Anonymous: The devastation of not working as a BSL interpreter during the Coronavirus crisis

This article has been written anonymously by a sign language interpreter.

I am a freelance community interpreter. Until three weeks ago, my daily routine consisted of going into schools, workplaces, hospitals and GP practices, residential homes and public buildings, to facilitate communication between hearing and Deaf people.

As with many of my colleagues, work has dried up and what little interpreting I do has moved online.

Like many of my colleagues, I worry about my livelihood, the health of my Deaf and hearing family and friends, how to pay for rent and food and insurance, the potential decline of my interpreting skills over time, and the future of the nation and the world both economically and socially.

But, the part that has been most devastating to me personally in the last four weeks is the fact that I am prevented from doing my job!

I trained for many years to be able to do something that is important and necessary, to provide a service that is essential and helps people to live their lives, to make important decisions, to access information, support and care, to learn and to work. My job has always been more than a job to me. It’s a vocation. Now, I am not allowed to do it anymore.

Interpreters are not on the government list of key workers, although many agencies have issued key worker letters so that we are allowed to travel on the rare occasions that we do go to face to face appointments. Some hospital trusts and GP practices are still booking interpreters as they did before. Some are using remote options, with varying success.

In other areas, this process has been stopped entirely, no interpreters are being booked for anything at all, and it is unclear who made the decisions. Having an interpreter has become a postcode lottery.

Organisations like SignHealth and RAD have thankfully stepped up to try and fill the gaps where possible, using their own funds rather than government monies to provide remote access to health services. Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and England each have different systems and each NHS trust has different rules and regulations and ways of working.

And all this variation despite very clear guidance from the World Health Organisation (WHO) as well as international organisations like WASLI (World Association of Sign Language Interpreters) and WFD (World Federation of the Deaf) for governments to ensure continued access to sign language interpreting (under the right precautions of course) in all relevant settings.

I know of Deaf people who have been denied an interpreter or who have paid for video interpreting out of their own pockets. Many of us are offering voluntary help for Deaf people via social media. But it seems to be a drop in the ocean, it feels like it is just not enough.

I sit at home, staring out of the window, imagining my clients and friends and members of the community alone and frightened and in pain at home, thinking they cannot see a doctor because of the risks or because there is no interpreter; people in hospitals, where medical professionals are wearing masks that prevent lip reading and complicated medical jargon that doesn’t lend itself to pen and paper communication.

I worry about so-called “informed consent” for treatment without an interpreter and both the legal and practical implications of that. I worry about end of life decisions (so-called DNR- do not resuscitate) being made without thorough explanations.

Even more importantly, I worry that both patients and professionals aren’t even asking themselves the question whether an interpreter should be booked, because everyone just (wrongly) assumes it is not possible under the circumstances.

I worry about those in the community who might not understand the letters they are being sent or the ever-changing advice on TV and social media, even with an interpreter.

I worry about those who face encounters with the police and struggle to explain themselves or understand the instructions they are given. I worry about funerals, cancer patients and those with other severe physical and mental health issues.

I worry about Deaf children and Deaf parents trying to continue with their education. I worry about those who are working from home and have been told there is no practical way of facilitating interpreter support remotely.

I worry about all the potential scenarios in which Deaf people are being told they cannot have an interpreter, for whatever reason.

Of course that is not actually true: Obviously precautions need to be taken, interpreting should happen via video link wherever possible.

But there are a myriad of cases where face to face interpreting should still happen. It may be that personal protective equipment needs to be worn, it may be that working with a mask and/or face shield and gloves is challenging both for the interpreter and the client, but better than no interpreter at all.

Many interpreters work in medical settings regularly. Some, like me, may even have basic medical training from previous job experience and understand the concepts of infection control, contact tracing etc.

Of course, not every interpreter will be able to take a job in a high risk environment or they may currently not be able to go out at all. Some interpreters may be vulnerable themselves, because they have underlying conditions, or they may have to look after vulnerable people at home. Some may be very scared for their own health as well as about spreading the disease to others.

And rightly so, because the stakes are high. Lives depend on the right precautions, behaviours and decisions. But this goes both ways. Lives may depend on an interpreter being present. Lives may be at risk either way.

Frustratingly, we can’t tell the stakeholders all these things. We can’t tell the people who are making the decisions in hospitals and on the higher levels of trusts, public health institutions and government. We can’t tell them how sign language works and that in many cases, we can safely interpret from a two metre distance, or even through a window if necessary.

We can’t offer our expertise because nobody is asking us and we can’t get through to those who need to know. Some colleagues as well as Deaf people have told me they are afraid to ask for the service or argue with agencies and professionals, because they don’t want to be responsible for putting someone else’s life at risk. Therefore, they accept the situation as it is.

Agencies could find themselves unable to discuss the needs of the community for various reasons. Many might feel that they do not have the expertise and that they have to adhere to the rules made by people who don’t know anything about our work.  Social media and the news tell us that everyone is too busy to think about the fortunes of individual patients. That is not only the case for Deaf people, but for many minority groups.

But none of us should have to feel like that. Even in this crisis, we should be able to at least make our needs heard and negotiate ways in which they can be accommodated under the circumstances.

At least for interpreting, the responsibility lies with both the professional (medical or otherwise) and with the individual interpreter taking the job and assessing the risk and whether they are suitable for it, just like they would do with any other assignment.

And that is the part that is so unbelievably frustrating. We want to be there for our communities, we want to help them get through whatever atrocities and barriers they are facing, both in emergency situations and in everyday life. That is the job I committed to when I started my training.

For me personally, this is the heartbreak of this crisis and it makes me sad and angry and devastated and sends me on an emotional rollercoaster every single day. I want to be part of the fight against an invisible enemy.

I have a skill that could actually make a difference, even if it was only for one person, but I am at home watching from a distance. I want to fight for and with the community I serve.

But right now I don’t know how to do that. And I am sorry for that. I am sorry for every single one of you who is not getting the access they need because people like me are prohibited from giving it to you. I feel sorry for anyone who suffers, but particularly for those whose suffering could be alleviated.

And I hope and pray that I will see all of you again soon. Stay safe everyone!

This article was written anonymously. Image provided by I stock photos.