted to be an active contributor in group conversations.  The decision to get a cochlear implant was a huge step for me because, all my life, I saw the cochlear implant as a permanent symbol of deafness.  I resisted the label of deafness.  After my implant was activated, I didn’t feel like the same person anymore.  I had experienced life with four senses, but now I had to learn to live with five.  Sophomore year was challenging because I was discovering the source and meaning of each foreign sound while work, school, and relationships continued around me.  Self-honesty was difficult, and it was often unbearable to be alone with my thoughts.  I began to resent the superficiality of cinema and felt I had no purpose in it.  

I went to work as a counselor at a camp for people with various developmental and physical disabilities, not knowing what to expect.  I had interacted and worked with people with disabilities in my mother’s classroom and in high school, and my younger brother, Elijah, has a developmental disability, but the camp experience was intimate, hilarious, and empowering in ways that I had never experienced.  My problems had to be set aside while I worked with the campers.  I heard their personal stories and saw the assistance that they needed on a daily basis.  Their struggles overpowered my own problems.  I quickly found purpose in this work, knowing that I needed to play a more active role as a filmmaker.

I consider deafness to be a subjective experience.  No one person experiences or defines it the same as another.  This is also true of disability. My empathy for people with disabilities is enhanced by my experiences as a person with a hearing loss.  I identify as a person with a disability, but I would not call myself disabled because that sounds all-encompassing.   I am a person with long brown hair, a bold personality, and I love to make films.  These things are all part of my identity.  I resist it when the labels “deaf” or “disabled” precede my gender, my occupation, my personhood.
       
Since I listen and speak, I consider myself to be hard of hearing when I wear the implant, but the severity of my loss does indicate that I am deaf, though I am not a member of Deaf culture.  For years, I avoided American Sign Language because I had no personal use for it.  Today, I see it as another language of a culture that I seek to understand.  Perhaps my deafness gives me an advantage in learning the language because I am already a highly visual learner, but I’ve learned that it isn’t about American Sign Language—it’s about language. There is beauty in having the openness to communicate with others.  Since I have been learning and using it in the past year, it has opened doors for me in communicating with other people who are deaf or hard of hearing.

The implant has radically helped me to not only hear sounds but to comprehend them without looking.  I have experienced the sounds of music, water, human voices, and the wind, and I couldn’t imagine my life without those sounds.  This is not to say that the world—and sound—can’t be experienced through touch, taste, and sight—because I have experienced them through those senses, too.  Yet, we live in a society where we are defined by black and white, male and female, and hearing and deaf.  In the past, I was quick to place myself in either a hearing or deaf category for the sake of making things easier—but for whom?  I was making it easier for others to understand my deafness by placing myself in a more socially convenient category, at the expense of creating chaos throughout my entire being.  I realized that I had to forge my own path in a gray, “in-between” space, and I found that I was not alone there.

In the past three years that I have been a disability activist, I have constantly been reshaping my views on disability—from labels and language to social practices.  I’ve analyzed how they influence each other and how they need to be transformed.  Labeling becomes very complex when considering the definition of disability itself.  The medical model focuses on the identification and correction of impairments, while the social model focuses on how we create things that exclude people with different abilities from having full inclusion.  The medical model is not incorrect in its recognition of impairments (because it is true that some of us can’t see, hear, walk, or comprehend based on socially defined “norms”), but its fallacy is that it repeatedly attempts to categorize and normalize people to such an extent that the person and their complexities (political, emotional, and aesthetic) become secondary.  The person becomes a label.  When considering the social model, there’s a particular quote that I like from an issue in New Internationalist: “Disability isn’t primarily about the physical, mental, or intellectual impairments associated with it, but about society’s response to them.”  Cultures construct rules and physical structures that include and exclude certain groups of people, and people with disabilities are historically and systematically excluded all over the world.  Our longstanding ideologies of power and perfection have produced a cycle of labeling which has resulted in exclusion and control.  As people are oppressed, minority groups form, united by their shared experiences of oppression and ability.  This minority group formation has produced cultures who communicate through shared languages and ideologies.  Participation in the activities of minority cultures and the use of their language can and have produced powerful paradoxes of mutual understanding and tension, progress and resistance, solidarity and struggle, and empowerment and fear.  Both the dominant culture and subculture actively engage in the labeling of “us” and “them”.  When a subculture gains visibility and power in the larger, dominant culture, I believe that its power lies in what its shared experiences transform in the dominant culture.  The fight of Americans with mobility disabilities for accessible buses is such an example.  I’ve learned that the sense of community that one feels within a culture can shape a person’s identity in ways that are painful, transformative, and beautiful.  I have been transformed by my interactions with people who are Deaf, hard of hearing, oral deaf, and especially all people with disabilities.  We all dance with adversity on a daily basis.  When I identify as a person with a disability, I am expressing my solidarity with others who have experienced the oppression of inaccessibility in physical spaces and the redundancy of stereotypical and melodramatic representations of disability.  Best of all, I am expressing the pride that comes with accepting my body in all its abilities and the empowered storytelling that results from shared life experiences.
   
I’ve thought about how a person views his or her body specifically as it relates to disability and the concept of wholeness.  Wholeness is all about what one thinks and feels because both have everything to do with how one sees oneself and other people in the world.  For those who are late-deafened and have acquired disabilities, the concept of wholeness is challenged by what existed before and what one has now, and for people with lifelong disabilities and even those without documented disabilities (the so-called “able-bodied”), wholeness is challenged by both psychological expectations and social barriers.  I see myself as an important person in this world with a great deal to contribute.  I see myself as a whole person.  If a medicine were to be available tomorrow that cured my ears, making me completely “hearing”, I would not take it.  My deafness has made me who I am.  It has transformed the way that I look at the world and the compassion and loyalty that I feel towards people.  It has helped me to be a better communicator and a better listener.  I probably wouldn’t have said this when I struggled with my hearing aids five years ago, but I say it today with my cochlear implant, which has indeed helped me to comprehend sound on levels that I could not with my hearing aids.  My one implant is by no means a permanent cure—but it gives me enough sounds that I work hard to understand, and I am still reminded every night about my deafness when I take it off.  I believe that if we actually attempted to communicate our experiences with each other more often than redrawing binary lines, then perhaps there would be more shifting in thought and behavior.  My work as a filmmaker and activist is influenced by my desire to challenge these lines and transform outdated, exclusionary practices and policies.  

Change always begins at home.  In the words of Justin Dart Jr, human rights activist: “Get into empowerment.”

The Subjectivity of Deafness: Hearing Loss in the Media

The Subjectivity of Deafness
© Rhianon Elan Gutierrez
Originally published on Hearing Loss Nation
November 15, 2010

When I first joined Hearing Loss Nation, a social networking site for deaf and hard of hearing people in February 2008, I posted a discussion entitled “Depictions of Hearing Loss In Cinema”. It was one of the most commented discussions. I told my friend that I was surprised that so many people had commented. “Why?” he said. “People care about how they are represented.” Deep down, I already knew that, but I wanted to hear from others, too. 

CJ Jones in Hilari Scarl's See What
I'm Saying (2010).

At the time, I hadn’t seen too many deaf or hard of hearing characters represented in mainstream film and television. Now, there is an explosion. Hamill, about the deaf UFC fighter Matt Hamill and starring deaf actors Russell Harvard, Shoshannah Stern, Lexi Marman, and Michael Spady, just won the Audience Award for Breakthrough Film at the AFI Festival in Hollywood on November 11th. See What I’m Saying: The Deaf Entertainers Documentary premiered this March at Hollywood’s Egyptian Theatre, where it was billed as the first open captioned commercial film in history. The first World Deaf Cinema Festival was held at Gallaudet University from November 4-7 with the intention to show films that depicted the deaf and hard of hearing experience. Glee featured an all-deaf choir in their episode “Hairography”. Deanne Bray was a recurring character on Heroes. A new ABC Family pilot called Switched at Birth has a deaf high school girl at the center of the story. Shoshannah Stern is currently appearing as a graduate student on Lie to Me; her role was not originally written as deaf. My current film, Transients, has a deaf protagonist played by ASL performer Douglas Ridloff.

Douglas Ridloff with Teal Sherer in
Rhianon Gutierrez's Transients (2010).

There are many feature, short, or documentary films and scripted or reality television shows that are made by, star, or feature in minor roles deaf or hard of hearing people that we do not know about, but I believe that this will change in the coming years. It already is.

There is a national civil rights campaign called I AM PWD (Inclusion in the Arts and Media of People with Disabilities) that is a tri-union committee of performers with disabilities representing the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA), and the Actors Equity Association (AEA). The committee’s mission is “to enhance the status and promote the advancement of actors with disabilities in [the film] industry." It is estimated that between 0.5 and 1.5 percent of union actors have a disability, with mobility impairments being the most prominent. There are also those who are blind or visually impaired, deaf or partially deaf, little people, as well as performers who are intellectually disabled. I AM PWD held a Hollywood Disabilities Forum at UCLA’s School of Theatre, Film, and Television on October 24, 2009. I attended the forum, in addition to keeping up with the casting controversies surrounding Glee and The Miracle Worker play and the positive casting of Deanne Bray in Heroes.  I attended both an

John Philip Autry portrays the
deaf choir lead in Glee (FOX).

acting workshop and a writer’s workshop, with the words of both sides reminding me that my choice to direct and write grew out of my desire to create instead of waiting for work to come to me. I have always been interested in character transformation, so I struggled with the reality of one-dimensional characters with disabilities or hearing loss, or the star power that a leading deaf or disabled role brought a hearing or non-disabled actor.

Actress Linda Bove says: “A hearing actor playing a deaf character is tantamount to putting a white actor in blackface" (2009). She is one voice of many who agree that people with disabilities and deaf and hard of hearing people not only want representation in the arts--they also want to be the ones to tell their stories in empowering and dynamic ways. John Schuchman of Gallaudet University published a book called Hollywood Speaks, where he discusses the representation of hearing loss in cinema as well as the struggle for deaf people to attain inclusion in the cinematic experience, which requires the use of closed captions, subtitles, and/or an American Sign Language (ASL) interpreter. It's not just about representation; it's also about access.

Russell Harvard as Matt Hamill in Oren Kaplan's Hamill (2010).

 Deaf culture has its own linguistic and social identity, but there are also those who are not members of Deaf culture who may define themselves as little “d” deaf, hard of hearing, hearing impaired, or a person with a hearing loss. Because of this, I am convinced that deafness is a subjective experience, with the label of disability given because of barriers in accessing any technology that depends heavily on sound. The choice of language (spoken language versus sign language) is heavily influenced by the social environment in which the person with the hearing loss lives. I was raised in the mainstream, communicated with spoken language, and wrote lucidly, so for me to see film after film depicting deafness as a silent world where the character was angry, excluded, and illiterate, made me move as far away as possible from the label of deafness. As much as I loved cinema, I did not want others to see me as an isolated and angry deaf person. I hated Children of A Lesser God (1986) because I could not understand why the main character never wanted to speak.

Marlee Matlin as Sarah Norman in
Randa Haines Children of a Lesser
God (1986).

I reiterate that deafness is a subjective experience and no one experiences it, or any disability, the same. I do not understand what it is like to never speak, but that still does not mean that I do not have an understanding of silence and of discriminatory attitudes from institutional bodies, because I do. I am challenging singular portrayals of deafness, and I encourage you to do the same. It is not just about being represented, it's also about developing dynamic and interesting characters who challenge us. We must constantly remind the mainstream that not all people with hearing loss are the same.

Welcome!

Welcome to my blog!

I am a Southern California based independent filmmaker, writer, and activist.

This blog will serve as a central base for published articles in print or web, all authored by me.  My areas of interest include media access, media representation, disability, deaf and hard of hearing issues, and young adult communities, but I also have strong interests in cross cultural sex and gender, performance, and the social sciences. 

If you are interested in having me write an article or in sharing my work, please don't hesitate to contact me at rhijahfilms@gmail.com.

Enjoy reading!