A “Flipped” Classroom

Words can be wiggly, like a fish in the hand. Take the word disability for example. Defining disability was the topic of today’s lecture, at least it was supposed to be. Plans were delayed by audio issues. In the large lecture hall of over 150 students, I was using three wireless microphones: one for overall lecturing, one for student questions, and one for CART services. In addition, we had two American Sign Language interpreters at the front of the class. It was a moment for my expertise in communication access to shine, except, it didn’t—at least, not as I had planned.

The signal on my class-wide microphone was so weak that students in the back couldn’t hear me. My attempts to adjust the equipment led to painful feedback. Through it all, my communication with the D/deaf students via the interpreters was undisrupted. When I checked in with them, one of D/deaf students remarked with a knowing grin, “We can ‘hear you’ just fine.” I do appreciate a flipped script.

A Moment from Deaf President Now!

The flipped classroom scenario reminded me of a key moment from the Deaf President Now! documentary. This momentous event took place at Gallaudet, the world’s first university designed for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Since its founding in 1864, the university had never had a D/deaf president. On March 7, 1988, Jane Spilman, the Chair of the Board of Trustees at Gallaudet, came to campus to address student concern regarding the recent hiring of yet another hearing president; she had been hired over two D/deaf candidates.

Being hearing herself and not versed in sign language, Spilman relied on use of an interpreter to deliver her remarks to the auditorium. The room was tense. When it became clear during the middle of Spilman’s remarks that the Board was not going to reverse its hiring decision, the students erupted with loud vocalizations and emphatic signing. Someone pulled the fire alarms, and Spilman struggled to be heard over the noise. But the student’s signed words of protest demanding a Deaf president rang loud and clear. It was Spilman who was disabled in her communications here, not the D/deaf students.

Models of Disability

Disability literally means “not able,” but it doesn’t address why someone is unable to do the desired thing. Whereas the prevailing medical model of disability centers the cause of disability in the person, the social model attributes disability to the environment. How the environment is designed, for example, what forms of communication are expected, and what supports are readily available (or not)—often plays a big role in who is considered “able” or “disabled.” When my classroom microphone didn’t work, the classroom setup actually worked better for my D/deaf students than for my hearing students in the back. Who is disabled can change with the environment.

Historically, many in the Deaf community have rejected being associated with disability. Chants of “We are not disabled” have long been part of Deaf activism. This outright rejection of disability can feel ableist in current contexts—like a need to distance themselves from other marginalized groups. However, the rejection makes sense when we consider it in terms of the medical model of disability, which places the “problem” inside the person. The rise of the social model of disability recognizes that barriers are often external, not internal. Accordingly, recent waves of Deaf activism have been more likely to embrace Disability identity.

Back to Class

Once my microphone issue was finally resolved, we were able to fully engage in my planned discussion, which ironically was intended to focus on the role of the environment in disability. I showed the students a photo of a merman in a wheelchair gazing longingly at the water. I asked the class, “Is the merman disabled?” The goal is not to imply that disability is foreign or mystical. Instead, I’ve found that the fictitious example helps students explore the concept of disability with less worry about saying the wrong thing. As it usually does, the merman discussion brought up lots of great questions: What is the desired task—walking or swimming? Who is the comparison—other mermen or humans?  And what’s the relevant environment—land or sea? The answer of whether the merman is disabled always lands on the same conclusion: “It depends.” Disability is often not a fixed thing; it’s contextual. It’s fluid, dependent on time, place, and social expectations.

If words can be wiggly, like a fish in the hand, then perhaps disability can be viewed through a merman in the sand.

Notes

CART: This stands for Communication Access Realtime Translation, a real-time transcription service. In this case, the dedicated microphone fed directly to an off-site transcriber whose transcription fed to my student’s personal computer.

D/deaf: Deaf with a capital ‘D’ refers to identification with Deaf culture, including sign language; deaf with a lowercase ‘d’ typically refers to deafness as a medical condition and is more focused on restoring hearing and learning speech.